Biddlecomb turned and looked at the shattered vessel as one by one the men leapt from the doubling and formed up behind him. With a groan the Judea, his beloved Judea, and all that he had in the world, settled lower in the water and then stopped, hung up on the ledge. Biddlecomb was overwhelmed with sadness, with loss and confusion. It was absurd, he knew, the Judea was just a ship, but he had not felt this way since he had watched them lower his mother"s coffin into the frozen ground, sixteen years before.
Beyond the wreck of the ship, just visible in the moonlight, Biddlecomb could see the man-of-war was hove to and lowering a boat. In a few minutes they would be swarming over the wreck, the bastards, going through the personal papers left in his cabin, examining his contraband cargo. His name was on every manifest, every bill of lading. There would be no doubt about who had been master of that vessel.
After a moment of silence Sanders touched his arm. "We best go, Isaac," he said. Biddlecomb took a last look, then turned and followed his men into the night.
Chapter 2.
Stanton House
THE SITTING ROOM was all warmth and order, cast in the orange light that radiated from the oak logs in the fireplace and the first glow of dawn streaming through the huge bay windows. The light fell on the western wall, with its shelves of books, interrupted here and there by curios from South America and Asia and Africa. The walnut paneling fairly glowed, and the flickering light from the fireplace danced on the high ceiling and illuminated the intricate pattern of the Persian rug that lay across the polished oak floor. Everything about the room was shipshape, save for the muddy footprints that led to the overstuffed reading chair in which Isaac Biddlecomb was sprawled.
On the sideboard stood a model of the Virginia Stanton, a merchantman of five hundred tons, now under construction and destined to be the pride of the Stanton fleet. The father of the ship"s namesake, Mr William Stanton, former ship's captain and now at sixty the owner of Bristol"s largest merchant fleet, stood at the bay windows as the rays of the new sun washed over him, the light accentuating the lines carved in his face by years of standing a quarterdeck from the North Atlantic to south of the Line. His hair, tied back in a queue, looked as white as if it were powdered.
"She is the frigate Rose, His Majesty's frigate Rose." These were the first words that Stanton had spoken since Biddlecomb began fifteen minutes before his account of the destruction of the Judea. "She mounts twenty-four guns, nine-pounders. But I imagine that I do not have to tell you about her firepower."
"No, faith. I already know more than I care to."
"I was afraid that this would happen, you know. The Rose arrived here in November, just a few days after you sailed, as luck would have it. I sent word to you by every means that I could. Obviously you didn't receive my warnings."
"I did not."
The two men were quiet, each lost in his contemplations. "God, I"m sorry, William!" Biddlecomb said at last. "Eighteen sous per gallon I paid for that molasses! We would have made our fortune off that cargo!"
"Your fortune, Isaac. My fortune was made some years ago, and you played no small part in making it. Hell, I built the new stables and tack room with the profit from your last voyage."
"And the ship… " Biddlecomb's eyes wandered around the familiar room, toward the north wall, which he had been avoiding. He had to look, like a man unable to resist running his tongue over a sore tooth. He stared at the painting that hung there: the Judea as seen from three angles. Biddlecomb marveled again at how perfectly the artist had captured the spirit of his ship. His former ship.
"It"s a shame about the cargo, and certainly about the ship. Such are the fortunes of war," said Stanton.
"War? What war?"
"The war for American independency," Stanton said simply.
"No war has been declared. Has it?"
"It"s only a matter of time now, and not much time, either. It's incidents like the Judea that bring the conflict closer."
"Oh, come, William, let's not make a political issue of this." Biddlecomb paused, gathering his thoughts, thinking through his anger. "No one is more bitter about the loss of the Judea than me, but I can still be reasonable about it. I was breaking the law. I was … well, smuggling. Let's call it what it is."
"Yes, you were smuggling. You were violating the law, English law, there"s no question. The question concerns England"s right to make such a law, to impose their taxes."
"We've grown to be a rich colony under English law."
"We've grown to be a rich colony despite English law. We"ve grown to be rich by flaunting English law. By smuggling."
"Exactly. If the British didn't make molasses a scarce and expensive commodity, we wouldn't make so much money. More"s the reason to preserve the status quo." Biddlecomb was not in the mood for this discussion.
The two men were quiet for a moment, then Stanton spoke. "Since you made captain, you've spent – what? – ten months total ashore in five years? There's been fighting already, you know. That revenue schooner the St John was fired upon, and then the Maidstone's tender was burned, and then the Liberty was burned. And of course you recall the Gaspee affair, do you not? That was just two years ago."
"Of course." There was no one in Rhode Island who did not recall the Gaspee affair. The Gaspee was a British revenue vessel whose captain, to the universal anger and resentment of the colony, had actually tried to collect the duties that were owed. She had been tricked into running aground on Namquid Point on a falling tide, and that night men from Providence and Bristol had rowed out to the stranded vessel and burned it to the waterline. Biddlecomb had often wondered at the extent of Stanton's involvement in that affair.
"The British are no longer willing to ignore these incidents," Stanton continued. "That's why the Rose and her captain, that damned James Wallace, are here. She was sent to stop all smuggling, and so far she has been bloody effective. Nearly choked Newport to death. Commerce there"s practically come to a halt. The British are taking this very seriously, and so are the Americans. There'll be war soon, mark me."
"Bah! War! We"d do well to stay out of any war we could never hope to win. Besides, Britain has the finest, freest government on earth. There are a lot of men in Rhode Island who've become rich under British rule. And I'd rather we didn't cripple the country just now, just when I'm starting to make some headway in my fortunes."
"Were starting to make some headway. Need I remind you that the British just deprived you of every cent you had?"
Stanton was right, of course. The British had taken everything he had. Why didn't he blame them? He was Biddlecomb the forgiving one, Biddlecomb the reasonable one, always able to see the rational argument underlying any situation. He felt himself growing angry, angry at himself.
The sitting-room door burst open and both men started as Virginia Stanton rushed in, still clad in her nightgown, her bare ankles protruding beneath, her long brown hair tousled, her breasts sharply defined under the garment.
"Captain Biddlecomb! I just heard! Are you all right?" she said, the words tumbling over themselves.