Yankee Privateer

by Andre Norton

  "Mr. Neagle's compliments, sir," he said formally, "an' he believes that yo' shall find this o' assistance "

  Fitz was holding an officer's boat cloak much like the one which covered Crofts' disguise. Now, when the time came to shuck Blount's coat, he would not have to march out without any protection against the wetness.

  "Tell Mr. Neagle—give him my thanks," he said hurriedly. But Mike had pressed on to the Captain.

  "I can do it, sir," he was saying excitedly. "Tom an' me tried it an' I can slip through th' window bars easy! So I can answer for Mr. Lyon at roll call an' that will give yo' more time, sir!"

  One of the men dropped a big paw on the boy's shoulder. He met the Captain's eyes across Mike's head.

  "Don't be a-worritin' about this one, sir. We'll see he doesn't get int' mischief."

  Fitz was almost moved to laughter by the look of outrage on Mike's freckled face when a low whistle reached them. Crofts straightened and flung back the edge of his cloak to show a bit of his uniform and Fitz unbuttoned Blount's coat and passed it to the nearest man with instructions to return it to the rightful owner. He had just pulled on Neagle's cloak behind a screen of his former shipmates when one of the sightseers came out. Mike, with a whoop, flipped into a series of agile cartwheels which took him across the yard almost to the door where the British officers were standing. Several of them laughed, and one threw a coin which Mike's fingers closed upon before it struck the pavement. He made an impudent remark and a face in way of thanks.

  "Now!" Crofts breathed in Fitz's ear and gave him a little shove forward.

  The two British officers nearest to them were exchanging raw sallies of wit with Mike, whose impudence was open but impish enough to amuse them. As the party moved down toward the gate Crofts and Fitz became a part of it, cloaks turned up about their jaws, as were those of the others, their faces only a sliver of white to be seen between collar and hat.

  Fitz thought afterward that he did not really breathe for the few minutes it took to stroll between the walls, to return the courtesies of the sentries, to wait for the clang of the gate behind them. When that came at last, his breath went out of him in a sigh. Crofts' hand was on his arm, pulling up his pace to that approximating a stroll.

  "Let them get well ahead," the Captain said in a half-whisper which went unnoticed in a loud dispute over the proper place to find a bottle of the right stuff to drive the deuced wet out of one's bones. "One block down we turn right—they should go left "

  He began to talk in a louder tone of some wine he had once drunk in Lisbon, a vile vintage which had sickened him for a week, and Fitz added the proper assents when required. Never had a block stretched so long. The houses and shops were a gray blur not unlike the walls of the prison.

  "Here." He obediently swung right, trying to keep to the calm pace Crofts had set, expecting at any moment to hear a threatening hail from behind. His shoulders hunched as he imagined the impact of a musket ball on the flesh between them.

  Crofts let go his clutch on the marine's arm. The Captain was dabbing his face with a handkerchief, and when he glanced at Fitz he laughed.

  "I must be getting too old for such games of chance. It is all very well to spur a main with fate if you're top cock—but a little trying on the nerves. Let's see," he put aside the handkerchief and became his usual brisk self. "Sixth house down, dolphin for a knocker . . . Yes, here's our anchorage!"

  The dolphin door knocker rose and fell with a clang that echoed much too loudly through the foggy street. As if some one had been waiting just inside for that summons, the door opened and Crofts slid through, with Fitz on his heels. They were in a narrow hallway, and a plump maidservant ushered them on into a small, book-lined room, where a fire glowed on the hearth and an elderly man pushed up spectacles as he arose to greet them.

  Crofts made his best bow. "Lieutenant Crofts, sir, of "

  "Of His Majesty's ship Neptune," supplied their host calmly. "And it is very glad we are to have you with us, sir. This is your young friend, I presume "

  "Yes," Crofts hastened to introduce Fitz, "Mr. Lyon, sir, also of the Neptune."

  "Come to the fire, gentlemen, come to the fire. Susan shall bring us some fresh tea. This is no proper day to be out—it might well bring on a rheum. Ah, Susan, that is right, on the little table by the fire." The maid had re-appeared with a loaded tray which Fitz, after the past weeks of slim diet, found entrancing. "That will be all, my dear, until the chaise comes. You will let us know of that at once."

