He looked with no favor on the swinging ladder but it was no new thing to a man who had boarded many a smuggling craft, so he grabbed the ladder, slipped badly, then went up.
I held the end of the line I must pull to release her so she'd fall astern on the painter. For an instant I held it, then tugged and grabbed for the rope ladder. One foot missed, the other toe landed fair, and up the ladder I went, banging a finger badly against the hull, and over.
When our boat fell back to the painter's end I thought it might snap, but the line held and she towed there behind us, a gallant craft, handsome, sturdy, and sure. I blessed her in my mind for a good little ship, and turned to the deck with my hand on my sword.
"You've no need to worry." It was one-eyed Jeremy Ring at my side. "We got rid of Malmayne's gang in London. And you can thank your lady for it."
"Abigail?"
"Aye! She smuggled them rum from the ship's locker and we lugged them all ashore."
He showed me to the after-cabin. I opened it to the light, and stepped in.
She was standing there, her hands out to me, and her lips bright with a smile, her father behind her.
With me they were at last, England on our beam, and America yonder across the sea, and a fit lot of men with me to start a new land. If they lived. And if I did.
We went into the cabin and Captain Tempany got to his feet from behind the table where he had spread his charts. "Lad, lad! It is good to see you! We were afraid, especially when they came aboard in London, and we knew them for Malmayne's men."
"Are we safe?"
He looked up from under thick brows. "Have you forgotten the Queen? There'll be ships out for us when they know you've escaped."
I had thought myself secure once aboard ship. Now my confidence was gone. But the boat was fully crewed, with my old friends Sakim, Jublain, and Jeremy Ring.
There was also a crew of good craftsmen, to homestead the new American world.
The ship was also heavily laden with munitions.
Abigail was quiet, obviously worried. "Barnabas, if they should ever take you to prison I do not know what I should do!"
"Go on as you have and leave the matter to Jeremy and to Tom Watkins."
"What could they do?"
"Men have escaped from Newgate, and I think escape would be my only chance. You see, nobody will believe the truth about the coins. It seems too much luck for one man to have. Tell me, is my chest aboard? With the charts?"
"Yes. There are some other charts and some papers that Peter Tallis brought, too. They say he is dishonest, Barnabas, but I like him."
"And so do I. Abigail, if anything should happen, you go on with your father to Raleigh's land, and wait for me. I shall come."
"Nothing will happen."
She said it, but she did not fully believe it. Nor did I. I would not feel entirely safe until we set foot on American land.
"My place is with you, Barnabas. Do you think it is only men who wish to see new land? I, too, want to see those shores again. I, too, want to see what is beyond them."
I was silent, for I knew what she said was true, and I did not want to persuade her otherwise. In that I was selfish. I wanted her with me always.
"It's no land for a gentle, lovely woman," I protested feebly.
She looked at me, laughing. "Barnabas, when I was not yet fourteen and off the coast of India, I used a pistol repelling boarders off my father's ship."
Later I spoke of my worries again to Captain Tempany.
"All we can do is what we can," I began, "and when we have done that it rests with God. I do not want you to risk a shelling of this boat by refusing a command to lay-to. If they take me, go on about your business. I'll find a way to come to America."
He shook his head. "Lad, lad! You do not know what you risk! I visited a friend in Newgate for debt. A foul and ugly place it is, and every privilege you get you pay for!"
Then we talked long of trade, of Indians and goods, of the buying and selling, for we had much planned.
"It is the new lands for you, my boy," said Captain Tempany, "and for my daughter, too, I hope."
Suddenly there was a dull boom. For a moment my heart seemed to stop.
"We had better go on deck," Tempany said. "I fear for you, lad."
We opened the door and stepped out on the deck, and at once we could see her, not two miles off, clearly visible ahead, a Queen's ship and a big one, holding a course that would take her across our bows.
Jeremy Ring came toward us. "She fired a warning gun, Cap'n, shall we heave-to?"
