42
The wind quickened, slapping waves higher against the ship, which rocked fitfully and nauseously; I heard the masts and rigging creaking, and the sails flapping, all through the night. When at last the rising sun spread a crimson sheen across the ocean, I wondered how many more mornings I would live to see.
The children and I spent an awful day together. Hitchman brought us food that none of us had the appetite to eat. Bertie alternately raged and pouted. Vicky said, “It’s going to be all right, isn’t it, Miss Bronte?” I did my best to calm her growing anxiety, even though I was loath to give her false hope.
Afternoon had lapsed into a cloudy, blustery twilight when there began a commotion above us. Voices called in English and Chinese. We heard thuds and scrambling noises as cargo and persons came aboard. With much consternation I deduced that the rest of Kuan’s retinue had arrived by boat. Next there was a cacophonous metallic racket of the anchor being hauled up from the water. A loud rumbling began in the depths of the ship. I smelled smoke and heard steam hissing. The engine roared to life; its mighty pulse throbbed. The ship began to move.
Bertie shouted, “No!”
He pounded and kicked the door; he sobbed with rage. Vicky uttered not a sound, but tears trickled down her face. The ship gathered speed, its great wheels churning the water. I experienced the wrenching sensation of being torn from all that was familiar and dear. An invisible, impenetrable barrier slammed down behind me, sealing me off from my past life, its joys and woes. Papa, Emily, Anne, Branwell, and Mr. Slade were lost to me, as were all dreams for the future. My unfinished book would remain unfinished; I would never write another. The voice that I had labored to make heard by the world would be silenced forever.
Vicky huddled tight against my side. When Bertie realized that his hysterics were futile, he quieted and came to sit by me. I put my arms around the children and mutely prayed for the ship to reach China safely even with myself no longer on it. I beseeched God to let the Crown negotiate the return of Vicky and Bertie even if I perished. They embodied not only generations of royal ancestry; they, like all children, represented mankind’s hope for the future. That they should die for offenses committed by their elder was a sin most grievous.
The sea and the horizon flowed past our window, their emptiness relieved only by occasional, faraway ships, until darkness fell. I knew not how many miles we traveled. Silver lights from the moon and stars flecked the choppy waves. The engine roared and the wheels churned without cessation. I had the opportunity to realize that there was even more to be lost than I’d initially thought.
The family Bronte had never had much in the way of worldly possessions or status. But we had taken a quiet pride in knowing that our name was respectable. Our personal honor had conferred upon us a sense of value. But when the world learned that I had been party to the kidnapping, I would be forever reviled. Even if my family survived their imprisonment, they would forever be tainted by their association with me, the name Bronte ruined. They would live out their lives beneath a cloud of shame. Furthermore, they were not the only ones who would suffer on my account. With myself dead and beyond punishment, Mr. Slade would take the blame for our mission’s disastrous conclusion. He, whom I also loved, would surely hang.
Suddenly Vicky tensed beside me and said, “What’s that sound?”
“I don’t hear anything,” I said.
But Vicky’s face brightened with hope. “I hear ships.”
“So do I!” Bertie said. “They’re coming for us.”
Now I heard what their acute young ears had discerned first: a distant thunder carrying across the ocean. We grouped around the window. Clusters of lights came into view. As they neared, they became four steamships lit by lanterns, puffing smoke. Their noise grew louder. Shouts erupted on our ship’s upper deck: The crew had sighted the fleet. The engine roared louder and throbbed harder; the paddlewheels plowed a bumpy, accelerating swath across the water, but our pursuers gradually gained on us. Our ship tilted off course, throwing me and the children sideways. Again and again this happened while Kuan tried to maneuver away from the fleet. My stomach lurched with every roll. Vicky and Bertie shrieked as we tumbled onto the floor. For an instant I thought the ship might keel over and sink.
The engine’s noise dwindled; the ship slowed, regaining balance. The racket from the wheels stopped. We glided to a halt, rocking and tossing upon the waves. The children and I peered out the window. Two ships were standing afloat near us. Their idle engines rumbled like tigers ready to pounce. Armed soldiers stood on their decks; guns protruded from their hulls. Banners fluttering on their masts bore the insignia of the Royal Navy.
“Mama and Papa have sent them to rescue us!” Vicky cried.
Tears of relief pricked my eyes. I breathed a prayer of fervent thanks, even as I wondered how this miracle had come to be.
A voice thundered from one of the ships: “Attention, Mr. Kuan! In the name of the British Crown, I order you to surrender!”
I recognized that voice. It belonged to Mr. Slade! Now I spotted him on a naval ship amidst the soldiers. Jubilation swelled my heart. With his keen, determined features lit by the lanterns and his black hair wild in the wind, he looked to me like a Spartan warrior come to rescue Helen of Troy.