Souls Aflame (12 page)

The captain sighed, shaking his head. “Frankly, I don’t know what to do with either of you. We must confiscate your cotton, of course, along with the entire cargo of this ship.”

He started to say more, then glanced at the bodies and wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I don’t think this is the proper place for ladies to be at the moment. Suppose we move to the officers’ dining room? I’ll have tea made, and we can talk there.”

Julie wanted to go up on deck and find Derek, yet knew she would never be allowed to do so. She had no choice but to follow the Yankee officer and her mother.

Once they were seated at a table with steaming mugs of tea before them, Captain Guthrie explained that he knew all about them. “The man we found in chains—Harky, I believe his name is—was only too glad to tell us everything we wanted to know.”

He smiled, almost insidiously, Julie thought, as he commented on how the Federal navy had been trying to catch Arnhardt. “And thanks to this fellow Harky, we’re now aware of the routes the infamous Arnhardt used to slip in and out of our blockade. This is valuable information. We’ll be taking immediate steps to reinforce these points.

“We also know,” he continued, “that Arnhardt has been getting supplies into the Confederate ports: guns, ammunition, medical supplies. We know quite a bit, thanks to Harky. Needless to say, he’ll be given his freedom in exchange for his cooperation. He quickly pledged allegiance to the North, and I think we have a very loyal seaman in our service.”

Julie exploded, her fists pounding upon the table and making the mugs rattle. “The bastard! Derek left his fate up to me, and now I wish I’d had him killed. I’ll never hold pity in my heart again. Every man who walks this earth has treachery in his bones…”

Her mother reached out to pat her hand in understanding. “We can’t help the past, dear, but don’t condemn all men because of one. Remember your brother—and your father…they were good men.”

“Myles still is,” Julie said tightly, not liking to speak of her brother in the past tense. She had the fleeting thought that she was grateful her mother did not know that her father was also capable of treachery—of another kind.

Captain Guthrie ignored Julie’s outburst as he commented that one of the ship’s officers had been killed. “I don’t know his name. It was foolish of Arnhardt to resist our boarding. Needless bloodshed.” He made a clucking noise with his tongue.

Julie’s next words were forced out through the rolling, heaving fear within her. “What will you do with Captain Arnhardt?”

“He and his officers may be hung from the yardarms.”

“Oh, my God!” Her hand flew to her mouth as she began to tremble from head to toe. “Please, no…”

“Or they may be sent to prison,” he said with a shrug, as though he really hadn’t given the matter much thought and it was not important enough to dwell upon anyway. “I haven’t decided. As I said, Arnhardt’s been sought for some time. He’s quite adept at running our blockades, and it was only through great diligence and perseverance that we were able to catch him unaware and capture him and his ship.”

He sighed and patted his lips with a napkin. “It’s most unfortunate you two ladies are on board, because I’m in a quandary as to how to deal with you.”

“You’ll let us go on our way to Bermuda.” Julie’s mother showed spark for the first time. “There are certain rules and codes of etiquette in war, I’m sure. Or have the Yankees stooped to capturing helpless women and sending them to prison? Maybe you plan to hang us from the yardarms as well.”

Julie saw the flash of anger in Guthrie’s eyes, and she reached beneath the table to squeeze her mother’s arm in what she hoped her mother would understand as a silent message for her to calm down. Riling the man was not the answer to their dilemma.

Taking a deep breath, she faced the man. “We are private citizens, sir.” She spoke quite calmly. “We’re not soldiers for the Confederacy—or spies. I see no reason why you would object to our continuing on our way.”

He drummed his fingertips on the table, his lower lip jutting out in a thoughtful pout. Then he surprised her by declaring with a smile, “You really are a beautiful woman, Miss Marshal. Or may I call you Julie? It would make the situation much more pleasant if we can all be friends.”

