The Saintly Buccaneer (38 page)

Charity bit her lower lip and leaned closer to him. He breathed the lavender again and gazed at her curiously. She was being very secretive, and he was sure there was no one within a mile to listen.

“Would you go to sea again—if you could get on an American privateer?”

Startled, his eyes searched hers, for it had occurred to him. “I’d go like a shot—but do you know of a ship?”

She moved closer, the pressure of her firm body pressing against him. He almost asked why she was getting so close, but decided against it. He liked lavender.

“I know of one. It would be a little trouble to get her, but she’s the best there is.”

“I thought you always said
The Gallant Lady
was the best.”

“Yes—that’s what I’m talking about!” she explained excitedly, her hand gripping his arm.

“But—Charity!” he protested, “she’s in the hands of the British!”

“She’s in the harbor in New York right now, Paul.” She spoke softly as if there were spies hanging from the boughs of the huge cherry tree ten feet away: “Paul—we can take that ship!”

He was not sure he’d heard her. “Take her how, Charity?”

“We can get a crew, sneak on board some night, and sail her out of the harbor.”

The humor of it struck him, and he laughed out loud. “Why, sure we can! There are only about ten ships of the line, no telling how many frigates under the British flag there to stop us—not to mention most of Howe’s army running all over the streets of New York. Charity, it’s the wildest thing I ever heard of.”

“That’s why it can be done, Paul.” Her eyes were wider than he’d ever seen them, and they seemed to set off sparks. “Do you think they
expect
someone to steal a whole ship? They’re watching everything else in the Colonies—
but they’re not watching that ship!
”

He stared at her, not knowing whether to laugh or just walk off and leave her. He opened his mouth to tell her how ridiculous the idea was, but instead, the thought of the
Lady
flashed into his mind. With a frown he reached up and stroked his chin, and after a long silence he voiced his thoughts. “I remember how it was when we tied up there. The harbor is busy enough by day—but at night it’s a ghost place.”

“It could be done, Paul. I know it could!”

Her excitement was contagious, and he began to think out loud: “We’d need to get a good crew—some hearty fellows who aren’t afraid to take a chance. We could filter into the city a few at a time. Then we could go out in small boats after dark and take the ship.”

“We can get plenty of men—all we need,” she added. “And when we get clear of the harbor—”

“Wait a minute!” he interrupted. “You’re not going—and that’s final!”

Anger lit her eyes, and she jumped to her feet and challenged him with clenched teeth. “I’d like to see you try and stop me!”

He was on his feet, and before he thought he grabbed her shoulders and cried, “You may think you’re a man, Charity Alden, but this time you’re going to act like a lady. You’ll stay ashore—ow!”

She had lifted her hand and given him a crack on the cheek; without meaning to, purely as a reflex action, he slapped her full in the face. The blow was far from his full strength, but it drove her head back and she stumbled, falling to the ground with her cheek glowing red from the force of the blow.

“Oh, Lord!” he cried out, and in horror he stooped and put his arms around her. She was sitting there with a blank expression, not hurt so much as shocked, but when she saw his agony and grief, she knew the day was hers. Ordinarily she would have given him another slap across the face, but a streak of feminine wisdom ran deep in Charity despite her mannish ways. She let her body relax, and with no trouble at all began to sob softly, and as he frantically muttered his apologies, she allowed herself to fall on his shoulders, holding tightly to him.

Paul was dumbfounded. He had hit plenty of hard-headed sailors, but the sight of Charity’s head being driven back under his blow was frightening, and he continued to pat her shoulder as she lay in his arms sobbing as though her heart would break.

Carefully, as if she were made of fine crystal, he pulled her to her feet and whispered, “Oh, Charity—I’m so sorry ... !”

She made the most of it, clinging to him with both arms and pressing her face against his shoulder. He began to be uncomfortably aware that he was holding a beautiful woman in his arms, and soon he could do nothing but stand there thinking of her soft beauty.

“Charity—please don’t cry!”

She looked up and the soft, damp eyes smote him like a blow. “Paul,” she begged, “don’t be mean to me—please don’t!”

