Falcon's Angel

The Coast of North Carolina May 1810 Will Falcon shielded his eyes from the driving rain and strained to see land through the darkness. Snapping sails and the fury of wind and waves made it almost impossible for his bellowed commands to be heard over the tumult of the squall. But he wasn't worried yet. His crew was seasoned, and the Katherine as sweet and seaworthy a ship as any clipper ever built in Baltimore. With luck, he could avoid the shifting sandbars and stay in the channel without grounding the schooner. An unidentified island loomed on his port side, too near for comfort, and a morass of shoals and tricky currents lay between the Katherine and open sea. The storm had swept in fast, surprising Will with its intensity. In the space of a half hour, three-foot seas had become six-, and the shallow waters churned into a foaming maelstrom. Winds gusted to sixty knots, thunder rolled overhead, and bolts of lightning seared the heavens. "Sweet Mother of God," Will muttered as needles of hail battered his exposed skin. No wonder these waters were a graveyard of sunken ships and wandering ghosts. If the tides and weather didn't sink a ship, the pirates would. Sailing so close to shore at night was a calculated risk. For years a ruthless band of outlaw wreckers had haunted these waters, luring unsuspecting vessels to destruction. If he and his men were to have a chance at hunting down these predators, the Katherine needed the cover of darkness. And tonight, she needed the relative safety of protection from the higher seas in deep water. He'd hired a guide, a local called Stump, who swore he'd fished this area all his life and knew the sandbars, shoals, and elusive waterways between the islands like the back of his hand. If Stump turned out to be a fool or a liar, Will could lose his ship and all hands. "Cap'n! The storm sail--" A gust ripped the sailor's shout away as two more seamen scrambled to add muscle to the taut line. Will felt the Katherine shudder as she plunged into a trough between waves. Water boiled over the gunnel and washed across the sharply tilted deck, and a solid wall of churning sea rose on the leeward side. "Come on, darlin'," Will pleaded. "You can. Yes!" Like a spirited hunter rising to the jump, the ship nosed up, slicing waves and wind. "Yes, that's it!" He laughed as spray drenched his face and hair. Damn but his Katherine was a ship to boast of from Boston to New Orleans. Hamilton Shipping might possess her title, but every curve and spar of her was Will's, and someday he'd save enough to buy her back. Lightning flashed, momentarily blinding Will, leaving a taste of burning sulfur on his tongue and filling his brain with the stench of brimstone. Hairs rose on his arms and the nape of his neck. And when he forced his eyes open, he saw tongues of blue-white fire licking at the poles atop the foremast. A crewman swore and pointed. "St. Elmo's fire!" First Officer Aaron Fletcher appeared at his side. "Nice night for it." Will motioned for the younger man to take the tiller. Aaron grinned. "My thoughts exactly," he shouted. "Cap'n!" The cry came from mid-ship. "A bolt broke. Gun's comin' loose." "Secure it!" Will ordered. A cannon adrift on the deck was serious trouble. Several men rushed to tie down the heavy gun. The Katherine carried a crew of thirty-eight, but in a storm like this, every hand was needed. "Cap'n!" Will recognized Isaiah. The sailor was an old salt, not likely to call for help unless he needed it. "Want me . . ." The wind's howl ripped Aaron's question away. Will shook his head. "I'll go. You stay at the helm." The slick deck slanted under his feet as he made his way hand over hand down the lines. &French, Judith E. is the author of 'Falcon's Angel' with ISBN 9780345437617 and ISBN 0345437616.