"Fair enough, I'd say. What sort of country is Sumatra?"
"Hot. Sticky-hot, even in the dry season, on the coast. But I've heard it's cool enough inland, back in the mountains. The wild pepper comes from the western slopes of the mountains, you know. The country's a jungle, full of all sorts of varmints, and the coastal waters are full of coral reefs and shoals."
"Sounds pleasant," Scott said dryly.
"Well, sir, I've known men to go nearly mad there, especially when they had to await the next pepper season in order to fill the hold, but I like Sumatra. I even like the Malays and Achinese—the better class of them, that is."
"I thought you said they were treacherous."
"Most are. But I figure I'm smarter than they are and thus have nothing to worry about." He picked up his second noggin and drank deeply. "There are no Americans, no white men of any sort, living on the Pepper Coast. There are a few Englishmen and a few Dutchmen on Sumatra itself, and a Dutch fort on Bangka, but they're hundreds of miles from, say, Quallah Battoo, Stallappo, Baccoongung, or any of the other real pepper ports. You'll find Chinamen, though; you'll run across them everywhere. They're in business in every bazaar."
"We'll do our trading with natives altogether, I take it?"
"Aye, sir. All you have to keep in mind is, use them or they'll use you."
Scott finished his drink and rose. "We'll talk more later. Fox. You'll hear from me as soon as I know something about the ship."
Standing also, the New Englander offered his hand. Scott was pleased to find it hard and the clasp strong.
Returning to Rousseau's house in the early twilight, Scott reflected pleasantly on the upswing of his luck. He was grateful for Rousseau's staunch friendship, and for Peary's unaccountable change of heart. While he would not have selected Clay Peary as first officer, he was not displeased with the choice of Fox as second mate. A talker and fond of himself, true; but likely to be a more compatible shipmate than Peary.
Fox remained in the taproom another hour, drinking steadily and occasionally smiling to himself. On the surface, he was a man getting pleasantly drunk; and drunk he was when at last he went to the private room he had engaged on the second floor of the inn. Once in his quarters, he bolted the door and set his candle on a table, then opened a sea bag and took out a thin, flat, canvas-wrapped parcel. This he unwrapped carefully.
Light from the guttering candle gleamed on a bolt of shimmering yellow silk. Eyes glittering, Fox stroked the rich, heavy cloth caressingly.
8
ON a sunny afternoon in mid-March Scott set out elatedly to report the brig Caroline ready for sea. She was a reputedly swift sailer, eighty-six feet overall, with a beam of twenty-two feet. Of her two decks, the lower linked cabin and forecastle and also served as gun deck and storage area; and she was armed with two twelve-pounders and two nine-pounders, plus swivel guns on forecastle and poop. Ballasted with sand, she was manned by a carefully picked crew of twenty-four, most under twenty-one years of age but all former privateers-men used to naval-type discipline and experienced in combat.
Philip Peary, the principal owner of the vessel, received Scott with politeness bordering on cordiality. In the time that the Caroline was being acquired and fitted out for the voyage the two men had come to have considerable respect, even some liking, for each other.
"We can sail as soon as the specie's taken aboard, sir," Scott said.
Peary frowned. "There's been a hitch." Scott eyed him questioningly, but said nothing. "We're two thousand dollars short of the twenty thousand we need, Scott," the merchant went on. "We've gotten Spanish silver dollars from as far away as Baltimore, but we're waiting on money promised from Savannah. Getting so much silver together this soon after the war is something of a job." He paused. "Trade goods would have been much easier to get, but it seems that the Malays are used to coin."
"Fox assures me that's the accepted medium on the Pepper Coast," Scott said. "We're going to hide the stuff in various parts of the ship, instead of relying on a strongbox." "Where, for example?"
"We'll put some under the floor boards of the cabin, some in the powder magazine, and probably some between the inner and outer planking of the hull. Only the mates and I will know exactly where, of course."
"Of course. Tell me, what do you think of Mr. Fox?" "Why, I'd say he knows his trade, sir. The men respect him." "You know that Captain Rousseau distrusts him, don't you?" "Aye. But he can't give me any reason why." "I know. But Dave Rousseau is a keen judge of men ... better than I am."
"I've watched Fox closely, sir. He gets on occasional talking sprees, but I haven't been able to spot anything really wrong with him. I believe he's going to be an asset, what with his knowledge of the language, the people, the coast, and the trade itself."
Peary smiled thinly. "I'm sure he will. Still, keep a sharp eye on him. Captain Rousseau is more often right than wrong when it comes to judging character."
"I'll do it, sir. When do you think you'll have all the money in hand?"
"Tomorrow, I hope. The day after, anyway. It was promised yesterday."
Although he had the highest respect for Rousseau, Scott did not let the man's opinion of Fox disturb him. He was saddled with Fox, just as he was saddled with Clay Peary, and he had made up his mind to judge each solely on performance of duty. So far, he much preferred Fox's company to Peary's. He dismissed both from mind, though, when he stopped at the Peary home to see his son. Afterward, dining with Rousseau, the subject of the second mate came up briefly again, but was dropped upon his assurance that he would keep his weather eye peeled for any signs of trouble from that quarter.
When he returned to the ship, he granted overnight shore leave to all men with families in the city. He himself retired early, spending his first night in the Caroline. Keyed-up, anxious to be under way, he tossed restlessly in his bunk a long while before falling asleep. On the longest voyage he had never been so lonely as now.
9
THE silver from Savannah did not arrive next day, nor the day after. The victualed ship lay at her moorings, a creaking, seemingly animate thing protesting against the lines that kept her from slipping away with the outgoing tide. And Scott fretted increasingly. He had worked hard to make ready for sea, spending his energy prodigally. Now he had nothing to do but wait, and waiting was hard. It was the harder because he felt shame in recognizing his need for a woman. From the time he was sixteen until the day he met Rowena he had been accustomed to going to women when in port. He went to them without shame, in pagan freedom. Some he bought with money and some with drink, and a few went to bed with him simply because he was young, strong, and amiable toward them.
He would have been faithful to Rowena. Even now he felt that he should be faithful to her memory. She had been dead less than three months. If only the damned money would arrive! Then he could make sail. There was always something to do at sea. Responsibility and work were opiates for the desires of the flesh.
Toward ten o'clock that second night he could stand the close confinement of his cabin no longer. He went topside, into clear, windy cold faintly lighted by the glittering stars. The men of the anchor watch paid him no attention. One figure moved toward him. Fox.