The Saintly Buccaneer (25 page)

“You think a privateer got her?” Hawke asked quickly. His whole manner changed, for in their cruise before going back to England for refitting, he had savored the action they had found. Rommey had been delighted to find that if his first lieutenant was somewhat slow, this third was a fire-eater. He had said as much to the other officers and to Blanche.

“That young fellow is
exactly
like his namesake, Admiral
Hawke! He rocks along with that bored manner of his. But let a cannon fire and he’s a savage out for blood—loves action like most men love women!”

Now that love of action leaped into Hawke’s eyes, and Angus laughed, “Oh, don’t get your hopes up! I doubt there’s a Yankee within a hundred miles. The
Cloud
just fell behind. Helmsman probably went to sleep from boredom, I expect.”

“She should have caught up by now,” Hawke argued, his mind probing the possibilities. He had, they both had noted, a determination that would put a bulldog to shame.

“I expect Angus is right,” Blanche smiled. “Come—let’s join the fun. You’re not on duty.” Raising her voice she yelled down, “Morgan! Let’s have some fiddle music!”

The tiny Welshman, one of the ship’s most agile foretopmen as well as an excellent fiddler, caught the words and waved his fiddle at her with a broad grin. “Right you are, miss!” Soon the sprightly music of Ireland floated over the still air.

“Dance with me,” she commanded, and with a laugh Hawke took her in his arms, and in the tiny space on the poop deck they moved gracefully in the steps of a dance.

“A praying knee and a dancing foot don’t grow on the same leg,” Angus lectured sternly, but there was a smile on his face, and he said, “I’m on late watch, so I’ll leave ye two to your courtin’.”

After he had gone, they seemed to be alone—a rare thing on a crowded ship of war. The crew below could not see them, and it was too dark for the lone lookout to view much of the deck. Blanche moved closer to Hawke, pressing her body close. “You’re the best dancer I’ve ever seen. I wonder where you learned so well?”

She often voiced questions like this, but he never referred to his loss of memory. He only replied lightly, “Probably at the French palace.”

“I’d hate to see you exposed to those French girls—they’re such predatory evils!” Laughing happily, she looked up into
his face. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black!” Raising her hand, she stroked the scar on his cheek, wondering for the hundredth time how he had come by it, then murmured, “It’s going to be exciting being married to you. Any other man would have lots of memories about other women—but you’ll only know me! I’m so selfish, aren’t I?”

“Yes—just the way I like you,” he responded. “You’re what you are, and I take all of you—the bitter with the sweet. If it hadn’t been for you, God knows what I’d have become. I’m so grateful to you!”

She stirred uncomfortably, saying sharply, “I don’t want your gratitude—I want love! Sometimes I think you don’t really love me at all—that I’m just a stranger who helped you out of trouble—that you’re marrying me just to show your gratitude.”

“Nonsense!”

“Is it?” she whispered, clutching him closer. “Kiss me!” she demanded. “Show me how much you love me!”

She had done this before, and as his lips fell on hers, he sensed again the possessive streak in her nature. Little as he knew about women, he realized that she was no humble girl submitting meekly to a caress. She met him with passion and a hunger that was greedy, pulling at him until he finally drew back, saying, “You have all of me there is, Blanche.”

He shook his head and the moonlight made silver highlights on his dark face, throwing his eyes into ebony shadows. “That may sound like a good thing to a woman—but you have to remember there’s not much to me. I can only bring you those things I’ve learned in the past few years. You’re marrying a cripple, Blanche, and I’ve told you before, you should consider that. It’s not fair to you—and it might not be enough.”

“You’re what I want—what I need!” Her voice was intense, and she clung to him in the warm darkness. Looking out past her head as she stood there in his arms, Hawke heard the sound of Morgan’s fiddle and gazed at the bright stars.
She was headstrong, this woman, and he knew that it was the novelty of his condition that had drawn her. It was not that he did not feel strongly for her; that was inevitable in view of the circumstances. But he had strong doubts about the love between them, for with only his limited knowledge, he realized with a keen insight that she would be a difficult woman to live with—demanding, possessive, and headstrong. She was, to offset that, beautiful, wealthy, and witty. Whether it would be enough—that he could not fathom.

