ship gained.
Eliza drew a shaky breath and clung to the wood of the quarterdeck. If they couldn’t outsail the frigate, what was to become of them? Would they be sunk to the depths, or would the Union navy escort them back home? Where Eliza would face a lifetime of scorn and hatred. And what would become of Colonel Wallace? Surely his fate would be worse than hers. Even as he filled her thoughts, his voice drifted her way.
“Fire into her quarters. On the uprise, men!” he shouted. Raising spyglass to his eye, he studied the enemy. “Steady now. Steady.” He lowered the scope. “Fire!”
One sailor tapped a wick to the gun’s touchhole, and Eliza covered her ears. Boom! The deck quivered beneath her feet. Smoke swept over her. Coughing, she batted it away. “Oh Lord, please save us,” she muttered, only now remembering to pray. Fiddle! Why did she always wait until things were beyond hopeless?
Blake peered through the gray smoke as the all-too-familiar blast of gunpowder assailed him. He squeezed his eyes shut against the sting as memories crept out from hiding. No, not now! He must maintain control. Shoving them back, he gazed toward the enemy as the New Hope ‘s shot plopped impotently into the sea just yards from the frigate’s hull. Too short. But in line for a good hit. Blake frowned. He was an expert at cannons. But on solid land not on a heaving ship. How did the navy do it? Still, luck had smiled upon him, for his timing of the rise and fall of wave had not been too far off.
“Good shot, Colonel.” One of the sailors turned, his face lined with soot.
“Not good enough. Reload!” Not that they had much chance against a U.S. frigate armed with what appeared to be Dahlgren guns and 32-pounder Parrott rifles. Besides speed, of course. Being smaller, the New Hope should be able to outrun a frigate. Blake shifted his gaze to the captain and his first mate leaning over a flapping chart held down by pistols. It would seem from the captain’s expression, he was of the same mind.
“Max, Simmons,” Captain Barclay shouted at two passing sailors. “Have you seen my sextant, protractor, and Gunter’s scale?”
The men shrugged. “Last I saw, they was in your cabin.”
“They aren’t there.” Captain Barclay scratched his beard, frowning. “Get below and search for them at once!” The two men dropped through a hatch while the captain returned to his chart.
The navigation instruments were missing? Along with the damage to the compass? Blake’s gaze darted to the frigate as a cold fist slammed into his gut. The Union must suspect war criminals were on board. Otherwise, what reason would they have for so intent a pursuit? And if they caught and boarded them, they’d no doubt discover Blake’s identity and haul him back to Charleston to be hanged. He’d never go to Brazil. Never have a chance to escape the memories of war. Never pursue the rising interest he had in Eliza.
Wind tore at his collar, tossing his necktie over his shoulder. The brig slid into a trough, and Blake braced his boots on the deck. He glanced back at the captain.
Orders, Captain! What are your orders? Urgency spun his heart into a knot. Oh how he longed to take command! But he knew nothing of sea battles. And he began to wonder whether Captain Barclay did either. Though the man appeared calm, he seemed trundled in uncertainty as his gaze sped from the charts to the Union frigate and then behind him to some distant spot on the horizon. Regardless, he must make a decision. And fast! On land, Blake would already be spouting orders. But he knew no such order to give here. Except to go faster!
The ship bounced, and he caught his balance. The sailors fumbled with powder bag and priming rod as they reloaded the gun. Amateurs. The men in his regiment would have had it loaded already.
Blake glanced over his shoulder where Hayden stood at the ready in command of the other swivel gun. They exchanged a nod. The stowaway’s confident
Eliza drew a shaky breath and clung to the wood of the quarterdeck. If they couldn’t outsail the frigate, what was to become of them? Would they be sunk to the depths, or would the Union navy escort them back home? Where Eliza would face a lifetime of scorn and hatred. And what would become of Colonel Wallace? Surely his fate would be worse than hers. Even as he filled her thoughts, his voice drifted her way.
“Fire into her quarters. On the uprise, men!” he shouted. Raising spyglass to his eye, he studied the enemy. “Steady now. Steady.” He lowered the scope. “Fire!”
One sailor tapped a wick to the gun’s touchhole, and Eliza covered her ears. Boom! The deck quivered beneath her feet. Smoke swept over her. Coughing, she batted it away. “Oh Lord, please save us,” she muttered, only now remembering to pray. Fiddle! Why did she always wait until things were beyond hopeless?
Blake peered through the gray smoke as the all-too-familiar blast of gunpowder assailed him. He squeezed his eyes shut against the sting as memories crept out from hiding. No, not now! He must maintain control. Shoving them back, he gazed toward the enemy as the New Hope ‘s shot plopped impotently into the sea just yards from the frigate’s hull. Too short. But in line for a good hit. Blake frowned. He was an expert at cannons. But on solid land not on a heaving ship. How did the navy do it? Still, luck had smiled upon him, for his timing of the rise and fall of wave had not been too far off.
“Good shot, Colonel.” One of the sailors turned, his face lined with soot.
“Not good enough. Reload!” Not that they had much chance against a U.S. frigate armed with what appeared to be Dahlgren guns and 32-pounder Parrott rifles. Besides speed, of course. Being smaller, the New Hope should be able to outrun a frigate. Blake shifted his gaze to the captain and his first mate leaning over a flapping chart held down by pistols. It would seem from the captain’s expression, he was of the same mind.
“Max, Simmons,” Captain Barclay shouted at two passing sailors. “Have you seen my sextant, protractor, and Gunter’s scale?”
The men shrugged. “Last I saw, they was in your cabin.”
“They aren’t there.” Captain Barclay scratched his beard, frowning. “Get below and search for them at once!” The two men dropped through a hatch while the captain returned to his chart.
The navigation instruments were missing? Along with the damage to the compass? Blake’s gaze darted to the frigate as a cold fist slammed into his gut. The Union must suspect war criminals were on board. Otherwise, what reason would they have for so intent a pursuit? And if they caught and boarded them, they’d no doubt discover Blake’s identity and haul him back to Charleston to be hanged. He’d never go to Brazil. Never have a chance to escape the memories of war. Never pursue the rising interest he had in Eliza.
Wind tore at his collar, tossing his necktie over his shoulder. The brig slid into a trough, and Blake braced his boots on the deck. He glanced back at the captain.
Orders, Captain! What are your orders? Urgency spun his heart into a knot. Oh how he longed to take command! But he knew nothing of sea battles. And he began to wonder whether Captain Barclay did either. Though the man appeared calm, he seemed trundled in uncertainty as his gaze sped from the charts to the Union frigate and then behind him to some distant spot on the horizon. Regardless, he must make a decision. And fast! On land, Blake would already be spouting orders. But he knew no such order to give here. Except to go faster!
The ship bounced, and he caught his balance. The sailors fumbled with powder bag and priming rod as they reloaded the gun. Amateurs. The men in his regiment would have had it loaded already.
Blake glanced over his shoulder where Hayden stood at the ready in command of the other swivel gun. They exchanged a nod. The stowaway’s confident
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