The Eagle and the Lion: A Strange Turn of Fortune

By Laurel Robinson

A Strange Turn of Fortune is the first novel in the saga, The Eagle and the Lion
by Laurel Robinson.
American, Anne Morgan is on her first sea voyage to England when her ship is badly damaged in a storm. She is thrown ashore and finds herself stranded on a French beach shortly after the end of the
Napoleon’s final rampage through Europe. She is rescued by a regiment of British
Riflemen; members of The Prince Consort’s Own 95th Regiment of Foot. It is led
by the handsome dashing Major John Hamilton, a recent widower whose unhappy
marriage left him with a jaundice view of women. With the help of his best friend,
Regimental Sergeant Major Daniel Browne, the two are wed, thus beginning the
saga of these unforgettable characters as they chart their way through the highs and
lows of life, love, and the complicated societal norms of post Napoleonic England
and America.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543465686

Laurel Robinson

Laurel Robinson has her MA in teaching Deaf and Hard of Hearing students,and she has taught for the past 39 years. She works across all grade levels, has taught most subjects, as she has supported her students’ language. Laurel lives in Denver, CO, with her husband, Joe, and their Golden Retriever.

Book preview

The Eagle

and The Lion

A STRANGE TURN OF FORTUNE

Laurel Robinson

Copyright © 2017 by Laurel Robinson.

ISBN:              Softcover              978-1-5434-6569-3

                        eBook                   978-1-5434-6568-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 02/05/2019

Xlibris

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Contents

Part One

Part Two

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Part Three

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Part Four

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Book 2 of The Eagle and The Lion    A Matter Of Honor Excerpt

About the Author

Part One

A sailing ship approached the English Channel on the final leg of its voyage from America to London. It was a trip her captain had made countless times before. The wind was rising and pulling the waves up with it. In keeping with her name, the Sea Breeze cut calmly and confidently through them, as if she were in command of the sea. It was dusk, and the night was closing in quickly. It had been a cloudy day and the night promised to be a dark one.

Down below deck a woman lay in her bunk, unable to sleep. The air was thick and sour from sea sickness and unwashed bodies. Occasionally a breath of sea breeze would waft down from above, but its freshness was quickly absorbed into the foul air. She lay there watching the shadows grow longer. The groaning and creaking of the wooden hull seemed to be voicing its complaints as the ship pitched and rolled. The unlit lanterns squeaked as they swayed on the hooks hammered into the heavy wooden beams. The heavy seas had driven the passengers into their bunks early. It was quiet, except for the occasional cough. Barely perceptible murmurs of conversation emanated from the dark. Some passengers were asleep, but most were not. A child whimpered.

Anne Morgan glanced at her mother, who lay beside her sleeping peacefully. The circumstances that led to mother and daughter traveling together aboard the Sea Breeze were years in the making. The bitter-sweet irony of their voyage was that for the first time, mother and daughter had become closer than any time Anne could remember. Yet the closer they got to England, the sadder Anne became. She had wanted to be excited about her first sea voyage, but the circumstances surrounding it curbed her enthusiasm. For when they reached England, mother and daughter would part, perhaps forever.

In contrast, the farther they got from home the happier Martha seemed to become. She talked of nothing but England, the towns and cities of London, Canterbury, Northampton, and Portsmouth, and of her sister and how she looked forward to being reunited with her. She was at last going back to a place where she had wanted to be for longer than either one could remember.

Martha Morgan was a tall, slender woman; her mousey brown hair was streaked with gray. Even in sleep her once pretty face looked strained and hard from woes and strife, much of it of her own making. Her mother was tense and highly strung and her father had done his best to make excuses for her. First it was the War for American Independence that had frayed her nerves, next it was the death of their baby, and living on a farm so far from town. William longed to find the remedy for her unhappiness. He wanted things to return back to a happier time.

Martha Tiddeman came to America as a young girl; her father, a cobbler, brought his wife and youngest child to begin a new life in Virginia. Martha’s older sister had recently married and settled with her new husband just north of London. It was in Yorktown that Martha met and married William Morgan. In those early years they were very happy working their farm and raising their children. Then the American War for Independence came.

