Prodded by the militiamen, the bedraggled group entered the huge gate and was immediately surrounded by guards with muskets. Soon the troop escort from Devon was on its way back to the coast, and a florid-faced, hook-nosed man with tiny eyes and a cruel mouth came to look at the prisoners. After a quick glance he snorted, “What’s Snyder thinkin’ of to send me a hundred prisoners—and me with nine thousand crammed in like sardines? Well, give them hammocks, blankets and mattresses. Oh, mess equipment, too, and spun yarn for slingin’ their hammocks.”
After receiving their gear, they stumbled forward, pushed by the sharp bayonets of the guards. Paul expected Dartmoor to be a warren of small cells, but suddenly he was pushed into an enormous room, with colonnades of slender posts extending from floor to ceiling along the length of it. Everywhere men were squatting around kettles in groups of six—eating, drinking, laughing, and shouting. Among them were flickering candles whose beams seemed to make their garments and faces appear yellow.
The newcomers were pushed into the room, most of them falling instantly to the floor, exhausted. Even as they fell, Paul saw the old prisoners begin to creep toward them, and a skeleton of a man began to go through the pockets of one of the new arrivals. Got to stay on my feet! he thought. If I go down, they’ll take all I have. He had a knapsack stuffed with food and trading items, given to him by Burns the last time they’d met.
“Hang on to this, Hawke,” Burns warned, calling him by his old name. “Ye’ll need it in Dartmoor—and do nae give up on God!”
The words echoed in Paul’s mind, but as he staggered around the hellish room, he almost thought that God had given up on him. But just when he was about to collapse, he felt a hand on his arm. He whirled around to fight off an attack—and found himself looking into the face of Daniel Greene!
“I’ve been looking for thee, Friend Paul,” he greeted with a smile that gleamed in the semidarkness. “We got word of the trial—and I figured they’d send thee here.”
“Dan? You’re here?” Paul’s mind was blurred, and the words came from his lips in a slur.
“Here, come with me—thee is about past going.”
He took Paul’s arm with a powerful hand and steered him to a stone stairway, then into a room filled with faces. He recognized some of the men—Thad Alden and Laurence Conrad among them. Weeding their way through the mass of humanity, Dan finally pushed Paul into a corner where he fell onto a straw-stuffed mattress and passed into unconsciousness.
It was no lighter when he awoke. He rubbed his eyes, trying to get his bearings. Fear gripped his confused mind as he began to remember. He sat up quickly and heard a voice. “Well, sir, you’ve finally come out of it. I thought you were waiting for the general resurrection of the dead!”
Paul squinted in the dimness and found the long face of Laurence Conrad peering at him. The tall man was even more cadaverous than Winslow remembered. “Have some grub,” he offered, and then with his usual mixture of pessimism and cheer, remarked, “If it don’t kill you, boy, it’ll keep you alive for a time.”
Paul found he was ravenous, and gobbled down the food without inquiring into the contents. He drank tepid water from a stone jug, taking huge gulps before setting it down. Ashamed at his crude manners, he said, “Well, thanks for the food, Laurence. I guess I was pretty hungry.”
“Might as well get used to that,” Laurence stated. “You’ll spend most of your time trying to find grub.” He nodded at the knapsack. “I kept an eye on your kit—and you’d better do the same.”
Paul looked around and asked, “All of you in here—you’re from The Gallant Lady?”
“Most of us—the rest are from our part of America. We don’t trust each other much—but we don’t trust anybody else at all.”
“Well, if you hadn’t helped me, that food would have been gone—so it belongs to the crew—all of you. And I’d like to be a part of it—if the men will have me.”
Conrad stared at him with a peculiar intensity. Then he shook his head and remarked dryly, “Just when I convince myself that mankind is no blasted good—totally depraved—somebody like you has to come along and ruin my theology.”
Dan Greene came over to the corner and sat down beside Conrad. “Well, thee is among the living again,” he nodded to Paul.
“Maybe, but he’s not in his right mind,” Laurence answered with a shrug. “He just donated all his goods to our little group.”