"We must, I fear."
Abigail came quickly to my side and took my hand. Her cheeks were pale, as mine must have been. We stood there, shoulder to shoulder, seeing the ship come down upon us.
"Forty-two guns," Ring said grimly. "We couldn't fight her, Cap'n."
"I'll fight no Queen's ship," he said.
A boat was already bobbing upon the waves, and Sakim stood amidships with a ladder. It seemed only a moment until the emissary was aboard. For such he was, I knew.
"I have orders to search you," he said. He was a handsome young man, obviously impressed by Abigail. "I hope I shall offer no inconvenience, but I must seize the man Barnabas Sackett, if he be aboard."
"I am aboard, Lieutenant," I said quietly, "and there is no need for a search."
"I must search," he said. "It is said there is treasure aboard."
He was thorough, I grant him that, and he gave us such a search as few ships have been subjected to, but he found no royal treasure.
At last I stood by the ladder. "Abby," I said, "Abby, I-"
"Go," she said, "but come to America when you can. I shall be waiting."
They stood about, Brian Tempany, Jeremy, Tom Watkins, Jublain, Pim, Sakim, and the others.
I looked around at their faces, spoke my thanks to them, and then went over the rail and down to the boat.
From the deck of the Queen's ship, I watched the other one sail away, her canvas drawing well.
"She's a fine craft," the lieutenant said, beside me.
"The best," I said, choking from the sadness in me. "They are good folk, loyal and strong."
"Come!" he took my arm. "You must go below. I regret the necessity but you must be held in irons for the Queen's officers."
"Wait," I pleaded, "let me see her out of sight."
He took his hand from my arm and left. And so I stood, alone upon the deck of the ship that would take me to prison, watching all that I loved sail away into the misty distance of a wind-blown sea.
Soon there was no topm'st to be seen, only the gray line where sea and sky met, and an emptiness in my heart.
They took me below then, and they clamped irons upon my wrists and ankles. They chained me to a bulkhead, and they left me there.
I was fed a little. I was given water. And I was visited by no one.
Chapter 7
Of Newgate prison I'd heard a great deal of talk, but it in no way prepared me for what it was. To a free man living in the fens, with fresh air to breathe and going about when he chose, where he chose, it was a frightful thing to be confined, and worse to be confined amid filth and the filthy.
No sooner was I brought into the prison than I was loaded with irons, shoved about, and abused. Then the prisoners came to me with demands for garnish, which I provided, having hidden money about me.
One lingered. He was a bold-faced rascal, a thief, he added, and occasionally a highwayman.
"You can have the irons off," he told me, "for a bit of something to the jailer, and for a bit more you can live well, but never let them think there's an end to what you have, for then you will be thrown into the worst hole they have and left to rot. There's no bit of human feeling in them. Many a man has died here."
His name was Hyatt. I found myself liking the man. I was in sore need of somebody with a knowing way about Newgate.
"It is Croppie you must see," he advised with a knowing wink. "Henry Croppie is the one, an
d he's a brute, mate, a bloody brute who'd kill you with his bare hands."
"I also have two hands," I said.
"Aye, but there's a sinister power in his, and delighted he is to put it to use on some poor soul. If he kills you it is no loss to him, but if you kill him it's Tyburn or Execution Dock."
A wicked gleam lit up his face. "It is said you know where there's treasure ... gold, mayhap, and gems. Is it true then?"
Now a man who has nothing is of no use to anyone, but if there is a chance of gain even the best of men are sometimes swayed, so I merely shrugged. "Let them believe what they want," I said. "I admit nothing, deny nothing."
With a bit of coin placed in the proper hand I had my irons removed, was changed to better quarters, and found choicer food available. It was not in my mind, however, to remain long where I was.
The questioning would begin. "It is like so," Hyatt said. "They will speak gently at first, try to get what they want without effort, and if they do not get it, they will bear down."
