by Lynn Hubbard
“Indeed. We are set to sail at your order.”
“Then let’s be off!” Tristan said, leading Sarah below deck.
Sarah held onto the wall to aide her balance as the ship swayed beneath her. Lanterns had been lit and eerie shadows stretched out before her as she passed. She entered the captain’s quarters and knelt by the trunk she had packed days before. She was barely aware of Tristan changing next to her. His presence was now as natural as breathing, and just as necessary. She pulled free the ragged dress she had arrived in; it was symbolic for her to wear it as she left.
She stood and swayed heavily as they pulled out of dock. She turned her back to him, undressing. He laid his hand on her shoulder to stop her.
Sarah turned to face him and her eyes widened. He had transformed in just minutes from a prominent civilian to a black clad pirate. His light hair and eyes contrasted sharply with his attire.
“Umm...” was the only word that escaped.
He grinned. “I would love to stay but I’m needed on the quarter deck. Stay here until I return. I would trust these men with my life, but not my lady,” he cautioned as he turned and headed out the door. She heard it click behind him but paid it no mind, placing a hand on her flushed cheek.
Even after all the intimate nights they had shared, he still affected her greatly. She unbuttoned her gown and shrugged out of it before starting on the rest of her garb.
Once dressed, she peeked out the window, watching the wake stretch out behind them. Mesmerized by the sight, she sat on the bunk and watched the city lights as their reflection glistened on the water. Gabe’s job was to have overcome the replacement guards and send in his own men in their stead. She prayed that the transition had gone smoothly. She knew that the men had more than likely been killed in the process; however her heart had hardened to the point where she did not care.
How many of her men were hauled off daily? Dead from disease or starvation, they were buried in mass graves without thought or care. No, it was a necessary measure, and she would feel no guilt.
***
Tristan ordered the lanterns extinguished as they approached their quarry. The mastless ship was anchored in the bay, a dark hulk against the dark sky. A flicker of light flashed on the deck and then brightened when a lantern was lit. It was a signal that all had gone as planned.
He looked over as Zach walked up to him. “Where’s the girl? I thought she was coming along.”
Tristan smiled grimly. “Change of plans; she’ll be staying in my cabin.”
“Does she know that?”
“I’m sure she’ll find out soon enough.” He felt a bit guilty about locking her in, however he would feel a whole lot worse if she came to harm.
Cloaked in darkness, they pulled up next to the floating prison on the left flank. The hulk would shield them from the view of the main waterway. Ropes were tossed and tethered the ships together, as several planks were laid for crossing.
***
Sarah paced restlessly in the cabin, awaiting Tristan’s return. She felt the ship turn sharply and clung to the bedstead to keep her balance. Feeling a bit dizzy from the steady motion she sat on the bed. Peeking out the window, she could make out the shadow of the ship close by. The water sloshed between the two and it seemed so close she could possibly reach out and touch it.
Activity erupted from the upper deck and she could hear men moving about. Had Tristan forgotten about her? With a new urgency, she walked to the door and grasped the iron knob. She twisted her hand, but the handle stood firm. Surprised, she made another attempt. Locked.
She examined the door in the dim light seeping in from the window. Using her hands to guide her, she searched for a latch, and found none. What she did find was a keyhole. The bastard had locked her in.
Anger filled her being as her more complacent side whispered, he would be back, be patient. She heard the wood creaking from the ship and frowned. It was happening now; she needed to help. Her hand ran over the iron hinges, knowing there was no way through the heavy mahogany door.
Her eyes turned to the window; she pushed it open and looked out. The velvety darkness surrounded her. Looking down she could only see the black waterway below. Twisting to look up, it was about ten feet to the foredeck. Searching for footholds, she made up her mind and eased onto the window frame. Grasping a guide rope to steady herself she stood on the ledge. Her legs wobbled as the swaying ship tried to send her to her grave. Taking a deep breath, she grasped the edge of the window above her and used the rope to help pull herself up. She only four feet away from her quarry, but it felt like forty. She could hear the men now; their quiet murmurings to each other were carried to her on the wind.
Looking up, she noticed the overhang above her. There was no way she could pull herself over that. Following the rope, she gaged it to be tethered somewhere on the main deck. She had two choices climb back inside or climb the rope. With a swift prayer, she leaned out over the dark water and wrapped her legs around the thick rope.
She had often climbed ropes with her brother growing up. On rainy days they would climb up into the hayloft in the barn. She had gotten quite good at it, better than Silas even. However, that was many years ago, and she had no wind or darkness to contend with then.
Steeling her resolve, she slowly inched herself up the rope. The noises from the deck growing louder offered her encouragement. Her arms ached and her ankles and palms were raw from the rough hemp. Nearing the top, she reached out, grasping the wood decking and pulled herself on top. As she rested, she used the time to watch what was happening.
It was a controlled chaos as men were lead below the decks. Some walked, and some crawled, while others were carried. Her eyes searched for Tristan, but he could not be seen. His men were dressed in a similar fashion. Much different than the white billowing shirts she was used to them wearing.
