Surrender (25 page)

And men were mown down like corn.

The ground was slick with blood, and in areas the bodies were piled high, several feet deep. An alley became known as Bloody Lane as more and more men
were mired in the blood with the dead, and joined their ranks.

Staring out across the endless field of death as a bloodred sun set upon the bloodstained earth, Jerome questioned not only his judgment, but his sanity. The losses in the war were unbearable, North and South. He walked over soldiers who were boys, called upon to die before ever knowing what it was like to really live.

He heard many men weeping. Men who had fought valiantly, brave men, courageous men. And he had to wonder if God hadn’t turned against them all.

As long as he lived, he would never forget that mid-September in Maryland. For weeks to come, he would smell blood as he slept, and sweat out nightmares in which he returned to those fields of hell.

It was a pity that a man couldn’t simply quit the war. But he couldn’t quit it, and he knew that to leave the fight was to turn his back on the men who had died. Only God alone knew who was right anymore. But even as the gunfire ended and the tragic job of seeking to winnow the injured from the dead began, he knew that it was most important he return to his ship. Medical supplies were more desperately needed than ever.

Thankfully, his nightmares had ebbed somewhat now that he was back at sea. His first order of business had been to return to Richmond for Sydney, but he discovered that his younger sister had moved into the hospital—and that she had been taken beneath the wing of the First Lady herself—and wanted to remain just a few more months. She’d received a long letter from their pregnant mother, Teela, who was feeling not just fit, but exceptionally well. She asked that her daughter be home by November, if at all possible, and Sydney happily agreed. Jerome couldn’t force Sydney to leave the hospital. She was too badly needed.

The
Lady Varina
was in exceptionally fine shape as well—she’d been scraped, painted, entirely overhauled. Her damaged sails had been replaced; she was spit and polish new. He had been deeply pleased to see her.

In Charleston, he had been entertained by Jenson and the Thompsons once again. Janine had flirted boldly, and he had enjoyed her company through a night of dinner
and dancing. It wasn’t hard to enjoy her company. Yet watching her as he sipped brandy late into the night, he found himself making comparisons. And though Janine Thompson was a genuine beauty, he wanted her to have Risa Magee’s long throat, and the rich auburn tumble of hair. He wanted to see Risa’s eyes…the fullness of her breasts, the haunting contours of her body.

Despite her outrageous flirting, Janine didn’t arrive naked in his bedroom—though she had hinted that he might visit hers. He considered doing so, yet he didn’t.

He left the house of his good friend, visited a tavern he had known in days past, and spent the rest of the evening in the arms of a practiced tavern wench he’d known over the years. If anything, she left him more restless than he had been.

Running the
Lady Varina
out of Charleston Harbor had been Jerome’s first test of his repaired ship, but his lady had come through with flying colors. He’d been anxious to pick up supplies and make a Florida run—to his home in the southern peninsula first, and then down the St. Johns. But he was vastly disappointed in the supplies he’d managed to purchase in Bermuda, and there was going to be a scant quantity of the drugs Julian had requested if he couldn’t find another source from which to fill his hold.

And so the ship on the horizon greatly intrigued him.

Hamlin Douglas stood at his side, taking the long glass from his hands to observe the ship in turn.

“Well, Hamlin?” he asked his first mate.

“She’s a Yank.”

“We’ve got to be certain. If we attack a British ship, we could lose the whole damned war for the Confederacy. I learned in Richmond how terribly important it is now for our European neighbors to recognize the validity of our government.”

Hamlin scratched his sharp chin, shaking his silver head. “She’s a Yank.”

“How do you know?” Jerome demanded.

Hamlin’s cool, nearly colorless eyes touched his, and he arched a furry brow. “You think she’s a Yank, too, right.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

Jerome grinned. “Gut instinct.”

“I say the same.”

“Gentlemen, what a way to wage a war!” David Stewart said as he approached them. He was at leisure to serve as counsel now; he hadn’t a single man in sick bay, and he stood with them just forward of the aft, watching the horizon.

“What do you say, Doc? You are an officer aboard this lady,” Jerome reminded him.

David grinned. “I say she’s a Yank. Get her.”

“Mr. Meyers?!” Jerome called to Jimmy, commander of his gun crew.

