The Beloved Land (12 page)
“Say nothing further on the subject, my friend. But please suggest where we might find a berth for the night, and supplies for the coming journey.”
“A berth is no problem. All three of the inns you see facing the harbor are clean and commodious, at least for those with money.” He dropped his voice. “As for supplies, they are here, but precious dear.”
“I must secure food and other essentials for the voyage.”
Nettleton still looked doubtful. “We are too far removed from Boston for the commandant’s paper to carry much weight. It will require gold, or they will not unlock their stores, you mark my words.”
Nicole was still sitting in the wagon, too far to hear much of the exchange. She could not have said why the man who appeared on deck now caught her attention. His unkempt beard fell almost to his chest, his sailor’s pigtail was untarred and ragged, and his features were roughened, no doubt by sun and salt and hard wear. His clothes hung in tatters on his thin frame, and one ankle was marked by old scars—the signs of a jail rat’s heavy iron fetters. But there was something about the way he stood and stared at her, something about the set of those once-massive shoulders, that drew her from her seat and down the side steps.
“The commandant has given me what gold he could. …” she heard Gordon say. But then he turned to ask her as she moved up the gangplank, “Nicole, what is it?”
“Lady Harrow!” the disheveled figure called.
She halted at the midpoint on the gangplank. Her hand on the railing, she peered at him in disbelief. “Samuel?”
The man’s voice trembled. “I feared I was dreaming.”
The last time they had seen Gordon’s second mate was the day they had left by longboat for the shoreline down from Boston Harbor—the previous summer, when they had set off for the Harrow holdings. “Samuel, it is you, isn’t it?”
Gordon was behind her in an instant. “Samuel, indeed,” he exclaimed.
“Sir, never in all my born days did I ever think to set eyes upon you again,” the man said.
“But what have they done to you?” Nicole asked.
Gordon turned on the officer in charge standing at dockside. The officer instantly said, “It was none of my doing, Captain.”
Samuel spoke up. “He’s right, sir. All about here have treated us fair and square.”
“Then who—?”
“Our very own officers, sir. When they seized the ship, they demoted us all to common sailors. They set all of us before the mast and kept us on punishment watch.”
“For how long?” Gordon’s anger was clear.
“ ’Til the Yanks attacked.” He used his rag of a sleeve to wipe his brow. “It’s been a terrible long winter, sir.” He looked around at his shipmates, many in worse condition than he.
The harbormaster climbed the gangplank to stand alongside Gordon. “They’re some of the finest workers I’ve ever set my eyes on, I’ll give you that.”
“But look at the state of them!”
“We’ve fed them as we could from our supplies, I assure you. They haven’t been here long enough for that to show. But as for clothes—” Nettleton shrugged—“I told you. The army’s paper carries no weight here.”
“He’s right, sir,” Samuel nodded. “We’ve been treated fair. And left to berth here on board like proper jack-tars.”
“Two of these men were injured in the attack,” the officer explained. “They’re in the squadron’s sickbay and coming around well. When these men heard you’d been given the vessel’s commission, they begged to remain on board. Every one of them. Such loyalty is to be commended, sir.”
Gordon asked, “How many are left?”
“All but Williams, sir. He caught a bad chest and went down hard.”
“God rest his soul.” He raised his voice. “You all need to know I’ve changed sides, lads. Carter and the others you see dockside are with me. We’re off on a mission for the Yanks. Any who want to hold to the new course are welcome. Those who prefer shore duty will have your papers and my best wishes to see them off. You men take a moment to talk among yourselves.”
“We don’t need a moment, sir.” Samuel’s words raised the motley group to stand at attention. “We’ll follow you to the ends of the earth and beyond.”
Four days of almost constant effort yielded few supplies. There were two distinct faces shown them by the Marblehead merchants. When it came to business and bargaining on their goods, they were ruthless. But by the third day, the entire waterfront seemed to know of Gordon and Nicole—how his vessel had been seized and used in the British blockade, how the British had then arrested Gordon as a spy, how he had escaped through the endeavors of an American army sergeant and this woman rumored to be a titled lady. Whenever Nicole walked their meandering lanes and stopped in merchants’ shops, people offered the sober greetings of those who shared the strain of sea-bound lives and the privations of war.
Finally toward the end of the fourth day, she and Gordon took a walk around the dockside and up into the surrounding hills. They felt they had done all they could in preparation for embarking on the morrow. It was a warm afternoon and a welcome escape from the ship’s cramped quarters. Nicole slipped her hand through Gordon’s arm. “I will be overjoyed to be on our way come morning,” she murmured.
Gordon tipped his hat to a pair of ladies and waited until they had passed. “The thought of how I have bartered over supplies these past few days leaves me no end of weary.”
An older gentleman veered off the other sidewalk to make his way across the lane toward them. “A word, if you please, Captain,” he called.
