The Daredevil by Regan Walker
Dawn broke under sullen skies as Sam boarded the Morris that would carry him home, or at least close enough to Marblehead to see him there soon. Captain Thomas Bell greeted him cordially at the rail, pleased to have an experienced seaman among his passengers.
Three weeks out of London, the Morris met a furious gale. The sea rose in gray, heaving walls, the brig plunging through vast troughs. Waves twenty feet high crashed onto the deck, tearing rigging from the mastheads. The ship groaned like a living thing beneath the strain.
Fear showed plain on every face. “She’ll founder any moment!” cried the first officer, his voice thin against the wind.
Captain Bell’s orders came haltingly, confusion in his tone. The men hesitated, eyes white with terror at the sight of their officers giving way to fear.
“Hold fast!” Sam bellowed his voice carrying through the storm. “We’ll not founder this night. Steady your hearts, lads!” Then, turning to Bell, he said, “Sir, I’ve been a captain since I was seventeen and weathered worse storms than this. Give me the helm and I’ll see your ship safely through it.”
The captain, his face drawn and wet with spray, met Sam’s eyes and nodded. “Very well. Take her, and may God guide you.”
Sam seized the wheel. “Hands aloft! Storm-sail on the fore—just a scrap! Stream a drag astern. Lash the tiller. Bring her up, steady into the wind!” Lightning split the sky, showing men half-submerged at the rail, the decks awash. “Heave to!” he roared. “Let her ride the gale, not run before it!”
Hour after hour he held the wheel, soaked to the bone, muscles burning, the deck alive beneath his boots. When the worst of the wind passed, he felt that familiar mingling of exhaustion and exultation that comes to a man who has mastered chaos by sheer will.
At dawn the wind slackened, the great seas heaved themselves flat, and the Morris still floated.
The exhausted crew stared in disbelief.
Captain Bell clapped a trembling hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You’ve saved her, Captain, and every man aboard. I’ll see Mr. Morris hears of this. Your skills saved the cargo destined for Washington’s army.”
Sam bowed his head, salt water dripping from his hair. “Thank Providence first, Captain. Then tell Mr. Morris.”
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