Surrender the Dawn (46 page)

“Do come in, Miss Channing. I hope you don’t mind dining with a bunch of old crotchety sailors.” Captain Raynor stood and gestured toward a chair at the far end of the table.

“Do I have a choice?” She took her seat, surprised to see a clean serviette beside her plate. Taking it, she slipped it into her lap, threw back her shoulders, and met their gazes with a boldness she did not feel within. If she had to endure imprisonment aboard this ship, she would endure it with grace and courage and show these sanctimonious, ill-bred Brits the real spirit of America.

That her countrymen weren’t backward, ignorant ruffians cowering beneath their beds. That Americans were strong and smart and courageous and boasted of more honor than any British could lay claim to.

“You have a choice to eat or to starve, Miss Channing,” the captain said, shifting his jaw. “But if you choose the former, I’m afraid you’ll have to endure our company.”

Cassandra gave him a tight smile. Better to eat and maintain her strength, not to mention have a chance to overhear some valuable information. “Gentlemen,” the captain gestured to her with his hand. “May I present Miss Cassandra Channing, American rebel from Baltimore.”

Cassandra poured herself some of the peach-colored liquid. “I prefer
patriot,
Captain.”

“I suppose it all depends on your perspective,” a chubby man, sitting on her left, said.

Nodding to him, she took a sip of the rum-laced tea and coughed.

“Perhaps you’d prefer the fresh water your … your …” A look of feigned consternation claimed the captain’s face. “Now what shall we call Mr. Heaton, your paramour?”

Heat sped up Cassandra’s neck. The men chuckled.

Captain Raynor cocked his head. “Your beau? Your friend? Your—”

“He is none of those things.” Cassandra cut him off, longing for a fan to wave back the blush that was surely evident on her face. “And yes, I would prefer water.”

The captain snapped his fingers to a steward who stood against the bulkhead, sending the boy out of the cabin. The men, three lieutenants and two midshipmen, if Cassandra’s assessment of the buttons and
epaulettes adorning their uniforms was correct, began piling food onto their plates. A platter of roasted duck, bowl of rice, corn, boiled potatoes in sweet cream, and biscuits passed by her.

She took a small portion of each, though her appetite had abandoned her—just as Luke had done.

But dare she admit that the revelation of Luke’s reasons for his traitorous activities—in the form of the sweet, young boy she’d met earlier—had softened her anger considerably? For she knew, without a doubt, that if Hannah or Darlene had been thus kidnapped, she wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever it took to rescue them unscathed.

The steward returned, pitcher of water in hand, and poured some into her mug. She thanked him. Smiling, he returned to his post. So young. Not much older than John. She wondered if he had chosen to be on this ship, in the Royal Navy. Had his parents arranged the position for him, proud to send their son off to a grand career at sea, or was he impressed as they were?

The men proceeded to eat with more civility than Cassandra expected, but then again they were officers. Talk of the sea, the operation of the ship, and longing for loved ones back home dominated the conversation, but their words blended into a nonsensical drone as Cassandra nibbled at her food and gazed out the stern windows into the darkness beyond. From the slight rock of the ship, she’d guessed they’d all but stopped for the night. Barely perceptible stars winked at her like devilish sprites, reminding Cassandra of her desperate situation.

Not that she needed reminding. A massive cannon guarding the captain’s berth, a sentinel of the strength and superiority of the British navy, along with a row of glistening swords, knives, and axes, hanging on the bulkhead, did a sufficient job of scrambling the contents of her stomach.

“Do tell us how life is in Baltimore these days, Miss Channing?” The captain’s grating voice brought her gaze forward. Candlelight blazed a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Stirring Cassandra’s anger.

“As you have heard, Captain, Baltimore is the largest thorn in your side. Its people are brave, determined, and well armed. Our fort is impenetrable, and we have sent out more privateers to nip your heels than any other American port city.” She regretted the words instantly as anger contorted the captain’s face. Yet the chuckles of two of his lieutenants
seemed to soften his expression.

“She is goading you, Captain,” one of them said. “What do women know of such things?”

Captain Raynor dabbed his lips with his serviette then tossed it onto the table. “And what, pray tell, are the defenses of this impenetrable fort?” He snorted, sharing a look of annoyance with his officers. “Stones and sticks, no doubt?”

“Why, as you know, I can hardly divulge such secrets, Captain. Besides, what do women know of such things?” She gave the lieutenant a smirk.

The captain sipped his drink and leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands over his belly. “We shall see what the good citizens of Baltimore think when our ships sail into her harbor and reinstate British rule.”

The food soured in Cassandra’s stomach.

One of the lieutenants, a gruff man with more hair on his eyebrows than on top of his head, slammed his mug onto the table—giving Cassandra a start. He gazed at his comrades as excitement filled his tone. “If the task is to be as easy as the taking of the rebel capital, we should place British boots on Baltimore’s streets within a fortnight!”

The men raised their glasses in a toast of impending success.

Cassandra’s throat felt as though it had been stuffed with sand. “Are you to burn Baltimore down as well?” What would become of her sisters? Her mother?

The captain plopped a piece of duck meat into his mouth. “If need be, I suppose.”

Her empty spoon fell to her plate with a
clank.
“What need could there be, Captain, to destroy shops, homes, and libraries and force people onto the street? I see no honor in that.”

