"Who else were we going to send?" He started again toward the door.
"Well, you could have told us, sir."
"So some of the Puritan sympathizers on this island could have swum out
after them and seen to it that my men were shot, or hanged from a
yardarm. Pox on it."
"But this changes everything," Briggs interjected, his face flooding
with pleasure. "This man's saying the fleet's not got the force to try
a landing."
"You only believe half of what you hear." Winston paused to look around
the room. "Even if it's true, it probably just means they'll have to
attack sooner. Before their supplies get lower and they lose even more
men." He pushed on toward the door. "Desperate men do desperate things.
There'll be an attempt on the island, you can count on it. And you'll
fight best if you're desperate too." Suddenly he stopped again and
glanced back at Briggs. "By the way, I don't know exactly who your
speech on the docile slaves was intended to fool. Your Africans just
may have some plans afoot. I doubt they care overmuch who wins this
war, you or Cromwell. So look to it and good night." He turned and
gestured for Farrell to follow as he walked out into the blowing night
rain.
Katherine watched him leave, recoiling once more against his insolence.
Or maybe admiring him for it. She moved quickly through the milling
crowd to the side of Dalby Bedford, bent over and whispered something
to him, then turned and slipped out the door.
The burst of rain struck her in the face, and the wind blew her hair
across her eyes. Winston had already started off down the hill, the
crowd of indentures trailing after. Like puppy dogs, she found herself
thinking. He certainly has a way with his men. She caught up her long
skirts and pushed through the crowd, their straw hats and shoes now
bedraggled by the downpour.
"Captain, I suppose we owe you an apology, and I've come to offer it."
She finally reached his side. "No one else thought of having some men
swim out to spy on the fleet."
"Katherine, no one else in there has thought of a lot of things.
They're too busy arguing about who can spare a draft horse."
"What do you mean?" She looked up. "Thought of what?"
"First, they should be off-loading what's left of the food and supplies
on those Dutch merchantmen blockaded in the bay. Ruyters agreed just
now to put his men on it tonight, but I'm afraid it's too late." He
stared through the rain, toward the bay. "Something tells me the
fleet's likely to move in tomorrow and commandeer whatever ships they
can get their hands on. It's exactly what any good commander would do."
He continued bitterly. "There're enough supplies on those merchantmen,
flour and dried corn, to feed the island for weeks. Particularly on the
ships that made port the last few days and haven't finished unlading.
Believe me, you're going to need it, unless you expect to start living
on sugar cane and horsemeat. But this island's too busy fighting with
itself right now to listen to anybody." He turned and headed on through
the cluster of indentures. "I'm going down to try and off-load my own
supplies tonight, before it's too late."
She seized her skirts and pushed after him. "Well, I still want to
thank you . . . Hugh. For what you've done for us."
He met her gaze, smiled through the rain, and raised his hand to stop
her. "Wait a minute. Before you go any further--and maybe say something
foolish--you'd better know I'm not doing it for your little island of
Barbados."
"But you're helping us fight to stay a free state. If we can stand up
to the fleet, then we can secure home rule, the first in the Americas.
After us, maybe Virginia will do the same. Who knows, then some of the
other settlements will probably . . ."
"A free state?" He seemed to snort. "Free for who? These greedy
planters? Nobody else here'll be free." He pulled his cloak tighter
about him. "Just so you'll understand, let me assure you I'm not
fighting to help make Barbados anything. I'm just trying to make sure I
keep my frigate. Besides, Barbados'll never be 'free,' to use that word
you seem to like so much. The most that'll ever happen here is it'll
change masters. Look around you. It's going to be a settlement of
slaves and slaveholders forever, owned and squeezed by a Council, or a
Parliament, or a king, or a somebody. From now on."
"You're wrong." Why did he try so hard to be infuriating? "Home rule
here is just a start. Someday there'll be no more indentures, and who
knows, maybe one day they'll even decide to let the slaves be free."
She wanted to grab him and shake him, he was so shortsighted. "You just
refuse to try and understand. Isn't there anything you care about?"
"I care about living life my own way. It may not sound like much of a
cause, but it's taken me long enough to get around to it. I've given up
thinking that one day I'll go back home and work for the honor of the
Winston name, or settle down and grow fat on some sugar plantation in
the Caribbees." He turned on her, almost shouting against the storm.
"Let me tell you something. I'm through living by somebody else's
rules. Right now I just want to get out. Out to a place I'll make for
myself. So if getting there means I first have to fight alongside the
likes of Briggs and Walrond to escape Barbados, then that's what it'll
be. And when I fight, make no mistake, I don't plan to lose."
"That's quite a speech. How long have you been practicing it?" She
seized his arm. "And the point, I take it, is that you like to run away
from difficulties?"
