“I sure intend to.” He spun her around like in a country dance and then caught her by the hand and pulled her toward the rest of the guests. “Will you wait for me?”
Not exactly a proposal, but the question nevertheless made her grin. She could only pray she managed to put a bit of sophistication in it. “You know I will.”
“How long?”
The music from Old Moses’s fiddle was joined by the rest of the band, who must have just arrived, earning a hoot of approval from the crowd in the front. Cordelia tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Forever.”
Hopefully that would be promise enough to deliver him safely through the war. And hopefully it would be over soon—she had no desire to wait forever for him to hold her again.
Chapter Two
OFF THE ISLE OF PINES, CUBA
JULY 3, 1861
Day had long since faded. The sun’s fire was extinguished in the water to the west, and clouds obscured the heavens where moon and stars should abide. Phineas Dunn stepped into the heavy, humid darkness and sighed. Behind him, his best friend edged onto the deck too.
“Not exactly what I thought it would be,” Spencer said, his voice barely a rumble against the Caribbean breeze. A pulse of humid silence beat between them, and then Spence elbowed him in the side. “You’ll have to exaggerate aplenty to turn this into a tale for your sweetheart.”
Phin breathed a laugh, not sure yet how he’d take the events of the afternoon and make them anything worth telling Delia about. He’d come up with something, though, just as he’d been doing every week—not that he had any idea when his letters might reach her. Regardless, he sent them as often as he could, ignoring the teasing of the other men of the crew. They didn’t tease because he had a girl to write to—no, they teased because he hadn’t had the good sense to marry her or at least propose before he left. A dang fool, Spencer had labeled him the first time Phin had drawn Delia’s photograph out, before the Sumter had even left port in New Orleans.
If only it had been a simple matter of choice. Though now he’d best push all thoughts of Delia aside and focus on the task at hand. “I’ll report to Hudgins.”
“Good. He likes you better.” With a laugh, Spencer turned toward a few other members of the prize crew, who were pushing trunks toward the starboard rail. “I’ll give them a hand.”
Phineas nodded and strode toward the officer in charge. Hudgins turned at his approach and offered him a smile. “Anything of interest below, Dunn?”
“The hold’s empty, sir. I daresay the sail and rigging are the only things worthwhile we’ll find on her.” Still, he cast a glance over the lantern-lit deck of the Golden Rocket. She was a fine merchant vessel, one not unlike his uncle’s, where he had learned all things maritime.
Hudgins nodded. “Would you report that to Commander Semmes and get his instructions on what we ought to do with her?”
“Aye, sir.” When he spun away, his glance snagged on the Union flag that was carefully folded nearby. He had watched the ship strike her colors a couple hours before, had known pride and relief when she raised a white flag in its place.
The first prey of the CSS Sumter. The first victory of the Confederacy’s first cruiser. And hopefully the first blow to the Yankees. There must be a way to focus on that in his letter to Delia. Make it seem a glorious conquest instead of the anticlimax it had been.
Phin headed for the rowboat that would take him from the Golden Rocket to the Sumter. A wisp of the blowing trade wind caught the Stars and Bars that waved over his ship and cooled the perspiration that had gathered under his collar in the Rocket’s hold. He climbed over the rail and down the rope ladder to the boat.
He ignored the twist in his chest.
This was not Uncle Beau’s ship. It was an enemy vessel. And the long-faced commander was certainly not his uncle, the man who had instilled in him the love for the sea that had led him to New Orleans and the cruiser, when all his friends from Savannah were happy to join one of the many Georgia militias.
Phin dropped into the rowboat and settled in, grabbing the oars. He’d become friends with the rest of the crew quickly, especially Spencer. They understood him like his Savannah friends never had—heard the sea’s siren song, felt the need to feel a ship’s deck rocking beneath their feet, knew the satisfaction of seeing the world on a chart and reading the map of the stars. Perhaps the crew were almost all merchant sailors, not military, but they all shared that love of the sea. And being the very first Confederate sailing crew had bonded them together quickly. He knew well that these men would be his brothers for life.
No moonlight illumined his watery path, but the lanterns aboard the Sumter led the way. He cut through the water quickly. A few minutes and he was scrambling up to the teeming deck of his floating home. His gaze searched out Commander Semmes and found him at the rail, watching the Golden Rocket with hands clasped behind his back.
Saluting, Phin stopped at his side. “Evening, Commander.”
“Dunn.” Semmes turned his way, lantern light catching the white of his teeth as he smiled. “How fares the prize crew? Anything to report?”
“Only that the Yankee captain was truthful, sir. There was nothing in the hold, nothing at all on board of interest to the Confederacy or to make her worth towing in for the prize. Some provisions, some sail and rigging you may want to keep for repair purposes.” Though they did their best to rely on the Sumter’s steam rather than sail. But if coal ran low . . . “Hudgins sent me over to seek your orders, sir.”
With a hum directed out at sea, Semmes held his silence for a moment, then nodded. “Burn her.”
“Aye, sir.” He saluted again, though when he spun away, that twist tightened in his stomach. Not an unusual reaction for a soldier’s first witnessed casualty in war, he supposed. No one would think less of him for considering it a shame to destroy such a finely crafted vessel.
Still, he didn’t intend to let them see the conflict. While he climbed back into the rowboat, he set his mind on what words he’d put to paper for Delia instead. The ship would have to be twice its actual size, of course. Perhaps captained by a pirate with a beard that reached down to his belt. And instead of them burning it, maybe it would have to explode, the Sumter crew barely escaping with their lives . . .
Soon the rowboat bumped against the hull of the Golden Rocket, and Phin reached for the ladder, climbed it quickly. He found Hudgins right where he had left him.
Hudgins greeted him with a lifted brow. “Tow or burn?”
“Burn.”
The officer sighed even as he nodded. “Seems a shame, doesn’t it?”
So he wasn’t the only one. Still, Phin offered a confident smile. “I imagine we’ll find prizes aplenty worth keeping, sir.”
“I imagine so—if we can find ports into which we can tow them. Well, nothing for it now. Spencer! Gleason!”
As Spence and another of their friends hurried over to hear the order, Phin took a step back and made himself useful. He lugged another chest of provisions toward the ladder, then gathered the assorted sails and ropes that had been drawn aside to be taken. Spence joined him in time to help lower it all to the rowboat, and Gleason climbed down to welcome the booty into its transport.