Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle. Cheryl Cooper

yards,” hollered Fly. “Leander, your services may be needed. You will excuse us, Emily?”

      “Certainly,” she said faintly.

      Fly hurried off, pulling his way into the gale by grasping onto the larboard rail. Leander stood up slowly, as if he loathed the thought of leaving her. “I’ll first take you back to the hospital.”

      “No. Please. I’m coming with you.”

      6:30 a.m.

      (Morning Watch, Five Bells)

      IN THE DREARY MORNING LIGHT, Emily could see the two men bobbing on the raging sea – so small and helpless, like young birds fallen far from their mother’s nest. She stood well back and out of the way of the sailors as they hurled buckets, benches, broken spars, and barrels into the slate-grey waves, in the hopes that the men might reach one of them.

      “Who else, besides Morgan, fell in?” she asked Gus, who stood next to her alongside the larboard rail, squinting through his spyglass.

      “Mr. Alexander. They were both trying to fix a broken yardarm on the foremast.”

      “Can they swim?”

      Gus shook his head. “Most of us cannot.”

      Emily’s gaze fell upon Gus’s little blond head; a mixture of excitement and worry animated his young face as he watched the carpenters through his spyglass. She thought of poor Magpie asleep in her hammock.

      “I’m glad you’re safe, Gus,” she said.

      He beamed up at her. “I’m glad you are safe as well, Em.”

      “The men – they will need blankets when they are pulled in. Dr. Braden has a few in the hospital. Would you mind fetching them?”

      Gus handed her his spyglass. “Right away!”

      When he was gone, Emily shrank back from the rail and pulled up the hood on Leander’s coat, knowing the sight of her above deck was liable to cause Captain Moreland or Mr. Lindsay to have a stroke, in the event they should happen by. She said a silent prayer for Morgan and Mr. Alexander, and turned her back to the east wind to fix her eyes upon Leander, who had joined the chorus of sailors leaning over the rail shouting encouragement to the carpenters as they laboured to reach one of the floating objects.

      “Morgan – the barrel – grab onto it! Swim harder, man! You’re almost there,” Leander cried. Folds of his long forest-green coat furled around his tall frame like an untethered canvas on its yard, revealing the slim curves of his legs in his brown stockings and knee breeches. And when he turned his eyes towards her, as if reassuring himself she was still close at hand, Emily felt a wonderful surge of warmth flow through her.

      Still pulling on his uniform coat and looking as if he had just roused himself from his hammock, James swiftly arrived on the fo’c’sle deck and joined Leander at the rail. “Can we save them?”

      “Morgan’s got a hold of a barrel,” said Leander. “Looks like he’s going back for Mr. Alexander.”

      James spun around to seek the whereabouts of the sailing master. “Mr. Harding, a word, if you please.”

      Mr. Harding quit his station next to Lewis McGilp at the wheel and limped over to the rail.

      “Do we have any idea where we are, Mr. Harding?”

      “The gale has blown us off course. We won’t have an exact location until we see the sun again and can make an accurate measurement, sir.”

      “We may never see the sun again. What is your guess?”

      “Dangerously close to Cape Hatteras, I’d say. Definitely off the North Carolina coast.”

      “Did you try sailing into the wind?”

      “We did, but the rudder received a hit during the fight, and the unfurled sails are so full of holes they are next to useless. We need to repair her, sir. It is almost impossible to steer her in her present condition.”

      “Why wasn’t I awakened earlier?”

      “We – you were up half the night.”

      “And so was every other man on this ship.” James frowned. “If we’re smashed upon the shoals of Hatteras, we’ll all soon be sleeping.”

      “With respect, sir, what more could have been done?”

      “We could have prayed, Mr. Harding.”

      Teetering a hundred feet above them, one arm pointing towards the western horizon, the lookout bellowed, “Land, ho! Land, ho!”

      Peering into the gloom, James was certain he could see the dim outline of land in the distance. His heart quickened. “Mr. Tucker? What is our depth?”

      “No soundings as of yet, sir.”

      “Heave the lead lines again,” James ordered, taking a deep breath before returning his attention to his carpenters’ pitiful predicament. Morgan now had one arm locked around the barrel and another trying to hold onto Mr. Alexander, who sputtered and croaked in fear. The shouts of the men on the Isabelle became desperate and louder than before.

      “They’re closer now. Throw ’em lifelines.”

      “C’mon, Morgan. C’mon, now.”

      “You can do it.”

      “You’re almost home.”

      Seeing the lifelines hit the water, Morgan released the barrel and battled his way through the waves towards them, one hand still gripping the collar of Mr. Alexander’s shirt.

      Suddenly a massive, merciless wave rose up like the foot of a giant and crashed down upon the carpenters’ heads, shoving them beneath the sea’s white surface. “Good God!” gasped James, scrambling farther down the rail to watch in horror. There was an outpouring of despair on the Isabelle. Two young midshipmen standing against the rail wheeled away from the disturbing scene and wept openly. Gus reappeared, quietly gave Emily two blankets, and went off to console his distraught friends.

      “Pull in the lifeline!”

      Old Bailey Beck had tied a cord of rope around his belly and was being hoisted up onto the side of the ship by a couple of sailors when James guessed his intentions. Sensing his disapproval, Bailey calmly stated, “I’m goin’ in after me buddy, Cap’n, even if I die tryin’,” and with his long, white hair and dungaree shirt blowing around him, sprang from the Isabelle like a mythical druid in self-sacrifice. Feet first, he splashed into the swirling waters. When he surfaced he began paddling like a dog towards the place where the men had gone under.

      “Cap’n, sir – Old Beck – he canna swim.”

      “Damn fool! I don’t need the loss of another man on my conscience.”

      The moment James demanded Bailey be pulled in, Morgan reappeared, crying out, gasping for air, both of his hands clenching the lifeline. Emily clutched her chest in fervid relief while yelps of delight and applause erupted amongst the onlookers – if only for a brief time. It was soon apparent to them all that Morgan was alone. The waves continued to rise and fall, but Mr. Alexander was no longer there. The celebration ceased and all became eerily silent, save for the wind’s moans and the unceasing crash of the waves that knocked about the Isabelle.

      Emily inched nearer to the circle of seamen toiling to retrieve both Bailey Beck and Morgan from the water. No words were spoken, only grunts of effort heard, and when the rescued men’s feet finally touched the Isabelle’s firm deck, Bailey grabbed his buddy and held him close. “Thanks to thee Lord for sparin’ ye.”

      While Morgan rested his head on Bailey’s bony shoulder, Emily could see the anguish on the young man’s white face, and his slim body shuddering from head to toe. Even with pain and misery filling his eyes, he noticed her hooded figure amongst the sailors, coming towards him with the offering of grey blankets. With trembling hands, he took them from her, glancing