Ransome's Crossing (21 page)

“Howe was married?” Charlotte pictured the former first lieutenant. Serious and handsome, he had not struck her as the kind of man who would find courting enjoyable or easy.

“Aye. Married not a week before we weighed anchor. I stood up with him at the wedding. He’d known Jane since they were small children. Promised her if she waited for him, he would marry her as soon as the war ended. He considered resigning his commission, but Jane would not hear of it. She knew the navy was his life, and she would not let him give it up for her.”

Emotion formed a lump in Charlotte’s throat. How easily that could have been William or James or Philip…or Ned. Even though her own father had died at sea—of illness, not in battle—until this moment,
she had never realized just how dangerous her brothers’ chosen profession was or how close they may have come on numerous occasions to meeting the same fate as Parker, Howe, and Crump.

And if Charlotte herself had fallen from the shrouds during the storm, or if she had been hit by the cannonball instead of just the flying debris it created, no one would have known of her death. They would have buried her at sea and then gone through her belongings to discover nothing to link her to the Ransome family.

Howe had been tidy, so it did not take much time to pack away his belongings. Charlotte caught sight of herself in his shaving mirror mounted on the wall. Gardiner was right. With the whole side of her face swollen, scraped, and bruised, she looked hideous. Wonderful. Ned would never recognize her.

By the time Howe’s and Crump’s sea chests had been handed over to the purser and his mates for storage, Charlotte had to run back to the cockpit to change into her cleaner, spare waistcoat and brush her coat and hat free from the dust and lint they picked up during the day. She retied her neckcloth, taking note in the mirror borrowed from Jamison that the bruises around her neck were barely visible anymore. She shook her aching head. In the past two weeks, she’d been nearly strangled—twice; had bruised her hip and side falling into the side of the ship during the storm; had so many callouses and cuts and scrapes on her hands she no longer worried they would give her away, as they no longer looked feminine and smooth and white; and had been struck in the face with a piece of
Audacious
’s hull. And, with only ten days’ genuine experience as a midshipman, she had been promoted to a watch commander.

“Lott, let’s go!” Jamison urged her, apparently fearful they would be late for supper with their new commander. Hesitation, however, dragged at Charlotte’s feet. She wanted to delay the meeting with Ned Cochrane as long as possible.

They passed through the wheelhouse just as the sailing master’s mate struck the bell, joining the lieutenants at the door to the big cabin. Captain Parker’s steward—now Ned’s—opened the door and
ushered them into the dining cabin, indicating where each was to sit. Charlotte breathed a relieved sigh when he told her she was to sit not just at the far end of the table but with her left profile toward Ned.

Ned entered from the big cabin, looking much more serious than she had ever seen him. He took his place at the head of the table. “Please, be seated.”

Not wanting to give herself away by giving any indication she was accustomed to anything but naval life, Charlotte watched the men and mimicked their behavior—and discovered that they would have been quite acceptable at any formal dinner she had ever attended, unlike the more rustic manners she’d found in the cockpit at mealtimes.

After the steward and the sailors conscripted to act as footmen during the meal served the food, Ned had each officer give his experience and a brief history of his service. Charlotte found the revelations fascinating, especially from the lieutenants, as she had never had the opportunity to speak to any of them in a context in which personal information had been shared.

As the youngest and most junior officer at the table, Charlotte was, naturally, last to be called upon. She’d run through her fabricated history in her mind several times while the others spoke, so she was able to speak with confidence.

“Charles Lott, from Liverpool.” That explained the northern lilt to her accent, and the story about having to travel three days in one direction to get home. “I was made a midshipman in June 1811. I saw only home service during the war, as I had the bad fortune to be assigned to a succession of ships that were laid up in ordinary shortly after I signed on.” She once again silently thanked Geoffrey Seymour for that bit of history, as he had spent the first two years of his naval career in that manner.

“And what do you think of service in the Royal Navy now that you have been through battle, Mr. Lott?” Ned asked.

Even with Kent in the room, now was no time for false bravado. “It was much different than the accounts I read, sir. I thought I was
prepared for it, but reading about it and actually being in the midst of it bear no comparison with each other.”

“Very true. If only those who send us off to war would understand that concept, perhaps there would be no more war.” Gardiner turned bright red after speaking. “If I may make so bold as to say so, sir.”

“You may, Lieutenant. I think you will find there are few in the navy—and the army as well—who would disagree with you.” Ned motioned for the steward to clear the plates from the table and pour more wine.

As soon as each glass had been refilled—excepting Charlotte’s, as hers was still nearly full—Ned raised his glass. “Gentlemen, His Majesty the King.”

Charlotte joined the others in raising their glasses and finishing the Loyal Toast with, “His Majesty, King George III.” She sipped the potent wine.

Ned held up his glass again for the traditional Saturday toast. “To wives and sweethearts.”

Everyone at the table looked at Charlotte. Panic closed her throat for a moment until she remembered that as the youngest present, it was her duty to give the unofficial second part of the toast. She raised her glass. “May they never meet.”

