Surrender (45 page)

“Everyone feels that, Tia. And everyone feels the pain, and the bitterness. And the loss. We’ve both helped treat wounded men from both sides, and we know that they are all someone’s brother, father, lover … son. Friend. I mourn my friends, Tia, either side. And I pray for my father, your brother—and my husband.”

Tia looked up at her, beautiful dark eyes glittering. “Tell me the truth—did you betray Jerome?”

“Never. I swear it.” Risa’s gaze was absolutely steady.

Tia stared at her a long moment. Then she hugged her, and Risa was grateful. At long last someone believed her.

Jamie, whose little leg was caught in the hug, let out a howl. Risa laughed, and Tia laughed, and Risa set him down. Then they laughed and cried together, and Julian, who had been coming to find his sister, paused.

The war had made them all somewhat crazy, he decided. But listening to the two, he hesitated again, and then walked on by. He realized that he wanted to believe.

The next day, Risa woke early. She left Jamie with Tia and Minea, a Creek woman who helped out at the camp. Minea had little ones of her own, and Jamie seemed instinctively to love her and love being with her.

Risa noticed a fair amount of activity as she walked the short distance from the camp to the river outlet where they bathed, aware that she was discreetly followed by one of Julian McKenzie’s medical stewards. She never went anywhere without being watched, but neither did she have anything to fear. Whoever was guarding her followed her just to the narrow outlet, and waited for her out by the pines.

She bathed quickly, shivering as she emerged and redressed. She had barely buttoned the last of her bodice
when she suddenly heard the massive explosion of cannon fire somewhere ahead in the distance. Instinctively, she fell to the ground. The cannon was followed by gunfire, and she leapt up then, hurrying out to the pine trail where she was certain her steward waited.

But she ran right into Julian, on a slender nag, who nearly plowed over her.

“What’s happening?” she demanded. “Where’s Amos?”

“Gone on. There’s been an engagement on the river, and Dixie boys have joined in with the Reb navy. There’s some heavy action ahead. I’m going for our wounded.”

“Naval action?”

“Yes, a ship has come into the river. Risa, move out of my way.”

“Is it Jerome?”

“I don’t know.”

“It has to be!”

“Most probably.”

“Take me with you; I can help.”

Julian stared down at her, teeth clenched. “No.”

“Please! Julian, you know that I can help you! Please, God, use some sense! How could I have had contact with the Union troops! Julian, dammit, please, I can help you!”

He hesitated just briefly, but she hadn’t been more than an arm’s length from him during all the days she’d been at the camp—there was no possible time when she could have communicated with the Yanks across the river.

“Fine,” he said, reaching down to help her mount behind him. “Let’s go, then.”

As soon as she was up, he clipped his heels against the nag. “Come on, horse, don’t fail me now!”

The mare had surprising speed. They raced quickly through the pine trails. In a matter of minutes, they heard the sound of gunfire directly in front of them. Julian reined in and leapt down, turning back for her. He helped her down, untied his medical bag from the saddle, and hurried into the pines. “Duck low!” he warned her. She did so, following him and squinting
through to the river. She inhaled sharply. The river was bathed in black powder from the cannon fire. Suddenly, in the black fog, there was movement. A phantom ship glided along the water. Risa stared at her and gasped.

The
Lady Varina
. Repainted, renamed, now called
Glory
. But it was Jerome’s ship.

Was he aboard her?

Rebel intelligence had known that the
Lady Varina
had been taken to Fernandina to be used against the blockade she’d once run. The matter of taking her had not been easy, but Jerome had been determined. At least the Yankees had once again withdrawn from Jacksonville, so she was, at the moment, a friendly port.

He and his crew had made a successful run to Bermuda for the firepower they badly needed, which the Confederacy could barely spare. They had gone with holds filled with cotton, and returned with British gold and firearms. Running the coast under the cover of darkness had given Jerome the idea he needed to retake her. He couldn’t attack in broad daylight; he hadn’t the manpower. He’d sacrifice far too many men, and possibly his ship. And though he’d heard that Lincoln, in a moment of anger, had said that he could create more officers but not horses,
he
couldn’t afford to lose his men.

