Page 28 of A Sea Captain and A Stowaway (Gentleman Scholars #7)
The game proved even more successful than the storytelling.
The spectacle of grown men stumbling blindfolded across the deck, guided by increasingly creative instructions from their teammates, provided endless entertainment.
When Hawkins, unable to use the words “left” or “right” or “turn” (all having been used previously), resorted to directing his blindfolded companion with references to famous ports (“More toward Lisbon! No, too far — back toward Gibraltar!”), the entire crew erupted in laughter.
Even Jenks eventually joined a team, his natural competitiveness overcoming his reluctance to participate in anything she had suggested. To Docila’s relief, his team performed well, their success seeming to soften his antagonism, at least temporarily.
By afternoon, the tarp had been rigged overhead, providing blessed shade for the entire forecastle. The mood aboard had transformed entirely, with men now engaged in friendly competition rather than simmering resentment.
When Simms announced that dinner would be served soon — a special dish of salt beef prepared with preserved lemons and the last of their fresh herbs — the news was met with appreciative comments rather than the grumbling that had accompanied meals in recent days.
As the men settled into groups to enjoy their food, Docila found herself momentarily alone, watching the positive interactions with a sense of quiet satisfaction.
The knot of fear in her stomach had loosened somewhat, though she remained acutely aware of the precariousness of their situation.
A shipboard mood could swing from harmony to discord with frightening speed — she had witnessed it firsthand aboard her father’s vessel during a similarly trying time.
“Miss Archer.”
The captain’s voice startled her from her reverie. She turned to find Sidney standing just behind her, his tall frame casting a shadow over where she sat on a coil of rope.
“Captain Peters,” she acknowledged, rising quickly. “I hope you don’t mind the games we’ve made. The men seemed in need of distraction, and Mr. Fletcher thought —”
“I don’t mind,” he interrupted, his tone surprisingly gentle. “Quite the opposite, in fact. You’ve accomplished what I feared impossible — maintaining morale during a dead calm. It’s... impressive.”
The unexpected praise brought warmth to her cheeks. “Thank you, but I can’t take full credit. The men themselves have been willing participants, especially once they saw the purpose behind the activities.”
Sidney nodded thoughtfully.
“Even so, it required someone to take the initiative, to organize and inspire them.” He paused, seeming to choose his next words carefully.
“I’ve commanded ships for many years, Miss Archer, and I’ve weathered my share of becalmings.
None have been managed as smoothly as this one, thanks to your intervention. ”
Docila found herself momentarily speechless, caught off guard by his sincere appreciation. It was, perhaps, the first time he had acknowledged her contribution without qualification or suspicion.
“I merely applied what I learned from my father,” she said finally. “He believed that men confined together needed three things to maintain harmony — purpose, entertainment, and the occasional surprise.”
“Wise principles,” Sidney agreed. “And effectively applied.”
He glanced toward where a group of sailors were now engaged in an impromptu singing competition, their voices raised in a sea chanty that spoke of distant shores and waiting sweethearts.
“I admit, when you first told me of your ideas, I had my doubts. I didn’t think the men would respond to. .. activities organized by a woman.”
“Particularly one they partly blame for their misfortune?” Docila suggested with a wry smile.
Sidney had the grace to look slightly abashed. “Their superstition is misplaced, but yes, that was my concern.”
“Men at sea may be superstitious,” Docila observed, “but they’re also practical. When faced with a choice between boredom and entertainment, even entertainment provided by a supposedly unlucky woman, practicality usually wins.”
This drew a genuine chuckle from the captain. “Indeed. Though I suspect the particular woman in question has much to do with their willingness to participate. You have a way of drawing people in, Miss Archer. It’s a rare gift.”
The compliment, offered so matter-of-factly, caught Docila by surprise. She felt a flush creeping up her neck and turned her gaze toward the horizon, hoping he wouldn’t notice her reaction.
“What are your plans for the evening?” Sidney asked, mercifully changing the subject. “Surely you’ve exhausted your repertoire of stories and games by now.”
