Free Almost a Scandal by Elizabeth Essex

anchor. Heave away.”
    All over the ship, men clambered to their stations—topmen scrambled aloft and waisters hove to the braces and halyards in anticipation.
    “Lively there, men,” she called as she climbed onto the starboard chains and the foretopmen scampered by up the shrouds.
    Her heart sped up, pounding against her chest like whitecaps with the thrill of the moment. It was happening. Richard hadn’t come, and she was beyond glad. She was going to sea.

 
    Chapter Five
    She was half afraid her hands would be clumsy and fumbling in her excitement. But experience and elation buoyed her, and in no time she was above, at the masthead. Around her, the wiry, agile topmen climbed to their stations with a minimum of instruction from their captain of the foretop, a long, lanky, earringed fellow named Willis.
    “Lay out.” She ordered them out along the yards. “That’s it. Steady now, lads.”
    They arrayed themselves across the rope horses of the forecourse sail yard, and above, on the foretopsail yard, and even gallant and royal yards in anticipation of the order to unfurl. Clearly Audacious ’s people wanted to see her out of port in the style of their namesake—boldly.
    “Up and down,” came the cry from the bow as the ship was warped over the bower anchor.
    Below in the waist, the capstan was manned by idlers and marines, who lent their discipline as well as their strength to the endeavor. Above, as she looked out from the foretop, the barely bowed line of the horizon stretched out before her in an infinite arc. It was nothing and everything all at once—it was infinite possibility.
    Elation was like an opiate blossoming through her veins. She had never been so happy.
    At the capstan, one of the older crew members scraped an old, worn-out fiddle into a lively song to set a rhythm for the effort of turning the great winch, and for hauling sheets and tacks. Sally recognized the old tune—a favorite of her family, but not one usually employed in the navy, where “Heart of Oak” was the preferred tune—and from the sheer exhilaration of the moment, she began to sing.
    Dance to your daddy, my little laddie.
    Dance to your daddy, my little man.
    She broke off when she found the men staring at her, but a wiry young sailor encouraged her. “Go on then, young sir. You’ve a fine voice for it.”
    The compliment couldn’t help but warm her. Her voice was perhaps average, certainly not the kind of female voice that was characterized as “accomplished” in a drawing room, but it was strong and clear, and well suited to the buoyant tunes of the navy.
    Ye shall have a fish and ye shall have a fin.
    Ye shall have a herring when the boat comes in.
    Ye shall have a codling boiled in a pan.
    Dance to your daddy, my little man.
    At the chorus, more of the men of her division joined in. The singing didn’t stop her vigilant attention to the task at hand. “Mind the lifts, there.” She watched for fingers and feet placed correctly so as not to get wrenched up by running lines. “Hold ready.”
    The predictable easy motion of the ship at anchor began to give way as Audacious began to respond to her helm and Mr. Colyear’s booming baritone brought the orders for the loosening and setting of the sails. “Let fall the forecourse. Haul away there.”
    “Forecourse away,” she called at the top of her lungs.
    Below her, canvas cracked and began to swell with the wind.
    “Sheet home,” came the call as the foresail caught the breeze and billowed out.
    Elation poured over her, leaving her drenched and breathless, sputtering to draw air into her lungs as she felt the ship beneath her feet respond to the helm. The hempen stay she clutched grew taut and alive in her hand, vibrating with the power of the wind rushing over her, washing her clean. She felt free, and empty of expectations.
    And conversely full of possibilities.
    She turned her gaze farther aloft, to the next course of sails. Any second now, Mr. Colyear would