out over fear, she crept closer, then a little closer still.
The captain spoke to the dull gray smudge taking shape in the distance. “Well, my little lamb, didn’t anyone ever tell you there are wolves in these waters? Best not stray too far from the flock.”
Buck gave a low chuckle. “Shall we give chase, sir?”
“Hmmm,” the captain squinted at the horizon again. “Odd for a ship of that size not to have an escort.”
It didn’t seem like a question to Amanda, but Buck offered an opinion anyway. “She could have been separated from the rest of the convoy by a storm.” His voice held the childlike eagerness of a little boy asking for permission to play in the garden.
“Could be.” Captain Stoakes tapped his looking glass against his open palm. “Or, it could be a trap.”
A trap? Amanda crept closer, dread and excitement warring in her stomach. She focused her eyes on the distant sea and tried to make out which of the dark patches might be the enemy ship and which were low-hanging clouds.
Without warning, the captain turned and shouted over her head, “To stations!”
Amanda grasped the mast to steady herself while she waited for her ears to stop ringing. She had just managed to regain control of her wobbly legs when Buck turned to take a position at the rear of the ship and almost tripped over her. He made only the briefest eye contact and then stepped around her. Amanda’s face flamed.
Captain’s orders given, the ship sprang to life with sailors rechecking guns, powder, and ammunition. Bull shouted orders at the less seasoned sailors, Amanda and Neil included, directing them to where they needed to be and giving them last minute instructions. Both she and Neil were assigned to carry powder and shot to the men at the guns. Theirs was a menial task, but its importance had been drilled into them, none too gently, by Bull.
Within seconds, every man stood ready, and again, there was nothing to do but wait. Eager anticipation roused some chatter, but one quick order for “quiet on deck” from the captain stopped it in an instant. The heavy silence descended once more.
Amanda strained her eyes, trying to make out the form of a ship in the dark smudge on the horizon. Feature by feature it materialized, the outline of a sail, the glint of copper in the sunlight, the curve of a hull.
Still at a distance, it grew obvious the Amanda couldn’t match it in size. The sides of the other ship were well rounded and the upper deck rose high above the deck of the small schooner in pursuit. The ship’s towering sails blended with the swollen clouds scuttling across the spring sky.
The Cross of St. George fluttered from the ship’s foremast. It snapped in the stiff breeze, like the heavy, oppressive hand of the king himself extracting retribution from his rebellious subjects. The warm sun ducked behind a cloud, and a cool breeze cut through the thin cotton fabric of her loose tunic. A shudder rippled through Amanda. This ship belonged to the enemy.
Bull stood next to Amanda, and she couldn’t help but voice at least one of her thoughts aloud, “Bull, that is a merchant ship, isn’t it?”
“Aye, it is,” Bull replied, without taking his eyes off their quarry.
The sailing master called for more sails. Sailors took to the rigging, and the air soon filled the canvas sheets. The Amanda gained on the massive vessel.
“Isn’t it rather large?” Amanda asked, finishing her thought.
“Aye. That it is. She’ll be loaded with supplies for the Tories,” Bull’s gold teeth glinted as the sun slid from behind the clouds, “of which we shall be happy to relieve them.”
Amanda could see the ship clearly now, and she marveled at Bull’s confidence. The merchant ship looked to have three decks with several small hatches propped open on each. She couldn’t yet see in the open ports, but she had a feeling she knew what lay within those dark recesses.
“Are merchant ships armed?”
“That they are,”
The captain spoke to the dull gray smudge taking shape in the distance. “Well, my little lamb, didn’t anyone ever tell you there are wolves in these waters? Best not stray too far from the flock.”
Buck gave a low chuckle. “Shall we give chase, sir?”
“Hmmm,” the captain squinted at the horizon again. “Odd for a ship of that size not to have an escort.”
It didn’t seem like a question to Amanda, but Buck offered an opinion anyway. “She could have been separated from the rest of the convoy by a storm.” His voice held the childlike eagerness of a little boy asking for permission to play in the garden.
“Could be.” Captain Stoakes tapped his looking glass against his open palm. “Or, it could be a trap.”
A trap? Amanda crept closer, dread and excitement warring in her stomach. She focused her eyes on the distant sea and tried to make out which of the dark patches might be the enemy ship and which were low-hanging clouds.
Without warning, the captain turned and shouted over her head, “To stations!”
Amanda grasped the mast to steady herself while she waited for her ears to stop ringing. She had just managed to regain control of her wobbly legs when Buck turned to take a position at the rear of the ship and almost tripped over her. He made only the briefest eye contact and then stepped around her. Amanda’s face flamed.
Captain’s orders given, the ship sprang to life with sailors rechecking guns, powder, and ammunition. Bull shouted orders at the less seasoned sailors, Amanda and Neil included, directing them to where they needed to be and giving them last minute instructions. Both she and Neil were assigned to carry powder and shot to the men at the guns. Theirs was a menial task, but its importance had been drilled into them, none too gently, by Bull.
Within seconds, every man stood ready, and again, there was nothing to do but wait. Eager anticipation roused some chatter, but one quick order for “quiet on deck” from the captain stopped it in an instant. The heavy silence descended once more.
Amanda strained her eyes, trying to make out the form of a ship in the dark smudge on the horizon. Feature by feature it materialized, the outline of a sail, the glint of copper in the sunlight, the curve of a hull.
Still at a distance, it grew obvious the Amanda couldn’t match it in size. The sides of the other ship were well rounded and the upper deck rose high above the deck of the small schooner in pursuit. The ship’s towering sails blended with the swollen clouds scuttling across the spring sky.
The Cross of St. George fluttered from the ship’s foremast. It snapped in the stiff breeze, like the heavy, oppressive hand of the king himself extracting retribution from his rebellious subjects. The warm sun ducked behind a cloud, and a cool breeze cut through the thin cotton fabric of her loose tunic. A shudder rippled through Amanda. This ship belonged to the enemy.
Bull stood next to Amanda, and she couldn’t help but voice at least one of her thoughts aloud, “Bull, that is a merchant ship, isn’t it?”
“Aye, it is,” Bull replied, without taking his eyes off their quarry.
The sailing master called for more sails. Sailors took to the rigging, and the air soon filled the canvas sheets. The Amanda gained on the massive vessel.
“Isn’t it rather large?” Amanda asked, finishing her thought.
“Aye. That it is. She’ll be loaded with supplies for the Tories,” Bull’s gold teeth glinted as the sun slid from behind the clouds, “of which we shall be happy to relieve them.”
Amanda could see the ship clearly now, and she marveled at Bull’s confidence. The merchant ship looked to have three decks with several small hatches propped open on each. She couldn’t yet see in the open ports, but she had a feeling she knew what lay within those dark recesses.
“Are merchant ships armed?”
“That they are,”
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