Page 5 of Miss Whittier Makes a List
The other officers ate quickly then, talking among themselves, but always coming back to Adam and the other American crew member, captive now on a British vessel bound for England. When Hannah could stomach no more of their whispered conversation, she left the table and retreated to her own quarters. The bed lookedbetterto her than it had in three days, even with the covers still rumpled from her tardy rising. She wanted to crawl into the berth and pull the blanket over her head, and not emerge until they docked inCharlestonand Hosea opened his arms to her.
Her own eyes dull, her heart sick, she removed her clothesand justleft them in a pile on the deck. Too tired to look for her nightgown, she crawled into the berth in her chemise. Her head still ached where Captain Spark had grabbed her hair and pulled so tight.She massaged the spot, and then touched her lips,which felt bruised and swollen from their encounter with Captain Spark. A glance in the mirror earlier had told her they were nothing of the kind. He had not kissed her to hurt her, she had to admit, as she lay there in the dark and let the ship rock her toward slumber. Under other circumstances, she might have enjoyed it.
It galled her and threw her into the depths of humiliation to realize that her first kiss ever would come like that. She had hoped it would come from the man she loved, and not some captain of the Royal Navy too long away from a woman, any woman. She blushed in the dark, reliving the shame all over again. I wonder if I will ever kiss another man and not remember that degradation, Hannah considered.
It was a disturbing thought. She lay in her berth, hands behind her head, and allowed the gentle motion of theMollyto soothe her jangled nerves. As her eyes began to close, she thought of her list of all those qualities she required in a husband.“Well, HannahWhittier,”she spoke out loud, her voice drowsy,“there is one man thee can cross from any list. Captain Sir Daniel Spark is the last man on earth thee would ever marry.”She closed her eyes and let the ship rock her to sleep.
Why she woke, hours later, Hannah could not tell, not then or ever. TheMollywas making fair progress under a full moon, running smooth and swift toward Charleston. She was familiar by now with the creaks and groans of the well-weathered timers, and the hum of the wind in the riggings. Suddenly it was as though all sounds were suspended,and then superseded by anenormousroar of cannon.
The percussion tumbled her onto the deck, and she lay there, trying to collect her wits,as theMollyleaped like a wounded animal, and then shuddered to one side. Even as she lay there, doubled into alittleball with her hands over her ears, Hannah heard the shrieks of the wounded, and the crunch and groan of settling timbers.
She could not move. She gritted her teeth and waited for another explosion. When it came, she braced herself and closed her eyes tight, as if to keep out the horror. This time she heard the mainmast crash through the deck. The brig heeled sharply to one side as the sails and rigging from the mast dragged in the water and threatened to pull theMollyunder. The deck slanted, and she slid hard against the berth she had left so unceremoniously only seconds before.
Hannah wailed in terror and tried to crawl toward the companionway. The force of the explosion had blown the door off its hinges. She could make out its vaguesilhouette, half in and half out of the companionway. She stared at the doorstupidlyfor a moment, thinking how useless it was, lying there like that.She rose up on her knees and discovered they were wet.
In growing panic, she patted the planks. They were all wet with cold water that seemed to bubble up out of the hold itself. Dear God, she thought, her mind suddenly crowded with memories and thoughts long-forgotten, but rushing back now in a most peculiar review. Was this how it felt to die?
And then the thoughts were gone, leaving her almost exhausted. Her trunk floated by. I must get out of here, she told herself as she struggled to gain her footing on the deck, which continued to rise at an absurd angle. As she paused, someone grabbed her under thearmpitsand hauled her into the companionway.
“Hannah, is thee all right?”
It was Captain Winslow. She felt the wool of his soggy uniform against her bare skin.
She nodded, then realized that he could not see her in thedark. “Yes,”she gasped.“Only let me find a dress, or something besides this chemise!”
“No time,”he said, his voice sharp.
The companionway lay at crazy angles, with floating rope and boxes. The hanging lamp tilted weirdly, its flame extinguished. She shrieked as a rat ran across her bare shoulders, its feet digging into her flesh, and then mad with fear, leaped with a splash into the steadily rising water.
Somehow Captain Winslow pulled her toward the gangway. The steps were gone. As they stood there in water waist deep, someone above her grabbed her long hair andtugged at her. She raised her armsand he pulled her onto what remained of the deck.
In another moment, Captain Winslow stood beside her. Before she could gather her wits about her to speak, he picked her up again and half ran, half staggered to the ship’s railing. She pushed against his chest in a sudden surge of fright as he lifted her over the railing.
“Oh, please, no!”she shrieked.
“Hannah, thee has no choice,”he said.“When thee hits the water, swim away fast!”
She tried to clutch at his buttons, but he pulled her hands away and threw her into the water. She reached out for him, even as she sank below the water’s surface. The water was colder even than the water on the sinking ship. Her hair streaming above her, Hannah sank down into the darkness. When her panicking brain told her that she must surely touch bottom, she began to rise. Her lungs desperate for air, she kicked with her feet to hurry the return to the water’s surface, which seemed to boil above her.
When she reached the surface, she took a huge gulp of air,and looked around.By the light of the full moon,she could clearly see theMollyon her side, her keel oddly out of the water. Sailors were leaping off the wreck and into the water. She started to swim toward them, then stopped.
Bearing down on theMollywas another ship, much larger,with gunports open on two decks, the cannon pointed down at a steep angle. Her heart almost stopped beating as the ship opened fire again,blowing the swimmers apart. She took a deep breath, ducked below the water’ssurface, and swam away.
When she dared to look back, the the span>Mollywas gone. Like a wolf circling a wounded deer, the larger ship wore around the wreckage that popped to the surface. Through ears still ringing with the percussion of cannon, she heard the mate calling orders in French to the seamen in the rigging. Soon the sails were set on a new course, and the ship slowly tacked away, its aft lantern light winking red in a silent sea.
Her mind a curious blank, for all the crowded sensations that filled it,Hannah started toward the wreckage, then stopped, treading water. She could not bring herself to go closer and risk the further terror of dead men’s bodies. And what of sharks? The water was boiling suspiciously, evidence of some force at work. She closed her eyes and held still, waiting for a tug on her legs that would drag her under. When it did not come, she swam slowly away, in what direction she had no idea. The sky was filled with stars, but their direction was a mystery and revealed nothing to her of the compass points.
She drifted on her side, fixing her mind resolutely against what swam below the surface, making as little movement as possible. And then she saw it up ahead.
She stopped, too numb to do anything but watch, as a dark form about ten feet long bore down on her. It was futile to swim below it, for it would only turnand come back at its leisure.Then, silent and swiftly running, it was right uponher;she closed her eyes and put up her hands in pitiful defense.
She grasped wood, almost fainted with relief,then hung on more tightly than a barnacle, feeling the object like a blind woman. It was a grate from theMollyClaridge, maybe the one she had sat on only yesterday and observed the insolence of the British Navy.
As she hauled herself onto the grating, she remembered Captain Spark’s words about dousing the running lights.“Well, the French got us,”she said out loud as her teeth chattered in the freshening breeze.“I hope thee is happy, Captain Sir Daniel Spark.”
Considering that it was summer, she was colder than she had everbeenbefore. She shivered until her stomach ached. Her long hair hung sopping down her back, and she wore no more protection than her chemise. Goosebumps marched up and down her shoulders, back, and legs as she drew herself together as tightly as she could and willed the dawn to come.
Chapter Three
