Commanding Heart

by Madeline Evering

  Commanding Heart

  by Madeline Evering

  Text copyright © 2013 Madeline Evering

  All Rights Reserved

  Table of Contents

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  Chapter XIX

  Chapter XX

  Chapter XXI

  Chapter XXII

  Chapter I

  Catherine Gibson stood alone at the bustling naval dock in Portsmouth, amusement and wonder playing across the features of her lovely face. She turned in a small circle, the starched white petticoats of her dress brushing the dust in a soft whisper. Catherine was captivated by sights and sounds completely foreign to a young, sheltered girl of nineteen. All around her was energy, motion, color and noise that spoke of important work and great purpose. In front of her, along the length and breadth of the great dock, a bevy of seamen bent to their tasks, carrying rope or lengths of chain, mending sails, or straining to load immense cargo into waiting barges. Enormous supply wagons rolled past her in a continual parade, drawn by teams of stamping, sweating draft horses whose iron shod feet set the cobbles ringing. One such wagon rocked past in great haste, forcing Catherine to leap nimbly aside, skirts twirling. The beautiful young woman drew a shaky breath and wisely chose a safer vantage point at the water’s edge, a comfortable distance away from the traffic of the great dock. She turned her back to the sights onshore to marvel once more at the harbor itself; there in the sparkling water floated such a wealth of ships of every size and description that the masts seemed to create a forest on the surface of the sea. Somewhere within their number lay HMS Triton – her home for the next weeks. Catherine’s clear blue eyes strained against the morning sun, seeking the ship with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. When she spied the great ship at last her heart skipped nervously against her chest. What could she expect from the journey to come? And what would be found at its end? Catherine mind began to run wild in speculation but she would not indulge her fears. She squared her shoulders resolutely, stifling her worries for the moment as she made another slow turn to survey the scene. The spectacle filled Catherine with awe as she took in each curious wonder.

  Knowing that their time of departure soon approached, Catherine raised a hand to her eyes and scanned the dock for sign of her uncle, Lieutenant Robert Matthews. The lieutenant had urgent business to complete for his captain before they sailed, and so had left her briefly to make final arrangements. As she turned once more to survey the crowd, she caught sight of him at last. Catherine’s rosy lips curled in a warm grin at the sight of Matthews making his way through the bustling crowd. He was a short but powerfully built man, strong in body and generous in spirit. When Lieutenant Matthews had married her aunt twenty years previous it was a matter of great scandal to his wife’s wealthy family. A sailor of no name, and little means, was not a welcome addition to their way of thinking. Her aunt, however, found the young sailor to be very much to her taste. She made her own mind on the subject, ignored her family’s wishes, and eloped with Robert Matthews. The end result of this mutinous act was a long, happy marriage, blessed with several children and an abundance of love, if not money.

  “Catherine!” her uncle cried as he approached, “There you are you wonderful child! Why you’ve barely moved from the spot I left you more than half an hour ago! Were you concerned for your safety? What folly,” he chided himself, “I should have taken you with me to the storerooms rather than abandon you so carelessly!” Catherine laid a gloved hand on his arm and gave a small, sparkling laugh at his speech. “Indeed, Uncle” she grinned, “Make yourself easy, I am completely well! I am afraid I have remained here out of country ignorance and astonishment at my surroundings, not from fear or worry. I have spent the entire time starring rudely at every soul that passed my way, desperate to understand who they are and what they are about!”

  Matthews gave a deep rumbling laugh at her report, his eyes twinkling with merriment at the honest pronouncement. The lieutenant looked at his young niece, and was astonished anew by her changed appearance. War with France had kept him away from his family for most of a year, and in that time Catherine had blossomed from a carefree tomboy into a startlingly beautiful young woman. She stood before him in an elegant empire gown of finest muslin, topped by a pelisse of cornflower blue that matched her laughing eyes. Her thick, golden hair was carefully arranged under a straw bonnet, but a few stray tendrils escaped to curl loosely about the sides of her heart-shaped face. Fashion of the day dictated a pale complexion for a woman but Catherine’s undeniable love of the outdoors produced a deeper rose in her cheeks than conventional tastes would prefer. “And all the better for it,” thought Matthews, “For she does not look a silly, wilting hothouse flower, but a true English rose.”

  “Come,” Matthews said with fatherly affection, tucking her small hand into the crook of his arm “We must get underway dear girl.” At his words, the smile that seemed ever present in Catherine’s face wavered a moment. Matthews’ watchful eye noticed the change and he paused in his step. “Catherine,” he rumbled softly, “I know how difficult this journey must seem to you, how frightened you must be…” Catherine pulled her gaze away from his a moment, but when she next looked at her uncle her features were composed once more. “You are mistaken, Uncle” she replied with some effort; “I am prepared…. Indeed, I am more than prepared for what lies ahead….” She trailed off uncertainly but gave the lieutenant a quick smile of encouragement. The knowing man was not fooled by Catherine’s efforts, but he could not help but admire her nerve and firm resolve. With great tenderness Matthews led her to where an awaiting skiff lay ready to transport them to his captain’s vessel, the HMS Triton. Catherine took one last look at the bustling banks of Portsmouth and nodded her readiness to her uncle. Matthews gave her hand a firm squeeze and handed aboard this most precious cargo to depart for Jamaica.

