An Officer but No Gentleman(21)

The second vessel flew through the water. It had to be making twelve to fifteen knots.

“She’s a Baltimore clipper—and she’s flying the Stars and Stripes!”

“Run up our colors as well,” Charlie ordered. “We want them to know we’re allies.”

Like a cat playing with a mouse which was suddenly swooped by a bird, the corsair’s attention was drawn from her prey. It turned to align their cannons, but the clipper was faster and sent their first volley seconds earlier. Round after round the two ships danced—volley after volley. The smoke so thick at times, one ship or the other would disappear from view for a few seconds until the winds dissipated the smoke.

She’d heard tales that Baltimore Clippers could practically stand on their beam and spin, and after seeing the ship nimbly outmaneuver the corsair at every turn, she decided that was a fair description.

The corsair was no match for the faster, more heavily armed, Baltimore clipper. The acrid smell of smoke lay heavy in the air when the corsair sent up their flag of surrender. Men from the privateer and the Arcadia cheered.

The Baltimore clipper, The Dragon’s Lair, pulled abreast of the French corsair. Grappling hooks were thrown and men began boarding their prize.

Charlie joined the mate on the quarterdeck. She couldn’t believe her eyes. It was the same Baltimore clipper they had seen as they left port. She scanned the deck for the captain, but didn’t see him.

“They are bound to have injuries. I can help,” she said. When Byron seemed reluctant she added, “That ship was going to board us and take everything. They just saved us. It’s the least we can do.”

“Make it so, helmsman,” Byron acquiesced.

Charlie handed him the key to the hold’s padlock. “A case of rum and fifty pounds of sugar might be a welcomed show of our appreciation as well, but I’ll leave that decision in your hands.”

As she handed him the key, she thought of Morty for the first time all day and a sad smile touched her lips. He had been locked in the brig with no word of what had happened. It may have been the only thing which kept him from being impressed by the British. She realized maybe she wasn’t as alone as she thought. Thoughts of her friend comforted her and she looked forward to having someone with whom she could talk openly. She knew Byron would release him from the brig as soon as he remembered he was there unless she could come up with a plausible excuse why she locked him up. She only hoped Morty could keep her secret.



By the time she retrieved two medical books and Dr. Kirk’s bag filled with all manner of supplies, the Arcadia had been maneuvered yardarm to yardarm with The Dragon’s Lair. The decks of the clipper were abuzz with activity. She was amazed by the size of the crew. Easily double her ship’s crew, Charlie quickly deduced that they had been rescued by a privateer.

There were no officers nearby to ask permission to board, so she embarked without permission and went to the quarterdeck where she saw an officer overseeing the operations. As she approached, she could see he wore the chief mate’s uniform.

“Sir,” she shouted to the quarterdeck. “Permission to come aboard?”

The mate looked at the young man in the second mate’s uniform and frowned. “We’re a bit too busy for a social call right now,” the tall, handsome mate said.

“I thought I might help with your injured. I’ve had a bit of training.”

His expression changed. “Oh, thank the heavens,” he said. “Romy, take this man down to the crew’s quarters. He’s here to help with the injured.”



Charlie stretched her back as she finished patching up the last injured sailor. Four sustained injuries that would keep them off duty for a day or more; one man had been peppered with splintered wood when a cannonball tore through a railing, some cuts were deep and the wood had to be removed, but most were superficial. Another man’s finger had been sheared off in a winch when he was distracted by cannon fire. The next man was knocked unconscious hitting his head on the deck after being struck by a recoiling cannon and the last had rope burns to his hands sliding down a line to get out of the rigging before the corsair fired upon them. A fifth man had died within minutes of her arrival. He had been victim of his own gun misfiring. It had essentially exploded in his face. His care was beyond her knowledge. All she could do was dribbled a measure of morphine into his mouth for his pain and hold his hand. She knew his death was at hand and wasn’t sure if he was aware of his surroundings at all, but she spoke to him in calm, low voice.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “My name is Charlie. You just save my crew and me from that corsair. You are a true hero. We owe you a debt.” She didn’t know if he believed in a higher being, but softly spoke the Lord’s Prayer into his ear. And then he was gone.