At one precisely, the prison bells rang. Barney said, "Run along, lad." He gave no reason. And the boy obeyed him immediately. Barney watched the two sentries at the south gate.
Thomas Browne was unhooking the heavy bunch of keys from his belt. He was handing them, as was the custom, to the other guard. The other guard swung them in his hand as he walked by Barney.
13
At this time, when the prison guards ate their dinner, only one sentry was left at the gate. But he had no keys. The key-carrier passed around the corner.
On the lookout for this move, Talbot lounged around the same corner toward Barney. There was no one else in this portion of the court. Together, without a word, they moved toward the south gate. When they reached Browne, he whispered:
"Quick, then!" Browne's face was pale.
Barney dropped the crutches. Talbot braced himself against the wall. Barney stepped into his cupped hands; Talbot gave a heave; Barney's hands found a hold on top the wall. In a second he was perched on top. Talbot handed his crutches up to him. "Goodbye. Good luck!" The New Englander repeated that injunction. "Good luck!"
Barney nodded acknowledgment. He dropped from sight. Talbot brushed from his hands the mud from Barney's shoes that had clung to them. He said in his dry voice, "It is to be hoped they don't discover this for a while, Browne." Upon this understatement he walked away.
On the other side of the wall, Barney laid down his crutches, flat against the wall. The authorities would wonder about those crutches. He let the greatcoat swing open. With no sign of a limp, he strode easily toward the outer gate twenty feet around the corner. One sentry was standing there. He saw the undress uniform of the Royal Navy. He saluted.
Barney returned the salute with a brief wintry smile. He walked out of the gates. He turned right. Soon he was out of the sentry's sight down the dusty road on the way to Plymouth,
At five in the afternoon. Admiral Rodney was interrupted aboard his flagship "Sandwich." He had been writing a letter to his wife. The "Sandwich" was riding at anchor in the Hamoaze harbor, and the fog had settled down again over Plymouth. It was so thick it was difficult to see through it to the other warships of the fleet anchored near, in this harbor especially dedicated to the use of His Majesty's Navy.
Admiral Rodney looked up from his writing at one of his lieutenants. "Send the man in," he snapped.
He had never heard of Captain Underwood, of the privateer "Alice." He frowned a little as Underwood entered the paneled
14
cabin, bowed, and wordlessly and diffidently laid a sealed letter before England's most famous admiral. Underwood said constrainedly:
"I was especially instructed to give this to you, and you only, sir."
Rodney looked puzzled. So did Underwood. The two men regarded each other for a moment, and then Rodney ripped the seal and opened the single sheet of paper. He read the one line of heavy writing. He read it again; he saw the signature. He set his mouth, and his eyes lifted to Underwood with blazing anger in them. He rose to his feet.
Under the piercing look of his icy blue eyes, Underwood retreated a few steps. ''I—sir."' He stopped.
Rodney was keeping silence till he trusted his tongue. Once more he glanced down at the message. It was simple and short. It read only, "The compliments of the Navy of the United States." And it was signed with a single name. "Barney." Rodney pounded his fist gently on the letter. He spaced each word.
"Where did you get this?"
Underwood stared back at the implacable face opposite him. "From a lieutenant of the Royal Navy, sir."
This further effrontery of the American Barney drew a blasting oath. "You fool, he tricked you!" growled Rodney. Then he said, "Tell me the circumstances. Well! Tell me them!"
Underwood wet his lips. "Sir, two hours ago I was coming into PKinouth," He searched for quick lucid words. "There was a fishing smack. I hailed her. Only one man was aboard." How could he comprise all that had happened into a few words?
"Go on," Rodney said.
"The man aboard told me he was sailing for France. I asked him what business he could have on the enemy coast. He said, 'Naval business,' and he threw open his coat, which was tied with rope, and showed me the uniform of a lieutenant of the Navy, sir. I said it was a strange business, whereupon he stared me down, sir, as you're doing now, and said it was confidential business, and that I was a damned fool to stop the Navy, sir. But—but, sir, I stuck to the point. I told him he'd have to prove it with his papers, sir, and he had none. He said if I took him aboard and brought him back here, I'd have to bring you a message from him. I did, sir."
The impudence of it left Rodney speechless. He went to the cabin door and flung it open. "Mr. Craig!"
Mr. Craig responded on the run. Rodney, his grey wig slipping
15
in his perturbation, snapped out, "Send a messenger to Mill Prison to ascertain the whereabouts of Benjamin Barney!" Yet no one but Barney would have played this brazen trick. "No, inform them that Barney has escaped!" He stamped over to his table, wishing he could give more orders. But he could think of none. He himself had handed Barney over to the commandant of Mill Prison; he himself had brought him to England from New York. But the job of tracking him down now lay in other hands. Underwood cried:
"I left him aboard the 'Alice,' sir!"
Rodney swung around. "And you dream he'll still be there?" Then a thought struck him. "Had you the good sense to clap him in irons?''
Underwood looked amazed. "No, sir."
"No doubt you allowed him the freedom of the ship?" Rodney's voice showed his hopelessness.
"Yes, sir. But I left him under guard!"
"Thank you for being so kind as to bring me a letter from him," Rodney said. "Mr. Craig! Send a detail of men with Captain Underwood."
Underwood swallowed hard. He went to the cabin door. "Good day, sir," he said, and almost ran out on deck. Then he remembered it was the Yankee Barney who had caused this trouble. Underwood cursed Barney and all Yankees. There'd been nothing but trouble since they'd made a tea caddy of Boston Harbor.
Chapter 2
AT ALMOST THE SAME MINUTE that Underwood's oaths were crackling the air around him, Barney walked the quarterdeck of the "Alice." Across two hundred yards of water lay a white beach, a straggling row of cottages; an inn sign swung back and forth in the light wind. Steps approached him from the rear.
"Lieutenant," said a dubious voice.
Barney swung around, keeping his grim expression. "Yes?" he snapped.
"Would you care for supper, sir? The other officers and I—"
Barney cut in. "No, thank you."
16
"I see, sir," The officer backed away. The ship was very silent; most of the men had been given shore leave so that if the Royal Navy sent men back with Captain Underwood, there would be no crew to impress. That happened too often. The officer disappeared.
Barney smelled the food. His stomach turned over. He started to pace back and forth like a caged animal; if he could not escape now, Rodney would have him back behind the walls of Mill Prison in an hour or so. Underwood must be aboard the "Sandwich" by now. But it had been the only way he could get a little time; otherwise Underwood would have carted him right to the Port Officer.
The "Alice" shifted on her ropes. The sound of the officers, voices in the aftercabin came plain. There was no one on deck. This was the time.
A boat was hitched way below him. He did not dare pull it toward him, and use the ladder. Instead he swung over the side like a cat and slid down the slender rope, almost hurting. He struck his leg sharply on the edge of the boat, and fell into it. In a moment he had loosed the painter, and was pulling for shore.