Come Looking For Me (25 page)

She bestowed upon him her sweetest smile. “There be three Yankee ships chasin' us. Just what yas was hopin' fer. Here. Take it and hides it where ya can.” She handed him the miniature with a sidelong glance towards the marine who had occupied himself poking around the sail room. “Won't be no one lookin' fer it here.” Mrs. Kettle then pulled a quill pen and piece of paper from the pocket of her skirt.

“Hell! What's this for?”

“I wants ya to write somethin' out fer me and I'll come back fer it when I can. But know this … I 'spects to be rewarded roundly fer helpin' ya – that is, if we ain't dead in a few hours.”

To her surprise, it was not Leander but Morgan Evans who climbed down the ladder. He pulled off his knitted hat, ran a hand through his hair, and gave her an awkward little bow before glancing about the hospital. “Excuse me, ma'am, for interrupting your reading …”

Emily laughed, rising with the book in her hands, relieved to have some company. “Oh, you are interrupting nothing. I haven't been able to concentrate since I heard the fife and drums for quarters.”

A bit of red crept into Morgan's cheeks as he shifted from one foot to another. “I've – I've come to ask a favour of you.”

“Do you need me to help unfurl a few sails or fill up the guns with powder?”

Morgan grinned, his eyes looking everywhere but at Emily. “You'd be too late for all that. Everything that can be done is done.” He fiddled with his hat and stayed on the opposite side of the hospital, keeping between them Leander's desk, which was once again transformed into a surgical table. “I know that you're a clever one, ma'am. I once overheard you reading a story about two sisters to Mr. Walby and Magpie.”

Emily stared at him in surprise. “Thank you, Mr. Evans.”

“You see, ma'am, I can't read. I always meant to learn, but there never seemed to be the time nor anyone around that could teach me.”

“But your way of speaking – I always thought you were well educated.”

“My mother took great pains to teach me to speak properly, and she had the best intentions to provide me with a good education herself, but she died when I was a boy, in childbirth along with her baby.”

“I am sorry.”

“What I want to say, ma'am, is that, well, I've been on a ship of some kind for seven years now. I didn't set out to be a sailor. I learned carpentry work in my hometown of Swansea in Wales, so I could help my sisters keep the house and pay the mortgage. But this one night, when I was fourteen and supposed to be long in my bed, I sneaked out of the house, and along with a friend of mine, we stole into the local tavern to scrounge a few drinks. Beg your pardon, ma'am, I know it's not something you would do. It was on my way home, when I was alone, I suddenly found myself surrounded by a press gang.”

“You mean those naval ruffians who scour the countryside, forcing men of all ages to work on their ships?”

Morgan nodded. “It seems someone had tipped them off that I had some skill with a hammer and nails. They asked me the name of my ship, and when I told them I wasn't connected with any ship at all and never had been, they beat me about the head and carried me off to the docks, where they threw me into the hold of a large frigate. Well, you see, I'm almost twenty-one, ma'am. That was seven years ago and I don't think my sisters know whatever became of me. Most likely they believe I was spirited away.”

“You haven't been home at all since you were fourteen?”

“No, ma'am.” He glanced shyly up at Emily.

“And this favour you have come to ask of me?”

He cleared his throat and straightened himself up as if trying to summon up courage.

“I was wondering if you could write a letter to my sisters for me, Brangwen and Glyn they are, informing them of my whereabouts these past several years.”

Seeing his hopeful expression, Emily felt a sudden constriction around her heart.

“I would … I would be delighted, Mr. Evans.”

Clinging to the lower mizzenmast platform, Gus could smell its cold metal, feel its shiver, and hear its ominous drone as it fell, short of its mark, into the empty ocean behind the
Isabelle's
stern. Its shocking suddenness caused him to drop the captain's telescope, and a young sailor working above him to lose his foothold on the topsail yard. As fate answered, the sailor was able to grasp onto the shrouds before falling to a certain death on the unforgiving deck below. The telescope did not fare quite as well; with an unsettling crash, it landed at Captain Moreland's feet, its glass shattering and the shards cast spinning across the poop deck planks. Without a flinch, James kept his composure to address his anxious gun crews hunched over their cannons, itching to light their guns in reply.

“Hold your fire, men,” he cried. “For God's sake, hold your fire.” His command was repeated again and again around the ship, and when the guns stayed silent, he muttered a word of thanks, for he was not certain what action to take. His men, with their hearts in their mouths, stared at him, waiting for the word. Beneath the fluttering British flag on the poop deck, James, Fly, Mr. Harding, and Leander stood in a semi-circle, consulting navigational charts and closely watching the movements of the enemy ships – the
Serendipity,
a second frigate, and an accompanying brig – that now loomed, three abreast, a mile off the
Isabelle's
stern.

Realizing that James was undecided in his tactics, Fly spoke up. “Sir, if we turn the ship broadside, we're prepared to fire four successive rounds. With a little luck, we may rip open one of their hulls.”

“But we are too heavy to out-manoeuvre those three ships,” said a jittery Mr. Harding, bouncing back and forth from foot to stump. “Why, by the time we swing her round, they'll have raked our stern, or worse still, shot our own hull full of holes.”

In mute silence, James calmly flicked away the glass bits of his broken telescope with his boot.

“With respect gentlemen,” said Leander hesitantly, “do we not have greater gun power, having more and heavier guns than either of those two frigates or that brig?”

“We do, Doctor,” said Fly, “but despite bolstering our numbers with the men taken from the
Liberty,
we are still seriously short on skilled sailors, and therefore, not all of our seventy-four guns will see action. In comparison, those ships possess one hundred guns between them.”