“Not entirely,” Docila replied, grateful for the shift in focus. “I thought perhaps a demonstration of knot-tying might be useful — a sort of challenge for the men to showcase their skills while teaching the less experienced sailors. And later, when it’s dark, perhaps some more music.”
Sidney nodded approvingly. “Good ideas, both of them. Turner is particularly skilled with unusual knots — you might ask him to lead that demonstration.”
He hesitated, then added, “And perhaps, if you’re amenable, I might contribute a piece to the musical entertainment again. The men seemed to enjoy hearing the violin the other evening.”
Docila’s face lit up at the memory of that magical musical evening. “Of course, Captain. The men were thrilled to discover that hidden talent of yours. I believe it did more to lift their spirits than anything else we’ve attempted.”
A slight flush colored Sidney’s cheeks at the reminder of how the crew had responded to his playing. “Music has always provided solace during difficult voyages.”
“Music speaks to the soul in ways words cannot,” Docila agreed softly. “My mother played the pianoforte beautifully. Some of my earliest memories are of her playing while my father sang. His voice was quite remarkable for a sea captain.”
For a moment, they stood in companionable silence, each lost in private reminiscence. Then Sidney cleared his throat, resuming his more customary businesslike demeanor.
“Very well, Miss Archer, carry on. I should see to other things.”
“Of course, Captain,” Docila nodded.
Docila watched him go, conscious of a strange warmth spreading through her chest. His acknowledgment of her efforts meant more than she cared to admit, even to herself.
Despite their difficult beginning, despite his ongoing suspicions about her motives, Sidney Peters had just offered her something precious — his genuine respect.
The day continued with activities flowing naturally from one to the next. The knot-tying demonstration, with Turner proudly displaying techniques passed down through generations of sailors, evolved into a good-natured competition to create the most elaborate decorative knots.
As evening approached, however, Docila could sense the fragile nature of the harmony she had helped create.
The activities had provided distraction, yes, but they couldn’t change the fundamental reality of their situation.
The men were tired, hot, and increasingly frustrated by their powerlessness against the elements.
Even now, as the second musical gathering of their becalming began to take shape, she noticed the way some sailors gathered in tight clusters, their voices dropping to whispers when officers passed.
Jenks had participated grudgingly in the day’s activities, but his eyes held the same calculating gleam as before, and she’d caught him speaking quietly with several men during breaks between games.
The entertainment had distracted them, yes, but it hadn’t changed the fundamental facts: they were still becalmed, still losing precious time, and she was still the most convenient target for their mounting frustrations.
The harmony was an illusion, and they all knew it. Tomorrow, if the wind didn’t return, the whispers would grow bolder, the glances more hostile. Tonight’s music might well be the last they’d hear for some time.
It was as they were clearing away the remnants of the day’s activities that Docila felt it — the faintest stirring of air against her cheek, so slight she might have imagined it.
But the ripple in the tarp overhead confirmed her sensation.
A breath of wind, barely perceptible but undeniably real, had found them at last.
Her eyes immediately sought Sidney’s, finding him already alert to the change, his head tilted slightly as he too registered the subtle shift in their environment.
Their gazes locked across the deck, a moment of silent communication passing between them — relief, hope, the shared understanding of what this small change might herald.
The smile he offered her then was genuine, warm in a way she had never before witnessed from him.
It transformed his features, erasing years of care and revealing the handsome man beneath the captain’s stern mask.
Docila felt her breath catch, suddenly aware of a fluttering sensation in her chest that had nothing to do with the returning breeze.
As the ripple in the tarp strengthened, the first whisper of wind beginning to stir the lifeless sails, she returned his smile, a curious lightness spreading through her despite the challenges that still lay ahead.
The becalming had been a trial, certainly, but perhaps also a gift — forcing them to see each other more clearly, to recognize unexpected strengths in one another.
Whatever the future held — whether fair winds or further trials — something had changed between them during these still, sweltering days. Something subtle but significant, like the first breath of wind after a dead calm, promising movement where before there had been only stillness.