"Heave, masters!" Winston was waist deep in the surf, throwing his
shoulder against the line attached to the bow of the _Defiance_. "The
sea's as high as it's likely to get. There'll never be a better time to
set her afloat."
Joan Fuller stood on deck, by the bulwark along the waist of the ship,
supporting herself with the mainmast shrouds as she peered down through
the rain. She held her bonnet in her hand, leaving her yellow hair
plastered across her face in water-soaked strands. At Winston's
request, she had brought down one of her last kegs of kill-devil. It
was waiting, safely lashed to the mainmast, a visible inducement to
effort.
"Heave . . . ho." The cadence sounded down the line of seamen as they
grunted and leaned into the chop, tugging on the slippery line.
Incoming waves washed over the men, leaving them alternately choking
and cursing, but the rise in sea level brought about by the storm meant
the _Defiance_ was already virtually afloat. Helped by the men it was
slowly disengaging from the sandy mud; with each wave the bow would bob
upward, then sink back a few inches farther into the bay.
"She's all but free, masters." Winston urged them on. "Heave. For your
lives, by God." He glanced back at John Mewes and yelled through the
rain, "How're the stores?"
Mewes spat out a mouthful of foam. "There's enough water and salt pork
in the hold to get us up to Nevis Island, mayhaps. If the damned fleet
doesn't blockade it first." He bobbed backward as a wave crashed
against his face. "There's talk the whoresons could sail north after
here."
"Aye, they may stand for Virginia when they've done with the Caribbees.
But they'll likely put in at St. Christopher and Nevis first, just to
make sure they humble every freeborn Englishman in the Americas."
Winston tugged again and watched the _Defiance_ slide another foot
seaward. "But with any luck we'll be north before them." He pointed
toward the dim mast lanterns of the English gunships offshore. "All we
have to do is slip past those frigates across the bay."
The men heaved once more and the weathered bow dipped sideways. Then
all at once, as though by the hand of nature, the _Defiance _was
suddenly drifting in the surf. A cheer rose up, and Winston pushed his
way within reach of the rope ladder dangling amidships. As he clambered
over the bulwark Joan was waiting with congratulations.
"You did it. On my honor, I thought this rotted-out tub was beached for
keeps." She bussed him on the cheek. "Though I fancy you might've lived
longer if it'd stayed where it was."
Mewes pulled himself over the railing after Winston and plopped his
feet down onto the wet deck. He winked at Joan and held out his arms.
"No kiss for the quartermaster, yor ladyship? I was workin' too, by my
life."
"Get on with you, you tub of lard." She swiped at him with the
waterlogged bonnet she held. "You and the rest of this crew of
layabouts might get a tot of kill-devil if you're lucky. Which is more
than you deserve, considering how much some of you owe me already."
"Try heaving her out a little farther, masters." Winston was holding
the whipstaff while he yelled from the quarterdeck. "She's coming about
now. We'll drop anchor in a couple of fathoms, nothing more."
While the hull drifted out into the night and surf, Winston watched
John Mewes kneel by the bulwark at the waist of the ship and begin to
take soundings with a length of knotted rope.
"Two fathoms, Cap'n, by the looks of it. What do you think?"
"That's enough to drop anchor, John. I want to keep her in close. No
sense alerting the Roundheads we're afloat."
Mewes shouted toward the portside bow and a seaman began to feed out
the anchor cable. Winston watched as it rattled into the surf, then he
made his way along the rainswept deck back to the starboard gallery at
the stern and shoved another large anchor over the side. It splashed
into the waves and disappeared, its cable whipping against the
taffrail.
"That ought to keep her from drifting. There may be some maintopman out
there in the fleet who'd take notice."
Whereas fully half the Commonwealth's ships had sailed for Oistins Bay
to assist in the invasion, a few of the larger frigates had kept to
station, their ordnance trained on the harbor.
"All aboard, masters. There's a tot of kill-devil waiting for every
man, down by the mainmast." Winston was calling over the railing,
toward the seamen now paddling through the dark along the side of the
ship. "John's taking care of it. Any man who's thirsty, come topside.
We'll christen the launch."
The seamen sounded their approval and began to scramble up. Many did
not wait their turn to use the rope ladders. Instead they seized the
rusty deadeyes that held the shrouds, found toeholds in the closed
gunports, and pulled themselves up within reach of the gunwales.
Winston watched approvingly as the shirtless hoard came swarming onto
the deck with menacing ease. These were still his lads, he told himself
with a smile. They could storm and seize a ship before most of its crew
managed even to cock a musket. Good men to have on hand, given what lay
ahead.
"When're you thinkin' you'll try for open sea?" Joan had
followed him up the slippery companionway to the quarterdeck. "There's
a good half-dozen frigates hove-to out there, doubtless all with their
bleedin' guns run out and primed. I'll wager they'd like nothing better
than catchin' you to leeward."
"This squall's likely to blow out in a day or so, and when it does,
we're going to pick a dark night, weigh anchor, and make a run for it.
By then the Roundheads will probably be moving on Bridgetown, so we
won't have a lot of time to dally about." He looked out toward the
lights of the English fleet. "I'd almost as soon give it a try tonight.
Damn this foul weather."
She studied the bobbing pinpoints at the horizon skeptically. "Do you
really think you can get past them?"
He smiled. "Care to wager on it? I've had a special set of short sails
made up, and if it's dark enough, I think we can probably slip right
through. Otherwise, we'll just run out the guns and take them on."