  Chapter II

  The men at the oars set a quick pace for themselves, piloting Catherine and her uncle over the smooth water with ease. Despite her reservations about what awaited her at journey’s end, she thrilled at this exhilarating moment on the open sea. After days spent traveling in a noisy, crowded, uncomfortable stage coach, Catherine felt a great sense of freedom as they crossed the sea surface. A slight breeze stirred the water and tore loose tendrils of hair from her carefully twisted knot. She gave a small chuckle of delight at the sensation, the salt air stinging her checks to even brighter color. At long last Catherine was freed from the drab rigor and routine of her former boarding school. The cold stone buildings, and the even colder matrons, were but a distant memory on this bright summer day at sea. Jamaica and all its difficulties still lay ahead, but Catherine was determined to seize the beauty of this moment, and worry about the future when it made itself present.

  In short order the oarsmen brought the small skiff alongside the enormous bulk of HMS Triton. Catherine starred up in awe at its immense presence: two towering decks boasting 74 guns and countless berths made up the lower portion of the ship; topping all of this was a main deck that stretched over 180 feet in length from stem to stern. Far above the deck soared three enormous masts that carried the sails of the square-rigger. Catherine had heard many stories of HMS Triton from her uncle, none of which did justice to the awesome splendor of this magnificent vesse
l. The jet black hull with its gold embellishments glittered in the morning sun like a living thing. Catherine had developed great skill in sketching and painting while at school, and her eager eyes scanned every detail of the ship, committing them to memory until her nimble fingers held a paintbrush once more.

  Matthews watched his niece’s expressive face with delight, thrilled at the way in which she took in the scene before her. For two years now, the HMS Triton had been his home and he was more than a little proud to show off its beauty to one of his family. Four hundred men made up the Triton’s able crew, and they had been well tested in recent years in the war against Napoleon. The ship had seen action countless times, from the coast of France to the Mediterranean, and in every instance HMS Triton had proved victorious. Matthews knew the ship well, knew how capable a vessel she was to any task the Admiralty set for her; but Matthews also knew that much of the ship’s success rested in its adept handling by his captain, John Knight.

  Captain Knight was several years Matthews’ junior, but his skill at sea suggested the wisdom and capabilities of a man far older. He had rapidly moved up the chain of command within His Majesty’s Navy through hard work and skilled decision making. Knight was a born leader, carefully choosing and shaping his crew, working every moment to get the best out of his men and HMS Triton. In a time of war, when captains necessarily ruled with an iron fist, Knight commanded his men with respect and led by his own brave example. He demanded much of every soul onboard, but no more than he demanded of himself. He deservedly held the respect of every crewman aboard HMS Triton for his sound judgment and skill. The men in return held their captain in the highest esteem, loyally giving their all in tribute to his careful management of the ship and their very lives.

  All these thoughts raced about Matthews’ head as the skiff made its final approach to the Triton’s accommodation ladder. Matthews stepped lightly up the ladder, watching Catherine’s progress behind him until they finally came level with the deck. Catherine’s keen eye was captured afresh by the incredible scene that met her there. Everywhere men bustled to their urgent tasks, the ship teaming with activity as marines paraded at drill, men climbed rigging, ropes were coiled, and the business of a ship of war busily continued. At her uncle’s approach, a handful of officers stepped forward and stood to attention. Matthews nimbly hoisted his bulky frame over the side, landing on the deck with the lightness of a cat. Catherine grinned at the image, seeing in this one movement how at home her uncle was onboard a ship – more so than he ever appeared to be on land. Lieutenant Matthews greeted the men quickly, and then returned to his niece. Catherine placed one hand in Matthews extended grasp and looked down a moment to find her footing. Her head lifted up in surprise; however, as her other hand was caught and held in a powerful grip.

  Catherine’s startled gaze met with the imposing frame of the HMS Triton’s leader, Captain John Knight. He towered before her, well over six feet tall and powerfully built, with broad shoulders that reminded her of a figure from a Classical painting. His jet black hair was short-cropped and curled about his head to frame a strong, deeply tanned face with an aquiline nose and sharp cheekbones. He was dressed in full uniform and Catherine could not help but notice how the captain’s dark eyes seemed to match the deep shade of his naval jacket; they were the most intense blue color she had ever seen. Catherine blushed as she realized how she was starring, and quickly looked down before stepping lightly aboard with the aid of her uncle and his captain.

