“Ma’am!” Gus was so happy to hear praise, he did not dare tell her that Mr. Harding had only yesterday taught him all this. He hung his head backwards to inspect the sails that still cracked liked whips above him. “I think the winds have started to die down a bit. In fact – ” His voice rose an octave.“In fact, I’m sure of it.”
Hearing his words, James and Mr. Harding both gazed upwards. “You’re quite right, Mr. Walby.” James stared out upon the lonely spot where Mr. Alexander had been swallowed by the sea. “But what a price we’ve paid for this bit of luck.” Sighing, he turned to Mr. Harding. “Should God spare us on this day and we’re lucky enough to avoid the shoals, drop the anchors the moment the lead comes up with sand and begin making those repairs. I’ll be in my cabin with Mr. Austen and the first of our prisoners.” James leaned closer to the sailing master and lowered his voice. “In the meantime, tell the officers on watch to keep a sharp lookout. The wind has cruelly tossed us into unknown waters. Let’s hope no one’s waiting for us.”
The captain’s ominous words caused Emily’s knees to grow weak. An image of a shadowy uniformed figure filled her thoughts, leaving her despairing as she began making her way back to the hospital. She held the hood of Leander’s coat close to her face as she jostled her way through the sailors hurrying back to their stations, unaware that Octavius Lindsay, who stood in conversation with three sailors in her path, had seen through her disguise; his penetrating eyes singled her out as she headed towards the ship’s stern and crawled along the starboard rail to the ladder down.
Thankful that the northeast winds had subsided and she could get her footing, Emily soon discovered she was following on the heels of Fly Austen, who was leading a shirt-clad prisoner from the Liberty towards Captain Moreland’s cabin. The prisoner was a giant of a man with impressive arm muscles and a dishevelled copper-coloured pigtail that hung down his stooped back.
“I will ask our cook to bring you a mug of hot coffee for your interview,” said Fly to the man, “although I daresay you’d prefer wine.”
“A can o’ grog wouldn’t go amiss, Mr. Austen, sir. It soothes all that ails a man,” replied the prisoner in a low gravelly voice as distinctive as the British colours that flew from the Isabelle’s stern and mainmast. Emily stopped suddenly in her tracks to stare after them. Her heart quickened and her mouth went dry.
She was acquainted with this prisoner.
7:30 a.m.
(Morning Watch, Seven Bells)
BISCUIT SET DOWN A TRAY laden with hot coffee, sea biscuits, and strawberry jam upon the Captain’s rectangular table. “I’ll have thee stove warmed up in no time, sir, now that thee wind’s abatin’. Will ya be wantin’ a proper breakfast?”
“Thank you, Biscuit. A bowl of oatmeal would be most welcome.” James shifted in his chair to look at the prisoner. “What about you, Mr. Brodie?”
“I’ll gladly accept whatever’s put in front o’ me,” he said, eyeing the biscuits hungrily.
“Well, I’ll be!” exclaimed Biscuit. “Yer a Scotsman!”
“That I be, frae bonny Scotland.”
“It’s obvious ya ain’t no Yankee.”
“Thank you for pointing that out,” said James with some humour.
“Maybe later, after they’re done interrogatin’ ya,” Biscuit went on merrily, “we can raid thee grog barrels together and speak of thee auld country.”
Mr. Brodie gave his countryman a toothless grin.
“Biscuit! See to your cooked breakfast.”
“Sir.” Biscuit bowed and reluctantly left the cabin.
Fly poured James and Mr. Brodie a mug of coffee, then one for himself. He downed it as quickly as a shot of whiskey. In the grey morning light that filtered in through his cabin’s windows, James could see that Fly’s face had aged overnight. The whites of his eyes were red, and his complexion was pale and puffy.
Leaning back in his chair with his mug of coffee, James stifled a yawn and tried to assume a more serious attitude. “Tell us, Mr. Brodie, where were you born?”
“In Girvan, Scotland, sir, in thee year of our Lord, 1789.”
“And how long have you been a seaman?”
“I joined thee Royal Navy when I was ten. Worked me way up to captain o’ thee maintop. Sailed on thee Victory with Lord Nelson himself. I was there when he was shot at Trafalgar in ’05.”
Fly could not help the wave of envy that swept over him. “You are lucky, Mr. Brodie. That is an honour of which few men can boast.”