Mr. Harding shook his head sadly. “And with these light winds, we can't hope to match their speeds.”

“But surely this Trevelyan is not interested in just sinking us here in the Atlantic?”

“Nay, Doctor,” said Fly. “He would more likely be wont to humiliate us by taking us a prize and leading us triumphantly into one of his nearby ports, an American flag hoisted over ours.”

James gazed around the
Isabelle
with affection. “It is not my intent to send my men to certain death today, nor to humiliate them; however, the simple truth of the matter is that Trevelyan knows the
Isabelle
well. He is fully aware of her capabilities and encumbrances.”

“What about trying negotiations, sir?” asked Mr. Harding, his round, red face lighting up hopefully. “We – we could return the sailors we took from the
Liberty,
and sweeten the deal with the return of the girl.”

James pulled his eyes from his ship's standing rigging and proud sails to glance past his sailing master at Leander, who had turned very pale. “Where is Emily, Doctor?”

“In the hospital,” Leander answered slowly.

“Think of it, sir,” said Mr. Harding, a bit too quickly. “They may bite at the prize money she will bring, and agree to leave us be.”

Leander stared at James in disbelief. “Surely you don't – you don't mean to offer Emily up to Trevelyan?”

“What are our chances here, Doctor?” cried Mr. Harding. “Would you have us all perish for the sake of one woman? She may be our only hope.”

“You surprise me, Mr. Harding,” said James in a cold, reproachful voice. “A seasoned warrior such as yourself.” He took several paces from his companions and wavered alone on the
Isabelle's
stern with his back to them, staring unseeing at the
Serendipity.

Closing his eyes, he allowed his mind to drift across the Atlantic to England. For several wonderful minutes he dwelled in a pleasant reverie filled with light and beauty and the love of family and friends until the cries and calls from the enemy ships intruded upon his consciousness, yanking him back to the terrible reality of the moment. Quietly and privately, James tucked away in his heart the precious memories of the Yorkshire moors, his wife's dear smile, and the loveliest sound in the world, the laughter of his six children. “I will give Trevelyan nothing,” he said to the wind, blinking away a solitary tear. “Besides, it is me he wants, and for nine long years he has waited for just such an opportunity.” He swung around to face his waiting officers.

“Lee, find Emily and take her down to the orlop. In the event Trevelyan has heard of our admiral's
reward
for her, hide her there, wherever you think appropriate.”

Leander looked dazed and uncertain.

“Go! Now!”

Fly leaned into him and gave him an encouraging smile. “But don't linger too long, Doctor. We may soon need you to wield a sword.” Leander snapped his mouth shut, cleared his throat, grinned self-consciously, and hurried off.

When he was gone, James removed two letters from the inside breast pocket of his uniform coat and held them out to Fly. “Should the outcome be … I would rest easier knowing …” He stopped, and began again. “There is one addressed to my wife and another to you. I have attempted to answer all your questions regarding Trevelyan. Just know that he was connected with the ugliest episode of my life.”

Fly accepted the letters with a comprehending nod. Silent seconds passed away before he was aware again of the vigilant eyes surrounding them. “Sir, the men … they are prepared to fight. They understand nothing of handing over prisoners in order to be left alone.”

James sighed. “I know that, son.” He raised his head to yell at Gus sitting up high on his platform. “Mr. Walby!”

“Aye, sir?”

“Get down from there this instant and get yourself below.” He turned to Fly again. “How far off is Gosport Yard, where our friends are set up in blockade?”

“We are not far off now, sir.”

“Let us pray they hear our guns.”

“Sir?”

With restored conviction and resolve, James settled his blue bicorne upon his head, and in a voice robust enough for all to hear cried, “Shall we give it a try, Mr. Austen? Shall we have a go at them?”

Understanding his captain's meaning, Fly beamed. “Aye, sir!”

“Broadside!”

“Broadside it is, sir!”

“Turn her round, Mr. McGilp,” James bellowed to the coxswain, as he climbed sprightly down the ladder to the quarterdeck, “and let her fly.”

A roar of approval swept the
Isabelle
fore and aft as the energized men, seeing Captain Moreland striding with purpose down the deck towards the bow, high colour in his sunken cheeks and a glowing smile upon his lips, realized that he meant to fight. Fly followed, desperately trying to keep up to his revitalized leader, and was cheered to see the sailors' reactions to the news. Mr. Crump gripped the larboard rail and showed his joy by dancing around on his one leg while Biscuit swiped the air several times with his cutlass. Bun Brodie released a guttural sound not unlike a foghorn and lifted a laughing Magpie high over his copper-coloured head. Bailey Beck clapped Morgan Evans on the back, almost knocking him off his feet, then pumped his arm in an enthusiastic handshake. The scarlet-jacketed marines all raised their muskets to their eyes, and the sweating gun crews rallied round their cannons and carronades on the larboard side of the ship, waving their rammers and fists in the air, ready to pour the gunpowder into the firing holes.

And the
Isabelle
turned her head slowly into the wind.

Within minutes, a second blast ripped from the
Serendipity.
This time it hit its mark, smashing into the mizzen topmast, snapping it in half and sheering away the lower platform, catching Gus Walby unawares on the ropes below and cruelly slinging him into the sea.

Emily glanced miserably around his cramped quarters, which contained nothing more than a shabby hammock, a small bookshelf, and two wooden pegs on which he had hung a few articles of clothing. It was obvious to her why Leander preferred to sleep in the hospital. She stole a glance at him and her heart sank. He stared back at her, his features rigid, his eyes blank, as if she was not there at all, and solemnly he said, “I will not pretend that our situation is not serious. There are three of them to our one.”