Barney sighed. He removed his arm. "With deep regret, at your command, Mrs. Harris," he said, in a good imitation of a London beau. "There's La Pescaderia."
The coach was lurching merrily over a narrow section of the peninsula, blue water on each side. The fishing village clustered around the shore, the slender masts of its vessels rising higher than the little dwellings. Douglass was surprised when the driver suddenly stood up in the seat and yanked on the reins. The coach came to a flying stop and jerked.
They had stopped in front of one of the houses next to the dirt road. A woman came running out, greeting Barney with a flood of smiles and quick Spanish.
He answered, also speaking rapidly. She kept nodding. Then he dug in his pocket and brought out a roll of bills. He peeled off a pound note and handed it to her. Through her murmured "Gracias, senor," he said to Douglass, "I'm ordering fresh lobster, for the Captain's table. We keep them alive for a good long time aboard. I always get lobster here. Or did you understand?"
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"No," Douglass answered, her eyes on another female figure who had come sauntering out of the house. She was barefooted and moved with feline grace toward the carriage; she kept her wide brown eyes on Barney, and she came close and leaned on the carriage, her head almost against his arm. The woman spoke to her sharply.
She didn't answer, but twisted her head sideways to look at Barney. He spoke then, his voice harsh and a scowl on his face, and she backed away; the woman smiled and waved, and the carriage turned. "Now we'll drive along the docks," Barney said.
"You had best take me back now," Douglass said stiffly.
Barney said, "What's the matter? Don't you feel well?" He reached for her hand again, and she pulled it away from him.
"How did you dare?" she burst out. "To take me there when you knew that girl would come out?"
His own temper caught instant fire. He grasped both her hands in his. "So that's it," he muttered, turning her toward him, looking at her grimly as she made a last effort to loosen his grip.
"Take me back!"
"I said we're going to drive along the docks and we are. By God, you look at me!"
Defiantly she raised stormy eyes. Barney said, "There's really no reason why I should tell you, but I've never touched her, much less slept with her. Now sit back in the seat."
Douglass flushed. She could feel the telltale hot blood in her cheeks. She leaned back in the seat; she was sitting very near him now. His shoulder pressed against hers, and he was holding both her hands. The carriage gave a lurch and turned. She heard him say:
"There is the merchantman you sail on, Mrs. Harris."
She looked out over the water, not even seeing the ship.
"And there is the 'Pomona,' " Barney went on. "Pretty thin, isn't she?"
Douglass found it with her eyes. The barque rode daintily at anchor, her painted green gunports closed, her masts rising slender and tall. Almost next to her rose a Swedish man-of-war of seventy-four guns. And out past this port would be British warships just as big; next to them the "Pomona" would be a toy. Her fingers curled around Barney's hand; she held on tight. She said, very low, "Barney."
"What is it, my dear?"
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He was looking out over the water to the "Pomona." "I'm sorry," she whispered.
He transferred his gaze to her; he didn't say anything but he smiled a little.
Douglass smiled back, tentatively. Then she said, with some speculation, "Lord, how angry you were with me!"
She was very thoughtful and Barney smiled openly and a bit ruefully. "You stir my pirate's blood," he admitted. "I'd best take you back now,"
Douglass could think of no appropriate answer to this. The carriage climbed the steep hill slowly.
"You go aboard soon, I think," Barney said. "And an old friend of mine, Captain Hill, is waiting to have supper with me."
"That will be nice, for you to see him again," Douglass said,
"Very nice," said Barney, laughing. "And I shan't see you again till the States."
She said, "But you will be near!"
"In case of storm I'll come alongside and pick you up."
Douglass asked, "Will you, really?"
He laughed again. "I'll promise to convoy you safely." They had drawn up before the lodging house, and he got out and assisted her. "I'll see you upstairs,"
She walked alongside of him, up the steps. At the door he stopped. "Goodbye, Mrs. Harris. Bon voyage."
"Goodbye, Captain." She looked up at him. "Barney," she cried. "If they catch you, would they put you in the Tower?"
He took her hand, leaned down and brushed his lips against her fingers. Then he straightened. "They won't catch me, my dear," he said. "Goodbye."
Chapter 11
"SAIL-HO! SAIL-HO!"
The cry rang out from the lookout.
Joshua Harris looked up from his writing. It was early afternoon. He flung down his pen and hurried out on deck.
Barney was already fore. Glass tucked in his belt, he was swing-
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ing up the foremast shrouds, up over the futtock shrouds to the high masthead. Joshua waited anxiously. After a few long minutes Barney slid down onto the deck again, glass in hand, and joined Joshua on the quarterdeck. Joshua started to speak, but Barney had already raised his own voice.
"We will keep on this course, Mr. Paul," he said.
Joshua looked up at the sails. The "Pomona" was carrying full canvas, the breeze was fresh and strong, and she was running free before it. The stranger was off the stem quarter. Joshua said, his accent thicker than usuaclass="underline"
"It is a pity, when we are so near the Delaware Capes; I was hoping we'd slip by."
Barney quoted, jibingly, "These are the times that try men's souls," and Joshua grinned ruefully. Joshua considered Thomas Paine a radical; this was another of Barney's good-natured jabs at Joshua's conservatism.
Barney was watching his convoy. There were four ships now, instead of the two he had started with. He had swung out of the normal route in the latitudes and taken a brig, loaded with fish and wines and brandies, and an English merchantman. Because of this, the crew of the "Pomona" had been reduced to ninety, or three-fourths her normal complement. Joshua knew Barney had hoped to elude the British warships that ran the blockade against American shores. He rubbed his chin. The convoy were obediently scattering. Their maneuvers seemed to satisfy Barney, for he made no comment.
Barney said, "I think she's in the corvette class, Mr. Paul." He raised a dark eyebrow, thrust his hands in his pockets, and said laconically to Pauclass="underline"
"Beat to quarters, Mr. Paul."
An hour passed. Joshua remained on deck. The other four ships had scattered; the "Pomona" held her course. And the stranger was gaining.
The gun ports had slid open, the brave new six-pounders served with powder and shot; their gunners squatted before them, already grimed. The decks were sanded; rifles had been issued; hoses rigged. Barney was talking to the gunners, walking slowly along the line with Mr. Paul. Joshua turned to look at the other ship again.
She was dead astern now. He thought Barney was right; she was a corvette, with probably thirty-two guns. There was no question of her superior speed; she would be on them by nightfall with the wind
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at her heels, which was what the British liked. Barney, looking preoccupied, joined Joshua again, brushing the powder off his hands onto his canvas trousers. A brace of pistols was jammed into his heavy belt. On the horizon, only dots showed the convoy. Barney had been studying the other ship through the glass. Silently he handed it to Joshua.
Joshua raised it. Atop the mizzen the Union Jack was plain to see; on the gaff fluttered the white ensign of the Royal Navy. Uniformed marines clung to her tops. Joshua said nothing as he handed the glass back to Barney.