“Yes, sir.” Phin saluted, smiled . . . and darted a glance at Spencer, who didn’t look so happy.
Then Hudgins turned their way with a grin. “Spencer—you’ll come again too. And . . . Davidson, let’s give you a chance this time.”
Having Spence included rekindled Phin’s smile for a moment, but it faded when the commander strolled onward. Phin had woken up this morning thinking of Delia, of those wide green eyes begging him to stay. Worried about whales and tigers and giant squid.
How could that make him want to laugh at the same time it made him go tense and alert?
Hudgins looked back at the ever-nearing sails. “What do you think? Will they surrender as easily as the Golden Rocket did yesterday?”
Phin studied the lines of the ships, the size and outfitting. “They’re both merchant vessels. They won’t be well enough armed to fight. They’ll surrender.”
A few minutes later, the warning shot boomed out from the Sumter, landing off the bow of the nearest ship. A few minutes more, and the Union vessel struck her colors and raised the white flag.
Hudgins straightened and jerked his head toward the rowboats. “That would be our cue. Let’s make it quick, gentlemen, so the Sumter can meet that second ship too.”
Phin’s feet pivoted, obedient and quick. But Delia’s imploring face flashed before his mind’s eye again. Her voice echoed in his ears. “Don’t go.”
He shook his head to clear it and clamped down on the tide of emotion that swamped him. They’d all felt regret last night, watching the Rocket burn. They all probably wondered if today’s tasks would be any easier.
But letting such doubts linger would only hurt them. He couldn’t hesitate, couldn’t let himself put a pretty face on his fear and use it as an excuse. Better to use that image as inspiration.
He climbed into the rowboat with his friends and grabbed an oar. A little exertion was exactly what he needed. Grinning, Spencer followed behind him and took up the other oar. The other three members, two marines and then Davidson, looked every bit as happy.
Phin blinked away another image of Delia’s imploring eyes.
At Hudgins’s nod, Phin and Spencer stroked the oars through the water, headed for the now-anchored ship bearing the name Cuba on its hull. No surprise, then, to see her so near the port of Cienfuegos. The only questions were whether she was registered in the Union and to whom her cargo belonged.
Their boat bumped against the Cuba, and Hudgins led the way up the ladder, Phin close behind. When his boots hit the deck, he felt the glowers of the vessel’s crew upon them. One of the elder members stepped forward, thunder in his brow. “What is the meaning of this, gentlemen?”
Hudgins sketched a bow. “It is my honor to inform you that you have been apprehended by the CSS Sumter. Might we see your papers, please?”
The captain folded his arms over his chest. “Confederates.”
“At your service, sir.” Hudgins lifted a brow. “And you are?”
The captain growled low in his throat but motioned another man forward with a few leaves of paper. “Captain Stroud. You will see we are of the everlasting state of Maine.”
Hudgins’s lips hinted at a smile. “Yankees.” He took the papers and handed them off to Phin, apparently unwilling to break eye contact with the man opposite him.
Stroud made a mocking imitation of the midshipman’s bow. “At your service, sir. Now I demand you let us go. It is Spanish cargo we carry, of no concern to you.”
Phin flipped through the papers. “Well, you are from Maine and your cargo belongs to Spain, sir, we grant you that.”
Hudgins inclined his head. “Which means we have the honor of offering you a tow to Cienfuegos, Captain Stroud, where we can turn your cargo over to the proper authorities and deliver you to a United States consulate before dealing with your ship.”
Sputtering, face gone red, Stroud took one menacing step toward Hudgins. “Pirating rebels!”
Given the tic in Hudgins’s jaw, the prize master didn’t take kindly to his years at the Naval Academy being tainted by such a misnomer. Phin edged forward, putting his shoulder just a bit in front of Hudgins, and fastened on a smile that would hopefully calm his superior even as it taunted Stroud. “Perhaps if you mean in the tradition of the Sons of Liberty.”
“How dare you liken yourselves to the Patriots?” The captain rolled back his shoulders and tugged down his coat, gaze sizzling. “Those who prey on innocent merchant vessels simply because of the flag they fly are pirates, pure and simple.”
Hudgins’s hand landed on Phin’s shoulder. Friendly and tense all at once. “Dunn, see to the tow. I’m going to escort Captain Stroud and his crew to his cabin, where they will remain under guard until we can deliver them to their consulate.”
Phin turned, but not before the disdain seething through Stroud sent a frisson of warning up his spine. He glanced at the two marines with them, at Spencer and Davidson.
They’d have to be well on their guard until they reached Cuba.
Chapter Four
Salina stifled a delighted laugh at the closing line of Delia’s latest story, covering her mouth with her hand to keep from being overheard. How did she come up with such things? Grand adventure, sweet romance, enduring love . . . such fanciful ideas. As idealistic as their author.
Completely outside Salina’s experience, but still she loved to hear Delia read them to her or—better still—read them herself.
Though she’d been prepared to make notes of any outright mistakes, she straightened the papers without leaving a mark. Sure and there were some notes she could have made about the characters and their viewpoints, but why point out the ugly side of things that Miss Delia couldn’t see? She’d ignored them because she didn’t know nothing about them, and Salina would just as soon leave it that way. She’d tell her the story was perfect just as soon as she got home.
In the meantime, work enough waited to keep her busy. Salina gathered up the clothes ready to go to the laundress and employed her hip to open the door. A spiritual hummed its way out of her throat, the same one her murruh had always sung to her on the Owenses’ plantation.
With the missus and her daughters out for the morning, the house had relaxed, its gray bricks all but sighing. Salina padded down the back stairs without caring whether she made any noise, smiling at the loud Gullah banter that came from the kitchen. When she entered, both the cook and the laundress looked up.
“Is you bringin me mo work there, Salina girl?”
She grinned at the hired laundress, who was sorting through a mound of rumpled cotton while she and the cook gossiped. “We can all use more work, ain’t that right, Fanny?”
The wiry cook snorted and nodded toward the pile. “Sure and right, gal. Put it on down for Emmy and git yo’self out the way. Them there roses Miss Delia favors be bloomin, and I reckon she’d like it if some was waitin in her room.”
“You be a smaa’t one, Fanny.” She added Delia’s clothes to the pile and waved her farewell as she stepped out into the blistering July sunshine. She sure missed going to the mountains this summer. But she wouldn’t complain, no sir. If she gave the missus an excuse, she’d be in the rice fields yet, where death came so slow you wished it would hurry, and so fast you never got to meet your own children.