Free The Saintly Buccaneer by Gilbert Morris Page A

baby, but that young woman made such an astonishing recovery that by the last day of the year, she was able to carry on without help.
    All morning on the thirty-first, Charity walked around the camp, being greeted constantly by the soldiers who had come to recognize her. The sight of a woman was a rare thing, and more than once she had seen the ugly face of lust, but every soldier in the Continental Army knew with an iron certainty that the man who touched Charity Alden would hang in the cold wind the next day.
    She stood and watched as Baron von Steuben, that strange import from Europe, drilled a picked squad on a hard-packed field of snow. He howled and wept and cursed in German, and the men laughed at him, and then he would laugh at himself. But Charity had heard Major Winslow say, “That fat Prussian has made soldiers out of them! They’ll never break and run again!”
    During the afternoon, Charity walked along the perimeters of the camp, staring at the miserable huts and tattered tents, gazing from time to time into the hungry eyes of a sentry or some of the men on wood detail, wondering why they stayed.
    The sun paled and seemed to cast no heat on the frozen ground as she finally returned late in the afternoon, weary from the overwhelming situation. A resolve had come to her, and the import of her decision brought no comfort, for she had seen neighbors and relatives who had paid a heavy price for throwing their strength into the battle for freedom.
    Deep in thought as she walked, she was unaware of anyone until a shadow came across her path. Looking up, she saw that Dan Greene was standing patiently with his hands in his pockets. Something about his attitude told her he had been waiting for her.
    “Getting dark, Miss Alden.”
    She fell in beside him, and he spoke of casual things, but finally he stopped and she halted as well, looking up at him.
    “Has thee made up thy mind?”
    “Yes—but how’d you know?” she asked.
    “Ah, now, that’s not been too hard.” He kicked the snow off one of his boots, lifted his eyes, and gave her that gentle smile so often seen in his strong features. “Thee has been walking around for three days now practically talking to thyself. But I know what thee is going to do, Charity.”
    His use of her given name surprised and pleased her somehow, and she smiled up at him. “Oh, do you now, Dan? And what am I going to do?”
    “Why, thee is going to get the supplies for the general,” he answered and laughed at her expression, adding, “And I am going with thee!”
    “What!”
    “Surely thee didn’t think the general would let thee go alone?”
    “I don’t need any help!”
    He stared at her, shaking his head. “Oh, there’s no doubtthee would do it, but my uncle is the quartermaster of the Continental Army, and he’s assigned me to be liaison officer in this matter.”
    It irked Charity to see the assurance in Greene’s face. She had made up her mind to go, but there had been nothing said about taking anyone along. She had spent years proving that she was as good a sailor as any man, and now it seemed that she had to prove it to the Continental Army. “Take you along? Are you a sailor? Can you skip up a foremast and set a top gallant? Can you navigate?”
    He shrugged, ignoring her flash of anger, and admitted, “I’m no sailor, Charity. Matter of fact, the only time I ever got in a boat bigger than our little fishing skiff, I got so sick I couldn’t hold my head up. So thee will have to help me along—if I’m allowed to go, that is. And the general would really prefer to have a member of his staff along to negotiate with the captain of the French ship.”
    His words soothed her ruffled emotions, and she laughed lightly and put her hand on his arm, hard as iron beneath her touch. “Well, maybe we’ll make a sailor out of you, Dan. Don’t know of any Quaker sailors, though.”
    He put his hard, square hand over hers and there was a queer feeling in her as he