she had been so strange. So beautiful, and so different, dangerous … dangerous even if what she had produced had been a hand-knitted scarf. She had wanted to get close to the president, and there had just been that strange difference about her….
He still had that narrow lock of her hair in his wallet. And he still believed that she was out there somewhere, and that, one day, he would find her.
Of course, now he was here.
And still thinking about his failure that day!
Finn chafed at this assignment. He felt better serving the president nearer to him; he was ready to stop a bullet for the man at any time. He felt himself well qualified to do so.
But he also knew something about the sea, and it was true—he had seen many a naval battle and survived. He’d seen battles the good captain couldn’t begin to imagine.
Staring into the darkness, assigned to stop a blooming threat before it could fully materialize.
“You needn’t worry about me,” Finn said. “Whatever course is called, I will be ready.”
“Bosun!” the captain called, looking to the man up on the fantail behind them, a sailor who was studying the night with his own spyglass. “Any signs of life?”
“No, Captain, sir!” the sailor called back. “Not a whisper as of yet!”
Captain Tremblay looked through the glass again. “I see nothing.”
Finn narrowed his eyes suddenly, looking toward the shore. He knew that they were in an area where mangrove swamp gave way to rivers and waterways. They were now north in the Florida Keys, nearing the mainland. It was an area where the Atlantic frequently gave way to channels between the islands, where little mangrove spits were in the tectonic process of gathering silt and debris to become islands, and where trim, shallow-draft ships could easily disappear in the blink of an eye.
“There!” Finn announced suddenly.
“Where?”
“There … hugging the shore. He must know of an inlet.”
“Bosun!” the captain called.
“Nothing. I see nothing, sir!” called the lookout.
“It’s there, believe me,” Finn said. “We didn’t see her, but she’s seen us, and she’s ducking through a channel now, heading for the gulf.”
As Finn spoke, a break formed in the cloud cover overhead. The moon might be new on this January night, so crisp and cool even, but with cloud cover gone, the sky seemed to be filled with a sudden burst of starlight. Perhaps God himself was on the side of the North, Finn mused.
And there, just disappearing before them, was what almost appeared to be a ghost ship, a steam clipper, gliding away, her sails down but her masts just caught in a pale sparkle of starlight.
“Full speed ahead, sir!” Finn said.
“Man your guns!” the captain bellowed.
And the chase was on.
TARA HAD BEGUN TO FEEL that her fears had been entirely unjustified. They had set out with a light wind, cutting through the islands midway between Key West and the mainland and then out to the Atlantic, where they had run parallel with the coast. A breeze had picked up, perfect for the sails, and for a while, she had gone to the cabin, far too restless for sleep, but determined to at least lie down awhile.
And it had been while she had been there, planning a route once she reached land, that she heard Richard’s anxious shout.
“Union steamer starboard. Down the sails! Steam power, with all due speed!”
Tara jerked up and raced out to the deck. The men were grimly pulling down the sails. Richard was at the helm, and they were under steam power once again. The Peace moved quickly. Richard knew how to avoid the reefs, and she was certain that he would head back into the inlets and perhaps the gulf, doing his best to ground the enemy ship as it came in pursuit.
He cast her a glance as she hurried to him at the helm. “She’s heavily gunned,” he said tersely, indicating the enemy ship. “If the firing starts … do whatever you need to do to get out of here. Even if you haven’t the strength to go far, you’ll know where you can find shelter along the islands and the coast.”
“I’m fine, Richard.”
“You’re not listening to me. That ship is heavily gunned. I have a few small cannons. If I can’t outrun her …”
“If you can’t outrun her, you surrender,” Tara said, feeling a choking sensation in her throat. “Richard, do you hear me? You surrender. They don’t shoot down blockade runners in cold blood. They’re trying to stop the flow of supplies, not murder people.”
The look he gave her was one that clearly told her his thoughts.
No. In principle, the enemy was not out to commit murder.
But this was war.
And tempers flared and shots fired easily….
“Men die in the camps,” Richard said flatly.
“And men live in the camps!” Tara insisted.
“You should get out of here, now,” he told her.
“No.”
“You’re stubborn!”
“I know my own resources.” It was difficult to see the Union ship, but she could make out its ominous silhouette.
“Take the helm!” Richard told her.
She did, and he reached for his spyglass, looking over at the enemy ship.
“He should be over the reef any minute … grounding, I pray….” And then he swore, quickly looking at her apologetically. “He rounded it. He knows the game I’m playing.”
“You’ll outrun him,” Tara said with confidence—far more confidence than she was feeling. Few people knew these waters like a native son.
Save another native son.
“I’m heading for the channel. Maybe there …” Richard said.
“You will outrun him,” she repeated staunchly.
But the echo of her words had barely died when the sound of a cannon boom burst through the night.
The ball fell short of its target, causing the water in their wake to burst from the sea like a geyser.
“That was too close,” Richard murmured.
“Damned close!” Lawrence said.
“Aye, Grant. You and Lawrence, man the rear cannon!” Richard commanded. “Quickly. We must pray for a strike and hobble here on the reef!”
His