Her lips were inches from his, and he lost all consciousness of the world. Only she was real, this desirable young woman who was melting in his arms. He said huskily, “Charity, I—I ...” Then one of them moved; he never knew which, and it didn’t seem to matter. Her lips were soft as down, and he felt her hands on his neck pulling him closer. Time seemed to stop, and all he knew was the fragrance of her and the soft vulnerable figure pressed against him.

“Paul! Oh, Paul!” she whispered as they parted.

His eyes searched hers. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” She dropped her head, and then asked quietly, “You won’t leave me behind, will you, Paul? When you go for the ship?”

“No,” he assured. “We’ll go together.” They turned and walked down the path talking of the ship, but her heart was crying,
He can’t love Blanche! Not if he kisses me like that!

He was thinking of how he was going to explain taking her along on a dangerous exploit, and not once did he stop to realize that he had never consciously made the decision even to try the thing. It was fortunate for Charity that he had no memory of affairs with women, for the old Paul Winslow would have laughed at those tears, seeing them at once as a weapon a woman uses to get her way.

But he was not sorry, and as they walked along the fresh blooming boughs of the apple orchard, he was more aware of her soft hand in his than of the plans they made to capture
The Gallant Lady.

****

It took three days to convince Charles that the plan to take the
Lady
was worth the risk. It took another week to collect the men for the venture, but Dan Greene and the old crew
knew every seafaring man in Boston—and more important, they knew which of them could be trusted. Dan was in and out of the house constantly, with Anne like a shadow, staying as close as possible.

Charity and Paul were inseparable, Charles noted, and mentioned it to Dan one day. “That is a remarkable young woman,” he commented. “She’s been good for Paul. Look at them!”

Dan glanced to where the pair were sitting at a table. Charity was arguing, her arms flailing, and Paul was watching her quietly, with his head moving from side to side. “They fight all the time, Charles. I hate to think what would happen if he married her!”

“They’re both strong people—and if they don’t kill each other, I think it might work out. But of course, he has a fiancee, I understand.”

Plans for taking the ship continued. Then one day Charles disappeared, telling no one where he was going. He came back in a few days with a strange smile on his face. He called for a meeting, and the leaders of the venture gathered in his living room.

“How would you like to be farmers?” he asked with a droll smile.

“Farmers?” Laurence Conrad frowned. “They grub around in the dirt and grow things, don’t they? Not for me!”

“What’s in that devious mind of yours?” Paul inquired.

“I thought it over, and I decided that to take the ship by force in the harbor was too great a risk. So I came up with a different plan.”

“What does thee propose?” Dan asked.

“I propose that the entire crew go as passengers on the
Jupiter
—that’s the
Lady
’s new name.”

“Passengers!” Paul was staring at his father with bewilderment. “Passengers to
where
—and for
what?
”

Charles Winslow’s face had a light of excitement clearly evident to everyone, and he looked much younger than he
had the first time Charity had seen him. The lines had faded and his voice was clear as he continued. “I’ve been to New York and done a little ground work. The
Jupiter
was sold to a man named Whitaker. He’s taking a load of cannon and powder to Admiral Hood’s squadron in the West Indies.”

“What’s Hood doing there?” Dan inquired.

“I talked to Adam, and he told me that the French Admiral de Grass is out there with a large force—nearly thirty ships of the line. Washington has asked him to come and pin the British down at Yorktown. If the French Navy can hold the sea, Washington can take Yorktown and force Cornwallis to surrender—and it’ll be the end of the war!”

“Glory to God!” Enoch exclaimed. “But it’ll be hard for de Grass to get through Hood. That man is a hawk!”

“So Adam said. Well, the
Jupiter
leaves in a week for the Indies. Adam talked to General Washington, and His Excellency said—and I quote: ‘If those men could take the ship and make it to the Indies, they could be the eyes of de Grass. Poor fellow has no fast ships like an American schooner!’ ”

“Washington said that?” Paul’s voice was filled with wonder. Then he looked around and declared fiercely, “By heaven, we’ll take that ship or die!”

