"I'm sorry, bosun, but we must strike all of the guns into the hold," Pendexter said, indicating with a sweep of his arm the Icarus's battery of fourteen six-pounders.
McDuff looked down the line of guns, then squinted up at the awning overhead. Pendexter braced for an objection, but the bosun only nodded. "Guns in the hold, sir, aye. I'll set the sailmaker to striking the awning whilst I clear away a space below," and with that he ran forward, silver call shrieking.
It had not occurred to Pendexter that the awning would have to be struck in order that the stay tackle could be used to strike the guns below, but then he had not really given the matter any thought. His anxiety mounted as he began to comprehend the enormity of the task ahead and the real possibility that his guests would arrive to find the work half-done. He paced the quarterdeck, trying to calculate the time that it would take to clear the guns away, finally admitting to himself that he had no idea. "Just leave the train tackles, " he called to McDuff, "but see the falls are flemished just so," and then resumed pacing.
It was very late in the afternoon, with the hands working straight through dinner and "up spirits," when the last gun sailed down through the hatch and the hatch was battened down once more. McDuff had again proved his worth, driving the men like savages, and though one man had managed to crush his hand and another had fallen down the hatch and knocked himself senseless, the operation had gone quite smoothly.
It was two bells in the evening watch when the sailmaker and his mates began to drag the heavy awning out again.
"No, no, you can belay that!" said a greatly relieved Pendexter. "There's no time for the awning, and besides, I don't believe it will rain." That said, he disappeared below to see to his own preparations.
"Mr. Dibdin," said Pendexter when he emerged on deck an hour later. The master, who for most of the day had worked sullenly on his charts, now stood, sullen, on the quarterdeck. "I intend to give the hands a run ashore tonight, say until four bells in the morning watch, save for the ones that we feel do not deserve liberty or those whom we may require aboard."
"You are giving the hands liberty? Overnight?" asked Dibdin, incredulous. "Are you certain that's wise? I thought we were sailing soon."
Pendexter bristled at this. "I am not in the habit of discussing my decisions or my orders with my subordinates, and frankly I am being quite generous now. I have every intention of giving most of the crew a night ashore. They've worked hard and earned it. And further, this brig is small enough and will be quite crowded with my guests. These are important people who are attending tonight, you know. It would do your career no harm to be pleasant to them."
Dibdin coughed. "I'll tell off the liberty men and the boat's crew, sir," he said, and walked off forward.
It was well past midnight, with his guests mingling in groups about the deck, before Pendexter was able to relax and quietly survey all that he had accomplished. From his vantage point on the quarterdeck the deck looked positively vast with the guns stowed below, and the lanterns strung fore and aft cast a warm yellow glow on the scene. Most of the guests were still aboard. The elegant dresses and the men's finery and powdered wigs gave the Icarus a cosmopolitan air that Pendexter found pleasing.
It had been, nonetheless, an exhausting evening. Despite McDuff's urging the men had been slow and inept at laying out the buffet and preparing for the guests' arrival. The boat's crew was carefully fitted out in matching shirts and slop pants and tarpaulin hats, with instructions to return the clothes to Dibdin the next day. And despite emphatic warnings to Appleby to keep the boat crew sober and respectful as they ferried his guests out to the brig, Pendexter did not feel at all relaxed in the knowledge that his orders were being carried out.
A squeal of female laughter drew his attention to the larboard side. Smeaton and two of Boston's gentlemen were entertaining a knot of young women. One of the women had relieved Smeaton of his uniform hat and now had it balanced precariously atop her own high-piled hair. She twirled around, displaying her new fashion to the laughter and encouragement of the onlookers. The gold lace of the hat, a bit more than was quite proper for a junior lieutenant, glittered in the lantern light.
Pendexter was trying to think of something witty to call out when the young women caught her toe on a ringbolt. She staggered, dropping her wineglass as she fell. Smeaton and the two gentlemen around her threw their wineglasses aside and lunged forward, catching her before she struck the deck. She lay inclined in their arms for a moment, confused, then broke out in gay laughter and the others joined in.
Pendexter looked down at the deck. The wine, the good Bordeaux from four broken glasses, pooled together, making a dark stain as it seeped into the deck. It recalled to Pendexter's mind the time when as a midshipman he had seen such a stain left behind after a new-pressed hand had fallen from the main topgallant yard. He imagined the results of a naval battle were similar to this. Now Smeaton was kicking the broken glass into the scuppers, leaving streaks of wine like dark fingers across the deck. Pendexter looked out across the harbor, uneasy about the stain on the white deck planks. It was hardly the first bit of wine spilled that night, he reminded himself.
Beyond the larboard rail of the quarterdeck Pendexter could just make out the few lights still glowing in Boston, but the brightly lit deck of the Icarus prevented him from seeing any other detail in the night. He stared out into space, recalling again the pleasures of the evening. He had made great advances on the affections of Colonel William's daughter. Certain she was watching now, he decided to act the aloof captain for a few moments longer, then seek her out and continue the campaign.
His eyes caught a light, actually a rectangular block of lights, at the far edge of town. It appeared too large to be a window, and anyway the Icarus was anchored too far out to distinguish any window that clearly. He could not imagine what it was.
And then he realized with a start that the light was not from the town at all, but came from the windows of the Preston's great cabin, where apparently the admiral was still at work. He had noticed the lights earlier, just after the sun had set. What the hell's the old man doing still up at this hour? he thought. He shifted uneasily under his uniform coat.
"I say, old man!" Smeaton called out. Pendexter turned around. Smeaton and his crowd were at the break of the quarterdeck. "I say, old man, you may come and join the party. You are the host after all." The observation evoked laughter from the young women. Pendexter caught a waft of perfume. The scent mixed oddly with the smell of tar and hemp and scrubbed wood. He smiled and stepped down to the waist.
"Whatever were you looking at, James?" Smeaton asked.
"There lights still in the flagship's great cabin. I was wandering what the old curmudgeon was up to this late."
"Bloody man won't let up, what? You'd think we were fighting a proper war, not just a mob of bloody colonials. No offence, sir." Smeaton directed the last comment to the clique of Bostonians.
"None taken," replied one of the young gentlemen with a quick bow.
"Still and all," Pendexter continued, "one wonders what so occupies his mind."
"It would behoove you, James," said Smeaton in a low voice, "to more concern yourself with what occupies Miss Williams' mind. You've ignored her this past half an hour and more."
"You're right, John, to be sure," Pendexter cast one last look over the larboard rail, but the lights from the Preston could not be seen from the Icarus's brightly lit waist. "Ah, Miss Williams!" he called out, then made his way forward to a group of partygoers by the bitts.