Greene gave Paul a thoughtful look. “Well, two is better than one—and a threefold cord is not easily broken.” He slapped Paul on the shoulder, saying, “I’m sorry thee is here—but in this place no man can live without friends.”
Paul was embarrassed, and replied nonchalantly, “Why, it’s nothing. I’m grateful to you.” He picked up the bag and hefted it. “There’s gold in here—courtesy of Angus Burns.”
“Gold! Good Lord!” Laurence exclaimed in a low voice. “Don’t say a word to anybody, man!”
Paul looked at him strangely and asked, “Gold is rare here?”
“It’ll get you anything you want,” Conrad divulged. “Even a woman, so they say.”
“Not anything, Laurence,” Greene broke in. “It won’t get you freedom.”
Paul gave him a searching look. “I—I’d hoped it would help make an escape possible.”
Conrad and Greene exchanged quick glances and Greene commented, “We wondered how long it’d take before thee got to that.”
“We all get to that point, Winslow,” Conrad explained. “But it won’t pay to dwell on the subject. Nobody gets out of here alive.”
“Nobody? Not even one or two?”
Greene stared at Paul and shook his head. “Well, there were a couple of cases—or so I’m told. But they all had one thing in common.”
Paul waited for him to finish, and when he hesitated, Winslow inquired, “What did they have in common, Dan?”
Greene bit his lip and shrugged his shoulders. “They all had plenty of help from the outside—wealthy friends who were willing to pay any price to get them sprung. Which leaves all of us out, Paul.”
“You have any relatives with a fortune they’d like to throw away on your worthless carcass, Winslow?” Conrad regarded the younger man with interest. “Your newfound father—he’s got money, hasn’t he?”
Paul thought of Charles Winslow, but he shook his head.
“No.” He knew that as a Tory, the Americans would have frozen Winslow’s assets, if not actually seizing them. “No, there’s nobody out there who’d be able to redeem me.”
Greene and Conrad heard the sadness beneath his steady tone, and Conrad said softly, dropping a friendly hand on Paul’s shoulder, “Well, the good part of it is, my boy, if we die in this place, we won’t have to go out and fight another war with the lousy British for our freedom, will we now?”
Greene was more sober, and urged, “It’s no good thinking about freedom, Paul. I’ve found that out in the short time I’ve been here. The old-timers have lots of stories about men that go crazy thinking all the time about getting out. The way to beat this thing is just to ride with it. This war will end, and then they’ll let us go.”
“Not me,” Paul informed them. “My sentence is for life—the penalty for treason.” He stood up and looked around at the mass of men in the cell and remarked, “The rest of you have a chance of getting out of here. I have none. So I won’t be able to stop thinking about escape.”
“God help you, my boy,” Conrad nodded sadly. “For nobody else will.”
Winslow stood up and surveyed the cell, then walked to the end and gazed out on the massive room that held the rest of the prisoners, noting the thin, mean, pock-marked faces. There were ugly features, gray-looking even in the yellow light of the candles, and gaunt. All wore yellow rags and some nothing but a piece of cloth twisted around their loins.
He came back to stand before his two friends, and stated quietly, “I may go to hell when I die—but I’ll die before I spend the rest of my life in this hell
on earth.” His lean face grew utterly serious and he added, “There’s nobody out there who can help me—so I’ll have to do it myself.”
****
Paul had no way of determining that a small group across the sea had already come together, bent on getting him out of Dartmoor. Originally they had not met with the purpose of getting him free, but rather to ease another Winslow out of the world.
Charity had been drawn into the world of Charles Winslow’s family almost against her will. She discovered that her own life was empty, and after several days of cleaning the old house on the sea, she welcomed a message from Charles: “My mother is ill. Could you help Anne and Dorcas with her?”
She had gone at once, and found her services almost hysterically welcomed. It was obvious that Martha Winslow was dying, and neither of the women knew what to do—in fact, they were both stricken with fear at the coming event. They had almost grabbed at Charity when she arrived, and from that time both of them depended on her desperately.
