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.With agonizing effort, he gripped Cunnington with his wounded arm and jumped.The sudden cold stole Treynor's breath.Instinctively he let go of Cunnington and stretched both arms out, parting the water until he burst through the surface and filled his lungs with air.Somehow Cunnington managed to surface as well a few feet away.“Treynor! Help me!” His head disappeared in the frothy waves, but his hands flailed against the water.Eventually, he came up and gurgled Treynor’s name again.Blast the man.He deserved to drown.Treynor scanned the sea, looking for Jeannette.He didn’t want to waste his time with Cunnington if she needed him.Holding his head above the swells, he searched, but to no avail.“Jeannette!”The voices of desperate men answered him: the cries of those who were drowning, the last of those jumping ship, the cheers of the French sailors.Had she drowned? Treynor’s heart pounded hard and fast, fear for her life somehow lending him strength.“Treynor!” Cunnington grabbed hold of him, nearly pulling him under.Treynor gasped for breath and foundered before he could turn Cunnington on his back and begin towing him toward flotsam that might save them.When Cunnington quit struggling and shut up, his pale lids lowering to cover his eyes, Treynor considered it a blessing.He was easier to maneuver this way.But as the Tempest sank behind them, it threatened to pull down everything close to it.Treynor had to use all his strength to swim away from the lethal force of the vast whirlpool that sucked at their legs.He managed to break free from the ship’s invisible hold just as Cunnington regained consciousness and began mumbling, but the floating debris that had appeared so plentiful from the ship now seemed miles away.Treynor wasn’t sure how long they could survive with only his one good arm to propel them forward.The darkening sky and frothy waves promised a storm.Squinting against the saltwater that stung his eyes, Treynor hoped to distinguish between the shades of gray surrounding them.Behind him, the Tempest was gone.Larger and larger waves curled over their heads, causing them to sputter time and again.They passed other sailors as Treynor struggled on, some drowned but still floating.Bits of debris swirled around them, too, but none large enough to support one man, let alone two.Still, Treynor swam toward the enemy frigate that appeared and disappeared on the horizon like an elusive phantom ship.He could hear the French call to each other in their native tongue as they lifted survivors out of the water.But they seemed in no particular hurry.Using only enough effort to keep them afloat, which was taxing enough, he paused to stare at Cunnington’s thin, white face.The first lieutenant was responsible for a massacre of good men, a true loss to England, but a shipmate was a shipmate.Treynor could no sooner condemn Cunnington to die than he could willingly forfeit his own life.But that didn’t mean he wanted to save him.More determined than ever to survive, he swam on.So now.the battle’s over.we will drink a can of wine.and you will drink to your love.and I will drink to mine.He sang inside his head to keep his mind off the numbness invading his limbs.I’m coming, Jeannette.Don’t give up.As if he’d spoken those words aloud, he heard her voice, shaky but otherwise true, “Treynor! Over here!”Treynor had not the breath to answer loudly enough to be heard, but the knowledge that Jeannette lived and was only yards away kept him swimming.He pulled Cunnington in her direction as she maneuvered a portion of the ship’s broken mast toward them.You will.drink to your love.and I will drink to mine.“Are you all right?” she gasped when he came within reach.“Aye,” he whispered and allowed her to pull him closer.With one last surge of effort, he threw his good arm over the mast and lowered his head to the wet wood.Jeannette slid around it until she clung next to him.“You look t-t-terrible,” she said, her teeth chattering through her words.“D-amn if you.didn’t rescue.that d-devil.” Shivering violently, she reached out to help support Cunnington.Treynor didn’t protest.Too exhausted to utter another syllable, he could only close his eyes in relief as she wiped seawater off his face.“Don’t you dare.d-drown, Lieutenant,” she warned through blue lips.“You have p-promised me something.and I intend.t-to collect it.”*The French lieutenant stood in front of the ragtag line of prisoners huddled together, sopping wet and shaking, on the deck of the frigate Superbe.Short and stocky, with dark hair and a long mustache, he strutted before them, preening like a rooster
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