Two big brutes grabbed Dr. Kirk. “Wait,” he said to the mate. “Let me.…”
One of the guards sent his elbow into the doctor’s gullet. Dr. Kirk grabbed his throat, his face turning red as he tried to pull air into his lungs. They dragged him across the plank to the warship. The other three men were forced across with guns to their backs. The remaining British filed back to their ship, the plank was pulled back and the grappling hooks and ropes holding the ships yardarm to yardarm were retrieved. In minutes, the warship was under sail returning to their original course.
Charlie shook with unvented rage.
“There was nothing that could be done,” Byron said beside her.
Charlie walked away from him and began shouting orders.
“Carpenter, get up there and start measuring to repair the yardarms and mizzenmast. Inspect everything while you’re up there. If you need help, recruit as many men as you need to assist you.”
“Aye, sir,” the carpenter shouted from across the deck.
“Mr. Peck we’re going to need new sails.”
“I’m a step ahead of you. I think we’ve got more than what’s needed waitin’ below. We just need to sort them out.”
“Good man.” Charlie looked up at the tattered sails and rigging. “Someone get that damn white flag down. Everyone else needs to get their asses aloft and get those sheets down.”
The mate grabbed Charlie’s arm. “I’m in charge here.”
“Then take command,” she said pulling her arm free. “But understand this; the Arcadia belongs to Dr. Kirk and me. You are in my employ. I will leave the day to day running of this ship in your hands for now, and you will get the captain’s cut and pay, but I have the final say in regard to the big decisions.”
“We can discuss this later,” Byron stated.
“With your permission, I’d like to prepare my father for his burial.”
“Granted,” he said.
Charlie turned away from him looking for Benjy to help her carry her father’s body below.
“When you’re finished you can start cleaning out his quarters.”
Charlie lunged, tackling Lionel Byron. She lifted the mate’s shoulders, neck and head off the deck then slammed them back down. “Show some respect. His body’s not even cold yet. That is not your cabin. You are only acting captain. Whether it is ever yours will be based on your performance.”
7
The crew gathered at the railing as six of the longest serving crew members carried John Sinclair’s shrouded body on a wide board into their midst. Every man doffed his hat in respect. Charlie read the twenty-third Psalms and said a short prayer. The board was tilted and John Sinclair’s body was committed to the sea.
Charlie had intentionally kept it short and excluded the mate from making comments. The men filed by one by one, saying all the platitudes one says at funerals and shaking Charlie’s hand.
Most of the men would not meet her eyes. They continued to act coolly toward hers as they had since she locked Morty in the brig and she suspected those who spoke kind words to her, did so more out of respect to her father than in sympathy for her.
The mate surprised her by asking if she would like to take the rest of the day off. “Not until we are underway,” she said, flatly.
The repairs seemed to drag on forever. Sails, ropes, winches, blocks, masts, yards all seemed to have sustained damage. Each had to be inspected and determined whether it needed to be replaced immediately or at a later date. The crew would remain at all hands until they were underway.
As the first sheet was carried aloft, a cry of, “Sail ho!” rang out from the crow’s nest.
The other ship skipped along the horizon and Charlie hoped since their ship, at the moment, was a mere skeleton, that they would be less visible.
Within minutes of spotting the distant ship, it changed course. Every man seemed to feel the pressure. They knew they were sitting ducks to any ship with nefarious intentions.
With the Arcadia adrift as she was, the other ship ate up the distance between them at an alarming rate. One by one the sails were placed. Air filled those sails, but the ship was slow to move under such limited power.
“Sail ho!” came another cry from aloft. Charlie scanned the horizon and could barely see a sail off in the distance.
The first ship, a French corsair, soon sailed within cannon range and fired a shot across the bow of the Arcadia. The corsair displayed twelve large cannons. The Arcadia had only one. There was no chance of outrunning her or outfighting her.
For the second time in twelve hours, the Arcadia would have to lie-to and be boarded.
“Sirs!” came a call from the crow’s nest. “The second ship….”