“We all admired Lord Nelson, but …” He turned his copper-haired head to look at Captain Moreland. “I admired you more, sir.”
James straightened in his chair and set his mug down on the table. “You once sailed with me?”
“That I did. Before thee Victory, I was thee sail maker on thee Isabelle.”
James’s face twitched. “I thought my memory was still sound … I do not recall a man such as yourself.”
“I was still a young lad. Early ’04 it was. We was on blockade duty at Brest, off thee coast of France.”
Fly watched James’s face drain of its colour, much the way it had when Emily had first mentioned the name of Thomas Trevelyan.
“I believe it was your last voyage, sir, before ya – well, before ya retired,” continued Brodie. “Ya’ll remember … ya was commandin’ thee Isabelle at Brest along with King George’s son, thee Duke o’ Wessex. As I recall it, sir, Wessex scared thee lot o’ us.”
“I’ve heard tell that Wessex was a harsh disciplinarian and notorious for swearing like a tinker,” said Fly, glancing at James. “Am I right, sir?”
James picked up his mug and sipped his coffee thoughtfully. He gave a slight nod, but made no comment. Instead, he switched the subject. “Mr. Brodie, you were brought on board last night with forty-five other men. Do you know or recognize any of the others?”
“Not a one, sir. But I can tell ya they’ll all swear to bein’ Yankee. Hard to tell when I heard plenty o’ English tongues among ’em.”
“We’ll deal with them in our own way later,” said Fly, rubbing his face.
“How long then were you a crew member on the Liberty?” asked James.
“Two days, sir.”
“Why only two days?”
“Before that I was a prisoner on a Yankee frigate, thee Serendipity it was.”
Fly saw a slight quivering of James’s hands around his mug. When his captain said nothing in reply, he asked, “Under the command of Thomas Trevelyan?”
“Aye, Trevelyan was his name. I was lyin’ in his gaol, keepin’ company with rats whilst he did battle with yas a week back. Ya did enough damage he had to flee to Norfolk, Virginia, to make repairs, but me, I was sent straightaway to thee Liberty, ’cause their own Cap’n Butterfield had been ordered to go after ya, to give ya chase, even though ya was a bigger ship, possessin’ more guns.”
Fly and James exchanged glances.
“You said you were a prisoner on the Serendipity.” James’s voice was hoarse.
“Aye, sir.” Mr. Brodie looked again at the biscuits. Fly slid the plate under his nose and gestured for him to help himself. “Much obliged, Mr. Austen.”
“When and how were you taken Trevelyan’s prisoner?”
Mr. Brodie gobbled a biscuit before answering. “I was on an East India merchant vessel called thee Amelia, bound for Upper Canada.”
“Were you being escorted by a man-of-war?”
“Nay, thee Amelia was a large vessel with plenty o’ eighteen-pounder guns of her own.” He reached for a second biscuit and rapidly disposed of it. “We was carryin’ supplies of all kinds: farm equipment and seeds, wine, materials, linens, guns, gunpowder, you name it. As well, we had a number o’ families, mostly women and children, travellin’ to meet their military husbands posted at York, Kingston, and Quebec.”
“Go on.”
“We was nearin’ Halifax when we was attacked. About four in thee mornin’ it was. Trevelyan – he caught us by surprise – subjugated us with his
guns and grapeshot, then lashed his ship to ours and boarded us. Straight off, his men killed a good number of our crew. But others, includin’ me, was tied up and hurled like sacks o’ taters onto thee main deck of thee Serendipity. We could hear thee women and children screamin’ and cryin’ below on thee Amelia. But we – we couldna do a thing.” Mr. Brodie lowered his head. “Lord, it was awful hearin’ those babies cry.”After a moment he raised his eyes to James and Fly. “Me and thee others was taken below to Trevelyan’s gaol, and later on it was, I overheard a couple o’ his men say they’d burned thee Amelia.”
James suddenly looked more alert. “How long ago was this, Mr. Brodie?”
“Can’t rightly say, sir, on account I was knocked about thee head badly. Maybe four weeks back.”
“Sir?” Fly looked at James questioningly.