  With a sidelong glance at the visitors, she ducked a curtsy and withdrew, while their host set to pouring brimming cups, adding brandy to the pot from a decanter on the table. Fitz selected a scone, having just enough caution and manners not to snatch it from the plate, and drank his tea.

  "Yes, a very bad day. Unpleasant for traveling. I trust that you will not be fog-stayed on the moor. If you are, gentlemen, keep to the road—the moor itself can be dangerous for the unwary. Your post-boy is reliable and you may trust to his choice of inns."

  Fitz bit into a second scone.

  "I have also taken the liberty to order put up for you some provisions to last"—he laughed a tinkling old man's laugh—"for your voyage. I hope that it shall be a most fortunate one. Young men on leave always desire to see the sights of London, and that pleasure should not be denied them. After some years on a foreign station it must seem very good to be home again."

  "Indeed it is, sir. And it is most obliging of you to take such trouble for "

  "For the only nephew of my old friend Canon Durham? Not at all, sir, not at all, I assure you. Why, in the old days when we were up at Oxford together, your uncle was most kind to me, most kind. If I can repay that debt in part by a few insignificant services to his nephew, I am more than pleased. And what did you think of the West Indies, sir? Strange places those islands must be—very strange. And you, Mr. Lyon, do have some of the small cakes, sir. Martha makes them for tea daily, although she knows that I have long since lost my tooth for sweets. She will be pleased to have them appreciated."

  Fitz joyfully made inroads on the cake plate and wondered at the whole scene. How in the wide world had Crofts managed to become a lieutenant of the Neptune, just back from the West Indies, with a useful uncle such as Canon Durham up his sleeve? It was little less than magic. He munched one of Martha's masterpieces and immediately was struck with the idea that it was stranger yet that anyone, sweet tooth or not, could resist them.

  Someone scratched at the door, and at the old gentleman's call Susan looked in upon them.

  "Th' chaise be 'ere, sir."

  "Ah, yes, to be sure, the chaise. I am sorry that you must leave so soon, my boy. Please do not forget to remember me to your uncle, and try to persuade him to visit me the next time he goes to Bath. I am a sad invalid nowadays, a sad invalid, hardly going beyond my own doorstep. But I am always eager to see old friends."

  "I shall certainly tell him, sir. And thank you for all your kindnesses/'

  "Not at all—not at all," the host waved one long-fingered white hand deprecatingly. "A pleasant journey to the both of you, and may your leave prove a happy holiday!"

  Before Fitz could more than mumble his thanks they were out of the door, down the steps, and into a plain traveling chaise. The post-boy was in his saddle, and they were off along the streets of Plymouth for the Exeter road.

  "Who is Canon Durham?" Fitz could retain his bursting curiosity no longer.

  Crofts chuckled. "Doubtless only a fanciful creation of a very keen mind. D'you note how neatly he supplied us with the proper background—a ship, an immediate past, and a handy relative in this country? He's a clever, clever man—our friend behind the dolphin. And there is no use in asking who he is, because I haven't the slightest idea. I was given certain contacts to make in the eventuality I might find myself in just such difficulties as we were, and he was the result of my making them. Now—what's this?"

  The chaise had slowed at the old gate of the town,
and a lantern was flashing under its hood. A sentry said something about the necessity of checking upon all who passed—these rebels were a mighty slippery lot.

  "What the deuce d'you mean, you chicken-brained, barnyard offscouring!" Crofts' voice rose with just the proper note of gathering anger. "Daring to stop two officers of His Majesty's forces with this twaddle about escaping rebels! If you don't move, on the jump, sirrah, I'll see that the sergeant's cane is laid smartly over those crooked shoulders of yours! Get down at once "

  The sentry blinked and jumped, the postilion cracked his whip and they went rocketing off at a good pace. Fitz rubbed his sweating hands on the edge of his cloak.

  "That was close."

