Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle

by CHERYL COOPER

  Still nothing.

  “Thank you.”

  Somewhere beyond her cabin another door opened and Emily could hear muted voices approaching. In a flash, whoever had come to her with food, stole away.

  13

  Monday, June 21

  Noon

  (Forenoon Watch, Eight Bells)

  Aboard the Prosperous and Remarkable

  THE MOMENT MAGPIE opened his one eye to the new day, he drew a sigh of relief. There, in the low cot next to him, nestled in the forepeak of Prosper Burgo’s brig, was Gus. His face was as wan as a morning moon, and his arms, resting on a plaid blanket, were bound in fresh splints, but Magpie could hear his even breathing, and was so happy he hadn’t died in the night and Prosper’s crew hadn’t had to heave his lifeless body over the side of the Prosperous and Remarkable. Peeling back his own blanket, Magpie got to his feet and went above deck in search of the commander, thinking it was only proper to thank him for all his kindness.

  The day was dull and warm and a humid rain fell. Magpie trudged the unfamiliar flush-deck, pausing now and again to ask passing sailors if they knew the whereabouts of Captain Burgo. Finally, one of them pointed towards the bow.

  “He often stands there, lookin’ fer fat merchantmen with holds o’ valuable cargo.”

  The only ship Magpie had ever been on was the Isabelle. In comparison, Prosper’s brig was diminutive, and congested with clutter and livestock pens. Only two masts rose up over its small decks, on which fifty or so men roamed – not one of them dressed in a proper uniform – and he’d counted only fourteen guns in all. Inching his way fore, Magpie found himself distracted by the new sights and the curious, hardened faces of the crew. It was no surprise to Magpie that Prosper found him first, magically appearing before him when he hopped down from the fore rigging with his spyglass in hand. Setting his fox-like features in a frown, he scrutinized the fresh bandage on Magpie’s head. Being, among other things, the ship’s surgeon, Prosper himself had meticulously applied it the night before.

  “’Bout time yas were roused, Magpie. Ya come on board, gulp down me vittles, tell me yarns about thee Isabelle and Serendipity and some wench named Em’ly, and then ya go sleepin’ right round thee watch. Do ya fancy I’m runnin’ a hostelry here?”

  “No, sir, but I didn’t sleep too good in the skiff.”

  Prosper turned and shouted, “Mr. Dunkin, ya scoundrel! Find our little friend here a raincoat o’ sorts.” To Magpie, he said, “Now don’t be callin’ me Sir. I prefers thee sound o’ Prosper.”

  “But aren’t ya the captain?”

  “I’m thee owner o’ this here brig!”

  “But ya give the orders, don’t ya, sir?”

  Prosper shrugged. “That I do! And I ’spect me men ta obey me. If they get foolhardy I pitch ’em overboard, or fix thumbscrews ta their sensitive parts, or I leave ’em on a deserted island where they starve ta death – slowly.”

  Magpie looked out upon the dreary seas and wondered if he’d be spending the rest of his life with Prosper Burgo. He didn’t like the sound of those thumbscrews! Reluctantly he followed Prosper down the deck, frightened by the red and purple veins that rose on the man’s face whenever he roared out his commands.

  “There’s a wind come up, ya bunch o’ ruffians. Square away thee yards. You there! Clear out this pen. It reeks. You lubbers sittin’ on yer arses can move these barrels below and earn yer supper. Pemberton, ya galoot, bring me and Magpie here a mug o’ chocolate.” Prosper paused to take in air and assumed the ship’s wheel from Pemberton Baker.

  “Have ya spotted any fat merchantmen, Mr. Prosper?” asked Magpie in a small voice.

  “Nay! Plenty o’ fishin’ vessels, but there ain’t no merchantmen to be seen. I was hopin’ these warmer waters would be crawlin’ with ’em. Ya see, they’re all holed up in them northern harbours thanks ta yer Royal Navy, and it’s been kinda hard on me fortunes o’ late.”

  “What will ya do when ya see one?”

  “Why, I’ll give ’em chase, board ’em, cut up their crew, and seize their ship.”

  “Yer a pirate, then?”

  “Nay!” He lifted his stubbly chin to the wind. “Me Prosperous and Remarkable’s got a letter o’ marque.”