“I say we take her, Captain! Any French or English ship in these waters would be proudly flying her flag!”

“Bring her hard about, Mr. Douglas!” Jerome commanded. “Mr. Meyers—see to your gunners, sir! Matt! Down to the steam room—full speed upon our prey. Wait for my order, but we hit like lightning—she’s got fierce enough guns aboard!”

It took them nearly two hours to catch up with the ship. She was trying to outrun them; she could not. She was riding very heavily in the water, which further encouraged Jerome. She was carrying a lot of cargo.

He leapt up the rigging, watching the activity aboard the ship. He saw the officers convening, discussing the situation. With the glass he could tell that they were arguing heatedly.

“Call for a warning shot, Mr. Douglas!” he ordered his first mate. “Give them a chance to surrender.”

“We can’t let them fire the first volley, sir—” Hamlin warned.

“And we will not, Mr. Douglas! But give them a chance to surrender. I don’t want to sink her. I want her cargo!”

“Aye, aye, Captain!”

A warning shot was fired; it landed perfectly dead ahead of the Yank’s aft.

Hamlin called out for the surrender of the ship.

From his vantage point, Jerome could see the enemy preparing to fire.

“Mr. Meyers! Fire at will!” he commanded.

The
Lady Varina
let loose with her guns blazing. Her aim was accurate; her hits were deadly. Fire tore across the deck, splitting the mainmast with a crack like a thunder so loud it might have foretold the doom of the sea itself. Shouts rose from the injured Yank; her crew scurried to put out the fires. Her guns roared in reply; her shot fell short.

“Fire again, Mr. Meyers!” Jerome ordered.

The second volley was all that was needed. The Yank was crippled. She hadn’t been flying any colors; now a white flag crept slowly up the one remaining mast.

“Prepare to board her, men!” Jerome ordered.

Shouts of victory rose from his crew, along with the sounds of the grappling hooks that attached them to their prey. Jerome paused by his cabin as the ship was secured, slipping into his jacket to accept the surrender of the Yank. Stepping aboard her, he saw that David was already at work with the Yank’s surgeon.

The ship’s officers were lined up at the helm as Jerome came aboard. The captain was a stiff man: tall, thin, fiftyish, his bitterness apparent in his eyes. His second officer was younger, and nursing an injured arm. The gunner’s mate was a heavy fellow, covered in powder. Jerome saluted them, and was saluted in return.

“We flew no flag; you had no right to attack!” the captain told him.

Jerome arched a brow, smiling slightly. “Well, sir, you are in uniform. You are a United States ship; we are enemies at war. And, gentlemen, you, your crew, and whatever passengers you may carry are now Southern guests—in a manner of speaking.”

“We were bound for England, sir, with—”

“I’ve no doubt you have a hold filled with raw goods, which we will be delighted to put to good use. I’m afraid, gentlemen, that you’ll have to be confined to quarters for the time being. Mr. Douglas will be bringing your ship in. You may take the longboats into the shipping lanes, if that’s your desire, or we can see to it that you are left near a Yankee port.”

“My officers and I will accept the longboats,” the captain said stiffly.

“But, sir—” objected his first mate.

“My mind is made up, Lieutenant Waylon.”

“Your pardon, sir! But we must consider the welfare of all aboard.”

The captain frowned, apparently realizing what it was the first mate was trying to tell him.

He cleared his throat.

“You may confine us to our quarters, Captain. I have surrendered the ship, and we will offer you no more resistance if we are to be treated fairly as prisoners.”

“That is my desire. Mr. O’Hara!” he called, bringing Michael to his side. “If you would be so good as to accept the surrender of small arms from these gentlemen and see them to their quarters…?”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

Michael escorted the men away. Jerome strode across the deck, pausing as he saw a very young man down on the flooring, grasping his leg and fighting tears. Jerome stooped down beside him. “Where are you hit, sailor?”

The youth looked up at him, cringing at first. Jerome didn’t blink. “Where are you hit, sailor?” he asked again.

The youth swallowed. “My knee. I’m going to lose my leg. Jenny won’t love me no more; how can she love a half man?”