  "I think," Crofts returned, "he was only taking general precautions. We haven't heard the alarm bell, and they have not yet cried an escape through the streets. It may be morning before they discover we are gone. Then they will expect to find us along the coast, not inland. We have twenty-four hours, perhaps more, before we need to watch over our shoulders too often. But I don't like the weather. . . ."

  He frowned out over the countryside where the mist was thickening into a heavy fog. Although it was still afternoon, the light was fading to that of twilight.

  "To cross the moor in this stuff is chancy. We have undoubtedly been furnished with a man who knows the road, but"—Crofts' scowl at the closing curtain of gray grew blacker—"we may not be able to make the run to Exeter without a stop. I had hoped to do it with pauses only for fresh horses."

  The Captain's uneasiness was justified. The fog closed in until at last their position said frankly that he would not chance it further into the heart of the moor country under such conditions, proposing that they stop at The Green Man, a posting inn with a good reputation some two miles farther on. And with that decision they had to be content.

  When they drew up before it, The Green Man turned out to be a small house, but one neatly kept, from what they could judge by the yard. However, other travelers had been benighted too, and there were two other chaises, as well as a coach with arms blazoned on its door, almost choking the yard. When the landlord greeted them it was with a harassed air.

  "Room, sir? Well, I shall do my best. We are overcrowded tonight, the ill weather has stayed so many. If you wish to dine, there is only the Bow, sir "

  "Let us shelter in the Bow then," Crofts answered good-naturedly.

  The Bow was a small room, but it had a fire, and they both shed damp cloaks and hats with gratitude to go and stand, holding their chilled hands to its blaze.

  "Faith, I'll never be warm again," Fitz announced with a shiver.

  They went rocketing off at a good pace.

  "As this pestilent climate would make anyone feel." Crofts lifted the skirts of his coat and allowed the warmth to climb his tight breeches. "But at least this is some small improvement on our last lodging."

  Fitz continued to shiver. "Which one? The one in which I met you suits me best. Aha—food!" He watched the waiter and an underling bring in heavily laden trays. "But—are we an army?" He began to be astonished at the number of dishes they were unloading.

  The waiter bobbed his head. "Beggin* your pardons, gentlemen. But we be so full tonight, th' other officers will dine in 'ere too."

  Before Fitz could frame a protest there was a hearty roar of laughter from the hall, and three men in the red coats of the army came tramping in upon them, bringing with them the fumes of a strong rum punch. The well-jowled leader flipped a hand in half-salute to the two by the hearth and boomed genially:

  "Damme, if we ain't being attack in force, boys! 'Tis the sea dogs we find in possession."

  Fitz by some miracle regained use of his tongue. "Not at all, sir. We believe that by the rights of seniority you gentlemen have first call upon the provisions."

  Crofts moved up beside him. "Just so. By your permission though, we shall join you in demolishing them. Lieutenant Crofts of the Neptune.” He bowed and Fitz echoed his movement. "Lieutenant Lyon, also of the Neptune”

  "I'm Major Goodwin of the Forty-fourth," returned the leader of the invading troops. "And this is Mr. Roberts and Captain Farrier, also of ours."

  All three of the military had drunk, even if they had not dined, but even so Fitz felt a chill crawl down his spine. One mistaken word or awkward answer could bring disaster on them. He looked to Crofts for guidance. The Captain was calmly seating himself at the table, watching the waiter carve their beef with the proper attention of a hungry man. For a single instant he lifted his eyes to Fitz, and then beyond him to the door.

  Fitz thought of the confusion in the yard below. There was one precaution which they could still take. He dared to believe that Crofts meant the next move to be his. He made up his mind.

  "If you will excuse me for the nonce, gentlemen, I find that I have dropped my snuffbox, perhaps in the chaise." He caught up his hat and cloak. Crofts was intent now, very intent, upon the beef.

  "Lord, man, don't venture out in this muck for it," Captain Farrier was beginning, "let one of the inn fellows "

  Fitz shook his head. " Tis a trinket I put value on," he tried to get meaning into that.

  The officer laughed. "From a fairest one, eh? Well, young blood runs hot "

  Fitz ducked out of the door and fairly ran down the

  passage and out into the yard, pausing for a moment to locate the stables. A dark figure slid out from an archway.