  “What’s that?” asked Magpie, as the scoundrel named Mr. Dunkin helped him into a hooded poncho.

  “It’s a piece o’ paper given ta me by me governor allowin’ me ta rob enemy ships at will.”

  Magpie’s eye shot open. “Yer not Yankee, are ya, Mr. Prosper?”

  “Yankee? I woulda strung ya up – and yer friend, despite his afflictions – if I be Yankee.”

  Magpie’s hand flew to his throat.

  “Nay! I’m from Quebec!” continued Prosper. “Born in thee Magdalen Islands, smack dab in thee mighty St. Lawrence.”

  “I ain’t never heard o’ those places, Mr. Prosper.”

  “Hmm! Guess I’ll have ta take ya there one day, but only after I’ve plundered a few fat merchantmen and kin afford ta rest fer a spell.”

  “Where’re we now?”

  “We’ll soon be raisin’ Charleston. Intelligence tells me there ain’t many o’ yer British ships blockadin’ these parts … and that Trevelyan’s Serendipity’s bin seen headin’ this way.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I gotta hankerin’ ta meet yer Em’ly.”

  An icy ripple danced down Magpie’s spine. “Oh, Mr. Prosper, if Emily’s on the Serendipity – and I don’t know it fer sure, I’m only thinkin’ Trevelyan took her agin – ya wouldn’t think o’ hurtin’ her?”

  Prosper turned his ruddy face to the sea and grinned from ear to ear. “Nay, me little man. I wouldna think o’ it.”

  1:30 p.m.

  (Afternoon Watch, Three Bells)

  Aboard the USS Serendipity

  EMILY LOOKED UP from Jane Austen’s book, alerted by the heightened excitement on the quarterdeck beyond her door. The Serendipity was slowing down. For the past two hours she’d been engrossed in reading by lantern-light, positioned on the floor with her back leaning against the coolness of the cannon, and during that time she’d heard frequent calls to “heave the lead,” and replies that revealed the water depth was gradually diminishing. More recently, she’d heard orders for “all hands aloft” and “shorten sails” and “anchor down.”

  Picking herself up off the floor, she tossed the book onto her pillow and struggled to open the gunport, the windy, rainy conditions having made it necessary to keep it closed until now. To her delight, the Serendipity was sitting broadside to a sizable town. Towering church steeples, terraced homes, impressive buildings, wharves, and warehouses materialized in the mists beyond a harbour full of ships. Emily raised herself up on the cannon’s carriage so she could stick her head farther out the port. The rain had stopped and the winds had died away. There was a mucky, marshy smell in the air, curiously mingling with the fragrance of flowers. In the harbour lay moored countless bobbing vessels: fishing boats, cutters, merchantmen, cruisers, frigates, sloops, brigs, barques – she couldn’t even put a name to them all – and in no time the Serendipity herself was moored in the shallower waters. Listening to the commotion as the men, amid much laughter, prepared to lower the boats, Emily discovered her own spirits lifting.

  It had been almost three months since she had set sail from England, three months since she had last stepped on firm ground. She longed to touch trees and smell flowers and jump into a feather bed with fat pillows. It didn’t matter to her that this strange town was likely part of the United States; she still wondered what it had to offer. If she could wander through its streets, would she find bookshops and bakeshops and dressmakers, and perhaps an inn that did not serve its patrons hard biscuits and jellied pea soup?

  With envy, she watched as two cutters, each carrying twenty or so men, drifted into view from around the Serendipity’s stern, the oarsmen eagerly setting the oars into their locks while their mates cried out, “Huzzah!” in anticipation of the delights and entertainments t
hat awaited them and their hard-earned shillings. Emily couldn’t believe so many men had been granted leave to go ashore all at once, for she knew this sort of arrangement would not be tolerated amongst the captains and commanders of England’s Royal Navy. No sooner had she tucked away that thought when, to her further surprise, the ship’s launch rounded the bow with another twenty-five on board! It plied through the waters beneath her, so close she could read amusement in the sailors’ eyes as they beheld her leaning out the gunport.