Joan looked back. "You could be leaving just in time, I'll grant you.
There're apt to be dark days ahead here. What do you think'll happen
with this militia now?"
"Barbados' heroic freedom fighters? I'd say they'll be disarmed and
sent packing. Back to the cane and tobacco fields where they'd probably
just as soon be anyway. The grand American revolution is finished.
Tonight, when the militia should be moving everything they've got up to
Oistins, they're off worrying about cane fires, letting the Roundheads
get set to offload their heavy guns. By the time the rains let up and
there can be a real engagement, the English infantry'll have ordnance
in place and there'll be nothing to meet them with. They can't be
repulsed. It's over." He looked at her. "So the only thing left for me
is to get out of here while I still can. And stand for Jamaica."
"That daft scheme!" She laughed ruefully and brushed the dripping hair
from her face. "You'd be better off going up to
Bermuda for a while, or anywhere, till things cool off. You've not got
the men to do anything else."
"Maybe I can still collect a few of my indentures."
"And maybe you'll see Puritans dancin' at a Papist wedding." She
scoffed. "Let me tell you something. Those indentures are going to
scatter like a flock of hens the minute the militia's disbanded.
They'll not risk their skin goin' off with you to storm that fortress
over at Villa de la Vega. If you know what's good for you, you'll
forget Jamaica."
"Don't count me out yet. There's still another way to get the men I
need." He walked to the railing and gazed out into the rain. "I've been
thinking I might try getting some help another place."
"And where, pray, could that be?"
"You're not going to think much of what I have in mind." He caught her
eye and realized she'd already guessed his plan.
"That's a fool's errand for sure."
"Kindly don't go prating it about. The truth is, I'm not sure yet what
I'll do. Who's to say?"
"You're a lying rogue, Hugh Winston. You've already made up your mind.
But if you're not careful, you'll be in a worse bind than this. . . ."
"Beggin' yor pardon, Cap'n, it looks as if we've got a visitor." Mewes
was moving up the dark companionway to the quarterdeck. He spat into
the rain, then cast an uncomfortable glance toward Joan. "Mayhaps you'd
best come down and handle the orders."
Winston turned and followed him onto the main deck. Through the dark a
white horse could be seen prancing in the gusts of rain along the
shore. A woman was in the saddle, waving silently at the ship,
oblivious to the squall.
"Aye, permission to come aboard. Get her the longboat, John." He
thumbed at the small pinnace dangling from the side of the ship. "Just
don't light a lantern."
Mewes laughed. "I'd give a hundred sovereigns to the man who could
spark up a candle lantern in this weather!"
Winston looked up to see Joan slowly descending the companionway from
the quarterdeck. They watched in silence as the longboat was lowered
and oarsmen began rowing it the few yards to shore.
"Well, this is quite a sight, if I may say." Her voice was contemptuous
as she broke the silence. Suddenly she began to brush at her hair,
attempting to straighten out the tangles. "I've never known 'her
ladyship' to venture out on a night like this. . . ." She turned and
glared at Winston. "Though I've heard talk she managed to get herself
aboard the _Defiance _once before in a storm."
"You've got big ears."
"Enough to keep track of your follies. Do you suppose your lads don't
take occasion to talk when they've a bit of kill-devil in their
bellies? You should be more discreet, or else pay them better."
"I pay them more than they're worth now."
"Well, they were most admirin' of your little conquest. Or was the
conquest hers?"
"Joan, why don't you just let it rest?" He moved to the railing at
midships and reached down to help Katherine up the rope ladder. "What's
happened? This is the very devil of a night. . . ."
"Hugh . . ." She was about to throw her arms around him when she
noticed Joan. She stopped dead still, then turned and nodded with cold
formality. "Your servant . . . madam."
"Your ladyship's most obedient . . ." Joan curtsied back with a
cordiality hewn from ice.
They examined each other a moment in silence. Then Katherine seemed to
dismiss her as she turned back to Winston.
"Please. Won't you come back and help? just for tonight?"
He reached for her hand and felt it trembling. "Help you? What do you
mean?" His voice quickened. "Don't tell me the Roundheads have already
started marching on Bridgetown."
"Not that we know of. But now that the rain's put out the cane fires, a
few of the militia have started regrouping. With their horses." She
squeezed his hand in her own. "Maybe we could still try an attack on
the Oistins breastwork at dawn."
"You don't have a chance. Now that the rains have begun, you can't move
up any cannon. The roads are like rivers. But they've got heavy
ordnance. The Roundheads have doubtless got those cannons in the
breastwork turned around now and covering the road. If we'd have
marched last evening, we could've moved up some guns of our own, and
then hit them at first light. Before they expected an attack. But now
it's too late." He examined her sadly. Her face was drawn and her hair
was plastered against her cheeks. "It's over, Katy. Barbados is lost."
"But you said you'd fight, even if you had nobody but your own men."
"Briggs and the rest of them managed to change my mind for me. Why
should I risk anything? They won't."
She stood unmoving, still grasping his hand. "Then you're really
leaving?"
"I am." He looked at her. "I still wish you'd decide to go with me. God
knows . . ."
Suddenly she pulled down his face and kissed him on the lips, lingering
as the taste of rain flooded her mouth. Finally she pulled away. "I
can't think now. At least about that. But for God's sake please help us
tonight. Let us use those flintlocks you've got here on the ship.
They're dry. The Roundhead infantry probably has mostly matchlocks, and
they'll be wet. With your muskets maybe we can make up for the
difference in our numbers."