Martha was a staunch loyalist. She always considered herself English and never adopted the idea of America becoming an independent country. For a while, her husband never expressed any preference either way, but gradually he came to favor independence. It began with the British taking control of New York followed by many southern cities. The Battle of Concord and Lexington pushed him a little closer to choosing sides. But it was Patrick Henry’s rousing speech in the Virginia House of Burgesses that finally turned him to favor independence.

Martha never accepted it and they had bitter disagreements. Their arguments reached their peak with the surrender of the British at the Battle of Yorktown. By then the rift was wide. Being Anglican, they both accepted the insolubility of their marriage, so Martha and William agreed upon an uneasy truce. The subject of American Independence was never to be discussed and no one was to be referred to as American or English; only as Virginians.

Unfortunately, it was a youthful Anne who rekindled the rift. William had insisted all his children receive an education rich in history and the classics. This also included the story of American Independence. Having the same inquisitive mind as her father, Anne asked questions about the conflict. She was just a child and unaware of the delicacy of the subject and her innocent inquiries reopened old wounds. William and Martha’s estrangement was now complete and irreparable. For Anne’s sake, they remained together.

It was an event that occurred many years later that finally pushed the couple permanently apart. The impressments of Americans into the British navy infuriated William. They were fully supported by Martha who still considered herself English, not American. The victory of the Americans in the War of 1812 was the final nail in the coffin that had been their marriage yet William was still determined to try and save it.

Aspiring to rekindle their marriage William arranged for them to travel to England together in the summer of 1814. He had hoped the trip would prove to Martha that England was not the idyll she had created in her mind and they could return to Virginia with their marriage renewed. Once in England, Martha would stay with her widowed sister while William would continue on to Northampton and meet with a Mr. Charles Armstrong regarding purchasing some mares. Like William Morgan, Charles Armstrong was well known for his well bred horses. He had a fine stallion named Excalibur by whom William wanted a foal and the general was willing to sell him a filly, provided he come to Northampton for her. After collecting her, William would return to London. Then he, Martha and the filly would return to Virginia before winter set in.

Unfortunately their trip never materialized. Early in March of 1814, a fire erupted and burned down much of Yorktown; including Martha’s beloved York-Hampton Parish Church. It had been her final link back to England. It was not long after that when Martha announced to her husband that when they did finally make the trip, she would not be returning with him. She intended to stay in England, with her sister, permanently.

William was devastated when he learned of his wife’s intentions and never thought Martha would do something so rash. He still loved his wife and always hoped that she would eventually let go of her resentments and find the happiness they once had. Now it seemed it was too late for any reconciliation. Anne had offered to accompany her mother to England and purchase the filly for her father before returning home alone. A sad and grateful William agreed.

Even on the very day he loaded their trunks into the wagon and drove them to the ship, William never gave up hoping for a change of heart. On their way to the wharf, Martha sat emotionless and without expression. Her cold grey eyes looked only forward. The three of them had ridden silently through the town and on to the dock where Martha and Anne boarded the ship, the Sea Breeze. She remembered wondering what thoughts had been going through her mother’s mind. She felt then as she did now, that her mother was making a terrible mistake.

Anne rose from their bunk and dressed. She couldn’t decide if her restlessness was from the excitement of being so close to England, the stuffiness down below, or the salted pork and stale bread they had for dinner. Perhaps it was a little of all three. As she ascended the stairs leading to the upper deck, a rush of cool sea air greeted her face and filled her lungs. She steadied herself against the ship as it rocked. The wind had continued to pick up and the ship was now rolling and pitching.

During the voyage, Anne had become accustomed to treading on a swaying deck. But now she needed to grasp hold of a post or rail to steady herself. The only others about were the night-watch, crew from the larboard and starboard watches. If they noticed her, she couldn’t know. They were kept very busy; their minds and attention on the ship. There was darkness all about and she could not see them high up on the yardarms. She could hear these men shouting orders and answering back but could not understand what they were saying. Normally she would not have ventured top deck, but the air below was too rancid; she needed to breathe.

As she walked, her shoes made nary a sound on the damp wood, but her coming seemed to be heralded by the clanking of the ship’s tackle against the masts. The sea sprayed against the hull as the ship cut through the waves. Wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders, she leaned back against a bulkhead. Her thoughts went to Solomon, her eldest brother, of whom she had fleeting memories. She was just a child when he went to sea, leaving behind his parents and three siblings.