  Trevelyan stood at the stern of the launch, his eyes haunting in that expressionless face of his. He was outfitted in his dress uniform: a dark blue jacket with startling white trim and flashing gold buttons, and bright white breeches. “Lay on your oars,” he shouted at his men, and they immediately ceased their rowing so that he could address Emily. He lifted his black bicorne from his matted hair and, in a voice as flat as the now-calm waters of the harbour said, “Madam, would you care to accompany us to William’s Coffee House for a meal, and have drinks later at McCrady’s Tavern?”

  Without thinking, Emily’s reply leapt from her lips. “Yes! Please! I would like that.”

  Trevelyan raised his eyebrows a notch. “Very well, then, find yourself a means of transportation and we’ll look forward to your company in town.”

  Emily’s face flushed as the men cackled and hooted, their heads and shoulders shaking with mirth as the launch rowed past her. Trevelyan pressed his hat down on his head and called for the oarsmen to pull harder. His men refocused on their tasks, all of them that is, but one. He continued to stare up at her, a smirk upon his lips. It was easy to recognize him, despite his new, borrowed uniform and the confidence that overspread his pockmarked face. Try as she might, she would never forget Octavius Lindsay.

  Emily slunk backwards into the shadows of her cabin, away from his probing eyes, and silently screamed at her stupidity. Her fist struck out at the wooden wall behind her, and with a howl, she collapsed to the floor in pain. There she drew her knees up to her chin and had a good cry, unaware of the sounds of bells and voices and screeching gulls around her. When her tears were spent, she lay still, her eyes absently roving over the confines of her cabin, her thoughts wading through a pool of anguish and apathy. A few inches from her damp brow, a stray sunbeam had found its way in through the open port. She reached out and placed her throbbing hand in the little circle of warm light that quivered on the floorboards. A sudden determination emboldened her to pick herself up off the ground and gaze out again. Trevelyan and his merry lot were now nowhere to be seen. She imagined they had arrived at one of the wharves and were now boisterously descending upon Charleston. She gazed up at the sky. There was an opening of blue in the parting clouds and a sunny sparkle on the spire of a white church. She glanced below, to the place where Trevelyan had addressed her from his launch, where the water now quietly licked at the hull. Her eyes shifted to the bobbing boats nearby, and finally rested upon the enticing skyline of the town.

  Nightfall could not come soon enough.

  7:00 p.m.

  (Second Dog Watch, Two Bells)

  JOE NORLAN WAS ABOUT TO CLIMB down the ladder to the waiting pinnace, but changed his mind when he caught sight of Leander leaning on the rail at the back of the ship, seemingly absorbed in the liveliness of the Charleston Harbour. “Just a minute,” he called down to the sailors who waited with anticipation to push off. They grumbled their acquiescence as Joe hurried along the deck to the spot where Leander stood. Upon reaching him, he cleared his throat and somewhat shyly asked, “Sir? Would – would you care to come with me?”

  When Leander looked at Joe, he seemed confused, as if he’d been dreaming of someplace far away and had not yet returned. He was unshaven and looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. “Where is it you’re going?”

  “Into Charleston, sir. I haven’t been off a ship in months; not going to miss my chance now.” Joe nodded towards the soldier who stood rigidly a few feet behind Leander. “You can bring him with you, sir.”

  Leander smiled wanly. “Yes, apparently I’m allowed more freedom as long as I have Mr. Morven in tow.”

  “Well, then?”

  “Well, then, I – I haven’t a clean shirt to wear.”

  “You’ve no time to change even if you did, sir. Will you come, then?”

  Leander hesitated, looking embarrassed. “I’m afraid I have no money. The little I once had went down with the Isabelle.”

  Joe slipped his hand into the pocket of his trousers and jingled a few coins. “I’ve plenty for the two of us; well, at least enough to buy us a decent meal.”

  While the sailors bellowed at Joe, “Hurry up, or thee boat’s leavin’ without yas!” Joe pleaded with the sullen-looking first lieutenant in charge to grant Leander shore leave. “Neither of us have enough money to get into much mischief, sir, and we can keep an eye out for the lads who will.”

