She secured the basket behind her back. “Did I mention that my father is a commodore? And my intended is a lieutenant. He helps guard the prisoners.”
The man took a small step back, lifting his chest as if he hadn’t been hovering over her seconds before. At least the prison guards seemed to receive some sort of respect. “What is his name?”
“Commodore Hammond.”
“I know no such commander.”
“My father is at sea.”
He shook his head. “Not your father. What is the name of the man you intend to marry?”
She stood a bit taller, refusing to cower now. Nathan had told her to make up a name, but that was before she’d ranked her future husband. There were probably only a handful of lieutenants in the camp.
She swallowed hard and muttered a name.
“Speak up.”
She mumbled again and then added, “And he will not be the least bit pleased that you are detaining me.”
He looked as if he was going to insist again on the name, but perhaps the thought of punishment by an officer deterred him.
He pointed to his left. “The prisoners are on the middle ship.”
She lifted her skirts. “I thank ye.”
“I doubt he will be marrying you any time soon,” he called after her.
She scrambled through the grassy field, past tents and soldiers who barely glanced her way. The first hurdle had been crossed, but it would be the easiest one. She prayed no one else stopped her to inquire about her business.
At the end of a long wharf stood two guards, one near the bow of Grayson’s ship and another at the stern. She wanted to look back at the trees, to make sure that everything was ready, but she couldn’t hesitate. Instead she clenched her fingers around the handle of her basket and marched forward like a soldier. Nathan had said many of the British were hungry, and many of them didn’t even want to fight this war for the king. She just had to figure out which of these guards was more desperate.
The guard on her right looked like a Hessian, with his golden-colored hat and cobalt-blue coat. The other guard was barely a man, probably seventeen or eighteen, and he looked quite forlorn in his position. The Hessian probably didn’t speak much, if any, English, but she hoped the younger man would understand well her plan and be amiable to it.
Perhaps he was as much a prisoner as the men onboard the boat.
Either way, she had no choice but to negotiate with him.
She stepped up to the young soldier and held up her basket, speaking loud enough for both men to hear. “I am looking for mending work.”
He shook his head. “I do me own mending.”
“I can wash clothes too,” she said, desperation lacing her words. She didn’t have to pretend.
He pointed up the hill at a canvas tent. “Go see the colonel. He’ll tell you if there’s work to be ’ad.”
She glanced up the hill and then eyed the schooner, catching her breath when she saw the dull white name of the ship painted on the side: Madam Knight.
Tears pricked her eyes. Grayson had named his schooner after her and her silly dreams. He had even believed in her dreams. Today she needed the courage he saw in her. Without it, she would run back into those woods and hide.
She shifted her basket into her other hand, trying to compose herself. “This is a new ship, is it not?”
He stood a bit taller. “Took it from the Yanks, we did.”
“You captured it?” Her eyes grew wide as she pretended to be impressed by his feat. “What happened to its crew?”
He shrugged. “The ones what survived are still onboard.”
“How many survived?”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Now why does ’at concern ya?”
“It concerns me greatly.” She nodded toward the forest. “Up in those trees, there’s a regiment of Yankees watching you and me.”
Fear flashed across his face. “Why’re they watchin’ me?”
“They have sent me here to see if my husband is on this ship.”
He glanced at the forest, and she saw the skepticism when he looked back at her. “I don’t see nothing.”
“They know how to hide well.”
He looked over at the guard on the other side of the wharf. The man didn’t seem to concern himself with either of them.
“Why don’t they attack?” the young guard whispered.
“They are not here to cause a skirmish.” She opened the basket and held up her canteen. “I am here merely to check on my husband’s health.”
The aroma of the bread rose from the basket, and she saw the desire in his eyes. Her heart pounding, she lifted the loaf of bread from its linen wrappings and showed him the trousers and homespun shirt underneath. Then she opened the pouch at the bottom of the basket and let him peek at the shillings inside it. “There is clothing here and enough money for you to settle well in the colonies.”
He stared at the pouch, and she thanked God that he was considering her proposition. Just as she suspected, he didn’t want to be in this army.
But she was still asking a lot of him. Everything, really. Deserters were rewarded with a firing line.
“I don’t know—”
“They will cause a diversion, and you will do your job. With this money, you shall never have to fight again.”
A blast rocketed the air, and the Hessian guard at the other end of the wharf swore. The soldiers on the bank turned, and when they saw a blaze of fire, they began clustering together into columns.
The Hessian guard hurried past her, but the young soldier didn’t move, staring at the pouch in her hand instead.
Another blast sounded from the trees.
“It is time to decide,” she whispered.
He reached for the money, but she pulled it back.
“Are they in shackles?”
“Aye,” he said, his gaze shifting between her and the trees with urgency.
“Then I must have the key.”
He reached up and slipped a chain over his neck before he handed it to her.
She clung to the key as she handed him the basket. “If this is not the right key, my men will find you.”
He followed the others toward the forest, and she hurried onto the ship, praying that Grayson was still alive.