Their father had wanted his oldest son, Solomon, to take over the farm, but he had other plans. He had always been drawn to the ships and wharfs in Yorktown Harbor. One night he slipped away and by morning he was far away. He was just sixteen. The only thing he left behind was a letter to his parents.

Anne listened to the clanking of the tackle, the sounds of the waves hitting the hull, the wind in the ropes and the creaking and groaning of the ship. This was Solomon’s world she thought, the one he described in his letters. For years they arrived at varying intervals, so they knew he was alive; at least at the time of his last one. Every time one came they would gather together and William would read them aloud then he would send them on to her brother, Gabriel, in Williamsburg.

His letters were rich in detail and described the ship, the men with whom he sailed. He wrote about the places he had been and the things he had seen and done. The first one arrived about three months after he left home. He begged forgiveness again before describing his new life. After the first few days of crippling seasickness he was put to work. He learned about the dog watches and how to live on four hours sleep. His life was dictated by orders from the mate and the bells; one for every half hour but always struck hourly.

Several months later another letter came. In it he wrote of picking oakum and stuffing between the planks and timbers. Words and phrases like "clewing down" and hawse-holes first started appearing in them. He had learned how furl the courses and jib and reef a topsail. She had no idea what any of it meant but it all sounded so fascinating.

About a year after he left, another letter arrived. She recalled how he wrote about learning how to sew his own clothes and make his own shoes. He and the sailors made coats of oilcloth and varnished flannel topcoats to make them weather proof. He said they were still sailing the Caribbean from the colonial islands to England and back.

His letters changed little and continued to arrive sporadically until three years later, when he was nineteen. A letter arrived saying he had joined East India Company and was sailing aboard on the Molly. Now his route took him to India for cargo of rare spices and silks; then on to China where they traded British goods for porcelain, tea and more spice. Their hulls full, they would return to England to empty their cargo and take on more for another trip. From then on, his letters came once a year and were always posted from London. A decade later he wrote saying he was now first mate on the ship, Cygnus.

Growing up Anne envied him and wanted to join him. That was impossible of course, but now, here she was, on a sailing ship bound for England. It was as if Solomon’s letters had come to life. During her weeks on board she watched the men jump to orders like take in the lee studding-sails. Since she, or any of the other passengers, had no interaction with the sailors, she still had no idea what they were talking about. She did learn what a scupper was, when the crew washed down the deck and swept the water out of them.

Yes, this was Solomon’s world, she thought; a world of sea spray and salted meat; of hardtack and rancid water. It was a world in which the command of the captain was law and whose authority was absolute. He was a mysterious man who kept to himself except when he walked the quarterdeck. His commands repeated and called out by the man at the wheel. It must have been a life that suited him well, for Solomon never returned to Virginia.

The clangor of the ships tackle pierced her thoughts. She continued her walk, breathing in the fresh cool air. High above, in the dark, was the crew, perched on the booms and tending the sails. Below was the captain, secluded as always in his cabin. At midnight the bells would ring and one watch would rush up on deck, the other dash below to grab what sleep they could before called, once again, up on deck. The spray of the waves misted her face as she walked. Her thoughts turned to her father and their sad, last day in Virginia.

Up until that moment, Anne had been so deep in thought that she hadn’t noticed the wind had risen and the ship was now leaping and falling with the waves. Their violence now nearly knocked her off her feet. Alarmed, she turned around and headed back toward the stern and then below deck. She clutched the railing as she staggered along trying to maintain her balance. The ships tackle and bell were clanging wildly now and she could hear the crew shouting to each other. But for the wind, she was unable to understand their words. Trying to maintain her footing on the wet deck, she struggled her way along the railing back toward the hold.

Unbeknownst to crew and passenger alike, a danger lurked out there in the dark sea. Night concealed it as it rushed toward the unsuspecting ship. Anne was nearing the door to the hold when it hit the ship with a massive force. The ship shuddered violently and lurched starboard. A blood curdling scream pierced the dark followed by a crunching thud. Then, there were only the sounds of the sea, the wind and the ship’s tackle. A sailor had been shaken from his perch high on a yardarm and had fallen onto the deck of the listing ship; killing him instantly. Suddenly, a huge wave crashed over the deck. Before she could react, Anne and the dead seaman were swept over the railing and into churning brine.

