Free Voyage of Midnight by Michele Torrey

do?” Jonas was saying. “Hack off someone’s leg instead of sawing it off? You’re half anyone’s size, plus you’re a surgeon’s mate, boy, not a soldier. Besides, we’re doomed. We’re
all
doomed. They’ll either catch us or kill us, and either way we’re doomed.”
    I sank down beside Jonas, feeling as dour and helpless as he looked, hearing Pea Soup scream and scream as the carronades blasted their 32-pound shot over and over again and the
Formidable
shuddered with the strain. Just how did I get into thispredicament? Me, Philip Arthur Higgins, a hardworking, law-abiding lad who some said had the makings of a good scholar. Me, Philip Arthur Higgins, master, speculator, and entrepreneur, whose short career was about to end in bleak failure, perhaps even at the end of a rope.
    “Two and a half fathoms, Captain! We’re going to ground!”
    “Prepare to jettison the cargo!”
    I blinked, wondering what Uncle meant.
    But before I could figure it out, a cheer began with the sailors at the stern and spread throughout the ship. All about me, sailors tossed their caps in the air or waved them to and fro. Everyone was grinning. “They’ve grounded! Captain, they’ve grounded! And we shot a hole right through her bows!”
    I jumped to my feet and stared aft at the American warship. Indeed, she’d settled on a sandbar. She was listing to the side, yardarms reaching toward the muddy bank, sails bulging with the strain. And as I watched, sheets snapped. A sail ripped asunder with a sound like a cannon blast. Men darted about like ants on an anthill.
    “She’s stuck hard,” said Jonas with a yellow grin.
    Onward we sailed, up the creek, reducing and trimming sail, the jeers and taunts from our crew fading into silence once the American vessel was lost from view. The masts of the British ship were gone as well. Again we were surrounded by nothing but chattering birds, mangrove swamps, and clouds of mosquitoes.
    We cast anchor, watching and listening as the sun sank—a blood-red fireball beneath the mangroves—and darkness fell.
    We had a plan.
    In the wee morning hours, when the tide was favorable, the
Formidable
would slip past the American vessel.
    All light would be extinguished.
    Men would be posted throughout the hold to keep the slaves quiet.
    Fourteen men in our longboat would tow our ship.
    All sails would be furled, for sails blocked out the night sky, and a lookout on the American vessel—supposing he could see the sky at all—might wonder why it’d suddenly disappeared as we floated silently past.
    Gunners would be ready to open fire, if necessary.
    If we slipped by successfully, then we’d sail like the dickens toward the mouth of the Bonny, leaving the American cruiser stranded miles back in the creek, wondering and wondering where the devil we’d gone.
    As surgeon’s mate, I was beginning to realize that the only action in which I’d ever be likely to participate would be the aftereffects of action. The bloody effects. In other words, I was to wait. To stand in readiness and wait. This satisfied me, for as I was small for my age and well suited for scholarly pursuits, I decided I’d take Jonas’ advice and leave the combat to others.
    At half past two in the morning, when all was securely battened, we left our anchorage. We’d gone no more than a quarter mile when a heavy rain began to fall and a lucky breeze blew from astern. We dared not set an awning for shelter, as we didn’t want anything flapping in the wind. So, sticky as molasses, I stood under the shelter of one of the spare boats hoisted high above, trying to see more than just vague shapes in the darkness.
    At least the mosquitoes don’t pester us when it’s raining
, I thought, attempting to cheer myself up. At the same time, I realized I was a bit queasy.
And where’s that Pea Soup when I need him? I could use a bit of sailor’s biscuit to calm my stomach
.
    A half hour passed …
    An hour …
    Rain pounded the boat above