After two days, Charles came into his mother’s room where Charity was sitting beside her, reading the Bible aloud. He sat down, his foot much better but still tender; and when she paused, he waved her on. She was reading in the Gospels, and his gaze never left her face. When she finally put the Bible on the table, he remarked, “You’ve been a blessing, Charity. I was afraid for Dorcas and Anne. They have no experience in this sort of thing. You’re so calm. How did you learn to handle sickness and death?”
She bit her lip and answered quietly, “At Valley Forge. I don’t like to think about that time. Every day—almost every hour—men died, most of them just boys. I never got used to it, but I learned to last through it.”
Charles put his hand on his mother’s and murmured, “She’s going to die, isn’t she?”
“I think so, Charles.” The elderly woman had been ill for a long time, but a week earlier she’d been found unconscious on her bedroom floor, struck down by a stroke, they assumed.
“I’ve sent for Adam. He should be here any time.” He looked at the Bible and asked, “Do you read the Bible to her often? She doesn’t hear you, does she?”
“I don’t really know, but when my brother Curtis was dying at Valley Forge, Julie would read to him for hours as he lay in a coma. When he woke up, I think it had somehow been... heard. It sounds odd, but Julie said there’s a verse that reads: ‘The entrance of thy word giveth light.’ She told me that just hearing the Bible is a good thing. I hope so.”
“All my brother’s family are godly people—as you are, Charity.” A painful light touched his eyes and he whispered, “I wish now I’d been more attentive to such things.”
“It’s not too late,” Charity encouraged, adding hastily, “No, I’m not a Christian, Charles. When my father died, I cursed God. I’m not like Julie. But like you, I wish I were.”
They sat silently for a long time, listening to the faint, labored breathing of Martha, punctuated by the sound of the ticking of a clock on the mantel. Finally Charles rose. “She keeps asking for Adam, have you noticed? Every time she regains consciousness, she asks for him.”
“Yes. I hope he comes soon, Charles. I don’t think she can last long.”
Adam did come, early the next morning. His wife Molly was with him, and so were Nathan and Julie. There was a quiet meeting in the parlor, and all of them embraced Charity exactly as they did Anne. It did funny things to her heart and made her eyes sting with tears. She had no family, but somehow they had made her a part of theirs. Julie saw her tears and plopped Christmas down in Charity’s lap. “There! You take care of this fat wad! He’s almost worn me down.” Julie was expecting again, and for the next two days Charity became a key member of the Winslow family. She helped Cory with the food and beds, she tended to Christmas, who was into everything that wasn’t tied down, and she cared for Martha.
She found herself talking to Julie a great deal, for she still remembered the strength of the young woman when Curtis had died. She told her about Dan, and as she did so, a queer look came into Julie’s eyes. Finally she said, “Charity, you’re filled with guilt because you can’t marry Dan. Well, so was I!” She touched her cheek and her eyes were cloudy for the first time since Charity had known her. “I loved Dan—but he would never have had all of me. Nathan had that—and if you can’t give a man all of yourself, you’re cheating on him even before you marry.”
“But it’s my fault he’s in prison. If he hadn’t met me, he’d never have been on that ship!”
“No, he’d probably be in a shallow grave at Princeton or Cowpens or any one of a dozen spots where our men have died. Charity, you can’t blame yourself, for you can’t know what God had in mind. Maybe He had Daniel on the Lady to keep him from getting blinded or torn apart in some battle. You don’t know. All you can know is, God is good.”
“I wish I believed that!”
“You will believe it someday. God has told me.”
The calm statement hit her like a blow, and she got up and left the room. It angered her, somehow, when people talked in such terms, and she avoided Julie for the rest of the day.
It was almost midnight when Martha woke up for the last time. Charity was asleep in her chair, and she heard a voice calling, “Adam! Oh, Adam!” Charity sat up with a start to see the elderly woman staring open-eyed at the ceiling, her hands grasping at the counterpane.
She leaped to her feet and ran down the hall. Adam and Charles were talking quietly in front of the fire when she burst into the room, crying, “She’s awake—she’s calling for you, Major!”
