Catch the Wind: My Journey with Caroline

The moment Caroline turns to me, her excitement washes over me like a wave. My heart is slamming against my ribs, but I’m not about to be the one who complains now. “Yes, give chase!” I shout. “Let’s chase that ship all the way back to Canada!”

Orders ricochet across the deck as Lieutenant Woolsey barks commands at Sailing Master Adams, and sailors scramble into motion. As the ship lurches onto its new course, Caroline grabs me just before I go tumbling across the boards.

Crouched beside me with her eyes fixed on the enemy ship, Caroline murmurs that we have to catch up to them. Our men have to capture that ship.

Capture it? I’d only imagined chasing the British ship out of American waters, not actually capturing it. There’s no way they’ll just surrender without a fight.

Sailing Master Adams shouts for the ship to come about, and Caroline warns me to hang on.

The whole ship shudders and tips to one side, sails cracking in the wind. Fear locks my throat shut, and I can’t even scream that we’re capsizing, as I lunge for a wooden bar and grip it with everything I’ve got. A moment later, the ship rights itself.

Still gasping for breath, I ask what just happened. Caroline says it’s nothing, just a sharp turn. I swallow hard, already regretting ever agreeing to come along. My arms ache from gripping the bar, but letting go isn’t an option.

Somewhere on deck, a sailor shouts that the enemy ship is turning to face us. Caroline mutters that the British must already know they can’t outrun us. Part of me doesn’t want to know what that means, but I ask anyway. Grimly pleased, Lieutenant Woolsey nods and says that if the British want a fight, we’ll give them one.

A fight. Just the word steals what little breath I have left. Scanning the deck, I notice the powder monkey is gone, probably gone below to prepare for battle. Caroline’s eyes are wide with fear, but stubborn, too. This fight is personal to her.

Boom! A blast rolls across the water, and smoke blooms near the British ship. A cannonball. My stomach lurches. I can’t believe I let myself get talked into this.

Nearby, sailors scramble to load one of our cannons. When it fires, the blast is so deafening that I let go of the bar just to cover my ears. The cannon jerks backward, and the men leap clear before diving straight back in to work. Someone shouts, demanding to know where the boy went.

Caroline and I cling to each other for a moment before she pulls away. Her face has gone pale, but she seems far steadier than I feel, thinking clearly instead of panicking. She wants to know whether I’d rather go below or stay up here and watch.

I almost blurt that I don’t know. Catching myself, I take a breath instead and force myself to think it through. Going below might mean safety, or it might mean feeling trapped with no idea what’s happening above. Up here, there’s nowhere to hide, but at least I’d see the enemy coming.