Come Looking for Me. Cheryl Cooper

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      “Now is as good a time as any,” she said despondently, turning over so he could reach her bandages. Slowly, his skilled hands removed her soiled dressings and cleaned away the blood and ooze. She closed her eyes to the warmth of his freckled hands on her skin and listened to the Isabelle as she cut through the roiling waves, almost forgetting the searing pain where the ball had entered her body.

      “If I’d been left in the sea yesterday, Doctor, I would not have minded.”

      Leander gazed at her long hair, the golden waves spread across the white blankets of her bed reminding him of a field of wheat.

      “Well, perhaps you have a great deal more living to do.”

      She said nothing more until he had finished applying fresh bandages.

      “May I speak plainly … as patient to doctor?” She rolled over to look up at him. Leander peeled off his spectacles and placed them in the top pocket of his black apron. “Is there any reason … any reason at all why I must tell you every last detail about myself?”

      Surprise registered on his handsome face. He lowered himself upon the stool that the captain had earlier occupied and pulled it closer to her cot.

      “Not unless you’re a spy for President Madison or you’re working for Napoleon himself.”

      “I assure you I am neither, Doctor.”

      “And your presence on the Isabelle will, in no way, harm the crew.”

      “I cannot think how it could.”

      “If you could recall the name of your ship or its captain, it would certainly assist Captain Moreland.”

      She met his gaze steadily.

      “Otherwise, you may keep your history to yourself.” He rose to leave, then paused by the curtain. “But you should know this: Captain Moreland plans to put you ashore the moment we arrive in Halifax harbour. And if that is not agreeable to you, you must decide how you will answer him.”

      3

      Thursday, June 3

      11:00 a.m.

      (Forenoon Watch, Six Bells)

      ALMOST TWO DAYS after her encounter with the USS Serendipity, the Isabelle dropped anchor in the deep waters off Ireland Island, Bermuda, alongside a privateer with a blood-red hull, three merchant ships, and one British ship-of-the-line called the Amethyst. The winds and tides had been in Captain Moreland’s favour, and his crew had easily steered clear of the dangerous reefs that surrounded the Bermuda Islands. In the past, many ships had not been as lucky; they had been ripped open on the shoals and sunk in the turquoise waters. Under the sunny Bermudian sky, their wooden skeletons could be seen rotting in the sand, constant reminders to passing sailors of their fate should their course not be accurate.

      Once the Isabelle’s crew had been fed their breakfast, they fell to work on the repairs that could not be achieved at sea. For a few hours now, the sounds of hammering and good cheer had reverberated around the ship as it bobbed gently on the clear waters.

      “Sir, what about a new figurehead?” asked Mr. Alexander as Captain Moreland, in the company of Octavius Lindsay, surveyed the ongoing repairs to the ship’s waist. “Shall I ask Morgan Evans to carve you a new one?”

      “I think not, Mr. Alexander. There isn’t time for fixing a new one, and besides, I find them rather ostentatious and outdated. Just smooth out the sides where our figurehead once rested.”

      “What about painting, sir? The ship needs painting,” insisted Octavius.

      “I thought you were in a hurry to see Halifax, Mr. Lindsay. Painting will only further delay us.”

      “But, sir, we don’t want the Americans to think our navy is old and inferior.”

      “But, Mr. Lindsay, we are old and rapidly becoming inferior.”

      “With all respect, I never expected to hear you say such a thing.”

      “Mr. Lindsay, we’ve lost more sea battles and men in this new war than I care to count. Too many years of war are taking their toll. If we’re not quick and attentive, the Serendipity will come upon us again and this time there will be no retreating.”

      “What would Lord Nelson have said, sir, if he’d heard you utter such defeatist words?”

      “Young man,” said James, inspecting his new mizzenmast, “Nelson has been gone for eight years.”

      Octavius’s face fell as the older man brushed by him to look over the rails. A pinnace from the Amethyst, which was anchored nearby, was approaching the Isabelle carrying four officers.

      “Now come with me, Mr. Lindsay, to greet our guests,” shouted James. “Let us find out what news is about in the few days since we were last here. Prepare for their landing, lads. Down with the ladders.”

      * * *

      AT THE END of the forenoon watch, the bell sounded eight times. Leander and Fly sat on the poop deck bench by the stern and taffrail, drinking cups of black coffee as they observed the sailors climbing down from their four-hour watch on the new mizzenmast and topgallant. As the winds blowing from the south were warm and humid, both men had shed their jackets.

      “I much prefer my coffee with milk,” said Fly, grimacing before he gulped his hot drink.

      “I overheard Biscuit threatening to hang himself if he cannot find a goat in Bermuda.”

      Fly chuckled. “Let us hope he meets with success.”

      Leander set down his coffee cup to untie his cravat. “Is James in his cabin with his visitors from the Amethyst?”

      “He is. I am anxious to hear what news they bring.”

      “I hope it’s good news and will improve James’s humour. I fear he is wearying of war.”

      “We’re all weary,” said Fly, growing pensive. “I miss the days when we battled for the prize and sailed it back triumphantly into Portsmouth Harbour. I miss the pleasure of opening the enemy’s hold of riches and thrilling the crew with fistfuls of shillings at the end of their tour. This war’s a hard one and there’ve been precious few rewards. These American ships are smaller, they carry fewer guns, and there’s seldom any treasure to be gotten from them – when we do get them, that is. They’re very good, these Americans. Their crews are fresher and their ships have been built with the best timber from these new American forests. They fight differently, too. Not like the French. Of course, as so many of them hail from England, they understand our tactics and our motivations. We’ve been softened by our numerous victories over the French.” Fly held out his cup to be refilled by Weevil, who stood silently by with a silver coffee pot.

      “Last night, when you questioned Emily, the name Thomas Trevelyan seemed to startle James,” said Leander. “Am I right?”

      Fly nodded. “I too caught his reaction, but he’s a private person, our captain, and he’s not spoken of it since.”

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