“Honor!” Spittle flew from Captain Raynor’s lips. “You speak to me of honor when it is you and your rebels who have turned against our sovereign king.”

Cassandra stood, her anger squashing what was left of her fear and her reason. “Whenever a government becomes abusive and destructive, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it. To institute a new government—a government where man rules himself, where his rights—which are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness—come from God and not from man, not from some pompous, uncaring monarch.”

The captain’s brows scrunched together. “What sort of gibberish is
this? And here I thought you would provide my men and me with a pleasant diversion. I tire of your company, Miss Channing.”

“Let her stay, Captain. I find her zeal exhilarating,” the hairy-browed lieutenant said with a wink in her direction.

“And quite comical.” One of the midshipmen chomped on a biscuit.

“Are all American women so brash?” The chubby man to her left did not direct the question to her, but rather addressed his bumbling friends.

“I dare say, sadly, I’ve heard it is the case,” a midshipman across from him answered.

“Then ’tis no wonder the American men prefer war. It keeps them away from the shrews at home.”

The officers broke into a fit of laughter.

“How dare you!” Cassandra’s voice faltered in the boisterous revelry.

When the laughter subsided, the captain’s hard eyes latched on her. “Nevertheless, Miss Channing, you have depleted my patience.” He waved her off. “Mr. Olsen!” His shout brought a marine back into the room. “Take Miss Channing back to her cabin.”

“Captain.” Cassandra tried to steady her voice. “If I displease you so, send me and the boy home. You have no use for us here.”

“On the contrary, I have every use for you. To procure supplies.” He gave her a sordid smirk. “And after we’ve won, perhaps I’ll keep you as an example to all shrewish women in the colonies that they should submit not only to their husbands, but to their new rulers.”

  CHAPTER 31  

C
assandra wrung her hands together and took two steps across her tiny cabin before the bulkhead barred her way. She swung around. Two steps fore and two steps aft. That was the extent of freedom left to her. Instead of granting her more independence, every decision she had made in the past six months had limited it. Investing all her money in a dubious venture had put her family at great risk and restricted her options. Not storing her prize winnings at the bank had left them near destitute. And now, stowing aboard Luke’s ship had made her a prisoner, possibly for life. How would her family manage without her? Instead of helping them, she had only put them in more danger.

Instead of aiding her country, she had unwittingly been aiding the enemy.

The ship bucked, tossing her against the frame of her bed. Pain radiated through her knee. She no longer cared. She’d grown used to the bumps and bruises that marred her arms and legs from constantly being thrashed about. It had been six days since her altercation with the captain in his cabin. And he’d not summoned her since. Not that she wanted to spend another moment with the implacable blackguard, but neither did she wish to remain entombed in her cabin.

Twice a day, a marine escorted her on deck for an hour, during which time dozens of piercing gazes and vulgar comments assailed her, making
her feel like a dancer on stage in a bawdy saloon. Even so, as she stood at the railing and stared at the sea, the hour went by far too quickly before she was given access to the captain’s private privy and then locked in her cabin once again. Meals, consisting of biscuits, fish, water, and an orange or lemon, were brought to her twice a day by a man with a permanent stoop and a pungent body odor that would ruin anyone’s appetite. Nevertheless, she thanked him and tried to eat the food as best she could, even remembering now and then to ask God’s blessing on it. She smiled, knowing her mother would be pleased, but more than that, in her present predicament, Cassandra was thankful for anything she received.

For she knew her life and her future rested in the hands of this British crew.

When asked why they kept her locked up, the marine mumbled something about another lady prisoner who had been able to do much damage to a British ship. Smiling, Cassandra wondered if they referred to Marianne.

A knock on the door froze her in place. The jingle of keys and clank of the latch reverberated through the room, and the door opened to reveal young John with a smile on his face and his hands behind his back.

“Only a minute, boy.” The marine behind John shoved him inside and slammed the door. Sweeping his arms out, the boy presented her with a leather-bound book.

Upon further inspection, a rather holy book. “A Bible?” Cassandra didn’t take it.

“One of the sailors gave it to me, miss. I thought you could use it about now.” He stretched it toward her.

She waved it off. “I thank you, John, but keep it. It has never done me much good.”

Sadness tore the smile from his face. “Then you need it much more than I thought, miss.” He shoved it toward her again. She took it this time, if only to be polite, then sank onto her bed and gazed at the frayed pages and weathered leather binding. “Unless this will sprout wings and fly me back to shore, I don’t see how it will help.”

“Perhaps it
will
sprout wings.” John’s eyes danced. “God can do anything He wants. He is with us, Miss Channing. I’ve felt His presence ever since I boarded.”

Cassandra flattened her lips. “I believe what you’re feeling is dread.”

He chuckled, and the curve of his mouth reminded Cassandra of Luke. Heaviness settled on her chest. Would she ever see him again?

“Fear doesn’t bring hope, miss. Only faith and love do.”

Cassandra lifted a skeptical brow. “And you have hope we’ll get off this ship?”

“Yes, I do.”

Envious of the joy and assurance in his eyes, Cassandra lowered her chin. “God abandoned me long ago.”

The deck canted. Stumbling, John gripped the door frame and adjusted one of his legs. He winced.