Bearded and shaped like a seasoned barrel, he wore a greatcoat puffed out over a vast chest. “The name’s Darren, Captain Goodwind. I skipper yon vessel
Hannah
.”
Gordon gave a proper bow. “At your service, Captain Darren.”
“Word’s been passed about concerning your troubles and your journey ahead.” He bit hard on a long clay pipe, sending aromatic puffs skyward with each word. “Left a good impression around these parts, you and your crew.”
“It has not hindered your traders from squeezing every farthing from our meager purse,” Gordon answered sardonically.
“Aye, they’re a rapacious lot,” he replied with good humor. “Now then. We’re expecting you to be setting sail soon. How do you aim to set yourselves beyond the reach of yon Redcoats?” “I would be grateful for any advice you could give, sir.”
This was clearly the response Captain Darren had been seeking. “Come moonrise in two nights, our fishing vessels will be making their way home. They will be taking a southerly course and no doubt will be meeting up with the blockade. The Brits don’t sink the fishermen. But they do have a mind to rid them of a goodly portion of their catch. Blockade duty being what it is, they’re as eager for fresh food as any.”
“I don’t understand,” Nicole said. “Your fishermen know they will be caught?”
Gordon nodded slowly. “They are a decoy.”
Darren’s keen pleasure at Gordon’s perception showed in his smile. “Myself and another vessel, we’ll be charting a northerly course outbound. You’d be welcome to tag along ’til we’re safely away.”
“I am indeed obliged, Captain,” Gordon said. “We shall delay our departure and be ready to sail with the midnight tide two nights hence.”
Anne awoke as the carriage swayed around a bend in the road. She leaned forward to peer out the window. The sea stretched before her in the early morning light. Its expanse only reminded her of the coming farewell.
Anne looked around the passenger coach at the sleeping travelers. Judith leaned upon Charles, who rested against the opposite side, steady snores escaping with every breath. Anne smiled in spite of herself.
The farther they had traveled through the night, the closer they had come to the ship and separation. When Anne could hold her eyes open no longer, her last sight had been of Thomas sleeping directly across from her, with John sprawled across the remainder of the seat, his head in Thomas’s lap. Now her son and husband lay curled up together. Sometime during the night Thomas had stretched out, and the boy had crawled up to lie across his chest. They lay in the comforting closeness of parent and child as the rising sun painted them in the softest hues. Anne turned again to look out the window and struggled to keep her sobs silent.
She did not turn back until she had regained control. Then she gazed at her two most precious people until the carriage lurched over a particularly deep crevice, throwing them all about.
Charles snorted awake, rubbed his face, then stuck his head out the window and called softly, “I say, have a care, George.”
“It’s Harry what’s driving, sir. George is asleep up top.” Harry’s perpetual smile could be heard in his tone. “Can’t help the rocking, I’m afraid. There’s hardly more’n a country lane to follow.”
Charles poked his head out farther still. “So I see. And there is the sea.”
“Yes, and a beautiful morning to you, sir. We’ve made right good time.”
“Pull up, will you, and let us all stretch our legs.”
“Right you are, milord. I see a lay-by just ahead.”
When the coach halted, the four adults climbed down to walk about, stretching complaining joints and limbs. Harry woke the driver and the other two guards, and they made great difficulty of clambering to earth.
Anne handed around mugs of watered cider. She then took the breakfast sack from Harry and laid out their morning meal.
“What a sight,” Charles remarked. “I say, where’s the lad?” he added, looking around.
“Still asleep.” Thomas moved up alongside the older man, and together they stood gazing out over the green-blue vista.
It was indeed a wonderful view. Beyond the lay-by, the lane took a series of steeply winding turns down a cliff of heather and stone. Below them, a village of gray stone cottages lay nestled within the cove’s circling arms. The coast here curved back upon itself, and the village faced almost directly north. The rising sun formed a sharp line of light and shadow where it struck the high cliff. They could hear voices rising from the quayside where two tall-masted ships lay within the harbor. A line of people and produce plodded across the gangplanks.
“There is no place on earth quite so lovely as north Devon on a fine day,” Judith said as she joined the two men. “Alas, there are very few fine days in these parts.”
“Aye, I have heard of dangerously high seas in this region.” Thomas kept his voice low to spare Anne.
“The sailors call this the Wild Coast,” Judith confirmed. Thomas knew her family had been Welsh merchants and traders for generations. The ways of the British seas were a vital part of her heritage. “My father used to prize the Devon and Cornish fishermen above all others, both as sailors and officers.
But there are precious few who are willing to leave behind their beloved homeland. On such a day as this, I can well understand why.”
From the dockside came an officer’s shout, and in response the shrill song of a bosun’s pipe. “No doubt the captain seeks to make way while the weather is with him,” Charles said. “We should be under way shortly.”
Just then Anne called that their breakfast was ready, and they soon had eaten their bread and cheese. John had by this time awakened in high good cheer at the adventure of sleeping in the carriage and picnicking for breakfast.