As each of the men surrounding her chuckled, drank, and possibly thought of his own wife or sweetheart, Charlotte assiduously avoided looking at Ned Cochrane. To be in his presence once again, especially now seeing him in command of a ship, wreaked havoc with her ability to think solely of Henry Winchester.

She made her own silent toast as she and the other officers left Ned’s cabin.
Henry Winchester and Ned Cochrane. May they never meet in my presence
—
as Henry is likely to suffer greatly by comparison and make me admit just how foolish I have been.

C
harlotte focused on the pain in the side of her face and kept her eyes fixed on the horizon beyond the starboard side of the ship. Anything to keep from looking at the five bodies, sewn into their hammocks, laid out on the deck.

Captain Parker, Lieutenant Howe, Lieutenant Crump, a sailor from one of Martin’s gun crews, and a marine sharpshooter who’d been shot and fallen from his perch on the mizzenmast top. And according to Hamilton, Dr. Hawthorne thought a few of the injured might not live through the night. Her throat tightened to the point she could hardly breathe. She flinched when the boatswain’s whistle signaled for all hands to gather on the deck. She took her place between Jamison and McLellan.

Ned Cochrane stepped into the space between the bodies and the bulwark. He looked up at the mainmast, behind Charlotte, and called, “Raise the pennant to honor the dead.”

She did not need to watch the action to know that a black pennant was being hoisted to fly from the highest point on the ship. Ned nodded at the two boatswain’s mates who lifted the first body onto the top of a table from the sailors’ mess and covered it with the Union Jack.

“Ship’s company…off hats!” the bosun yelled.

Charlotte slipped hers off and held it in front of her the way Jamison did. The mates carried the board to the starboard entry port and balanced the end of it atop the bulwark railing.

Ned handed his hat to his steward and opened the small, thick
book he carried. “We read in the thirtieth Psalm: ‘Sing unto the L
ORD
, O ye saints of his, and give thanks at the remembrance of his holiness. For his anger endureth but a moment; in his favour is life: weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning… I cried to thee, O L
ORD
; and unto the L
ORD
I made supplication… Hear, O L
ORD
, and have mercy upon me: L
ORD
, be thou my helper. Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing: thou hast put off my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness; to the end that my glory may sing praise to thee, and not be silent. O L
ORD
my God, I will give thanks unto thee for ever.’”

Ned looked up from the book and at the shrouded form ready to be laid to rest in the depths of the ocean. He pressed his lips together, closed his eyes briefly, and then continued. “In the sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to Almighty God our shipmates, and we commit their bodies to the depths. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Lord bless and keep them. The Lord make His face to shine upon them and be gracious unto them. The Lord lift up His countenance upon them and give them peace. Amen.”

“Amen,” Charlotte murmured with the crew. Ned called the name of the marine, and the boatswain’s mates upended the tabletop so the body slid feet first into the sea from under the flag. She could not watch. The same was repeated for the sailor, the lieutenants, and Captain Parker. With two cannonballs placed at each man’s feet, the bodies would sink to the bottom quickly. But her imagination got away from her, and the picture of one of the shrouded figures floating beside the ship chilled her to the bone.

After Captain Parker was laid to rest, Ned turned to face the crew once more. “Let us pray. ‘Our Father which art in heaven…’”

Charlotte joined in the recitation of the familiar and comforting words. “‘Hallowed be thy name…’”

After the murmured “Amen,” Ned left the deck. As soon as he had disappeared into his cabin, the bosun called, “On hats…dismissed!”

Though she was not entirely certain how, or if God would listen
to her, Charlotte vowed to pray every night that they would not have to go through that ordeal again.

Ned paced the cabin. His first official duty in front of the entire crew had been to bury their captain. He hoped, he prayed that the problems Howe had shared with him before leaving Portsmouth had worked themselves out once
Audacious
put to sea. The last thing he needed in his first true command was a divided and antagonistic crew.

He squeezed the object in his hand until the corners bit into his fingers. He lifted the prayer book. A gift from his mother upon his being made lieutenant. Commodore Ransome read his daily, along with his Bible. And when William led the prayer service on Sunday mornings, Ned had always believed, even if just for a little while, that God was near and could not only hear his prayers but might even answer them.

He had read and said the expected words over the dead today, but tomorrow he would have to lead the crew in Sunday services.

Opening the book, he checked the liturgical calendar in the front. Never before had he seen that for each day of the year, the calendar listed Scriptures to be read morning and evening. He glanced around the cabin. Would Parker have kept a Bible? Or, like Ned’s first captain, would he have been the type to read the collects and prayers from the book and leave it at that?

A row of books lined the top of the chest of drawers. Ned moved closer to read the titles. Mostly naval history. Parker’s prayer book. Some biographies of men Ned had never heard of. But no Bible.

