"Throw the pistol and the dirk over the side," Biddlecomb ordered. "Do it or by God I'll run the lieutenant and the sergeant there through." He waved the cutlass at the officer kneeling before him.
The midshipman wavered, looking to his lieutenant for advice, but Norton remained silent. Then the midshipman turned and with a sob threw the weapons into the bay.
Chapter 9.
Narrangansett Bay
TEN MINUTES LATER the surrender of the longboat was complete. Norton and the midshipman sat in the bow, their hands bound behind their backs with lengths of cordage cut from the boat's painter. The sergeant sat beside them, still groggy, his face smeared with blood. Biddlecomb sat in the stern sheets holding a musket on the Englishmen while Rumstick kept the boat headed downriver with one of the long oars run out over the stern as the strong current continued to sweep them south.
"That was something, what you done with that cutlass," said Rumstick. "I didn't know you was a hand with a sword."
"Did you not? Fencing is the only sport that I ever excelled in. Stanton taught me."
"Damn handy sport, I reckon."
They continued on in silence until at last Prudent Island was visible in the moonlight. Twenty minutes later the boat ground up on the rocks of Northwest Point. Rumstick went forward to untie the prisoners.
Biddlecomb turned to the two officers, who were rubbing their wrists where the rope had bound them. The marine sergeant sat beside them, his head in his hands. "Right you three, get out."
Norton looked at him, confused, as if he had expected to be shot.
"Walk east and you'll find the Rose. Now get out of the boat," said Biddlecomb, "or I'll shoot you."
Then Rumstick helped them, none too gently, to disembark.
The William B. Adams was a typical medium-sized merchant vessel, around three hundred tons by Biddlecomb's estimate. Her round bows and slab sides bespoke a vessel built to carry a great deal of cargo, if not necessarily to carry it fast. Her simple functional elegance reflected the attitudes of her North River builders and her Providence owners. She had none of the gaudy trim, gilded and painted, so in evidence on the ships of the British East India Company.
Biddlecomb considered these points as he watched the William B. Adams pounding Newport Neck under topsails and forecourse.
"Here she is," said Biddlecomb, kicking Rumstick, who lay prone on the boat's wide bottom.
Rumstick stirred, cursed softly, and rising on one elbow, peered over the longboat's gunwale. "Dog's a bit, ain't she the finest ship you ever seen?"
"Normally I would say no, but in these circumstances I have to agree."
They had stepped the boat's mast after their prisoners had gone, and with the offshore breeze that came with the rising sun, they had run the length of Narragansett Bay, passing Castle Hill at ten o'clock that morning. For the rest of the day they had lain concealed in the marsh between Price and Cherry Creeks, exposing the stolen boat only enough to afford them a view of the shipping as it went in and out of the bay. They had no doubt that they were, by now, being pursued, but Narragansett Bay, with its many inlets, islands, and shallows, was ideally suited for eluding pursuit. They never saw one of the searches.
Biddlecomb turned his face into the wind. The Adams was at least two miles off, and it would be a tricky business to intercept them.
"Let's get that lugsail set," said Biddlecomb, and Rumstick moved to obey. They each grabbed a halyard, and in a moment the sail was hoisted and rippling in the breeze, and Biddlecomb took up the tiller.
"Sheet it home, and get the jib set as well," Biddlecomb said. The longboat gathered way, emerging from its hiding place, suddenly lively as it met the Atlantic rollers head-on. With only two men in a boat built to carry fifty, the motion was quick and uncomfortable. The longboat bucked at every swell, showering the occupants with spray, and as they left the lee of the land, they could feel the breeze increase in force. "Take a pull in that sheet, will you, Ezra?" said Biddlecomb, his eyes never leaving the ship, now a mile distant.
The Adams was picking up speed, her bluff bow rising and falling as it met the offshore swell and sending spray flying as high as the tip of her jibboom. "We'll back the jib and heave to, let the Adams run down on us," said Biddlecomb a moment later. Rumstick hauled the jib around and the longboat's headway was checked. She rode up and down on the waves like a gull resting from flight.
The boat lay directly in the Adams's path, but it still took a great deal of shouting and arm waving to attract the attention of those on deck, so occupied were they with final preparations for sea.
"There's Peabody, there!" exclaimed Rumstick, pointing at the portly figure on the quarterdeck who now held a telescope to his eye. Rumstick waved with renewed vigor, and the man turned and said something that sent the crew scurrying for bowlines and braces. The Adams turned slowly to larboard, as her mainsails swung around with a squeal of blocks. The way came off her and she lay still on the sea, rising and falling with the longboat.
"Get that jib set," said Biddlecomb, taking his place at the tiller. Two minutes later the longboat swooped up to the leeward side of the Adams. Rumstick tossed what was left of the painter to the men, about twenty in all, who crowded the rail. He grabbed hold of the boarding steps and scrambled up the side with Biddlecomb right on his heels.
Captain Peabody came forward, hand extended. "Rumstick, you dog!" he said, pumping Rumstick's hand with genuine delight. "We quite despaired of ever seeing you again. Figured you to be rotting in some prison hulk somewhere. Welcome aboard!" The rest of the crew stood around, some grinning and slapping Rumstick's back.
"We manage to convince Wallace to let us go. He even give us the use of his longboat, gracious fellow!" said Rumstick.
"Oh, this is just great," said one of the men in the crowd. "We got back our bosun who's a bloody traitor!"
"Pleased to see you too, Haliburton," Rumstick said.
"You can keep them opinions to yourself, Mr Haliburton," Peabody said, his voice angry.
"So Wallace allowed you the use of his boat?" said another voice from the fringe of the crowd. Biddlecomb turned to see the speaker. He wore a black coat and stained breeches, and his long neck and hooked nose made him look more like a bird than any man that Biddlecomb had ever seen.
"And when it is discovered," the man continued, "I have no doubt that we shall all end up in a prison hulk. The British will not thank us for harboring escaped prisoners."
"Mr Fry!" said Peabody with ill-disguised exasperation. "I do at times wonder where your loyalty lies."
"My loyalty," said the sour-looking Fry, "lies with the ship and her owner, and I do not wish to see the Adams seized by the British."
"You traitorous, blackheart bastard," Rumstick began, then Haliburton cut him off.
"He ain't the traitor, mate. He may be a piss-poor seaman, but he ain't no traitor. You're..."
Biddlecomb stood back, amused by the display and impressed with the way Haliburton had in one sentence insulted both the first mate and the bosun. He wondered how long Captain Peabody would tolerate it.
"Stop this! Stop this at once, do you hear? Haliburton, shut your gob," Peabody commanded, and all fell silent. "Mr Rumstick is welcome aboard this ship and always will be. Mr Fry, this is my responsibility and you will follow orders. And you, sir," he said, turning to Rumstick, "will show the mate the proper respect or I'll set you ashore, damn me if I won't. Is that understood?"