Lying awake one night, he’d remembered St. Augustine—and his father’s people. His father and other Seminoles had escaped Fort Marion by nearly starving and slipping through bars. Jerome didn’t need to starve anyone to take a ship, but the lessons of silence and stealth used by his father’s people might serve him well. They first had to find the
Lady Varina
just moving out to sea. Then they had to board her. Not by seizing her in battle, but quietly. Man by man.

Jeremiah Jones, taking a longboat, discovered her whereabouts and movements as a Yank. Jerome hated using Jeremiah, afraid that the boy would be captured as a spy, but Jeremiah had promised, if caught, to surrender—and tell the Yanks that he had changed sides. He promised he’d then sign an oath of allegiance to the United States.

Jeremiah wasn’t caught. He returned to Jerome, who waited aboard the
Bodkin
, with the information they needed. “She’s just heading out tomorrow night—to look for us, Captain. The Yanks are nervous. They’ve been told that you’re at sea again in a Rebel ship. The
Lady Varina
is being captained by a Commander Perry Ulmstead, who says he’ll hang you from the mainmast of your own ship, the moment he sets eyes on you.”

“Really?” Jerome murmured, eyes sparkling dangerously.

“Ah, now, Captain, they could damn well hang you, you being an escaped prisoner and all—”

“They’ll have to take me first, won’t they?” Jerome said.

The following night, with the ship in sight, having moved into open water, they struck.

Indian fashion.

Longboats riding the current brought them to her helm, where man by man, in breeches and face-darkening soot, in silence and secrecy, they used the rigging from the
Lady Varina
herself to crawl aboard. They were armed with nothing but knives—until they took the skeletal guard crew one by one, and were rearmed with Union navy cutlasses. Two Yanks had been killed in the action, and cast down to their watery graves, while the nine men who had surrendered on demand were tied together by the mainmast. Jeremiah and David guarded them, while Jerome, Hamlin, and other crew members approached the captain’s cabin. As they did so, they heard the Yanks talking. “We’ll make a lesson of him!” someone was saying. “Hang him till he’s dead and rotted and bloating and feeding the seabirds, and mark my words, we’ll have less of these Rebel sea rodents breaking through our guard!”

Facing Hamlin, Jerome arched a brow, then nodded silently. They burst through the door of the captain’s cabin with such speed that not one of the five men around the desk had a chance to move, much less draw a pistol or sword. Ulmstead was immediately recognizable with the insignias on his uniform—and the fact that he sat in the captain’s chair, feet up on the desk. He hadn’t quite managed to stand when Jerome came behind
him, his knife poised at the man’s throat. “What was that? Hang him till he’s dead and rotted and bloating … ?”

To his credit, Ulmstead didn’t sputter out any excuses. He sat dead still. “Captain McKenzie, I assume?”

“You assume correctly.”

“If you intend to murder me—”

“I do not. However, you are sitting at my chair at my desk. May I suggest you vacate it?”

Ulmstead rose. He was of medium height and build, wearing steel-gray, fashionable “muttonchops” on his cheeks to match his curly hair.

“Order your men to lay down their weapons,” Jerome advised. Ulmstead nodded to his men. They laid down their weapons. “What is your intent now, Captain McKenzie?” Ulmstead demanded.

“Well, we’ll take her out a bit, then you and your men can take the longboats back to shore.”

Ulmstead lowered his head, visibly relieved. He cleared his throat. “You can’t take her with any speed. There are sandbars and shoals—”

“And I know them all. Mr. Douglas, If you’ll take the helm, you know our course, sir!”

The rest of the crew had to be routed from bunks, and there was some resistance, but in the end Jerome and his men had taken the ship with no losses to themselves and only four Yankees dead and wounded. Jerome waited until dawn to set his prisoners free, then sent them back off toward the coast, supplied with water and rations but no weapons.

When the Yankees had been sent back to shore, Hamlin stood quietly at Jerome’s side.

“Now, sir?”

“We wait for dusk, and escort the
Bodkin
down the river with her hold filled with supplies.”

“What if they are prepared for us?”

“We fight,” Jerome said softly, and turned away.

Risa moved swiftly, close behind Julian, keeping low, as he advanced upon another fallen man. The Rebs were scattered, firing from the trees. It seemed that the Yanks
had seen the ship coming down the river, and were battling it with whatever craft they had on hand.

