Surrender the Heart (32 page)

At six bells before noon, or eleven o’clock, the bosun’s shrill pipe halted the men in their work. “All hands on deck!”

Thankful for the temporary reprieve from the harrowing heights, Noah followed his crew down the ratlines to the deck below. Still slower than a fish through molasses, he always landed last on the planks. But he would wager that he was the most grateful for the solid feel of wood beneath his feet.

Captain Milford emerged onto the deck in a burst of pomposity.
His crisp, white breeches, stockings, and waistcoat gleamed beneath a dark coat that was lined with buttons shimmering in the bright sun. Black hair, streaked with gray, was pulled taut behind him. Traces of strength remained in the muscles that now seemed to sag with weakness. Climbing the quarterdeck ladder, he took his spot at the railing before the helm and looked down on his crew.

The bosun piped the men to attention and called them to muster in the waist. The marines, fully decked in their red coats and white pants with bayonets gleaming formed a line before the men. The petty officers fell into jagged rows behind them, while the midshipmen and officers assembled in crisp ranks on the quarterdeck, immediately aft of the mainmast.

Captain Milford stepped forward.

Wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, Noah lingered near the back of the mob, anxious for possible news of the ship’s destination. But instead of good news, the captain bellowed, “You shall witness a hearing and subsequent punishment of a fellow crewman. Remain orderly and in your ranks.”

Noah bristled beneath the excitement in the captain’s voice.

“Master of Arms, bring forth the prisoner,” the captain shouted and Noah’s throat went dry, hoping it wasn’t one of his own men. Relief allayed his fears when the master dragged forward a middle-aged, beefy sailor whose neck seemed to disappear beneath his head. He halted before the railing, his face lowered and the irons around his hands clanking.

Noah’s heart went out to him. Luke and Weller pressed in on either side of Noah and gave him a look of trepidation.

“Let us proceed. Read the charges,” the captain shouted.

As the master at arms read from a list of offenses, a flash of red caught Noah’s eyes. Miss Denton stood by the larboard railing at the break of the quarterdeck, trapped by the conflux of crewmen. Terror screamed from her expression, and Noah wondered if it was the close proximity of the sea or the proceedings that frightened her.

“… and threatening a shipmate with a knife,” the master at arms concluded.

The captain eyed the man with disdain. “What do you say for yourself, Mr. Bowen?”

Mr. Bowen shook his bucket-shaped head and dared to glance at his captain. “No, sir. I only found the knife on deck an’ picked it up.”

Blackthorn edged beside Noah. “This won’t be pretty.”

“Sentence has not yet been pronounced,” Noah reminded him.

“It will be. And soon. I ne’er seen the captain turn down an opportunity to flog one of ‘is men.” Blackthorn shifted the muscles across his back. “I got the scars t’ prove it.”

Noah eyed his back as if he could see beneath his shirt. “For what?”

“Insubordination t’ an officer. At least that’s what they said.”

The captain grumbled and turned to Lieutenant Reed. “Lieutenant Reed, did this man attack his shipmate with a knife or not?”

The lieutenant’s jaw twitched. “I cannot say, Captain. I was not present.”

The captain turned to his right. “And you, Lieutenant Garrick.” The man licked his lips. “Yes, Captain. I saw it plain as day.” Captain Milford scanned the crew. “Will anyone speak up for this man?”

Though mumbles coursed through the crowd like distant thunder, every sailor kept his gaze lowered and his mouth shut.

“I will not tolerate brawls aboard my ship, Mr. Bowen. Save your fighting for the French, should any of the cowards show their faces out at sea.” He withdrew his hat, spurring the same action from his officers and crew. Then in a blaring voice devoid of all sentiment, he read the Articles of War appropriate to the offense. At their conclusion, he turned to the boatswain. “One dozen lashes should do it, Mr. Simons.”

The prisoner visibly jerked as if he’d already been lashed. His whole body began to tremble—a tremble that Noah felt down to his own bones.

Three men lifted the main hatch and attached it to the gangway with its bottom fast to the deck. Two marines led Mr. Bowen to the grating, stripped him of his shirt, and tied his hands to the top of
the iron frame. Silence consumed the ship. Only the angry thrash of water and the groans of shifting wood screamed their protest of the proceedings.

The sun, high in the sky, lanced the crew with burning rays. Yet no one moved. Sweat slid into Noah’s eyes and he blinked. He glanced at Miss Denton. Her hand covered her mouth. Her eyes were wide with horror.
Go below, you foolish woman. No need to see this
. As if she read his thoughts, she turned and shoved her way through the crowd then disappeared below.

Noah wished he could escape as easily. Though he understood the need for discipline aboard ship, he had no stomach for cruel torture.

The captain snapped his hat atop his head. “Do your duty, Mr. Simons.”

The bosun’s mate took the cat out of a red sack and stepped forward, pushing the crew back to make room for his swing.

He raised his arm and flung the cat across the man’s back. A howl that reminded Noah of the cry of a wolf shrieked from the poor soul. Jagged ribbons of red appeared on his back.

