The mate looked back toward the dim shape of the brig. “The Virginia navy’s claimed the boat, sir. And damned them to hell for killing the captain.”
“Men pretending to be the Virginia navy took a pretend prize.”
The mate pulled off his cap and scratched his head. “Everything on this river seems irregular.”
“Completely irregular.”
The man’s expression softened. “The captain was a good man. They had no right.” He shrugged. “But whatever the right of it there’s no escaping those guns when she chases.”
“She’ll not be chasing. Not for hours yet. We’ll be far out of sight by the time she reaches the bay.”
“You mean because she’ll not dare the river shoals in the night?” the mate suggested in a skeptical tone.
“Or with a broken rudder.”
The mate frowned. “Rudder on a navy brig don’t just break away.”
“The Ardent spent too much time in the waters of the Indies without proper sheathing on her hull. Her wood is worm-eaten, which helped when I gouged out the planking around the rudder bolts. They are tied to two different pilings of the dock. The crew will be in a hurry to give chase when they discover the Penelope missing, and the current is strong. They will spring the bolts or at least bend them. If the pilings rip away they will foul the rudder. Either way, even with the best of luck they will be hours behind us. Most likely she will need a tow to a shipyard.”
The mate contemplated Duncan in silence, then watched as more of the Judas company began climbing over the sides. “Ye be those white slaves they were fixing to hang,” he said, more a statement of fact than a question. His men’s eyes were all fixed on him.
“By the same men who killed your captain.”
The mate gave a slow nod that sent a murmur of excitement through his men. “When do ye need the anchor hauled?”
Duncan surveyed the men who were climbing up from the boats. Trent and Woolford were rigging slings for the disabled. “In a quarter hour. We await a boat from the manor house. I need our injured safe in hammocks below. Is there a telescope on board?” He was troubled by the lights that had just appeared in the house.
A minute later, through the strong lenses provided by the mate, he could plainly see the figures of Rush, Conawago, and Alice Dawson in the open doorway. He confirmed that Winters and Sinclair waited for them in the cove with a scull, then saw a lamp lit in Ramsey’s second floor bedroom. These were the most treacherous moments, when the guns of the brig at its moorings could easily reach them, when a single well-aimed shot could destroy their only chance for escape.
Five minutes later the skiff nudged the sloop and the mate barked out a command to weigh the anchor. Duncan ran to the rail as Winters, Sinclair, Rush, and Conawago climbed up.
He looked down into the empty boat. “Mrs. Dawson?” he asked.
Conawago shook his head. “She wanted so much to come, was talking about the new life she would be able to start with us. We were almost outside when he awoke, shouting for her, roaring with rage when he saw the burning gallows, screaming out the window for the marines. Then she brushed away a tear and said there was only one thing that would distract him, that something inside her had known she was not meant to leave her children. Then she went up to his bedroom.”
Rain began sheeting across the river as the sloop edged away. Duncan watched the bedroom window until the driving rain obscured it, his heart a cold lump in his chest. He had failed Sarah, and now he had failed Alice.
Trent, at the wheel, let the sloop drift on the tidal current around the long point. As Trent and the mate directed the raising of the sails, Hughes called out and pointed to a dugout pulling alongside. Conawago straddled the rail and reached down, pulling up Kuwali, who surveyed the big sloop with round, frightened eyes. “Ursa said his son’s freedom is his own freedom as well,” Titus called out as the dugout drifted away.
“Edentown! He’ll be in Edentown! We will send letters!” Conawago shouted to the old Ashanti as the dugout faded into the darkness.
The boy accepted Duncan’s hand with a melancholy smile then darted to the stern, staring toward Galilee until it was obscured by the river bend. He had lost the misery of slavery but he had lost his family too.
Soon afterwards, Webb, Winters, and two of the Virginia rangers dropped over the side into one of the trailing skiffs. Webb and Winters hesitated at the rail. “You have hard riding to do,” Duncan said.
“I know the roads,” Winters replied, “and where to find horses.” His face was lit with a new energy. “Duncan, you made me . . .” the young Virginian searched for words. “You made me understand,” he said. “You showed me how to become the man Jaho always wanted me to be.”
“You will make him proud, I am certain of it,” Duncan said, as the young Virginian shook his hand. “And you are certain you can find that house on the Potomac?” he asked as Winters descended into the boat.
Webb put a reassuring hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “He says we will make Mount Vernon by noon.” The major put a leg over the rail before turning again to Duncan. “Praise God, McCallum. All would have been lost but-” Webb said, swallowing down his emotion.
“But an old Susquehannock showed us the way,” Duncan finished.
Webb nodded. “Wilkes and liberty.”
“Wilkes and Jahoska,” Duncan replied.
The major nodded and slipped over the rail.
The Penelope’s surviving crew gave Trent a stiff reception at first but the overseer’s churlish disposition seemed to have been left on land. He obviously knew what he was about, and though he was quick to chide the company men for their awkwardness in handling lines and stays, he was also quick to show them how the task was done.
It was three hours past midnight when they set the sullen marine guards on an island in the middle of the river. Duncan insisted on Woolford staying out of sight but let Murdo accompany them in a dinghy.
“I’ll be busted for this,” growled the corporal as they set foot on the little patch of brush and rock.
“Be grateful to be alive,” Duncan reminded him. “My friends are short on compassion these days.”
“Back to private, damn your eyes,” the corporal groused.
“You’re English I take it?” Murdo asked in a light tone.
“Of course I’m English, you Scottish hound. And when I-”
The corporal never finished his sentence. Murdo landed a fist on his jaw so heavily he stumbled backward and fell in the mud.
“Now ye can show the bruise to prove ye resisted us,” Murdo hissed, then grinned at Duncan as he rubbed his fist. “That felt jolly good.”
Back on board, Trent was wistfully aiming a musket toward the shadowy shapes on the island. “You’re a soft-hearted fool, McCallum. They’ll tell the brig our course for certain.”
“They’ll tell the brig what they heard,” Duncan agreed. “But we said nothing about our true destination.”
Trent lowered the musket. “You said the open sea, while means running past the patrols and through Hampton Roads.”
“That will send the Ardent south if they reach the bay. We are jamming on every inch of sail she carries when we hit the open water and heading north. I have a craving for Chestertown oysters. Then we go up to the Susquehanna.”
Duncan watched the sun rise from the maintop, where the mainmast joined the short topmast, one arm wrapped around the mast. He had told his companions he was climbing to the tallest point of the ship to keep watch, but Conawago had seen through him.
“There’s nothing for it,” the old man grinned, for he had seen the longing in Duncan’s eyes. “You’ll be good for nothing until you take a lark aloft.”
For a few minutes after climbing the shrouds he felt as if he had shed years, the joyful memories of scampering in the rigging of Hebrides boats so overwhelming him that it was long minutes at the top before he remembered to look for a naval ship.