“Mr. Austen, do you recall in Bermuda we were visited by a Captain Prickett and Lord Bridlington from the Amethyst? You were not present at our meeting, but they told me that about four weeks back my old friend William Uptergrove had come upon the debris of a burned merchant vessel, sitting fifty miles southeast of Halifax.” He turned back to Mr. Brodie with a furrowed brow. “Can you offer any explanation as to why your ship was destroyed and not just taken a prize?”
“I canna, sir.”
“Didn’t you say you had plenty of guns?” Fly asked in an agitated manner. “Where were your gunners? How could Trevelyan have taken you by surprise?”
“I’m afraid I dunno, sir. I was off duty at thee time and, well, thee night before I’d had a wee bit too much grog and had been makin’ rather merry. I can tell ya this – our captain was as weak as a woman, sir. He had trouble keepin’ thee men in line.”
“You said that Trevelyan took others from the Amelia besides yourself … How many?” asked James, his fingers clasped beneath his nose. Fly, cognizant of what James was getting at, looked eagerly at Mr. Brodie.
“Don’t rightly know, sir. There was twenty men in thee gaol. Maybe there was others.” Mr. Brodie quickly swallowed his third biscuit. “But this much I can tell ya. Trevelyan took a woman from thee Amelia before he burned her.”
James regarded Mr. Brodie with interest as the Scotman drained his coffee mug.
“I saw him holdin’ Mrs. Seaton roughly like and she screamin’ like a banshee.”
“Mrs. Seaton?”
“Who is she?”
“Thee lovely lass who always spoke to me whenever she took exercise above deck.”
“What do you know of this Mrs. Seaton?”
Mr. Brodie shrugged. “Not a lot. She was always askin’ thee questions o’ me. She always wore such pretty dresses and hats. Oh … I do recall this one time, when thee weather was fine, she put on men’s trousers and climbed a wee way up thee shrouds just ta say hello. Shocked thee lot o’ us.”
“Was she travelling alone?”
“Nay. There was a woman with ’er, a servin’ woman, she was.”
“Anyone else?”
“Aye, Mr. Seaton – her husband. Never spoke ta him. He had an aloof, arrogant kind o’ look to ’im.”
Fly pressed his lips together and went quiet while Mr. Brodie happily polished off the plate of sea biscuits. Through the galleried windows at their backs, the sun began to peek through the clouds, sending warm light shadows to dance upon James’s oak table.
“What became of Mr. Seaton and this serving woman?” asked James.
“Don’t rightly know, sir.”
“You said there were many women on the Amelia. Why then would Trevelyan have taken only Mrs. Seaton?”
“Not certain of that either, sir, but I can tell ya this – Trevelyan’s servant, a mongrel named Lind, came down below ta give we Amelias food. When I asked him about Mrs. Seaton, he smiled and said she was ironin’ thee cap’n’s shirts.”
A spasm of irritation crossed Fly’s face. James’s voice stayed even. “Anything else?”
“Aye. Lind said Trevelyan holds an ancient grudge against Mrs. Seaton’s father.”
James’s jaw worked as he stirred his coffee with a silver teaspoon. “And where is she now? Still on the Serendipity?”
“I’ve asked, sir … no one can say.”
James stood up suddenly, the legs of his chair scratching the worn floorboards. He stepped over to the windows to gaze out upon a calmer sea, then abruptly marched to the door of his cabin, yanked it open, and bellowed, “Call for Mr. Spooner.” At last, he wheeled about to face the big Scotsman, who quickly rose from his chair.
“You have been most helpful, Mr. Brodie. Our purser, Mr. Spooner, will see to your provisioning – clothes, a hammock, and whatever else you may need. As we’re quite short of men and our young sail maker was injured in yesterday’s skirmish, we’ll need you to begin working in the sail room. And should you possess any carpentry skills, we would surely welcome them.” He extended his right hand to Mr. Brodie who gripped it fervently.
“’Tis a pleasure to be back on thee Isabelle, sir.”
Once the door had closed behind Mr. Brodie and Mr. Spooner, James shot a glance at Fly, who was trying to snooze with one eye closed.
“Before we question the other men from the Liberty, I’d like to drop anchor and start in on our repairs.” He unbuttoned his jacket as he plunked down wearily into his wing chair. “But first – we have men to bury.” He folded his arms across his belly and closed his eyes. “So stay where you are and sleep well.”
“You too, sir.” Fly shuttered his other eye.