"That's exactly right, and I wish you'd be good enough to have a brief
word with the admiral of the fleet out there about it." He was smiling
again, his face almost impish in the rain. "Tell him there's a well-
known American smuggler who'd be pleased to sail out of here if he'd
just open up the blockade for an hour or so."
"Well, why not ask him yourself? He might be relieved, if only to be
rid of you and your gunners." She waited till a roll of thunder died
away. "And after you've sailed away? What then?"
"I plan to make my own way. Just as I said. I'm heading west by
northwest, to maybe turn around a few things here in the Caribbean. But
right now I've got more pressing matters, namely keeping my provisions,
and those of the Dutchmen, out of the hands of the fleet." He turned
and continued toward the shore, a dim expanse of sand shrouded in dark
and rain. "So you'd best go on back to the Assembly Room, Katherine,
unless you plan to gather up those petticoats and lend me a hand."
"Perhaps I just will." She caught up with him, matching his stride.
"What?"
"Since you think I'm so useless, you might be surprised to know I can
carry tubs of Hollander cheese as well as you can." She was holding her
skirts out of the mud. "Why shouldn't I? We both want the same thing,
to starve the Roundheads. We just want it for different reasons."
"It's no place for a woman down here."
"You said that to me once before. When we were going out to Briggs'
sugarworks. Frankly I'm a little weary of hearing it, so why don't you
find another excuse to try telling me what to do."
He stopped and looked down again. Waves of rain battered against the
creases in his face. "All right, Katherine. Or Katy, as I've heard your
father call you. If you want to help, then come on. But you've got to
get into some breeches if you don't want to drown." His dour expression
melted into a smile. "I'll try and find you a pair on the _Defiance_.
It'll be a long night's work."
"You can tell everyone I'm one of your seamen. Or one of the
indentures."
He looked down at her bodice and exploded with laughter. "I don't think
anybody's apt to mistake you for one of them. But hadn't you best tell
somebody where you'll be?"
"What I do is my own business." She looked past him, toward the shore.
"So be it." A long fork of lightning burst across the sky, illuminating
the shoreline ahead of them.
The muddy road was leveling out now as they neared the bay. The ruts,
which ran like tiny rapids down the hill, had become placid streams,
curving their way seaward. Ahead, the mast lanterns of the Dutch
merchantmen swayed arcs through the dark, and the silhouettes of Dutch
seamen milled along the shore, their voices muffled, ghostlike in the
rain. Then she noticed the squat form of Johan Ruyters trudging toward
them.
"Pox on it, we can't unlade in this squall. And in the dark besides.
There's doubtless a storm brewing out there, maybe even a _huracan_,
from the looks of the swell." He paused to nod at Katherine. "Your
servant, madam." Then he turned back at Winston. "There's little we can
do now, on my honor."
"Well, I'll tell you one thing you can do, if you've got the brass."
"And what might that be, sir?"
"Just run all the ships aground here along the shore. That way they
can't be taken, and then we can unlade after the storm runs its
course."
"Aye, that's a possibility I'd considered. In truth I'm thinking I
might give it a try. The _Zeelander's_ been aground before. Her keel's
fine oak, for all the barnacles." His voice was heavy with rue. "But
I've asked around, and most of the other men don't want to run the
risk."
"Well, you're right about the squall. From the looks of the sea, I'd
agree we can't work in this weather. So maybe I'll just go ahead and
run the _Defiance _aground." He studied the ship, now rolling in the
swell and straining at her anchor lines. "There'll never be a better
time, with the bay up the way it is now."
"God's blood, it's a quandary." Ruyters turned and peered toward the
horizon. The mast lights of the fleet were all but lost in the sheets
of rain. "I wish I knew what those bastards are thinking right now. But
it's odds they'll try to move in and pilfer our provisions as soon as
the sea lets up. Moreover, we'd be fools to try using any ordnance on
them, bottled in the way we are. They've got us trapped, since they
surely know the battery up there on the Point won't open fire on the
bay while we're in it." He whirled on Winston. "You wouldn't, would
you?"
"And risk putting a round through the side of these ships here? Not a
chance!"
"Aye, they'll reason that out by tomorrow, no doubt. So grounding these
frigates may be the only way we can keep them out of English hands.
Damn it all, I'd best go ahead and bring her up, before the seas get
any worse." He bowed toward Katherine. "Your most obedient, madam. If
you'll be good enough to grant me leave . . ."
"Now don't try anything foolish." Winston was eyeing him.
"What are you suggesting?"
"Don't go thinking you'll make a run for it in the storm. You'll never
steer past the reefs."