Lydia searched among the ripening plants for leaves that had thickened and turned the color of a yellow moss. A light-green hornworm crept up one of the leaves, and Lydia watched it for a moment. She glanced up and scanned the rows of tobacco for her father. He was four rows down, supervising the work of their remaining two field slaves.
She leaned forward and examined the white threads across the back of the worm. It looked harmless enough, but Father talked of these creatures as if they came straight from the pit of hell.
Hannah clutched her hands to her chest when she saw the worm. “That is disgusting.”
Much to Hannah’s dismay, Father had recruited her to join Lydia in helping with the harvest. The muddy floors, he’d told Mother, would still be there in the fall, but the tobacco leaves would not. Even as her sister complained, Lydia was glad to be out of the house.
Leaning forward, Hannah flicked the worm off with her knife and ground it into the black dirt with her heel. “We should be preparing for a ball this afternoon, not picking worms off tobacco leaves.”
Lydia leaned over to the next leaf. “Without these leaves, there will be no money to dress for a ball when the war is over.”
Hannah tugged on her hat, pushing it further over her nose. “Next year I will be married.”
“You are much too young to marry.” Lydia cut off one of the mature leaves with her knife and laid it carefully on the ground. Father said he would collect the leaves later, after they’d wilted. Then he would cure them in their barn.
By the end of October, if they could keep the worms away, the plants would be ready to be twisted and spun into ropes to ship to England. While the harvest would not be as great as it had been in years
past, Father was relying on the income it would bring for the next year.
Hannah stood. Her gloves and petticoat were stained with dirt, but fire danced in her eyes. “You may have lost your opportunity to marry, but that does not mean I must remain unmarried.”
“You shan’t, Hannah. When you are seventeen or eighteen, Father will find you a proper husband.”
Hannah shook her head. “I can find a man without Father’s help. And I do not want a proper husband. I want a dashing man, like Dalton Reed.”
Lydia sighed. “Father would consider him a proper husband for you in a year or two. Or when the war is over.”
“I may be an old maid before this war is over,” she whined, holding up her gloves. “And completely ruined by field work.”
Compassion mixed with irritation for her sister. Hannah’s future did look rather bleak at the moment. She had never even attended a proper ball, never been courted. The most important years of her young life had been ruined by this war. Lydia cut off another leaf and held it up. “This is for a new pair of gloves.”
Hannah eyed Lydia’s leaf and then leaned down to a plant that climbed up past her knees. She found a ripe leaf and clipped it. “This is for a hat.”
Laughing, Lydia searched for another mature leaf among the shoots and, with much grandeur, sliced it off. “Satin shoes.”
Hannah joined her laughter. “Pearl earrings.”
“A loaf of sugar.”
Hannah found a large leaf several plants down and sliced it from its root. “And this is for my wedding gown.”
Lydia rested the knife at her side, her tone turning serious. “You will be a lovely bride, Hannah.”
Hannah smiled at her, and Lydia had no doubt her sister would marry well—in the proper time.
A shadow fell over her heart as she cut another stalk.
Perhaps Hannah was right. Perhaps it was too late for her to find love as well.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sarah climbed to the top of the ship and lowered herself through an open hatch. Then she pressed through the stench inside the bowels of the schooner. Nathan said she had five minutes to retrieve the men and another five minutes to get them off the boat. There was no time for hesitation, no time to calm the heartbeat that slammed against her chest or quench the thirst on her lips. Her body felt weak, but in her weakness, she prayed that God would prove strong.
Clutching the guard’s key in her hand, she hurried through the shadows. Light swept through the cargo space from the hatch, and in the dimness, she saw a man on the floor. He was but a skeleton, lying in filth, and she wondered for a moment if he was still alive. She nudged him gently with her foot, and he groaned.
Thank God, there was still life in him.
His eyes opened and he held out his hand, his throat rasping when he spoke. “Have you any water?”
She untangled the canteen from her shoulder and gave him a long swig. Then he leaned back against the wall, whispering his thanks. How long had it been since these men had any nourishment?
She moved from him to another man, searching the faces of two other prisoners, but neither of them was Grayson. Her heart began to despair when, in the shadows, she saw one more man. She rushed to him, but when Grayson looked up, he didn’t seem to recognize her. Her heart broke as she looked into his vacant eyes.
Even if she got him off this boat safely, would he survive?
She couldn’t worry about that right now. She must rescue them first.
She pushed the key into the shackle that chained Grayson and twisted it, praying that the soldier had given her the right key to free them.
Thank God, the claw of iron clanged to the floor, but he still didn’t move.
“Grayson.” She shook him gently. “I am here to take you away.”
His eyes seemed lucid for a moment. “Sarah?”
“It is I.”
He reached out to touch her hair. “You are but a beautiful apparition.”
She pressed her hand into his. “I am no apparition.”
He stared at her as if he still wasn’t certain she was real.
She stood. “You and your men must get off this boat before the guards return.”
He shook his head. “There is no place for us to go.”
“You must trust me.”
She lifted the canteen to his lips, and he drank deeply. “I forgot the taste of water.”