  "What's to do, sir?" In that soft whisper Fitz recognized their postilion. He remembered the recommendation of their Plymouth benefactor.

  "There may be trouble. Could you have two horses waiting?"

  The man betrayed no surprise. "Two horses it is, sir. As soon as I can make it. And over by that window they'll be—that looks into the Bow, sir. Take this "

  Fitz's fingers closed about the chill metal of a pistol. The postilion faded away again.

  So that window looked into the Bow, did it? He began to edge along the wall toward the square of light.

  12

  Moor Bells

  Here's to the squire who goes to parade,

  Here's to the citizen soldier;

  Here's to the merchant who fights for his trade,

  Whom danger increasingly makes bolder.

  —THE VOLUNTEER BOYS

  With his fingernails, Fitz dug at the casement until he was able to edge it open toward him. The candle-lighted table was the center of activity within. And Crofts, with an empty place at his right, was facing the window. The Captain was giving full attention to his plate, but, just as the casement swung open far enough for Fitz to hear what was being said, the Major asked loudly:

  "Neptune, eh? Then you'll be shipmates with Johnny Cross "

  Crofts chewed ostentatiously. But there was a note in the Major's voice which made the Marylander very glad he had taken his precautions. Crofts came to the last swallow of a mouthful he could mince no finer.

  "Cross—Cross," he repeated with a slight frown. "Cross?"

  The Major put plump hands on the table edge and worked himself forward on his chair.

  " 'Tis odd that you are not more knowing of your Captain's name, Lieutenant."

  Crofts laid down his fork and Fitz jerked open the window to its fullest extent. The curtain caught the breeze and billowed out into the room. One of the officers cried out, pointing to the fluttering strip of muslin. But Crofts gained his feet in one supple motion as Fitz reached in his arm to pull the curtain away. Then he took a chance at the greatest shot of his life, aiming with the postilion's pistol at the shaft of the candelabra which lit the room.

  The explosion of the shot was echoed by shouts as the flaming candles snuffed out on the cloth. Fitz jumped back as the window square framed a squirming shadow. But he was able to give the last tug which brought Crofts through safely.

  "This way, sir!" The postilion called from behind the coach. He was holding the reins of two horses. "And for God's sake, sir, keep t' th' road, if ye can. Th' moor be a death trap fe
r 'em as knows it not!"

  Crofts scrambled awkwardly onto his chosen mount, and Fitz swung onto his, jamming the pistol into the empty holster on the saddle. Behind them the shouting was louder and a circle of lanterns burst out of the inn door.

  "Come on!" Fitz dug his spurless heels into his mount and headed through the courtyard arch onto the post road. Crofts pounded just behind him.

  The fog seemed to deaden all sound so that they rode in a kind of muffled, feather-shrouded world—rode hard, holding to the road as their only guide. It wasn't until that road split into two that Fitz reined up and looked back for the Captain. But Crofts was not there. Nowhere in the dense curtain of fog did there appear to be another moving creature.

  Fitz shivered with a chill which was not born of the dank mist about him. He was alone—on a moor road! Some of the accidents which might have overtaken Crofts ran through his mind. There was the chance of straying from the track into one of the death-bogs, a bad fall into a ditch, recapture . . .

  He pulled rein and turned back along the way he had come. And a pace or two away from the crossroad he was rewarded by a glimpse of a dark shape fading into the mist. Fitz began to whistle—that shrill pipe which had marked the time for Ninnes' recruiting song so long ago in Baltimore. Since a shout might betray them to the hunters, that tune might identify him to his companion. He followed the shape into the dark and—off the post road.

  Twice more he caught sight of the flying shadow, but even when he ventured to call there was no slackening of pace. Then he believed that he had heard a cry for help from some distance ahead. He sent his mount plunging on.

  Straight out of the murk loomed a black prickly wall of hedge. There was no time to search for a break. And with the eye of a horseman used to riding over rough land, he gauged it not too high. He might not be mounted on a hunter from the Fairleigh stables, but he guessed that the postilion had given them the best possible horses available. So he booted the brute into a jump.