For a week I went about the prison, my nostrils repelled by the vile stench, yet taking in all that went on, and all who were about, for help may come from strange quarters and I was in no position to hold back from the roughest hand.
Men and women mixed together, some children ran about, all in the filthiest rags, faces and hands dirty, with the worst of criminals mingled with debtors and those thrown into gaol for heresy, which was an easy thing if one talked but loosely of Queen or Church.
One day I was called to a private room where two men sat. One was a slender man with a tight, cruel mouth and a tightly curled wig. He looked at me with an aloof and distant expression.
The other man was square and solid-looking, a man of the Army, I would have guessed, or perhaps the captain of a warship.
"You are Barnabas Sackett?" this one asked.
"I am, and a loyal yeoman of England," I added. "I am also an admirer of Her Majesty."
"There be many such," he replied shortly. "Now to the matter at hand. You have traded certain gold coins to Coveney Hasling and others?"
"I have."
"Where did you obtain these coins?"
Relating the events of the day on which I found such coins was simple, and then I followed by relating that once I knew antiquities might have value, I went to another place and found more.
"So quickly? So easily?"
"It was chance. One in a thousand, I suppose, although there are many places in England where old coins are found."
"Your home is in the fens?"
"It is."
"You live near the Wash?"
"Some distance from it, actually."
"But you know it? You've sailed on it?"
"Many times."
"You know the story of the loss of the royal treasure?"
For hours they questioned me. The man with the wig had a cold, fierce eye and there was not one whit of mercy in him, nor any belief in my story.
He turned at last. "Damn him for a liar, Swalley!" he said. "I told you this would do no good. I say the rack ... or a thumbscrew. He'll speak the truth fast enough. His kind have no belly for pain."
"How is yours?" I said roughly. "I think you have no stomach for it, either.
Have done with this. I have spoken the truth. If you do not care to believe, do what you will, for I have nothing else to tell you."
He looked at me for a moment, and then he struck me across the face with the back of his hand. It was not much of a blow, and I smiled.
"If we each held a sword," I said, "I'd have your blood for that."
"What? You threaten me? Why, you-!"
"I am an Englishman. I am freeborn. A man who strikes a prisoner so is a coward, and you, sir, are doubly a coward."
"Here! That will be enough of that!" Swalley came to his feet suddenly. "I am sorry, Sir Henry."
He pointed a finger at me. "You! You will tell us where lies the royal treasure or, by the Lord, you shall be put to the question."
"I have told you all I know. You waste time. Would I be going to America if there were such a treasure?"
Swalley stared at me, then smiled with thick lips that repelled me. "How do we know you were not for Spain? Or for Italy? We know you have the treasure, for word has been given us that you have it, that you took it from the Wash this past year. It is sworn to."
Appalled, I stared at him. Then I shook my head. "That is obviously a falsehood.
There is no treasure."
"Think of it," Swalley said quietly. "We will talk again."
So I was returned to my cell. I looked about the bare room with its cot, its white-washed walls and bare ugliness, and felt hatred for the first time.
What right had they to seize and confine me in this manner? Taking me from all I loved, from my chance at a future of some worth, and bringing me to this horror?
Yet moaning and wailing was not my way. I had never complained, for who cares for complaints? If something is wrong, one does something.
Hyatt ... I must see Hyatt. I went forth from my room, guessing very well that once questioning began there would be no longer such freedom, even though many a malefactor enjoyed it. I should be taken, held, confined, tortured.
Suddenly I stopped. Before me was Peter Tallis, talking to a thin, wiry little man whom I had seen about before. He glanced my way but gave no indication that he knew me. I walked swiftly past him, looking about for Hyatt.
He spoke as though talking to the small man. "Barnabas, this is Feghany. In prison he is known as Hunt, for Feghany means a huntsman or something like. He is a good man, and will help.
