A Rocky Mountain Christmas Read Free

seventeen he had been at sea, rising from an able-bodied seaman to first officer. His dark hair blew in the wind as his brown eyes examined the barometer for the third time in the last thirty minutes. There was no doubt it was falling, and that could only presage bad weather. Shrugging his broad shoulders, he left the quarterdeck and tapped on the door of the captain’s cabin.
    “Yes?” the captain called.
    “Captain, permission to enter?”
    “Come in, Mr. Shardeen.”
    Luke stepped into the cabin, which was as large as all the other officers’ quarters combined. Captain Cutter was bent over the chart table with a compass and a protractor.
    “Captain, the barometer has fallen rather significantly in the last half hour. I’ve no doubt but that a storm is coming.”
    “Do you have any idea how fast we are going, Mr. Shardeen?”
    “It would only be a guess.”
    “We are doing nineteen knots, Mr. Shardeen. Nineteen knots,” Captain Cutter said. “It’s my belief that if we can maintain this pace, we’ll outrun the storm.”
    “We won’t be able to maintain this pace, Captain, if we rig the storm sails.”
    “I have no intention of rigging the storm sails. Certainly not until it is an absolute necessity.”
    “Very good, Captain.” Luke withdrew from the captain’s cabin and returned to the quarterdeck.
    “Mr. Shardeen,” the bosun called. “Will we be taking in the sail, sir?”
    Luke shook his head. “Not yet.”
    He looked out over the water. The sea was no longer blue, but dirty gray and swirling with whitecaps. It was the kind of sea referred to by sailors as “green water” and so rough the ship dropped into a trough and took green water over the entire deck as it started back up.
    Shortly, the storm was on them, with wind and rain so heavy it was impossible to distinguish the rain from the spindrift.
    “Captain, we have to strike sail!” Luke shouted above the noise of the gale.
    “Aye, do so,” Captain Cutter agreed.
    Luke sent men aloft to strike sail, praying that no one would be tossed off by the bucking ship.
    The masts were stripped of all canvas without losing anyone, but the storm continued to build. By mid-morning, it was a full-blown typhoon. Fifteen-foot waves crashed against the side of the 210-foot-long ship. The American Eagle was in imminent danger of foundering.
    “Captain, we have to head her into the wind!” Luke Shardeen shouted.
    “No. Even without sail we’re still making headway,” Captain Cutter shouted back.
    “If we don’t do it, we’ll likely lose the ship!”
    “I’m the captain of this vessel, Mr. Shardeen. And as long as I am captain, we’ll sail the course I’ve set for her.”
    “Aye, aye, sir.”
    The huge waves continued to crash against the side of the ship and the rolling steepened, going over as far as forty-five degrees to starboard. It hung for so long the sailors had sure and certain fear it would continue to roll until it capsized.
    Below deck in the mess, cabinet doors swung open and plates, cups, and bowls fell to the floor, crashing against the starboard.
    “Everyone to port side!” Luke shouted through a megaphone and, though the sailors found it difficult to climb up the slanted deck, their combined weight helped bring the ship back from the brink of disaster.
    When the ship rolled back, the dishes tumbled to port, breaking into smaller and smaller shards until there was nothing left but a jumbled collection of bits and pieces of what had once been the ship’s crockery.
    Above deck the yardarms were free of sail except for the spanker sail, which had been left rigged, and was now no more than tattered strips of canvas, flapping ineffectively in the ninety-mile-per-hour winds.
    Captain Cutter was standing on the quarterdeck when a huge wave burst over the side of the ship. He and three sailors were swept off the deck, into the sea.
    “Cap’n overboard!” someone shouted, and Luke ordered the helmsman to turn into the wind. That