demeanor and his readiness to not only jump into the fray but take the lead elevated Blake’s opinion of him. Clearly he’d served in the military. And then there was James, the doctor-preacher, standing before a group of brave passengers and sailors all armed with musket, swords, and pistols. Even Moses, the freed slave, stood among the pack, receiving no complaint from the others at his presence. Blake didn’t have time to be amazed as a thunderous blast shook the sky. He ducked. The air sizzled. The shot zipped by his ear. Wood snapped. Splinters flew from the damaged foremast.
More explosions sounded. Distant and muted. Coming from everywhere, yet only coming from within him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed his hands over his ears. No! Wails of agony pierced his skull. Flashes of light and dark traversed his eyelids, luring him into a nightmarish stupor. But he couldn’t let them. Grinding his fists to his thighs, he punched to his feet, forced his eyes open, and inhaled a burst of salty spray. The cool seawater slapped him back to the present—slapped his gaze to the hole the last shot had torn in the foremast.
Too close. Far too close. Anger rippled up Blake’s spine. He wiped the sweat from his face, leaving soot on his shirt. He would not allow one Yankee to set foot on board this ship! Not only for his sake but for the colony. The Yanks would steal all their goods, take him and probably others prisoner. And God knew what they’d do to the women. No, not on his watch.
“Loaded and ready, sir,” one of the sailors said.
Blake swung about. The Union frigate dipped and bowed over the churning waves as if nodding its glee over an impending victory. Closer and closer she came. If only she’d present more than her narrow bow, Blake may be able to fire a shot that would do some damage.
Captain Barclay had abandoned his charts and marched across the deck, gazing aloft at the sails. A volley of orders spewed from his mouth. Sailors scampered above, and soon the New Hope veered to larboard, sending a curtain of spray into the air. Blake stumbled across the deck to the captain. “What is the plan?” he shouted over the roar of the sea just as a hail of grapeshot peppered the deck, punching holes in the sails above.
The men ducked. All except the captain. Instead, he frowned at his damaged sails then lowered his gaze to Blake. “The plan, Colonel?” He snorted. “Why, to tuck our scraggly tails and run!” His grin revealed a single missing tooth Blake had not noticed before. Yet at his lighthearted tone, armed sailors and passengers turned to listen. Hayden joined them from the foredeck.
Captain Barclay scanned the anxious faces. “We are faster than a frigate. If we fill all our sails, we can outrun them.”
“But to where? They’ll follow.” Hayden cast a harried glance at the frigate as if he, too, had something to fear from the Union.
The captain’s eyes flashed. “We are near the Bahamas, Mr. Hayden. There are hundreds of shoals off the windward islands. I expect our friends won’t be followin’ us, or they’ll risk bein’ grounded.” He winked.
James quirked a brow. “How can you be sure?”
“Because I was a blockade runner in the war. Why, once I slipped through a fleet of Union war ships surroundin’ New Orleans. Slunk right past them as if we were a ghost ship. By the time they saw us, we were too close to the shoals for them to follow. Never fear, gentlemen.”
“But your instruments,” Blake shouted into the wind. “Are we heading in the right direction?” He searched the captain’s dark eyes for any hint of uncertainty but found only confidence.
“Never fear, Colonel. I know these seas like a pirate knows his booty.” And without further ado, Captain Barclay turned away and cupped his mouth. “Sharpshooters to the tops. If they get any closer, fire at will!” He stormed toward the quarterdeck, muttering, “Those bedeviled muckrakers!”
James slung his musket
More explosions sounded. Distant and muted. Coming from everywhere, yet only coming from within him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed his hands over his ears. No! Wails of agony pierced his skull. Flashes of light and dark traversed his eyelids, luring him into a nightmarish stupor. But he couldn’t let them. Grinding his fists to his thighs, he punched to his feet, forced his eyes open, and inhaled a burst of salty spray. The cool seawater slapped him back to the present—slapped his gaze to the hole the last shot had torn in the foremast.
Too close. Far too close. Anger rippled up Blake’s spine. He wiped the sweat from his face, leaving soot on his shirt. He would not allow one Yankee to set foot on board this ship! Not only for his sake but for the colony. The Yanks would steal all their goods, take him and probably others prisoner. And God knew what they’d do to the women. No, not on his watch.
“Loaded and ready, sir,” one of the sailors said.
Blake swung about. The Union frigate dipped and bowed over the churning waves as if nodding its glee over an impending victory. Closer and closer she came. If only she’d present more than her narrow bow, Blake may be able to fire a shot that would do some damage.
Captain Barclay had abandoned his charts and marched across the deck, gazing aloft at the sails. A volley of orders spewed from his mouth. Sailors scampered above, and soon the New Hope veered to larboard, sending a curtain of spray into the air. Blake stumbled across the deck to the captain. “What is the plan?” he shouted over the roar of the sea just as a hail of grapeshot peppered the deck, punching holes in the sails above.
The men ducked. All except the captain. Instead, he frowned at his damaged sails then lowered his gaze to Blake. “The plan, Colonel?” He snorted. “Why, to tuck our scraggly tails and run!” His grin revealed a single missing tooth Blake had not noticed before. Yet at his lighthearted tone, armed sailors and passengers turned to listen. Hayden joined them from the foredeck.
Captain Barclay scanned the anxious faces. “We are faster than a frigate. If we fill all our sails, we can outrun them.”
“But to where? They’ll follow.” Hayden cast a harried glance at the frigate as if he, too, had something to fear from the Union.
The captain’s eyes flashed. “We are near the Bahamas, Mr. Hayden. There are hundreds of shoals off the windward islands. I expect our friends won’t be followin’ us, or they’ll risk bein’ grounded.” He winked.
James quirked a brow. “How can you be sure?”
“Because I was a blockade runner in the war. Why, once I slipped through a fleet of Union war ships surroundin’ New Orleans. Slunk right past them as if we were a ghost ship. By the time they saw us, we were too close to the shoals for them to follow. Never fear, gentlemen.”
“But your instruments,” Blake shouted into the wind. “Are we heading in the right direction?” He searched the captain’s dark eyes for any hint of uncertainty but found only confidence.
“Never fear, Colonel. I know these seas like a pirate knows his booty.” And without further ado, Captain Barclay turned away and cupped his mouth. “Sharpshooters to the tops. If they get any closer, fire at will!” He stormed toward the quarterdeck, muttering, “Those bedeviled muckrakers!”
James slung his musket
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