“But not in New York Harbor,” Charles stated. “Here’s what must be done—I met the master of the
Jupiter
and I told him that I was starting a farming venture in sugar in the Indies. I asked him if he could take my crew of planters when he went. He said no at first, that it was against the custom for naval ships to haul passengers. But he somehow discovered that it was a custom which had lost its importance—when I waved more money at him than he’d ever seen!”

“Mr. Winslow—you can’t afford that!” Charity protested.

“Well, no—but then I don’t expect the good captain will keep it long,” Charles smiled. “Because when we seize the ship—just before we get to the Indies—I’ll get a refund from him.”

“By Harry—it’ll work!” Conrad exclaimed, and the room buzzed with excited talk.

“I never thought of you as a schemer, Mr. Winslow,” Charity told him. “But you’ve come up with a real plan.”

Charles Winslow ducked his head, and then raised it slowly. Both Paul and Charity could see by the stiffness in his patrician features how he was struggling with his emotions.

“All the Winslows have fought for this land. I’ve been the only one who hasn’t—but if I could do this one thing, I could think of myself as a
real
Winslow—and an American!”

“I’m very proud of my father, sir!”

Charles took the hand that Paul held out, and his eyes were suddenly blinded. He whispered, “I have something for you.”

Paul and Charity followed him to his study, and he picked up a sword that was on his desk. He handed it carefully to Paul.

“It’s the sword of Gilbert Winslow, Paul. Adam said that you’re the Winslow who can use it best.”

Paul took the shining blade, lifted it, and made a pass. “Beautiful!” he breathed.

“It’s been red with the blood of our enemies, Paul.”

A firmness tightened Paul’s jaw, and his eyes were bright as he declared, “I may die with this sword, sir, but I’ll never dishonor it!”

Charles’s eyes misted as he murmured wistfully, “I wish your grandfather were here—my father, Miles. He would think better of me—but that’s the past. Now, let’s make ready for this thing as best we can!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CAPTAIN WINSLOW

Over a hundred men dressed as farmers were standing on the dock on the morning of March 15. Captain Whitaker came ashore and looked at them with distaste. They all wore rough clothing, and had bags and chests piled high beside them. Whitaker spotted Charles Winslow standing at the back of the crowd and made his way through the milling crowd, a frown on his face.

“Ah, Captain Whitaker, here you are!”

“Look here, Winslow, you’ve got more men here than we agreed on.”

“Why, there may be a few more, but all the more profit for you, eh, Captain?”

Whitaker opened his mouth to argue, but when Winslow tossed him a soft, heavy leather bag, he clamped his teeth immediately. “Well, all right—but no more!” he warned. Then he turned and yelled, “Stevens! Get the passengers stowed away—on the double!”

“What time do you sail, Captain?” Winslow asked.

“Dawn tomorrow—and if any of your blasted peasants ain’t on board, they get left!”

Winslow replied cheerfully, “Oh, you needn’t bother about that. My men are all anxious to get to their work—isn’t that right, men?”

A chorus of assent rose from the pseudo-farmers crowded around, and Whitaker grunted and moved away.

“I wish I were going with you, Paul, but your mother
wouldn’t hear of it,” Charles said wistfully. Then he nodded toward Charity, who was moving among the crew, laughing at something Conrad had said. “I still think it’s a mistake to let Charity go—but she’s hard to deny.”

“She’s that, all right. I’m too big a coward, but I’ve told Miles Lester that when the action starts, his one job is to get her below and sit on her if he has to!” An odd look leaped into Paul’s face, and he added, “There’s something I have to do before we leave, Father. I’ll be back in plenty of time.”

Charles stared at his son knowingly before he replied, “If you must do it—whatever it is, Paul—that’s all there is to it. I’ll be here when you return.”

Paul nodded, and turning quickly, moved across the dock and disappeared into the teeming crowd that swarmed the harbor. Charity saw Paul leave and came up to Charles, inquiring, “Where’s Paul going?”

“Oh, he had something in town to take care of.”

Charity fixed her eyes on him, a strange look in her eyes. She said nothing, but there was a stiffness in her shoulders as she whirled around and went back to the crew.

It took many trips for the small boat to get all the men on board, but finally as dark was falling over the gray sea, Dan reported to Winslow, “Well, Charles—they’re all on board.”