“Losing a leg doesn’t make a man half himself. What’s inside makes him half or whole,” Jerome said firmly. “But don’t give up as yet.” He pulled a knife from the sheath at his calf, causing the boy to blanch. But when he ripped the bloody fabric free from the lad’s leg, he breathed again. He tested the bone, aware that the boy whitened even more, biting down hard to keep from crying out. “It isn’t shattered. The hit was behind the kneecap. We can probe for the bullet, and if no infection sets in…”

The boy grasped his arm. “Doc Deakins just said he’d be cutting,” he said anxiously. “I don’t want to be cut, please, Lord, God, Captain Reb, if you can stop him…”

Jerome paused a minute, hoping he wasn’t playing God. He wasn’t a surgeon himself, but he’d spent a lot of time with some of the best, and he knew when limbs could be saved. If infection set in, that could kill the boy.

But infection could set in after an amputation as well. He hesitated, then straightened. “David!”

His own surgeon, bent over another man, rose. David nodded that he was on his way, and gave orders that his current patient not be moved. Then he strode the deck to Jerome. “Take a look. Can we save this limb?”

David bent to the boy. He looked up at Jerome. “Yes, it can be done. There is risk.” He shrugged then. “Then again, there’s Northern boys who think we’re out to kill them in our hospitals. I’d like him willing for me to treat him.”

The boy grasped David’s arm. “If you can keep my leg, sir, I won’t just be a willing patient, I’ll be your slave, sir, the remainder of my life!”

David grinned to Jerome.

“Have someone get him aboard the
Lady Varina
” Jerome advised. “Mr. Douglas, see to the ship. Bring me a list of dead and wounded, see to the cargo, and bring me an inventory. I’ll be in my cabin.”

He departed the captured ship, leaving his officers and men to take her over. In his cabin he drew out his maps, trying to determine the best route to bring his spoils home. He didn’t want to sink her if he didn’t have to—the Confederacy was far too desperate for ships. After a number of calculations, he decided on Jacksonville—assuming he could make certain that the city wasn’t in Union hands. The ship could be reoutfitted in Jacksonville, and turned over to Confederate authorities. He’d also be along the St. Johns, much as he had previously planned. He’d have to postpone his trip to the southern tip of the peninsula, but going home right now was actually a luxury he couldn’t afford. He would get there soon, he promised himself.

There was a tap on his cabin door. Expecting his men with reports, he didn’t look up. A second later he heard a throat being cleared. He glanced up then. The injured young man who had been brought aboard was facing him—balancing on a broken timber as a crutch.

“Are you trying to bleed to death?” Jerome demanded.

The boy shook his head. “I just…well, you fellows are right decent. You’re Captain McKenzie. They call
you a devil, and a sea dragon, and all kinds of things. But they’re wrong, and none of your crew tried to slaughter us or mow us down, or sink us or…”

“I’m not a dragon,” Jerome said, amused.

The boy was hesitant again. He inhaled. “Well, I’ve got some information you should have, because my friend, Sully—he wasn’t hurt in the action—anyway, he told me that Captain Briggs and Lieutenant Waylon are planning some kind of escape—with the general’s daughter.”

“The general’s daughter?” Jerome inquired sharply, amazed at the knot of tension that tightened around him.

“Miss Magee, sir.” He cleared his throat. “All the world just about knows that you kidnapped the lady before, Captain.”

“Wha…?”.
Risa was on board the ship he’d taken?

“So naturally, they intend to save her.”

“So—why have you come to me?”

“Because those fools will kill her! They’ll get drowned—and eaten by sharks. Seems to me, even if—like the newspapers say—you’re a savage and you abducted and ravished her, she’s better off with you than dying with them.”

“I see. Nothing like the lesser of two evils,” he murmured. “Thank you, sailor. Now, young sir, back to sick bay. I’ll not have your death on my conscience!”

Ian McKenzie was military; he’d been trained military, and he understood the tragedy of war.

But it all grew increasingly bitter. He had a wife, and a child, and he was expecting another child. After tremendous trial and tribulation—not the least being that his wife had served the Confederacy as a spy—his domestic situation was not just happy, but blissful. He loved his wife; she loved him. But months had gone by now without his being able to see her, and he missed her—and his Florida homeland—intensely.

It wasn’t possible to point out to his superiors that the Southern generals on the eastern front were walking all over them. Simple statistics should have given them numerous victories, which hadn’t occurred. After a bitter summer of fighting, he was back in Washington.