War of Hearts, A Historical Romance (20 page)

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.

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 inoculated 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.”