  The first lieutenant considered a minute, his bushy-black eyebrows dancing up and down, and his lower lip thrusting in and out all the while. At last, a laugh burst from his fleshy face. “Did you figure, Mr. Norlan, that you and Dr. Braden can take liberties with our captain away from his ship?” He shoved Joe towards the ladder that dangled down the ship’s side. “You can go. But your friend here is required to stay on board to stitch the busted heads of those that’ll be swinging from the rigging tonight.”

  10:30 p.m.

  (First Watch, Five Bells)

  Aboard the Prosperous and Remarkable

  THE EVENING WAS BALMY, and the silver-crescent moon sailed in and around starry beacons and banks of pearly clouds. The lights of Charleston twinkled in the distance, beyond the bouncing black masts and lanterns of moored vessels in the harbour. Prosper had lowered his distinguishing pennant, doused his lights, and anchored his Prosperous and Remarkable as far out in the water as was possible; that way, should there be any trouble, he could do a quick disappearing act. As they had slipped in under cover of darkness, Prosper was relieved they hadn’t grounded on a sandbar or rammed into Sullivan Island and smashed through the new brick walls of Fort Moultrie. And he certainly hadn’t desired to bump into the back of a British cruiser that might be silently lurking, waiting like an alligator in tall reeds at the mouth of the harbour to give chase to any fleeing Yankee frigates. While the cutter was being prepared for its descent into the murmuring water, Prosper addressed his small crew.

  “Now, I’ll only be takin’ a few o’ yas. Don’t wanna stir up no suspicion, and I knows what happens ta most o’ yas when ya down a few too many – ya start blubberin’ ’n’ boastin’ somethin’ fierce. Now, we don’t need no trouble.” He swung round and crouched down to speak to Magpie. “You run and tell yer friend yer goin’ inta town with old Prosper so he won’t worry none about ya.”

  Magpie was stunned. “Yer takin’ me to Charleston?”

  “Aye! I’m takin’ ya on yer first reconnaissance adventure! But yer gonna hafta leave that hat behind. Should anyone see that needle-worked ‘Isabelle’ on it, they might just pitch ya into their dank dungeon under thee Exchange House. Trust me, they have nasty ways ta make a man talk in there. Ya hurry, now!”

  A thousand thoughts crashed through Magpie’s mind – not the least of which was the prospect of dungeons and Yankee thumbscrews – and his heart boomed like warring cannons as he hastened below to the forepeak where he and Gus kept their cots. Charleston was a Yankee town! What if someone pointed him out as an enemy of President Madison’s? Would they pitch him into their damp dungeon? How did Prosper figure he could escape if all those ships lying in the harbour took after him? And what did that big word, “reconnaissance,” mean? As he stowed away his hat under his cot, there was such a rush of emotions coursing through Magpie he could barely breathe.

  Gus was awake, staring at the ceiling beams. There was more colour in his cheeks than there had been at noon, but his eyes were now feverish with fear.

  Upon seeing Magpie, Gus cried out, “Where are we? Who’s the man that put
these new splints on me? I swear it wasn’t Dr. Braden.”

  Gus had been delirious the previous day when Prosper had carried him onto his brig, and during those awful days drifting about in the skiff, knowing how it would upset him, Magpie had never once mentioned the final fate of Captain Moreland’s ship.

  Magpie attempted a smile. “That was Prosper Burgo what looked after ya, sir. And we’re on his ship, the Prosperous and Remarkable! He’s from Quebec and he’s been lookin’ after ya real good.”

  Gus still looked fearful. “We’ve stopped. Are we in Halifax?”

  “No, but we’re somewhere.”

  “Where?”

  “Well, sir, some place called Charleston.”

  “Charleston?”

  “Aye!”

  “We’re in South Carolina?”

  “Aye, I suppose that’s where it be, but everythin’s gonna be all right. And I’m goin’ ashore with Prosper fer a bit to do some … well, to do some explorin’, so rest up. Pemberton Baker will look in on ya. Prosper calls him a jackanapes and a galoot, but he’s really a kind sort o’ fellow.”

  Gus’s forehead wrinkled and twitched as if he were trying to make sense of it all, and Magpie worried he was going to ask more questions – questions he didn’t have the nerve to answer right then and there. Chewing on his lip, he was relieved when Gus lowered his gaze and lapsed into a thoughtful silence.