Ransome's Crossing by Kaye Dacus

Author:Kaye Dacus
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780736927543
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers, Inc.

As soon as he saw Commodore Ransome emerge from the wheel A house, Ned left the quarterdeck and headed to the forecastle. He was not certain if his own interaction with Mrs. Ransome had played into the commodore’s reaction earlier, but he did not want to exacerbate the situation further.

William’s treatment of his wife surprised Ned. He’d never seen the commodore betray such emotion in front of the crew before. He smiled. Indeed, being married was changing William Ransome.

Kennedy, midshipman of the forecastle, touched the brim of his hat when he saw Ned. “Sir.”

Ned returned the salute, turned, and braced himself against the wave breaching the starboard bow, spraying everyone in the forward part of the ship. “Wind’s freshening.”

“Aye, sir.” Kennedy glanced over his right shoulder. “Storm’ll be on us soon.”

Ned’s stomach lurched along with the bow of the ship. With a wind this strong leading it, this would be no typical rainstorm—quickly begun and quickly ended. He turned again to keep from taking another wave in the face.

“Take all due precautions, Mr. Kennedy.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Ned hurried aft. William wasn’t on the quarterdeck, so Ned climbed up to the poop where, as he expected, William stood at the stern bulwark studying the storm through his telescope.

“Mr. Cochrane, call all hands to strike topgallant masts and yards. Mr. Gibson, signal fleet to do the same.”

“Aye, aye, Commodore,” both answered. Ned leapt down the steps to the quarterdeck and called for the boatswain. Matthews immediately appeared at his elbow. Most of the lieutenants, senior midshipmen, and warrant officers were already on deck, anticipating the orders to come.

“All hands to strike topgallant masts and yards!” Ned’s voice, followed by Matthews’s and the boatswain’s mates’ whistles created a flurry of activity—like a swarm of rats escaping a sinking ship—as sailors boiled up onto the deck through the companionways. Alexandra plunged and reared over the increasing waves, and Ned thanked God he no longer had to climb up in the shrouds like the midshipmen supervising the sailors, who put their lives in jeopardy to lower the topmost parts of the masts and sails.

Less than fifteen minutes later, the sails, yardarms, and highest sections of each of the three perpendicular masts had been removed, taken below to the gun deck, and lashed together to keep them from damage and the crew from harm.

After the crew belayed the main braces and shortened sails again, William gave the order for the hands aloft to lay off—just as a sheet of cold rain washed over the quarterdeck. The seamen on the deck struggled against the driving rain, the bucking of the ship, and the wind-driven waves pummeling them to cover the hatches with tarpaulins and secure them with battens.

“Dismiss all nonessential crew.” The wind and pounding rain and waves nearly drowned out William’s yelled command. Ned passed the order along. In less than twenty minutes, Alexandra had gone from fully rigged and racing along to short sheeted, battened, and storm ready.

Once only a skeleton crew remained on deck, Ned joined William under the awning of the poop in the wheelhouse.

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