-= 155 =-
North Atlantic Ocean
June 1784
"Come."
"Sir?" The marine poked his head through the door of the hastily reassembled captain's cabin. "I've brought Mister Heyward."
"Good. Show him in." John Paul Jones didn't get up. He most certainly didn't smile. "Mister Heyward, pray excuse the lack of ceremony but I expect to be busy for some time yet." He indicated his table - dried pork moistened in water, dried peas, ship biscuit, the only things available on short notice. "Did they feed you on that ship?"
"This morning," Tom replied returning the captain's frown and trying to get a sense of who he was.
Someone trying to save his ship before it sinks. "I'm not hungry, thank you."
His accent, colonial British with a slight drawl, placed his guest from the Deep South. Well, no one was perfect. Jones drank his cup dry and nodded to his steward, who refilled it. "Mister Heyward, as I said excuse the lack of ceremony, but I do not appreciate being drawn into another man's problems."
"Nor do I do so lightly, Captain." Heyward leaned on the table for support. "You were the first American I've seen, and I doubted I would find another before Halifax. It was you, or no one. I do hope you didn't lose too many friends today, however."
Jones relaxed slightly at the simple courtesy, "Well, sit down Mister Heyward. It would do us no good to go through all that and have you fall here and now. Are you ill? Do you need the surgeon?"
"No, captain. It's just a momentary weakness." Heyward did, however, sit. "May I ask where you're going?"
"Boston."
"Philadelphia would be better."
"Boston," Jones repeated firmly. "What is in Philadelphia?"
"Congress. I have to speak with them."
"I wish you luck there. No one can just speak with them. They've even closed the gallery, something to do with security after one delegate was killed and another injured. Even reporting on what happens is strictly controlled by censors for fear of word getting back to our enemies or being twisted by seditious elements."
"Nonetheless, I must speak. I have to warn them."
"About what?" Tom said nothing. "Sir, if you believe there is something that threatens our nation than you are obliged to tell me. Is it the British? Is that why they were so eager for your company?"
"This has nothing to do with them," Heyward shook his head. "That is...something else. I think."
"It sounds like you lead a complicated life, Mister Heyward." Jones shook his head. "Well, I will carry you as far as Boston. I certainly cannot leave you here.:
"Thank you, Captain."
He stood. "When I return, I will want to know more of what you believe Congress needs to be warned of. In the mean time, you may as well rest. I expect repairs to take some time."
-----------------
The darkness here, below the orlop deck and so literally at the bottom of the ship, was absolute. Even Adam Bristol's lamp could do little against it and the tightly bound boxes and crates on either side cast long shadows into infinity.
"Up there, sir," breathed Marine Captain Reynolds in his ear. He nodded to a dim light ahead, like a dying star .He raised his voice: "Sergeant?"
"Here, sir!" cried the star.
"It's about time!" shrieked the star's rogue companion. "I demand to be let out of here!"
"You are in a position to demand nothing," Bristol told them coldly. He could see her seated by the lamp, the light reflecting off her blond hair and fierce eyes. He turned to where he guessed the sergeant was. "Has she given any trouble?"
"None I could not handle, sir!"
"Captain Bristol, you appear to have forgotten who I am," Foster growled. "I demand..."
"I remember you perfectly, madam," Bristol replied. "You are the one who illegally ordered my gunner to fire, thereby committing an act of war against a sovereign nation with no quarrel at this time, and thereby bring His Majesty's navy into dishonor. In so doing, not only did you subvert the lawful command of His Majesty's vessel, but you are directly responsible for the death of nine of my men, including Lieutenant Marshal, and injury of eleven more. In the resulting battle my own ship was seriously damaged, and there is now no chance whatsoever of our keeping are assigned date in Halifax, let alone my resuming the missions commanded me by the admiralty. This, also, you bear responsibility for."
"I would not speaking so righteously, Captain." She rose slowly, and for a moment he could not see her face. "You are ill suited for it. I am familiar with the Articles of War, sir. There is one that reads that a captain or officer who fails to assist in the capture of a prisoner, or suffers him to escape, is guilty. You allowed General Heyward far too many liberties. His escape, and therefore this battle you deplore, is your doing. Then let us look at your conduct of this fight, sir. You did not prepare for hostilities until after I spoke with you. Even before General Heyward's departure, it should have been clear that a minimum of precautions against a potential enemy..."
Captain Bristol was aware of a slowly building heat and a pounding in his heart, or was it his head? He <i>was</i> hot, the air down here could stifle anyone. His ship, his <i>baby</i> was crippled. People lost, good friends. Poor Marshal, what would he say to his wife. Hell and death, what would he say to the port admiral? And here she was, prating on about the Articles he'd memorized years ago, and over which no man on this ship and few in the world had the right to question him.
"Don't touch me, Captain!"
Bristol jerked out of his reverie to find his right arm raised high. He folded his arms, partially to look stern but mostly to keep his hand out of mischief.
"Once your mast is up, I will want to discuss pursuing him with you."
"There will be no pursuit, ma'am. It is true we have a spare mast, but it is sprung...damaged. We can only carry a minimum of sail, and I will use that to carry us to Halifax."
"Captain Bristol!"
"Because," he continued strongly, "there are still over one hundred men and boys under my care, and should we lose that, the foremast alone cannot carry us more than two or three points from the wind and we would be at the mercy of the current. We are going to Canada."
"You'll hang for this cowardice," she hissed.
"Captain Reynolds," Bristol didn't turn. "You will assign someone to retrieve for Miss Foster her belongings, as well as a hammock and a necessities pot. You will also arrange for men to guard her and repel any rats. I will have the surgeon stop by to arrange a schedule so she may take the air as he deems necessary to her health."
"Aye, sir!" Reynolds sounded triumphant.
"I am not staying here!"
"The lady is charged with murder and treason," Bristol added, still talking to Reynolds. "However, I will not tolerate brutality." Reynolds lost two men in the fight with <i>Ranger</i>, and he was a vengeful man. "She is not to leave without either the surgeon or my word. Do you understand?"
"Aye!" Reynolds didn't sound quite so happy.
"Captain Bristol!" Her anger broke. "Please."
It was far too late for that. Bristol turned to the sergeant. "You heard what I just told Captain Reynolds? Good. Stay here until relieved." He turned and walked away.