Beside Noah, Luke fisted his hands and crossed them over his chest, his face mottled in anger.

Noah surveyed the crew. Weller was nowhere to be seen. Good.

“Is there nothing we can do?” he asked Blackthorn.

Blackthorn shook his head. “It’s the way of the navy. If you step in, your fate will be the same.”

The cat whistled through the air and landed with a snap upon the man’s back once again. The crew remained silent, almost as if they saw their own future flashing before their eyes.

Another strike tore at the man’s flesh. The sails thundered above them.

Noah turned around. Fury tore through him. He’d never valued his own country and the justice and freedom for which she stood more than he did at this moment. Why had he so flippantly allied himself with a people who restricted others’ freedom, who stole innocent men from their ships and enacted such cruelty without censure?

Mr. Bowen’s howls of pain speared the air, sealing the conviction forming within Noah. He would find a way off this ship. He would be free again and when he was, he would spend the rest of his life defending his country against the sharp whip of tyranny.

Marianne fluffed the captain’s mattress to remove the lumps and smooth the feathers—just as he liked it—while in truth, she’d rather fill it with large, jagged rocks. She couldn’t help but wonder how the man who had been flogged fared. No doubt he would not be lying in his hammock tonight—at least not on his back. Though thankful she’d escaped witnessing the event, she had not been able to escape the man’s heart-piercing howls. Howls that infiltrated every wooden plank and beam until the very ship seemed to scream in defiance. Dropping to her knees, she had prayed for him, for that was all she knew to do. It seemed so inadequate.

She stood and placed a hand on her aching back and peeked at the captain sitting at his desk mumbling to himself. It had been a long day. She prayed he would dismiss her shortly and take to his bed. Especially since she doubted she could curtail her anger toward him given his actions today.

A knock sounded on the door. Her hopes dashed when at the captain’s bidding, three officers entered, Lieutenant Garrick and Lieutenant Reed among them. They stood at attention before Captain Milford’s desk and removed their hats.

“You summoned us, sir.”

Leaning on the doorframe of the sleeping cabin, Marianne glanced at the captain. After his evening meal and usual three glasses of brandy, plus the laudanum the surgeon had just poured down his throat, it was a wonder he could sit up. Yet he rose from his chair as alert as if he’d just arisen from a sound night’s sleep.

He straightened his white waistcoat. “We shall be arriving in Antigua in seven days, gentlemen, where I expect to receive my orders. At that time …”

He continued on with further instructions regarding watches and shore leave, which Marianne shrugged off in light of the first piece of information. Excitement set her head spinning. They would make port soon. Surely that fact would aid Noah in formulating his escape plans.

Turning around, Marianne busied herself laying out the captain’s nightshirt and cap while she listened for any further news that might be of use. But there was nothing of note save that very few of the men would be allowed a brief time ashore.

“Now go on. I need my sleep.” The captain dismissed them with a wave of his hand. Lieutenant Garrick’s brows lifted when he saw her. He gave her a wink that slithered down her spine before he followed his friends out the door.

Marianne approached the captain. “I’ve laid out your nightshirt, Captain, and fluffed your mattress. Is there anything else I can do for you?” Anger stung her tone, but he gave no indication that he took note of it.

Instead, he sank into his chair, his face twisted with thought. Then he raised hard eyes upon her. “Anything else?” He cursed. “Odds fish, can you tell me why my men rebel against me?” He slammed his fists on his desk. Marianne jumped.

“I don’t know what you mean, Captain.”

“That blasted Bowen.” He reached for his glass, then leaned back and sipped his brandy.

All through the afternoon and evening, he’d been muttering about the flogging earlier that day. Why? Guilt? Marianne doubted it. His anger suggested another conclusion. Perhaps he feared the disrespect of his men. Perhaps he feared losing control of his ship.

Gathering her courage, she took a step forward. “I do not believe he meant to defy you, Captain.”

“Defy!” He jumped up and began pacing before the stern windows, rubbing the glass of brandy between his hands. “Mutinous dogs. How dare they conspire against me?”

Marianne tensed. “Sir, I am unaware of any conspiracy.”

Before she even finished the words, he circled the desk. His gray eyes flashing, he stormed toward her. The smell of brandy and the fish he’d had for dinner filled her nose. He eyed her up and down. “You are probably a part of it.”

The ship canted. Stumbling, Marianne grabbed onto the edge of his desk. The lantern flickered, casting eerie shadows over his face. She swallowed and determined not to flinch, not to show him that her stomach had just dropped to the floor. “You know that’s not true, Captain.”

His expression loosened like the unwinding of a tight rope. He released a sigh. “You think me harsh, don’t you?”

Yes, I think you are a mad, cruel man
. She bit her lip to hold back the truth lest she find herself at the end of a cat-o’-nine tails. But it snuck out anyway. “Yes,” she said, then braced herself.

The captain let out a loud chuckle. He lifted his glass in her direction, the alcohol sloshing over the sides. “I like you, Miss Denton. Honesty. Quite refreshing.”