  “Captain John Knight,” Lieutenant Matthews proclaimed warmly, “I present to you my niece, Miss Catherine Gibson.” Catherine bowed in curtsey at the introduction and received a strict bow from the captain in return. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Gibson” the Captain replied formally, his low voice cool in tone. Her own words came haltingly as she returned his greeting: “I am pleased to make your acquaintance as well, Captain” she replied. “My uncle has told me a great deal about you… about his life onboard the Triton,” she stammered. “I am very grateful you agreed to grant me passage to Jamaica. It is very… very kind of you.” she finished awkwardly. The captain looked at Catherine a long time, taking in her careful, elegant attire so completely at odds with the rough surroundings of the ship. His lips twisted with wry amusement; “I am afraid your gratitude is misplaced, Miss Gibson” Knight replied brusquely. “As I am sure your uncle has told you, I do not believe in allowing women onboard a ship of war.” Catherine started somewhat at his frank words and felt the smile fall from her face. Her uncle had made such comments to her before, in his tales of life at sea, but when she had been notified by her father’s agent in London that passage had been secured aboard HMS Triton, she assumed it had been with the captain’s full agreement. “I think you should know that your presence on this ship is at the direction of the Admiralty, not by my desire….. It would appear that your father has some very fine connections” Captain Knight finished dryly. Matthews gave an uncomfortable cough while a flush of color came into Catherine’s cheeks at the captain’s words. This journey was neither her wish nor want, and to be accused of manipulating her way onboard was offensive to this young woman of integrity. Catherine’s eyes sparked with anger as she met the Captain’s gaze and replied sharply: “I apologize, sir, that my presence gives you such offense. I will endeavor to keep out of your way and I am sure, given your sentiments, that you will do the same.”

  Knight’s eyes glittered dangerously and a stern note of warning entered his voice; “Miss Gibson, you are to be transported to Jamaica as quickly as my duty will allow but know that while onboard you are at my command, the same as any other soul here. You will follow my instructions, obey my wishes, and avoid any interference with the efficient management of this ship. Foster!” he barked to a young deck hand who came racing forward at the command. “Mister Foster will show you to your cabin, Miss Gibson. Your things will be brought to you there directly. We sail in one hour. We will meet again for supper in my cabin at precisely 8pm. Good day to you” he finished curtly and strode away without a backward glance.

  Catherine remained rooted to the spot in mortification. “Uncle,” she implored softly as Matthews touched her on the arm. “You should have told me. You should have said something before we left Portsmouth…” Her uncle grabbed her hand tightly in his own and gave her an affectionate squeeze before speaking: “I am so sorry, dear Catherine. I did not know how to tell you. I know how hard it is for you to make this journey; I did not want to add to your distress. I am so terribly sorry my dear.” “It is true, then” Catherine replied flatly, “My father has used his influence to gain my passage to Jamaica? He has forced the captain’s hand?” Matthews could only nod in mute agreement. Catherine felt the weight of this knowledge settle heavy on her soul. She gave a wan smile of resignation and patted her uncle’s arm as she prepared to go. “It will be alright,” her uncle proclaimed with more conviction than he felt. “It will, dear girl. You’ll see”. She nodded once more, and then stepped forward to follow the young cabin boy to what would be her home for this already troubling journey.

  Chapter III

  Tom Foster, the cabin boy, led Catherine to a small, spare room on the ship’s first level. Though of no great size, it boasted a bed, a small writing desk with a suspended lantern, a silvered glass on one wall, and a built in wardrobe opposite. A small porthole window looked out onto the sea. To Catherine’s surprise the space was immaculately clean, not at all the dark, uncomfortable space she imagined a ship’s cabin to be. Tom settled her small bag at the foot of the bed and shyly asked if he could be of any further service. Catherine gave the young boy a kind smile and insisted that she would do very well in the cabin until the rest of her belongings arrived. “We sail almost immediately,” the young boy interjected nervously. “You might wish to stay below as we get under sail….” he stammered, trying to advise her on how his captain would likely wish things to proceed. “But once we’re under way,” he finished “you should come on deck, Miss
. It’s a beautiful sight when we first make way.” Catherine caught Tom’s well-intentioned meaning and agreed to his plan. “Yes, Tom. That sounds lovely. I shall do exactly that.” The boy grinned hugely, grateful that she’d understood his kindly advice. He left in a flash to return to his work while Catherine settled into her new lodgings.

  Removing her bonnet and pelisse, Catherine stretched out on the bed and allowed the events of the day to run unchecked through her mind. It seemed like an eternity since she had risen at the small Portsmouth inn and prepared for departure to her new life. The many strange sights she had encountered passed through her memory in rapid succession, but each was quickly interrupted by a recurring image of Captain Knight’s face, his look dark and unforgiving, as he told her how little welcome she was on board his ship. Catherine gave a small groan of remorse and turned her face into the pillow. She was no timid flower to shrink from this information, but added to the weight of knowledge she already bore about her journey, it seemed more than her innocent heart could carry.

  Without intending too, the exhausted Catherine drifted off into an uneasy sleep. The sounds and motions of the ship as it took sail did not rouse her and she did not awake until many hours later. When she finally came to in the unaccustomed space, the sun was low in the sky outside her cabin window. She struggled to remember where she was, to understand the strange motion of the room. As awareness dawned on her, Catherine became aware of another, discomforting realization: her senses were in utter turmoil. Although the breeze was steady and the motion of the ship quite gentle for anyone accustomed to the sea, to Catherine – at sail for the first time – it was absolute torture. She grimaced at the realization, and was grateful for the fact that she had hardly eaten all day in their hurry to depart. She sat up slowly on the side of the bed, attempting to still her spinning head.