Finding her second wind, she climbed down to the main deck and made her way over to where the ships were conjoined. The smell hit her first. It seeped out from the hulk, an odor she was all too familiar with; the scent of death and disease.
She saw one of the men retch over the side before once again making his way back to the hulk. Following him, she came to the narrow plank; it was about a four-foot gap between the boats. However, the thin wood was much narrower than what she was accustomed to. Watching one of the seamen cross in two strides, she moved to follow him.
Iron clamped around her arm and she turned to look up into Tristan’s angry face. “How the hell did you get out?”
Two things hit her at once. One, she had never seen him so angry, and it was a bit intimidating; and two, he had locked her in on purpose.
“I climbed out the window.”
“What? Are you insane?”
“Me insane? You intentionally locked me up! You lied to me!”
Tristan growled and pulled her aside so the men could pass. “You would only slow us down, we will discuss this later. If you are determined to help, there are plenty of men down below you can start with.”
Sarah’s chest heaved with unreleased rage as she watched more men stumble past her to the hold. Without a word, she spun on her heels and followed. Lanterns were allowed down beneath since there were no windows and her eyes took in the rows of men. In her element, she took control and started barking orders to the able bodied men in her care. She had the sick men separated from the injured and began assessing their needs.
***
Tristan crossed to the prison ship, he was intent on finding Gabriel’s brother. He was sickened from the stench, but pressed on. Men were still being lead out, a never-ending trail of despair. The more able-bodied of the prisoners were still below, trying to save all they could. Several lifeless bodies littered the floor and Tristan stepped over them after carefully checking the faces. Most were so emaciated, Jonathan could be right in front of him and he would not be recognized.
Knowing that time was running out, he held his lantern high and called out, “Jonathan, Jonathan Morris!”
as he looked for any sign of life left in the hull.
“Here,” a raspy voice called out.
Tristan hurried toward the sound. He found Jonathan lying in a corner. He was so gaunt his face was sunken and he appeared twenty years older than his actual seventeen years.
“Jonathan, you’re safe now. We have to hurry,” Tristan said.
“Leave me,” Jonathan whispered back.
“Not this night,” Tristan replied, lifting him easily and laying him over his shoulder for convenience. Seeing no other signs of life as he made his way toward hatch, he yelled for his men to clear out.
The exit was lit by moonlight. Upon reaching the main deck, Jonathan grabbed the lantern from Tristan’s hand and tossed it into the hold as he rasped, “No more.” The lantern exploded in a shower of glass, oil and spark. The flames licked to life, tasting the worn wooden stairs.
“Damn!” Tristan exclaimed, shouting orders to his men. “Fire! Return at once, free her bow!”
Men scurried here and there; the few left on the smoking hulk scurried across with Tristan on their heels. With no chance for life for those, if any, left on board hatchets cut the ropes. Long poles and planks were used to edge away from the now flaming ship.
With Zack in charge, Tristan carried Jonathan down into the hull. His eyes gazed over the rows of ill men seeking out Sarah. He found her working with a man who had a festering leg wound.
Her eyes met his, showing relief when she spotted him. Seeing his cargo, she motioned him to a bare spot on the floor. He hesitated at placing his friend on the thin blanket, but it was much better than his previous conditions.
His hands free, he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. “This is Gabe’s brother, take care of him. The other ship is on fire, I’m needed on deck.”
“Go,” she whispered, kissing his neck as he pulled away. He held her a second longer at arm’s length as if he was memorizing her face. Nodding, he released her and turned swiftly, moving toward the stairs.
The crew that was helping her left as well to get the ship under sail. Left by herself, her eyes swept over the sea of men before her. With grim determination, she returned to her work.
Chapter 25 Night Battle
Tristan ascended the stairs two steps at a time. Reaching the main deck, the wind blew smoke and ash into his face. Cursing, he headed to the helm.
The flames lit up the night sky, and he knew the British would soon be moving in to investigate. He stood at the front and shouted guidance back to Zack, whom was steering the ship into the main channel. They had almost melded into the darkness when the first ship appeared.
Luckily the burning hulk captured their attention, and they breathed a sigh of relief as they headed toward the mouth of the Chesapeake and toward the sea. It was actually a brilliant move and he would have to thank Jonathan when he met him next. Apparently, flaming prison ships were not too unusual. If he were a prisoner, he would rather burn to death than live in that filth with no hope.
He spotted a British war ship anchored up ahead, and hoped to slide by them. His men were at station, and he knew the cannons were ready at their calling. Of course, the British ship was over twice as long as the Vixen and had three times the firepower.
They had been moving slowly, not wanting to draw attention by using the full sail. Perhaps, it was a mistake. With the prison ship illuminating the night sky behind them, they made a perfect silhouette.
“Halt!” The order rang out as Tristan’s options ran through his brain. He could see other ships moving far behind them as they were awakened by the blast. He could try bluffing his way out of it; however, if they insisted on boarding, all hell would break loose. Ships do not stop on a dime, so it would give them some precious distance by ignoring the request.
A whistle blew, a bell clanged, and again halt was yelled.
“Full sail!” he cried, hoping to catch them off guard. Their ship was barely moving and would take some time to get the large ship moving.