The shock of the cold seawater enveloping her body shocked her senses. She struggled to control it as she held her breath. She tried to swim up but her heavy dress kept dragging her down. She couldn’t breathe! She could feel air bubbles against her face. Seconds seemed like minutes, her lungs were aching; screaming for air!

Fear took hold; how much longer could she hold her breath? Suddenly she was lifted up and on top of a wave. She quickly gasped a breath and the pain in her lungs was instantly gone. She had just enough time for a breath of air when she was plunged back into the water. Down under the sea she went. She struggled to swim upwards, foam and bubbles everywhere! The dreadful ache of her lungs desperate for air returned, but her mind refused to give way and she held on. Just when she thought she could hold her breath no longer, she was back above the waves again and being thrown violently about. She tried to roll on her back to keep from going under. Her heavy skirts dragged her down but this time not as far. She struggled frantically back up to the surface and rolled onto her back. She gasped for air and coughed. The taste of sea water filled her mouth.

She floated, tossed about in the waves, and panting to catch her breath. The sky above was pitch dark, the sea violent and the waves crashing. In the distance, she thought she heard the sounds of screaming above the howling wind. She looked up, but could see nothing in the dark but an angry ocean. She instantly knew it was a mistake. A large wave rolled over her and once again she was dragged down under the waves. Fear once again took hold and her lungs ached. Just when she thought she couldn’t last another moment, she was back up on top of the waves again. Fresh air filled her lungs just before she was plunged back down again.

But this time a new emotion overtook her, she was no longer afraid, she was almost angry. She had stayed afloat before and she would do it again! The more she fought the stronger her determination grew. She was angry now and told herself that Poseidon himself would have to come for her before she would surrender to a watery grave! She told herself she was not going to drown; she was going to survive! She fought and fought to rise to the surface and this time when she was tossed up above the waves, she instantly rolled onto her back again. She didn’t make the same mistake of trying to look around, but instead remained flat on the waves. She gathered her skirts onto her stomach and held them tightly. It was working, barely.

She was still being tossed around, but she was not sinking. She lay on her back, panting until a wave doused her with salt water. She choked and coughed but controlled her fear and stayed flat on her back. She placed a hand over her mouth to keep out the salt water as her face was continually sprayed by the waves rising and cresting around her. It was awkward with one hand clutching her wet skirts and the other covering her mouth. It caused her to roll around more, but she remained afloat and she could breathe without inhaling salt water.

But now a new threat presented itself, the icy grip of the sea began to drain the warmth of her body. She shivered and her old nemesis, fear, returned with despair lurking close behind. She struggled to control her thoughts, but as she grew colder, it was becoming more and more difficult.

The waves continued to batter her about, tossing her around like a feather floating on the waves. It seemed an age and she was quite cold when a large wave caught her and tipped her upright. She was fully prepared to begin her battle once again when she was thrown forward and down into the water. With the mighty force of a breaker smashed her into the sand. It was a shore!

But the sea was not willing to let her go. The surf that had given her the hope of salvation now dragged her back. Once again she was pulled up into the wave and once again slammed down. But this time she swam hard using the force of the wave pushing her forward to her advantage. She was now closer to the beach and her feet touched the sand. As the waves receded she dug her hands and feet into it to keep from being dragged back with it. Her anger gave way to hope. Slowly she swam toward the beach, again using the surging waves to push her forward. The water was first at chest level; then at her waist. Just when it seemed she was safe a new problem presented itself. As she struggled up the shore the heavier she became. Her wet clothes weighed her down and caused her to stumble. She waded in the waist high water, fighting the surges and retreats until she could walk no further. Dropping to her knees, she crawled through the shallow surf, with only her head above water. As the waves crashed in from behind it pushed her forward and she would swim farther up the beach. Onward she crawled until she was sure she was out of the clutches of the sea.

Exhausted, she stopped and flopped down on the sand to rest. The night air felt warm against her cold body. She lay for only a few minutes when yet another wave crashed up the beach and surrounded her covering her face and filling her mouth with sand. It came so quickly that she swallowed some sea water and instantly retched. Coughing and spitting sand she crawled again, away from the surf, clutching and yanking her heavy wet skirts until at last she could move no more. She collapsed, panting, and then everything went dark.