"Aye. I've given that passing thought as well. If I had a bit more
ballast, I'd be tempted." He spat into the rain, then looked back. "And
I'd take odds you've considered the same."
"But I've not got the ballast either. Or that Spaniard of yours we
agreed on. Don't forget our bargain."
"My word's always been my bond, sir, though I wonder if there'll ever
be any sugar to ship. For that matter, you may be lucky ever to see
open seas again yourself. Just like the rest of us." Ruyters sighed.
"Aye, every Christian here tonight's wishing he'd never heard of
Barbados." He nodded farewell and turned to wade toward a waiting
longboat. In moments he had disappeared into the rain.
"Well, Miss Katy Bedford, unless the rest of the Dutchmen have the
foresight Ruyters has, those merchantmen out there and all their
provisions will be in the fleet's hands by sundown tomorrow." He
reached for her arm. "But not the _Defiance_. Come on and I'll get you
a set of dry clothes. And maybe a tankard of sack to warm you up. We're
about to go on a very short and very rough voyage."
She watched as he walked to where the indentures were waiting. He
seemed to be ordering them to find shelter and return in the morning.
Timothy Farrell spoke something in return. Winston paused a moment,
shrugged and rummaged his pockets, then handed him a few coins. The
Irishmen all saluted before heading off toward the cluster of taverns
over next to the bridge.
"Come on." He came trudging back. "The longboat's moored down here, if
it hasn't been washed out to sea yet."
"Where're your men?"
"My gunnery mates are at the batteries, and the rest of the lads are
assigned to the militia. I ordered John and a few of the boys to stay
on board to keep an eye on her, but the rest are gone." His face seemed
drawn. "Have no fear. In this sea it'll be no trick to ground her. Once
we weigh the anchor, the swell should do the rest."
As he led her into the water, the surf splashing against her shins, she
reflected that the salt would ruin her taffeta petticoats, then decided
she didn't care. The thrill of the night and the sea were worth it.
Directly ahead of them a small longboat bobbed in the water. "Grab your
skirts, and I'll hoist you in."
She had barely managed to seize the sides of her dress before a wave
washed over them both. She was still sputtering, salt in her mouth, as
he swept her up into his arms and settled her over the side. She gasped
as the boat dipped crazily in the swell, pounded by the sheets of rain.
He traced the mooring line back to the post at the shore where it had
been tied and quickly loosened it. Then he shoved the boat out to sea
and rolled over the side, as easily as though he were dropping into a
hammock.
The winds lashed rain against them as he strained at the oars, but
slowly they made way toward the dark bulk of the _Defiance_. He rowed
into the leeward side and in moments John Mewes was there, reaching for
the line to draw them alongside. He examined Katherine with a puzzled
expression as he gazed down at them.
" 'Tis quite a night, m'lady, by my life." He reached to take her hand
as Winston hoisted her up. "Welcome aboard. No time for Godfearin' folk
to be at sea in a longboat, that I'll warrant."
"That it's not, John." Winston grasped a deadeye and drew himself over
the side. "Call the lads to station. After I take Miss Bedford back to
the cabin and find a dry change of clothes for her, we're going to
weigh anchor and try beaching the ship."
"Aye." Mewes beamed as he squinted through the rain. "In truth, I've
been thinkin' the same myself. The fomicatin' Roundheads'll be in the
bay and aimin' to take prizes soon as the weather breaks." He headed
toward the quarterdeck. "But they'll never get this beauty, God is my
witness."
"Try hoisting the spritsail, John, and see if you can bring the bow
about." He took Katherine's hand as he helped her duck under the
shrouds. "This way, Katy."
"What do you have for me to wear?" She steadied herself against a
railing as the slippery deck heaved in the waves, but Winston urged her
forward. He was still gripping her hand as he led her into the
companionway, a dark hallway beneath the quarterdeck illuminated by a
single lantern swaying in the gusts of wind.
"We don't regularly sail with women in the crew." His words were almost
lost in a clap of thunder as he shoved open the door of the Great
Cabin. "What would you say to some of my breeches and a doublet?"
"What would you say to it?"
He laughed and swept the dripping hair out of his eyes as he ushered
her in. "I'd say I prefer seeing women in dresses. But we'll both have
to make do." He walked to his locker, seeming not to notice the roll of
the ship, and flipped open the lid. "Take your pick while I go
topside." He gestured toward the sideboard. "And there's port and some
tankards in there."
"How'll I loosen my bodice?"
"Send for your maid, as always." There was a scream of wind down the
companionway as he wrenched open the door, then slammed it again behind
him. She was still grasping the table, trying to steady herself against
the roll of the ship, when she heard muffled shouts from the decks
above and then the rattle of a chain.