“Friends?” she cried, aghast. “You are the enemy, sir, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Oh, why should we be enemies?” He cocked his head to one side, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’ve nothing to fear from me. Of course you’re distressed because you’ve lost your cotton, but you knew that was a possibility when you left Savannah. You could have been blown to bits when you ran the blockade.”

He got to his feet, signaling that teatime was over. “I have business to attend to. I’m sure you understand. You ladies relax and try not to worry. I’ll decide what’s to be done with you after I see to a few other matters.”

Julie and her mother returned to their cabins. Once she was inside her own, Julie flung herself across the bed, shaking with frustration and worry, not only for herself but for Derek as well. True, she was engaged to another, but there was no denying she felt something in her heart for Derek. The closeness and passion they’d shared made warmth spread over her body like a cloak; then it disappeared and left her chilled with foreboding over what might come.

Suddenly remembering the tragedy that had taken place in the cabin earlier, she raised herself up and turned her head, almost afraid of what she might see.

The bodies had been removed, but there were still large splotches of blood on the floor. Would she have to spend hours staring at them? she wondered with resentment.

The day wore on. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, but she had only to glance at the crimson stains and her appetite was quelled. She thought about going to her mother’s cabin, but decided the older woman might be sleeping, and Julie did not want to disturb her.

Her heart twisted with agony whenever she thought of Derek. Perhaps he’d already been hung. There was no way of knowing.

A look toward the porthole told her darkness would soon be falling. Maybe she could slip out, move about in the shadows undetected, and find out what was going on up on deck. It was risky, but what could they do to her, anyway, if she were discovered? Surely Captain Guthrie would keep his promise that no harm would come to her.

As a black drape descended in the sky, Julie decided that if she was going to prowl around the ship, she would have less chance of being spotted if she was wearing something darker. The dress she wore was a pale lemon color, so she changed to a gown of dark green muslin with a high neck and long sleeves.

She had almost finished dressing when a voice in a clipped northern accent startled her by calling through the door, “The captain invites you to dine with him.”

“Thank the captain for his invitation,” she responded with exaggerated politeness, “but I’m not hungry.”

“As you wish,” the voice answered.

She pressed her ear to the door and heard him call out the invitation to her mother, who accepted. Good. That would keep them occupied while she prowled about. If her mother found her gone from her cabin, she might sound an alarm because she would be so frightened. And if Julie told her in advance what she intended, her mother would try to stop her, saying it was too dangerous.

When she heard her mother leave to go to the dining room, Julie waited a few more minutes. Just as she was about to leave, there was an almost apologetic knock upon her door. Annoyed, she snapped, “I told you I wasn’t hungry.”

“It’s me, Miss Marshal,” a familiar voice replied. “Doc Jenkins. They sent me to scrub the floor.”

Surprised, she yanked the door open and saw the doctor standing there with a mop and pail. He stepped inside, and as soon as she’d checked the hall to make sure no one was about who might eavesdrop, closed the door and turned on him, hungry for information.

“You must tell me what’s going on. I don’t know anything. Where’s Captain Arnhardt? How many of his men were killed?”

He looked sad, withered, as he sloshed the mop in the bucket of water and began scrubbing at the blood stains on the floor. “They killed Officer Justice and four crewmen. We never had a chance. From what little I’ve been able to gather from the whisperings amongst the crew, Harky was behind the whole thing.”

She stared at him incredulously. “Harky? But how? He was in chains—”

“Yeah, but he has a few friends on board, it seems—scoundrels though they be,” he added sardonically. “They were hoping a Yankee ship would happen by, because Harky told them he had a chance if the Yankees took over the ship. Otherwise, he figured he would hang for sure. So they sabotaged the guns.

“Like I said,” he murmured with a sad shake of his head, “we just never had a chance.”

He told how Captain Arnhardt pretended to surrender when he realized the
Ariane
could not outrun the Yankee ship. Then, when the Yankees started to board, he ordered his men to put up a fight. “But we were outnumbered. Hell, they came on board with God only knows how many men—from all sides! It’s a wonder we all didn’t get slaughtered.”