Men set into motion and moments later, the sails billowed and grasped at every breath of wind that passed. Tristan grasped the railing as they picked up speed.
Needless to say, the first cannon blast caught him by surprise. It splashed into the water next to them and he knew it was a warning blast as well as a test for aim.
Cursing, he ordered the men to load the cannons, the ship would have to turn to offer a real fight, and he hoped to be far away by then. The Vixen did have one advantage; speed.
They could hear the anchor clanging against the British hull as it was pulled up and they began chase. He was not as worried about the ship behind him as he was about any ships in front of him.
They reached the bay and saw only one ship in their path. His heart beat quickly in his chest; it had already turned for battle with its 40 guns loaded and ready. Just when he thought all was lost, a cloud passed, freeing the moonlight and revealing the Sea Maiden.
A grin spread across his face as they drew near their sister ship. At full sail they soon were next to the Maiden, and the men good heartedly exchanged catcalls.
Gabriel met Tristan’s eyes as they passed and Tristan gave him a thumbs up, a pre-arranged signal which meant that Jonathan was on board and alive. Gabriel nodded and saluted Tristan as they floated by. He turned his attention to the British ship ambling toward them. His brother was safe and he intended to keep it like that.
The British ship crept closer as it moved to follow and seemed to hesitate, deciding whether to head straight on or turn to fight the Sea Maiden.
The Sea Maiden’s lesser-numbered 12-pound cannons would not hold out for long against the British 16-pounders. But surprise was theirs, and they took advantage firing all facing cannons at the British mast and took it down. The now slower and floundering ship started to turn to fight as The Sea Maiden was already following the path of the Vixen. A final volley of cannon bursted out from the British and the sickening thump of iron hitting wood sounded around them. Fortunately only a couple hit their target, and as men scampered to assist the wounded and reinforce leaks in the hull, Gabriel headed the ship out to sea.
***
Below deck on the Vixen, Sarah tried to keep her balance as the ship escaped. Giving up, she sat on the wooden floor and prayed that all were safe. The deafening sounds of cannons terrified her, and she realized it was not for her safety she worried, but for Tristan’s. The men with her were quiet for the most part. Most slept, some groaned from pain and fever. Some of the healthier ones wanted to help and she allowed them to go above deck after drinking and eating their share. They were not allowed a full meal, after being without food for so long, it would have only made them sick. She made arrangements for them to sleep on deck, trying to separate the ill from the healthy.
She stopped next to Jonathan’s bed and sat next to him. He was lying so still she thought he was asleep; it was not until he turned his bright eyes on her that she realized he was just listening. Listening, like her, for any news from above. Their fates stood in limbo and she placed her hand on his shoulder for comfort.
“I’m sure all is fine.”
“How do you know?” he asked with worry.
“Because we aren’t wet,” she replied with a smile.
He tried to laugh and ended up coughing hard; he fell back to the blanket, his strength drained by even that simple action. The steady sloshing of water lapping against the wood soon lulled him back to sleep and even Sarah felt her own eyes closing.
Shaking her head, she stood, stretching out her limbs. There would be no sleep for her tonight. There was too much work. She made her way back to the corner where the sickest men lay. One man moaned in his restless sleep, and she felt his head; it was hot with fever. Grabbing a bucket of clean water, she started basking his forehead. Noticing the open sores on his arms and face, she suspected small pox. His chance of survival was slim, about one in four survived.
Small pox was rare these days; Washington made sure all his troops were inocul
ated and as many of the citizens as possible. This man, who was older than the average soldier was probably a civilian, and she wondered about his presence in the prison. Bathing his heated flesh kept her worried mind occupied and she relished the escape.
A flash of light caught her eye and she looked up as a lantern descended the stairs. Tristan’s shadowed face was beautiful to her and she shouted out to him.
“I’m over here! Don’t get too close; he is ill.”
Tristan frowned at her. “Aren’t you too close?”
She ignored him. “What is the news?”
“We are free. The Sea Maiden stayed behind, but apparently, the British didn’t see us as too much of a threat since they did not bother giving chase.”
“I guess it is lucky for us they are an arrogant lot.”
“All is well, we will travel as far as we can tonight and reassess tomorrow. You should come get some rest,” he replied.
She shook her head, “I am needed here. There will be time to rest later. In the morning we need to strip the men in the hold and toss their clothes. Their blankets should be dipped in seawater and placed on the deck to dry. The hold must be washed down with vinegar, I need to get these men healthy, and keep the crew safe. ”
Tristan nodded and headed over to check on Jonathan. He was now sleeping soundly and Tristan frowned at his rattling breaths. “Hang in there,” he whispered, heading back above deck.
***
The sun rose gloriously the next day. Its colors painted the water, appearing to rise out of the sea. Tristan had stayed on deck and searched for any signs of the Sea Maiden. They were a week away from their destination, a small island off the coast of Georgia. With everything in check on deck, he chose a handful of men to assist below.
Sarah awoke with a start; she had leaned back against the wall to rest for a few minutes and had fallen asleep. As her eyes focused, she took in the sight of Tristan kneeling in front of her.