“I was thinking,” mumbled James, half asleep already, “ perhaps it is time to interview Emily again.”
“My sentiments exactly, sir.”
9:00 a.m.
(Forenoon Watch, Two Bells)
MAGPIE'S MOANS AWOKE EMILY, who had been sleeping on the stool next to his hammock, her cheek resting against the post closest to his head. She stood up to stretch the knotted muscles in her back, wincing as her swollen foot touched the cold, wet floor, but when Magpie’s remaining eye popped open to find her standing watch over him, her smile was warm.
“How’re you feeling?” she asked, reaching out to touch the bit of his forehead not covered in bandages to check for signs of a fever.
Magpie moved his lips, but was unable to give Emily more than a whimper of pain.
“Is there anything you need?”
His ghostly face brightened a bit.
“What is it? A cup of water, perhaps?”
Magpie lifted a corner of the blanket currently covering his body, and whispered, “Me special blanket.”
“Is it in the sail room down on the orlop deck?”
He nodded.
“Right, then. I will go fetch it as soon as I am able.”
A look of alarm suddenly crossed Magpie’s features, and he tried raising himself up on one elbow.
“Lie still,” Emily gently admonished him. “I know. You are worried I’ll be severely punished if Captain Moreland should catch me down on the orlop.”
“Aye,” he said, gritting his teeth as he lay back down upon his pillow.
Emily’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. “The men will soon be summoned to the burial service on the main deck. I will go then.”
He gave her a feeble smile and closed his eye.
The minute Magpie slipped into sleep, Emily parted the canvas curtains to survey a scene of bedlam in the hospital. Four more men had died that morning, and their bodies were being carried from the hospital by Maggot and Weevil, whose linen shirts were soaked in sweat. One of the dead men was the teenaged lad who had helped Emily carry Magpie to her bed yesterday, the one who had claimed, “Only got lead in me leg, but I don’t feel it none.” Emily’s chest knotted in emotion as she said a prayer for the poor young man.
The groans and wails of the injured resonated around the cramped quarters. Some of the men hollered profanities while others mumbled senseless remarks in their stuporous sleep. The air was rank with body odour, bitter medicines, and festering wounds. Mov
ing amongst the chaos and the cots, administering food, medicine, and words of comfort were Leander, Osmund, and two loblolly boys whom Emily had never seen before. Leander was pale, moving slowly, his cream-coloured shirt once again splattered with blood. Behind his round spectacles, his blue eyes were red-rimmed.
Seeing her, he said, “I’m afraid, Emily, this is not the most pleasant place at the moment.”
“Your gaol is full, Doctor, and as I refuse to bunk in with Mrs. Kettle, you’re stuck with me.”
Mr. Crump, ever ready with his quick wit, piped up. “Ya wouldn’t be gittin’ any peace at all if ya was bunked in with dear Meggie Kettle.”
Emily, far from being affronted, smiled at Mr. Crump. “I’ll take my chances here in the hospital, thank you.”
“Safest place fer ya, Miss Emily. The men here, even if they had a hank’ring to jump ya, are incapable of doin’ so.” He patted the stump of his amputated leg.
Leander frowned at the saucy landsman. “Mr. Crump, your tongue is liable to get you tossed from my hospital.”
Mr. Crump’s hand flew to his mouth and his eyes widened. “I’ll hold it then, Doctor.”
Emily turned to Leander. “If you don’t soon get some sleep, you’ll end up a patient yourself.”
He smiled wanly. “And if I do, would you give me rum and laudanum and an occasional cup of water?”
“No. As punishment for allowing yourself to get sick, I would bestow that honour upon Mr. Brockley.”
Leander threw up his slim arms. “In that case, I am going. I’m going to get some sleep.”
“You’re welcome to my corner, although the floor in there is wet, so you’ll have to sleep on the stool next to Magpie.”
He dipped his hands into a basin of pink water and dried them on a square of cloth. “Thank you, but I have a cabin down on the orlop deck. Unless we do battle again in the next few hours, Osmund should be fine with his charges. And Mr. Evans, as he still possesses all of his limbs and faculties, has promised to watch out for you while I’m gone.”
Morgan saluted Emily from his cot, but his eyes did not meet the compassionate light that shone from hers. She turned away from Morgan and lowered her voice. “How is he, Doctor?”
Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle Page 12