The pines were filling with black smoke and powder, and it was growing harder and harder to see.

“Keep low, Risa!” Julian warned, reaching the fallen man they approached. He turned the fellow over.

“Dead,” he said softly, and hurried on. Risa followed, swallowing, trying not to look at the soldier. Julian stopped ahead, where another man lay on the ground groaning, gripping his leg. He was an old soldier. Gray-bearded, gray-haired, gray-eyed. Calm and resigned. He glanced at Julian, but offered Risa a smile.

“Well, now, you’re a fine sight to be my last, young lady.”

“I will not be your last vision!” she assured him, smiling in return.

“Rip bandages; I need a tourniquet!” Julian said tersely.

Risa expertly shredded her petticoat, wrapping the tourniquet around the man’s leg the minute Julian had his trousers ripped away enough to show the pulsing wound. Julian applied the proper pressure to stop the bleeding. “How are you doing, soldier?” he demanded of the fallen man.

“I’m old and in pain, how do you think I’m doing?”

Julian grinned at Risa. “I think he’s going to make it.” He stood, and started toward the man fallen beside another tree in the nearby copse.

Risa squeezed the old soldier’s hand. “Sir, you will make it!” She stood, ready to follow Julian. She heard a whinnying and turned. There was a horseman silhouetted in the dying light. She tried to shield her eyes from the sun.

The horse started bearing down on her. “Julian?” she called, unnerved, and instinctively aware she was in danger. “Julian!” she shouted. She turned and ran into the trees.

“Risa?” Julian stood, looking back toward her.

She ran hard, never turning back. But the horseman ran her down easily.

Something cracked hard on her head, and as the world blurred, she was swept up onto the horse and carried away.

J
erome used his
Lady Varina
to shield the activities of the
Bodkin
as she unloaded her precious cargo farther down the river. But as they returned Federal fire, he knew that he didn’t dare tarry long along the river; the Yanks had strengthened their hold upon the water in the long months that he had been gone.

After a barrage of gunfire, things at last grew quiet; the Yanks had expended what they had on hand. It wouldn’t be long before more Federal gunboats would be sent after him—or until he found himself trapped.

“Mr. Douglas!”

“Aye, Captain.”

“I’m taking a boat, and going in for my wife and son.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“I’ll be coming with you, Captain,” David Stewart said, hurrying behind him.

“You’re needed here—”

“We’ve no injuries here, sir. One burned hand from explosives. And it’s bandaged.”

“Come, then.”

Twenty minutes rowing brought them to the west bank of the river. Another thirty minutes of searching carefully through the pines brought them to Julian.

Julian was on the ground, leaned against a tree trunk, bleeding from a head wound. Jerome anxiously hunkered by his cousin as one of his medical stewards bound his temple.

“Jerome,” he said, trying to grin. His words were thick; he was in pain. “Knew you were out there. Knew you’d get that ship back.”

“Yeah, we got her. But you—”

“I feel like a fool …” Julian said, bowing his head.
He looked up at Jerome then and groaned softly. “They got her, they took her.”

“What are you talking about?” Jerome said harshly.

Julian winced. “Easy, now,” David Stewart warned. “You’ve got a major bump growing there.”

Julian nodded, shook his head, paled, and gritted his teeth. “Risa. Risa was with me. Right behind me. Out of the smoke, there came a man on horseback. She was running to me. Dammit, Jerome, I know that she was running to me for help. The rider slammed her in the head with the butt of his rifle, and swept her up. I went after him.”

“Carrying no weapons?” David murmured.

Julian shrugged. “I suppose even we medical McKenzies are a little crazy,” he murmured. “I thought I could tackle the rider. I might have. But someone was riding behind him, and I was knocked out before I could reach the man.”

“How long ago did this happen?”

“Twenty—thirty minutes at most,” Julian said. “I’ve kind of lost perspective. Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

“Dammit, Julian, for what? You didn’t cause the war! I’m just glad you weren’t hurt worse.” Jerome reached for his cousin’s shoulder, and squeezed it. “Don’t worry; I’ll get her back.” He stood, looking at Amos, his cousin’s steward.

“Don’t worry none, Captain. I’ll get him back to camp all right. Like as not, he’ll be holding his head and working surgery just fine within the hour.”