She understood well the craving for something to drink. “There is plenty more outside, and food as well.”
He passed the canteen to the man beside him as she unlocked the shackles of the four other prisoners. Pointing up at the shaft, she urged them forward. “Let us hurry.”
Grayson stood slowly at first, rallying his crew to stand as well. Her heart raced. They had to move faster if they were to flee before the King’s Men realized what was happening. She took one prisoner’s arm to help him up the steps, and then she turned back to help another.
The men began to walk more quickly as she guided them up toward the stern. She wished she could stop her heart from racing, but it gave her the strength she needed to lead them away from their dungeon.
Crawling across the deck, she searched for a rope ladder until she found one tied to the bottom of the mast. She tossed it over the side and then scanned the bay from the deck. The first rays of moonlight glistened on the surface as she searched for Elisha’s rowboat, praying that nothing had deterred him from this task.
She couldn’t ask these men to jump into the water—they were too tired to swim, and the British would surely shoot them before they reached the shore. And if she couldn’t get them off the boat, they would all face the British muskets before dawn.
“Please hurry,” she whispered, a tremor of fear shooting through her.
What if Elisha decided not to come? No one could blame him after what Grayson did to him so many years before, but she’d felt so certain Elisha had forgiven the past. Perhaps Elisha was afraid that if Grayson were rescued, he would be forced to return to a life of slavery at Caswell Hall.
“What is happening?” Grayson begged of her, and she heard the fear in his voice as well.
“The boat will be here soon,” she said, trying to assure him.
In the moonlight she saw admiration in his eyes, and for a moment, she reveled in it. “It is all right if it does not come. You have been so brave, Sarah.”
“I am scared to death.”
“But it has not stopped you, my dear. That is true courage.”
She didn’t feel courageous, not with the trembling inside her, but it didn’t matter. Grayson thought her courageous, and he’d called her his dear.
Then she heard the soft paddling of oars in the water. And she saw the form of the whaleboat glide up beside the ship. Relief showered over her fear.
Grayson squeezed her hand. “Well done.”
Her heart soared.
As Elisha helped lower the first three men into the large rowboat, Sarah’s legs started to sway. At first she thought it was the boat’s listing, but it wasn’t the boat. Her body was too warm. The world too blurry.
She waited for Grayson, but he refused to climb down until she did. He helped her onto the rope, and with Elisha’s assistance, she dropped into the rowboat. Grayson was last. As he lowered himself, Elisha offered Grayson his hand. “Come along, Master Caswell,” he whispered.
Grayson pulled his hand back. “Elisha?”
“Yes, sir.”
“They call me Porter now. And I am no longer your master.”
Elisha paused. “Aye. I thank ye, sir.”
Grayson hesitated, and then he reached out his hand again. Elisha helped him into the boat.
She saw the tears in Grayson’s eyes. “No,” he said. “I thank you.”
Sarah leaned against Grayson and prayed the soldiers wouldn’t check on their prisoners tonight. She also prayed that the young soldier who’d helped her was able to run far before dawn.
The men took turns helpin
g Elisha row the boat away. One of them whispered near her, but she didn’t understand his words. Blackness seemed to engulf her and she drifted away into a blissful sleep. Grayson was free, and she could rest now.
Lemuel blasted his bugle again, and Nathan lit another fuse with his torch, the cherry bottle exploding from the gunpowder siphoned into it. Fire sparked the pile of leaves under it. Holding his torch high, Nathan ran farther back into the woods to light the final bottle.
Darkness was over them now, and he could hear the British muskets firing into the trees. When Lemuel first blasted the bugle, he and Zadock had run separate ways, setting off the grandest display of noise and fire they could muster to draw the British troops away from their camp and Porter’s ship.
General Washington might question why they used so many of their supplies to rescue the prisoners, but Nathan knew they needed Grayson and his men to continue securing food and ammunition for this war. And he had promised Lydia that if she gave them information, he would do whatever he could to keep her family safe.
Another round of musket shots jolted him. The soldiers were much closer, hopefully fearing a serious threat in the forest. The three men were far outnumbered, but the British didn’t know it. They only needed to hold their attention long enough for Sarah to find a way onto the boat and for Elisha to paddle the boat around the schooners.
Darkness and—he hoped—confusion would keep the soldiers at bay for the remainder of the night.
He, Porter, and Sarah had all known what could happen if they were caught, but they had chosen to gamble for the sake of freedom. He wasn’t responsible for Porter’s capture, and yet it still troubled him. Lydia’s brother, he prayed, was free tonight.
Three horses waited by the creek. The people of York weren’t thrilled about having the British camping in their backyard, and they had been kind to Nathan and the others by giving them horses to use.
He hopped onto one of the horses, hoping that Zadock and Lemuel were close behind him, and glanced back over his shoulder one last time. Muskets continued to pop in the darkness, but he still couldn’t see anyone.
He would ride west while the others went north. Or at least, he hoped they would.
The Courier of Caswell Hall (American tapestries) Page 22