“Then what’s to become of us?” she asked fearfully. “What do Yankees do when they capture a ship?”

He looked at her with despair. “Miss, they aren’t regular Federal navy men. They’re privateers. They just like to act as though they’re the regular navy.”

“And what are privateers?” She blinked at the unfamiliar term.

He explained as he scrubbed diligently at the blood stains, which had by then soaked into the wood and were difficult, if not impossible, to remove, “A privateer is a privately armed ship fitted out at the owner’s expense. I doubt this Guthrie fellow is the owner. Anyway, they’re commissioned by their government to capture the ships and goods of the enemy at sea, or even the ships of neutrals. Then they’re dealing with enemy goods considered contraband.”

“They sound like pirates!” Julie cried indignantly.

He nodded in agreement. “In a way, I guess they are, but legally so. A privateer has a commission to do what he’s doing, while a pirate has no rights.”

Jenkins wrung out his mop and tackled the stains once more, sighing wearily. “The policy of neutral nations in recognizing privateers as legitimate belligerent ships of war is in the interest of humanity and is founded on the effort to try and
prevent
piracy. If privateers
weren’t
recognized by neutral nations, they
would
become pirates, and instead of making prisoners of the crew of captured vessels, they’d massacre them, confiscate the cargo, and sink the ships.

“But,” he went on, “by being recognized, they’re under the surveillance of the government that commissioned them, as well as the governments of all neutral nations. So they’re responsible for their acts to both.”

Jenkins told Julie that privateers were a great advantage to their commissioning government because they cost it nothing and were owned and equipped by private individuals. “They’re a source of revenue as well, because they’re obliged to give a percentage of what they capture to the government that commissions them, in exchange for their license.”

“Then they
are
no better than licensed pirates!”

“Exactly. And you may be sure that your cotton will be sold and a percentage paid to the Federal government.”

“But what happens to you and the others?” she wanted to know, the familiar knot of fear creeping once again into her throat.

Jenkins scrubbed at the floor viciously, angrily. “Probably the same thing we hear that has happened to others just like us. We’ll be treated like common felons, paraded in chains through the streets of northern cities for the amused enemy to gaze at, then thrown in the wretched dungeons of some place they call the Tombs.” He shuddered. “I hear it’s full of filth and vermin, and the prisoners are tortured by being hauled out every so often to be humiliated and put on display as the worst kind of criminals.”

“And Harky?” Julie snapped with fury. “What of him? I suppose the Yankees consider him a hero.”

Jenkins snorted. “Of course.”

She slapped her forehead with her hand. “It’s all my fault. If it weren’t for me, Derek would’ve executed him and this might not have happened. At least we would’ve had a fighting chance. But no,
I
had to be sympathetic and weak!”

In her fury, she rose and kicked a chair, stubbed her toe, and cried out with pain. As she hobbled back to the bed to sit down, Jenkins watched her curiously, then murmured, “You know, the captain and Garris and Watson are down in the hole, in chains. The rest of the men, like me, know if we make one move to help them, we’ll be shot. But I’ll bet the captain is so mad he’s trying to chew through his chains. If he was loose, he’d find a way to take his ship back over. I know he would.

“He’s a fighter,” he said proudly. “I’ve seen him in fights before, and I’ll tell you one thing—it would take half a dozen men to bring him down. Strong as an ox, he is. He didn’t get that build of his by pushing a quill at a desk like most captains.”

“Then why don’t you and the others free him?” Julie all but screamed, gesturing wildly. “Why do you stand there mopping up blood and telling me how great he is? Can’t you slip down there and release him?”

Jenkins shook his head slowly from side to side. She wondered for a moment if the gesture reflected his dejection over being unable to remove the stains on the floor or the plight they were in. Then he spoke. “Miss Marshal, don’t none of us want to die. We’d rather take our chances in the Tombs. We aren’t going to risk our lives. I’m sorry.”