Perhaps one of the officers would have one he could borrow. Or, more likely, God was trying to tell him he was not worthy of reading the Holy Scriptures as someone with authority over others. After all, why would God forgive Ned for sending those sailors to their deaths when he could not forgive himself? No, he would read the collects and the prayers. Then, when they arrived in Jamaica and he returned to
Alexandra
as William’s first officer and someone more deserving took over command of
Audacious,
the new captain could worry about the eternal welfare of the men on this ship.

He returned to the table and opened the prayer book to the designated page for the fourteenth Sunday after Trinity. He liked the prayer, asking God to increase their faith, hope, and charity. The reading from one of Saint Paul’s epistles was from the book of Galatians, and it spoke of sins of the flesh and fruit of the Spirit. He would have to spend more time reading that to understand it. The excerpt from the Gospels came from Luke.

Pulling the book closer, he read the story of ten lepers who begged Jesus to have mercy on them. Jesus sent them to the priests, and, as they walked away, they were healed. But only one returned to Jesus to thank Him. Ned turned the page, anxious to see how Jesus responded to this man’s humble gratitude. He frowned when he read of Jesus asking the man where his nine companions were.

Ned supposed he had been in the Royal Navy too long to be surprised by the ingratitude of the majority of men.

But he had skipped the last line.
Arise, go thy way: thy faith hath made thee whole.

He rocked back in his chair as if broadsided. It had not been the man’s faith that had rid him of his leprosy. It had been Jesus. Jesus had every right to say, “I accept your gratitude for the wondrous work I have completed in you.” How could a man’s
faith
heal him, make him
whole?

Again, he searched the cabin for a Bible, wanting to see if Jesus went on to explain what He meant by His cryptic statement, but no copy of the Scriptures was to be found.

His head hurt too much already to spend more time trying to figure out what the passage meant. Instead, he went into the sleeping cabin and pulled the box of important papers out of his sea chest and carried it to the table that had served as Parker’s desk. He sorted through them until he found what he was looking for.

The paper was somewhat yellowed and the ink slightly faded, but
he read through his promotion orders officially conferring on him the rank of lieutenant. From his pocket, he pulled the folded parchment William had handed him several hours ago. His field promotion to acting captain.

Spreading both out on the table, he found Parker’s stock of paper, ink, and quills, and then he sat down to write up the orders conferring status of acting lieutenant on Hamilton and Martin.

Julia waved William aside. “I can do it myself.”

Hands held up in surrender, he backed away a few steps.

Getting in and out of the hanging bed with its high canvas sides had been difficult to manage with two feet. But now that she could not put any weight onto her right foot, the simple act of getting out of bed in the morning seemed nearly insurmountable. And her husband’s amusement at her attempts to do it on her own was not helping at all.

Yesterday, in the fear from hearing
Audacious
was under attack, she’d somehow managed to not only get out of the box bed, but grab her dress off the peg on the wall beside it and dress in a matter of minutes. However, she had discovered yesterday that trying to go about her normal daily activities with the use of only one foot proved to be difficult and frustrating.

Seven bells chimed.

“In half an hour I will call all hands to order for prayers. I would like for you to join me. Please let me know if you require my assistance.” With a half bow, William left the sleeping cabin.

Julia blew a loose clump of hair out of her face. She could do this. She had climbed the shrouds to the foremast top at ten years old. Getting out of a hanging bed one-footed should be no problem. She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and scooted over to the side, carefully balancing as the other side of the bed canted upward. She moved all of her weight onto her right knee and swung her left leg over the side.

She stretched…reached…success—her toes touched the floor. Shifting her weight to her left foot, she turned to put her right leg over the side.

But she misjudged the fact that with almost all of her weight on her foot of the floor, this side of the bed would come back up. Her right heel caught on the side, but her momentum carried her backward. Arms flailing, she finally managed to grab the side of the bed and break the worst of her fall, but not before wrenching her knee and injured foot, which stayed caught in the bedding as she landed on the deck.

Involuntary tears welled in her eyes from the pain and increased frustration.

“Why must you be so stubborn?” William reappeared and gently extricated her foot from the bed and then sat down on the floor beside her. “I offered to help you.”

“But I need to be able to do it on my own.” Julia dashed at the tears with the back of her hand.

“Why?”

“Because I do not want to…” She shook her head and looked away as the tears refused to stop.

“You do not want…?”

She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. Success had come in every area of her life as long as she worked hard at it. This would be no different.

William hooked his finger under her chin and forced her to face him. “What do you not want?”

Blinking away the wretched tears, she found herself mere inches from the blue eyes she had dreamed of for nearly two decades. “I do not want to become dependent on you,” she whispered. “I need to be able to take care of myself.”

His nod seemed loaded with comprehension and understanding. “I see.” He moved his hand from her chin to push her hair back and tuck it behind her ear. “I am sorrowed to know that I played a large role in teaching you to trust no one but yourself.” He took and released
a deep breath. “Do you know what I will speak of for the prayer service this morning?”