"I have word. If you escape, it must be now. No delays. You are to be taken to a dungeon and they will have the treasure out of you or you shall die. It is in the hands of the men you saw."
"I will need a horse ... three horses."
I was standing, looking about as if for someone, seeming not to be aware of his presence or that of Feghany. Others moved about us. Across the larger room I saw Hyatt.
"There will be horses at house you know, a house you once visited after the theatre."
Tempany's!
"Go there when you leave. Waste no time. Ride far north and west. The Queen will be desperate. Her men will be everywhere searching for you. You can rely on Feghany."
He moved on to talk to another prisoner, while Feghany loitered near me. "Have you got a Kate?" he said, low-voiced.
"A Kate?"
"A pick, for opening locks. You're going to need one. I'm thinking they'll have the cramprings on you before night."
At my blank look, for I knew nothing of thieves' cant, he said, "Cramp rings ... irons ... shackles." He looked disgusted, "Don't you know nothing?"
He promised to bring me one.
Whatever else happened, I had to be away from this place. The stench on the main floor was disgusting. Crossing the floor I went to my own cell.
Once inside, I looked at the window. Six feet from the floor, over four feet wide and slightly arched at the top, it was crisscrossed with iron bars. The bars were at least six inches apart, and there were two horizontal bars that crossed also.
There was a bench and a bed in my cell, and a wooden bucket. The bench was heavy to move, and could not be moved back quickly, so I upended the bucket and stood on it to get a better look at the sill.
The bars were set into the stone, but I noted with satisfaction that weathering had worn the stone on the outside. Peering out, I could just make out a wall beneath my window. If I could lower myself to that ...
Footsteps alerted me and I stepped down and moved the bucket. I was sitting on my bed when the cell door opened amid a rattle of shackles.
A guard was there, and Feghany was helping him carry the irons.
The guard grinned. His teeth were broken and yellow. "You git the cramp rings again, lad! Tomorrow."
"But I paid you!" I protested.
"Aye, so you did, but there's a voice louder than mine that says back you go, so into th
e irons it is."
"Sorry," Feghany said to me, "but it's no doing of the guard's. Remember him.
Later he may take them off, if you've a bit of the necessary."
"Now hold up there!" the guard protested. "Not so loud!"
Feghany slapped me on the shoulder and something cold touched my neck below the collar. "There! Don't worry now!"
When they had gone I put my hand inside my collar. A thin bit of metal. A Kate with which to pick the lock.
There was no time to waste. I was bound for a dungeon and more questions. I was headed for torture that could only end in death.
So what was to be done must be done tonight.
I heard the yowlings and screams that came from the cells and the larger rooms below where the prisoners mingled.
I checked the bars at the window again. Rain and wind had done their worst with the exposed walls, and some of the bars were loose in their sockets.
I was devoutly grateful. Gripping the pick in my hand, I went to work to break away the stone, scratching away with my lock-pick at the crumbling edge of the socket.
Then, putting down the pick, I took the bars in my two hands and strained, pushing them out. The bars gave a little, then held. I worked longer, then hearing footsteps in the passage I sat down on my bench, leaning my elbows on my knees, my back to the door. There was a momentary pause outside my door as the guard peered through the tiny window, then went on.
Once more I returned to the bars. If I could but remove two, at most three, of the uprights, and one of the horizontal bars, I could get myself through. I worked, picked away very carefully. Then I tested one of the bars. My strength served me well now, for the bar gave. Then as I exerted more pressure, the bottom moved outward.
Very carefully I extracted the top from its socket and placed it on the floor.
The second bar was more stubborn. Again and again I strained and worked at it.
At last the bottom came loose and it joined its mate on the floor between myself and the door.
The horizontal bar was not so deeply set, and the grains of rock came loose each time I scraped with the pick. The wall was old and crumbling. By this time I was soaked with sweat and my knuckles were scraped and torn. It was after midnight before I had removed the third bar, and by that time the prison was quiet.
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