He drew back and smiled at her. “Your father said once, ‘Blanche likes to make things—dolls when she was young, and
people
now. Don’t let her make you into something you don’t want to be, Hawke!’ I think he was right.”

“I love you and you love me! That’s all that counts!” she argued adamantly, and pulled his head down once more.

Well, it won’t be a boring marriage—not with this one!
he thought as they kissed again.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CAPTURED!

“Deck! Deck! Sail—three points off the stern!”

Captain Rommey had been shaving, but the urgency of the lookout’s call caused him to drop his razor; he charged out of his cabin, raced up the ladder, and emerged on deck heedless of the flecks of lather clinging to his face. The bright morning sun blinded him, and he moved close to Langley, who was staring over the stern toward the north. “What is it, Langley?”

“Can’t say, sir—the convoy has drifted so far. But I thought I heard something just before the lookout sighted sail.”

“Heard what?”

“Well, it was faint—but it could have been gunfire.”

“Gunfire! And you didn’t call me?” Rommey’s face was red with anger and his blue eyes flashed. “You should have known better!”

“W-well, sir, it could have been thunder...”

A distant sound suddenly came to their ears. Rommey lifted his head and a blistering curse fell from his lips. “Well,
that’s
not thunder! That’s ship’s cannon! Put the ship about at once!”

“Yes, sir—but there’s so little wind we’ll have to tack—”

“I don’t give a farthing
how
you do it, Lieutenant—just
do
it!”

The deck was soon swarming with seamen, but the vessel itself could not be hurried. Slowly as the faint breeze caught the sail, she began to swing about, and Angus said to Hawke
as the two of them stood in the bow, “Makes a man want to get out and push, don’t it now?”

Hawke was staring intently across the sea, narrowing his eyes against the brilliant rays of the sun. “The convoy must be spread out over twenty miles! I’ll bet my life there’s a Yankee privateer nibbling away at the stragglers!”

“Probably that’s it,” Angus agreed. “Captain warned ’em to stay close, but they’re a heedless lot. Looks like some of ’em will pay for it.”

“Well, that fellow can’t do much without a wind.”

“More than
we
can. These privateers are the fastest things in the water. And with enough sail for a ship of the line! We’re weighted doon with a crew of five hundred men, cannon, shot, supplies. She’ll make twice our speed.”

“Yes—but if we could get in range, we could blow her out of the water.”

“Not much chance o’ that unless the captain’s a fool—and most of them aren’t. They’re a crafty lot. As soon as they spot us, they’ll turn tail and run for cover.”

****

The captain of the privateer was getting that exact advice.
The Gallant Lady
had encountered the convoy at dawn, and Daniel had shouted immediately, “Man the guns! They’re out there like sitting ducks!”

At once the ship became a beehive of activity, but as the guns were run out and the ship was manned for action, Laurence Conrad hurried to where Dan stood beside Captain Alden to protest. “This is foolishness! We’ll risk this ship for nothing!”

“There’s no danger, Laurence,” Dan replied easily. “Look—those merchant ships are loaded, and they’re not armed. We can make a run right through the middle of them and punch the bottoms out of a lot of them with the long guns.”

“And what about that frigate?” Conrad demanded.

“Why, in this calm she can’t even move much faster than those fat merchant ships! We can walk away from her!”

“I don’t like it,” Conrad muttered gloomily. Then he shrugged his thin shoulders. “Well, there’s one good thing, if you get us all killed in this crazy mess, we won’t have to worry about getting caught by the British and sent to Dartmoor!”

“That’s the cheerful way to look at it, Laurence,” Dan laughed. “But there’s no risk.”

And for the rest of the morning his words were so accurate that the crew was convinced, and even Conrad, though he continued to prophesy awful messages of doom, seemed assured. The
Lady
moved steadily under the slight breeze, and by ten o’clock they were within range of a three-masted brig. “Look at them scurry around!” Rufus Middles cried gleefully. “They know what’s coming!”

Charity had come to stand beside Dan, and she asked worriedly as he ordered the guns loaded, “Are we going to give them a chance to surrender?”

“What would we do with them?” Dan shrugged. “We don’t have room for any prisoners, much less cargo.”

“But won’t they drown?”

“No, they’ll have plenty of time to get their boats off, and the other ships will pick them up.” Then he gave the order, “Fire as you bear, Smith!”