“Go get the others, Charity,” Adam urged. “Get them all.”
The men walked rapidly down the hall, while Charity summoned Dorcas, Julie, Molly, and Anne from their beds. They threw on robes and hurried to the big bedchamber where Martha lay.
She was resting in Charles’s arms. Adam was kneeling beside the bed, his face close to hers. Charity saw her lips move, and she heard Martha saying, “ ...was never fair to you, Adam—never!” Her voice was weak and thready, but her eyes were brighter than Charity had ever seen them.
“Don’t fret, Martha,” Adam assured quietly. He took her hand in both of his, and she grasped with the other until he caught that one as well.
“No, I hated you. I was jealous—wanted Charles to be first with Miles. And I made him hurt you—you know I did.”
Adam pulled one hand free and removed a white handkerchief. He gently wiped the tears from her withered cheeks, remarking, “It came out all right, Martha. You must remember. Father and I became very close.”
She sobbed, “Yes—and I hated that, too—I was so hateful!” She continued to weep softly. As Charity watched the scene before her, her throat ached under the strain. She wanted to run, for the old grandmother’s guilt was terrible.
Finally Adam said, “Martha, you must listen to me—just lie there, and let me talk to you....”
He began to speak of his own youth, and how unhappy he’d been. He told her how he’d felt left out, and then how he’d found God.
“I didn’t see how God could forgive me, Martha. But Molly will tell you—she was there. I heard about Jesus and how He loved me in spite of my ways. And I called on Him—and Martha, He heard me! He forgave me! That was such a wonderful time—I can’t explain how it was—but mostly it was like Bunyan’s Pilgrim. I had a load of guilt that was wearing me out, but when I called on the Lord, it rolled away—and it’s been gone ever since!”
She was watching him quietly, and there was a strange look in her old eyes. “Martha,” he went on, “how could I not forgive you—when God forgave me? I forgive you, dear Martha—but I want you to know more than that. Wouldn’t you like to know God’s forgiveness—wouldn’t you like to meet Him with not a single sin or flaw in your heart?”
“Adam—I can’t!”
“Yes, you must! Now, I’m going to pray, Martha, and you must pray, too, but only one prayer. Just tell God you’re guilty. He knows you are. Tell Him you’re not able to
help yourself. He knows that, too. Then ask Him to forgive you—and ask it in the name of Jesus—He always hears that prayer....”
Adam began to pray, and as he prayed Charity began to sob. She tried to stop, forcing her fist against her lips, but she could not hold it back. Through her sobs, she heard Martha Winslow calling on God in a feeble voice; then it became stronger. She heard Adam and Molly praising God. Soon she felt an arm around her, and she turned to see through her tears that Julie was there. She began to shake so violently that she could not stand, but slipped to the floor. She did not even wonder what the others might think, for something was moving inside her—a power she had never known before.
She was weeping and moaning, striking her hands against the floor. Julie touched her gently, saying, “It’s your time, Charity. Remember what Curtis said? I’ll be waiting on you! God is calling you right now. Martha has heard and answered. Now it’s your turn.”
Charity was filled with fear, but there was a longing such as she had never known, and she cried out, “Oh, my God, my God! Forgive me! In the name of Jesus! Help me!”
She continued to sob, but there was a difference. The fear left, and she was filled with a peace that seemed to flow over her. She felt light and free, and she knew that never again would she have the terrible emptiness and fear that had preyed on her.
As Charity rose to her feet, Nathan and Julie embraced her, both of them weeping. She saw Charles and Adam as they looked down at Martha—who had slipped away.
Charles stammered, “I—I’m glad you were here, Adam. She needed you.”
“She went to meet God, Charles. I know it!”
“Yes, I know it, too.” Charles brushed away the tears streaming down his face. “She was at peace—for the first time, I think. See how rested she looks—she’s looked so tired for a long time.”
They all left the room subdued, their hearts filled with the wonder of God’s working in their lives. But the affairs surrounding death had to be carried out, so in a short while Charity prepared the body, while the rest went about the other duties.
The Saintly Buccaneer Page 27