Chasing the French had never been so straightforward. They’d been at sea only a sennight. Now with the enemy bearing toward them, he could nearly smell the powder and smoke. Already his body seemed to brace for the coming confrontation, the roar of cannon and oft fatal splintering of wood. His aim was not to sink the vessel but put the enemy cannons out of action and capture the crew and ship.
Before his steady eye, the frigate changed course. Seconds later theIntrepidgave chase. While they bounded after theSauvageon a favorable wind, netting was fitted over the decks to shield the crew from debris, and numerous casks of water were prepared for fire. Cyprian and two other lads sprinted past, strewing sand everywhere. The lookout shouted what Henri had been prepared to hear. The enemy frigate was part of a fleet of five merchantmen, perhaps the very ones he’d been advised were carrying troops and provisions, important personages, and critical documents.
“Ship cleared for action, sir,” came the call from the quarterdeck.
He steeled himself for what was to come. A battle fleet such as theirs might prevent an outright declaration of war and save the colonies the cost in untold lives and materials.
Still, despite the mounting melee, Esmée danced at the corners of his conscience, making what transpired more critical than it had ever been.
He swung his spyglass in another direction. More enemy ships amassed over the horizon now, the topsails in plain view. He trained his glass on them, his heart shifting from a dull thud to a roar between his temples. Five ships of war to dismantle. Could there be more? His crew worked feverishly as theIntrepidrolled, preparing to discharge shot fit to cut rope and tear sails in an instant.
In the chaos he’d forgotten the weather. The scent of rain filled his senses. The start of a squall? A rainstorm would shroud these ships and hinder the action. But better rain than snow. He shivered, more from foreboding than the cold.
Lord God Almighty, help.
Behind theIntrepidsailed a force of Royal Navy ships. Henri held the lead, gaining on his prey until theIntrepidwas close enough to fire two shots across the French frigate’s proud bow. TheSauvageheaved to with a great shudder and splintering of wood, its crew frantic and furious. His men gave a loud cheer, which was followed by a shuddering thud as one ball raced past him, making him reel. Another struck theIntrepid’s hull.
Through the smoke he could see theSauvage’s main topmastfall. In that moment, his own helmsman plummeted to the deck. Cyprian stumbled and stared down at the lifeless body, his own face masked in blood. At once Lucy’s entreating face flashed to Henri’s mind.
“Go below and tend to your wound,” Henri yelled to Cyprian as shot poured forth all around them.
Nearly deafened, he barked orders as he sought to stay ahead of the storm and scatter the convoy, leaving the farthest-lying French ships to the Royal Navy. His prize was before him, the frigate that he sensed held the most important cargo, human and otherwise. His gaze swung to the frigate’s deck, where a great many Frenchmen had fallen as theIntrepidran alongside her, both pointed north.
“Lie down between the guns!” he shouted to his men on the main deck, mere seconds ahead of enemy shot ravaging them like a hailstorm.
He himself stayed standing while theSauvagebecame incapable of the fight and its captain surrendered just as the sun sank lower on a now fiery horizon. With a few words, Henri sent an armed party aboard her. He stood by the taffrail, hands fisted behind his back, taking in every detail of the ship he’d just maimed. It was a masterpiece of French shipbuilding for the Marine Royale, launched from Brest most likely, a prize of extraordinary proportions for the British. Forty guns from the upper deck to the gaillards.
In minutes, the French captain faced him—grim, eyes flashing—and burst forth in a volley of fury that even Henri was hard-pressed to follow. Chest heaving, Henri continued to give orders as the British flag was hoisted and announced the frigate’s capture. Rain began spattering, blessedly cool amid the heat of the fracas but making the decks a shocking stream of scarlet. Few of his men had been killed, but many were wounded, dulling the victory.
No more, Lord, no more.
A cluster of women appeared, huddled by the companionway. French officers’ wives? They stared at him in mute misery, their stricken faces white as sailcloth. Choosing his words with care, he instructed them to board theIntrepid, but they hung back timorouslyas if going to the guillotine instead. Finally they made their way onto the deck, their rich silks and fur-lined capes held up above the mess as the captured officers and crew followed.
Even as the thunderous battle of other ships played out all around them.
CHAPTER
forty-seven
Shortly before Christmas, Esmée left the island in the company of her father and Lucy. They exchanged a cold, choppy journey in the wherry for a somewhat warmer ride in the coach, brass foot warmers filled with hot coals at their feet. For Williamsburg, the holiday season meant greenery adorning mantels and candles on windowsills. The snow that had sent theIntrepidsailing still lay upon the ground, half a foot deep now, freezing all but the holiday merriment.
Esmée hid her shock upon arriving at the townhouse and seeing Eliza again. Clad in a sultana, her hair undressed, feet swollen and face flushed, her sister lay upon a parlor sofa, her Angora cat, Dulcet, in her lap.
Truly, Eliza had lost her joie de vivre.
Taking Quinn aside, Esmée asked, “Have you consulted the physic of late?”
He nodded, then confessed as he readied to leave on business, “Dr. Anson is here nearly every day but says till the birth there’s little to be done. By the ninth month, women tend to be overtaxed in every way.”
In the days following, Eliza fussed continuously over a stray kitten.Cried at underdone mutton. Rearranged the nursery thrice. Sent the servants to market for this or that at every whim. Pelted Esmée with fractious questions. Lambasted Quinn.
“A friend loveth at all times,” Father muttered. “Rather, a husband and sister.”
Then and there Esmée vowed to never try Henri so, not if she could help it.
“Did you read my advertisement in theGazette?” Eliza asked her when they were alone. At Esmée’s nay, her sister took up a paper. “‘Wet nurse wanted immediately, a young healthful person of good character, with a plentiful show of wholesome milk, if from the country the more desirable. Good wages and advantageous terms.’”
“That would be Alice Reed from the almshouse,” Esmée told her, taking out her embroidery. “She was brought to bed but two months ago with a son. She’s fallen on hard times as her husband is away with Washington’s army. Shall I seek her out on your behalf?”