Lige Smith grinned toothlessly and stated, “Like shootin’ fish in a barrel, it is!”

It seemed like a merciless thing, and Charity couldn’t bear watching the onslaught. Smith could not miss, and he put six shots just below the waterline of the ship that bore the name of
Portsmouth Belle
on her bow. She was already beginning to settle low in the water as Dan ordered, “That’ll do her, Lige. Let me take that schooner.”

Dan moved to his favorite long eighteen, and as they skimmed slowly and relentlessly across the smooth water, he hulled a schooner that was so loaded she could only waddle along in the light breeze. One of the shots went high and
blasted the gun crew to bits. Charity could see the broken parts of flesh flying through the air, and the sight of a man’s leg striking the mast made her turn away sick.

They had sunk four ships and were moving on when the lookout hailed, “Deck, there’s a frigate bearing down, two points off starboard bow!”

“Time to get away,” Captain Alden advised, and began to consider the direction.

“Wait a minute, Captain,” Dan urged. He had seen an opening in the convoy and pointed to it. “If we go through that gap, we can get a couple more ships on our way.”

“But that course will bring us almost within range of the frigate!” Charity protested. “Let’s just put about and get out of here!”

“Wind’s in the south, Charity,” he reminded her. “We’ll have to tack anyway. If we cut through like I say, we’ll come a mite close, but she can’t catch us. We’ll get a couple more ships, and then we’ll show them our stern.”

Captain Alden opened his mouth to object, but Dan added, “It’ll be striking a blow for Curtis.” He saw that the words had power with Alden, so he exhorted, “Your boy died for this cause, Captain. Let’s do it for him.”

“That’s not fair, Dan!” Charity cried, but her father’s eyes had grown stern, and he nodded.

“We’ll do it for Curtis,” he agreed, and gave the order to turn.

As the
Lady
heeled and headed into the gap, every eye was fixed on the frigate—still far off in the distance but headed straight for them. A silence fell over the deck as the crew realized that they would pass close to the guns of the warship, and Laurence gave a melancholy sigh. “Well, I’ve often wondered what it would be like to look down the cannon of one of the King’s ships—now God has blessed me with the opportunity. Let us be duly grateful for the bounties of the Almighty!”

****

Rommey had watched helplessly as the privateer had destroyed the merchant ships, and his failure to drive his ship to the rescue enraged him. He had gone to stand beside the three lieutenants who were staring with loathing at the scene.

“Shall I have the guns run out, sir?” Langley asked.

“What for? We’ll never get close enough to get a shot. They wouldn’t be such fools.”

At that instant, Hawke saw a movement that the others missed, and he yelled, “Look, she’s putting about, sir!”

“What?”

Hawke’s sharp eyes had taken in the maneuver of the privateer, and he reported hurriedly, “Sir, she’s not going to run south—there’s no breeze at all that way. She’s going to cut through the convoy—see there? She’s heeling around.” Then his eyes blazed, and he cried out in excitement, “Sir, we’ll have one chance—she’ll
have
to pass fairly close to us on that course. Let me make a try for her with the bow chaser.”

“That would be too long a shot,” Langley argued. He had seen that the third lieutenant had done what
he
should have done, and it enraged him. “It would take a miracle!”

Captain Rommey snorted, “Well, we’ll have a miracle then!” A glitter of excitement rose in his eyes, and he smiled. “You man the bow chaser, Mr. Hawke—and take Mr. Burns along to pray. That ought to cover God and man!”

The remark was taken seriously only by Burns, who said, “It’ll do nae harm to invoke the favor of Jehovah. David prayed that God would help him destroy his enemies.”

The others stared at him, Hawke in particular, fascinated by the religion of the dour Scotsman, but he grinned and agreed. “You pray and I’ll shoot, then, Angus!”

It was a full two hours before Angus called excitedly, “There! I can read her name—
The Gallant Lady.
” He was watching the trim privateer as she glided between the merchant ships,
and he added thoughtfully, “Beautiful craft. Be a shame to sink her.”

“I don’t have your mercy, I’m afraid,” Hawke remarked. He was bending over his bow chaser, lining the gun up with the enemy ship. “I’ll sink her with every man if I can.”