The Forbidden Lady Read Online Free PDF Page A

forward and read the depth gauge. The vessel was still sinking. He held his breath and listened. Yes, the stern tank was still taking on water. This explained his lopsided position.
    He twisted the handle again to shut the valve. No luck. The depth gauge showed increasing descent. He opened the second valve to fill the forward tank. The Turtle regained her upright position, but continued to sink. The air grew thicker. A pain throbbed in his ears.
    Finally, the Turtle stopped. He assumed the tanks were full. A thick silence surrounded him in the darkness, interrupted only by the sound of his breathing. Would he know if he was out of air before it was too late? Damn . Would he be able to ascend? He closed the valves. If they were both working this time, he could eject the water and rise to the surface. He worked the pumps with his feet.
    With a sudden lurch, the Turtle rolled onto her back.
    He slammed against the back wall. “Damn it to hell!” The valve on the stern tank hadn’t closed.
    Water dripped onto his face. With his hands, he examined the air vents by his head. In the Turtle’ s tilted position, they were starting to leak. Eventually, the whole vessel would fill.
    He couldn’t reach whatever was wrong from the inside, the inside of a dark, watery tomb. What were his choices—drowning or suffocation? No, he could abandon ship. It was the only way. He took a deep breath and reached for the hatch.
    It wouldn’t budge. He fought a surge of panic. Remain calm. Reserve your air. There was no choice on this. He would have to purposely flood the Turtle in order to open the hatch.
    He skimmed his fingers along the interior ’til he located the first set of vents. He shoved the flaps open and water poured in. Damn, it was cold. He found the second air vent and pushed it open. More cold water gushed in. His heart thumping, he forced himself to wait patiently as the water level crept higher and higher up his legs.
    It was taking time. Would he run out of air to breathe before he could escape? And if he couldn’t move the hatch, he would drown. Johnson’s prophetic words echoed in his throbbing ears. There is no danger to your hands, only a slight chance of drowning.
    The water soaked his breeches where he sat, straddling the beam. He shuddered as the water level reached his waist. His chest. When the water lapped at his chin, he took a deep breath of air and tried the hatch.
    It opened.
    He hauled himself through the opening, against the current rushing in, and swam for the surface ’til he broke through. The sky welcomed him with fresh and glorious air. He gulped it down. The sun glinted off the sparkling water. Thank you, God . He was alive.
    The rowboat floated by the pier. The men stared at him, surprised by his sudden appearance.
    “Bring the ropes back,” Quin shouted. “I’ll dive down and tie them off.”
    “What happened?” Johnson yelled from the shore.
    “She rolled over to play dead.”
    Quin dove four times to the Turtle to attach the ropes. These were harnessed to oxen on the shore, and slowly, the beasts dragged the vessel out of the river.
    Resting on the riverbank in his sodden clothes, Quin watched the men cart the Turtle off to a nearby barn. The rays of the sun were suddenly blocked, and he turned to see Johnson standing beside him. “You were right. There is a slight chance of drowning.”
    “We’ll have the problem fixed before you try again. For now, I suggest you change. You’ll find some dry clothes and a towel in the hidden compartment of your coach.”
    Quin hefted himself onto his feet. So Johnson had known he might have to swim for it. That damned Turtle .
    He trudged toward the carriage, his feet squishing in his wet shoes. “Be sure to fix the problem before we move the Turtle to her new home. I wouldn’t want to swim from the bottom of Boston Harbor.”
    He had changed into dry breeches and a cambric shirt when Johnson hopped into the coach and rapped Quin’s walking stick