"I'm glad I'm just a sailor, sir," he said.
Macgregor rolled the fat cigar in his mouth over to one side. "You could retire for life on what you've made this voyage, laddie."
Jerrell said, slowly, "We had only two guns loaded."
Macgregor grinned. He shook his head and gestured toward the fort. "Captain was taking a chance the fort wouldn't fire on the stars and stripes if we fired only once."
"Then the Englishman should have known we could never have come to actual blows?"
Macgregor thought that a foolish question. He sucked on his cigar and made a face. "We outbluffed him."
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He was squinting across the water at the "Falcon," whose courses were set now. "Scull's sending a boat back," he remarked.
The officer of the watch, Mr. Lang, had already noted it, and stopped in the middle of a shouted order. "Avast there!" he bellowed, and went over to the gangway. The "Athena's" crew was all on deck; the men hung over the sides to watch. Two wooden boxes were handed aboard.
"Well, bring 'em aft," Lang shouted. "Hands to braces! Bo'sun, where the hell do you think we're going to anchor? Here?"
The courses were unfurled and caught by the strong wind; the "Athena" heeled. "Hard aweather!" roared Lang, harassed. He knew this would bring Barney out on deck. He glanced up at the tops. One man sat perched unconcernedly on the end of the mizzen-top yardarm. "Get down on deck, you bastard!" The two seamen stood holding the boxes. "Set them down!"
"Mr. Scull said, sir, these here were for the captain, sir."
"Set 'em down," Lang shouted. Macgregor lounged over and looked. He leaned down and opened the little hinged door at one side of the box; he withdrew his hand hastily.
"He bit me, by God," he said, looking at his finger, while the occupant of the box scuttled out the open door. At this moment Barney appeared.
"What's going on, Mr. Lang?" he inquired, looking around the ship. "Can't you get sail up without sending my breakfast on the deck? And what are those boxes?"
Macgregor grinned. "Turtles, sir."
"Turtles?" growled Barney, and saw one. "By God, Mr. Lang, are you running a circus out here?"
"No, sir," said Lang hastily.
"I opened the box, sir," Macgregor explained. "That's Lord Sandwich over there." He pointed to the turtle who faced them, his tail waving. "He's got 'Lord Sandwich' carved on his shell, sir. He's a present for his lordship, I guess. Mr. Scull sent them, sir. Shall I see who this one is?" He gestured to the other box.
"Mr. Macgregor," said Barney, "get that goddamned turtle off my quarterdeck. Mr. Lang, if you spill another cup of coffee on me, you'll get no shore leave."
Macgregor said, "Aye aye, sir." He started toward the turtle. Barney had stopped in his stride. This promised to be good. He grinned.
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"Well, Mr. Macgregor, maybe the turtle will reverse the usual order and have you for dinner."
"He already has a bite out of me, sir," Macgregor said, approaching the big snapping turtle warily. He reached out for a belaying pin.
"No you don't, Mr. Macgregor," snapped Barney. "I want him alive."
"Aye aye, sir," muttered Macgregor, eying the turtle, which stared back. Macgregor made a feint at the turtle, which snapped viciously. Macgregor made another pass at it; this time the turtle withdrew his head. Macgregor dropped the belaying pin and grabbed for the turtle; he almost succeeded in shoving it in its box before the turtle decided to bite again. Macgregor yelled, and slammed the hinged door.
"Not many men get bitten by Lord Sandwich, sir," he said, regarding his hand.
Barney laughed. "On second thought I've decided to let you discover the identity of the other turtle, Mr. Macgregor. Find out and report to me." He started away.
"Yes, sir," Macgregor said, wiping the blood off his hand, while Lang said:
"I'll thank you not to drip blood on the deck either, Mr. Macgregor,"
Macgregor raised his fist. "Go to hell, Lang," he said good-naturedly.
Jerrell, who had stayed out of the way, came to his side. "I'll help," he said.
"Lord North," they both cried together, as they slammed the door closed again. Macgregor got to his feet. "Here we are, putting into Stasia, with both their lordships aboard."
"Get the heads'ls off her," shouted Lang. He turned and flashed a smile at Macgregor and Jerrell. "Stasia tonight," he said.
Chapter 22
THE TOWN’S OFFICIAL NAME WAS ORANJESTAD, BUT NO ONE EVER called it that; they called it Stasia, and Upper Town, and Lower Town.
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The whole island was but three by six miles. It was an extinct volcano, whose black crater, cold, thrust upward almost in the center of the island, and was called the Quill, or Signal Hill.
Its rocky wooded slopes descended directly into the blue seas; the trade winds fanned it. Its coastline was deeply indented with bays, and they bore names that reflected its conquest and reconquest.
On top of the island, in English Quarter, and Corcoram, and White Cliffs, were the spreading homes of the wealthy merchants. The road dipped down to the sea from the town that perched precariously on the slopes.
The houses were wooden, and painted white. In Upper Town was the Dutch Reform Church, the hospital next to it, the Fort that overlooked a steep cliff; lodging houses; houses of planters, few as they were, government workers, officers, more merchants. There was no Negro quarter. Most of the seven hundred slaves on Stasia were household servants and attached to the houses of the rich, for there were few plantations to work.
Douglass' chair was carried by two slaves from the Governor's mansion, which stood high on the hillside in English Quarter. She passed along under the shadow of the Amsterdam Fort, down a narrow tree-lined lane, past white fences and white houses, crowded close, past the hospital; the bearers swung through another tree-bordered lane and emerged. She was looking down the street into Lower Town.
The way down was so steep that great ships' anchors were sunk in the road; tackling was used to raise merchandise, and the anchors were used to fix purchase to. Great warehouses stretched, literally a mile long. Below her were the shops, exactly a mile of shops. Enormous auction houses; from here she could see over the tops of them. Way below was the beach, jammed with crates; like two great arms the cofferdams protected this cupped trading post and the shipping cradled between the man-made walls.
The sea was not so heavy today. A good stiff breeze in Stasia meant lighter surf; even the sailors didn't know why. Douglass' bearers stopped. She could go no further, for Lower Town was male, except for ladies of pleasure.
She peered from the window with undisguised curiosity. The street, descending rapidly, was busy; uniforms and dress of every nation in the world were represented here. They said you could
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smell the tobacco smoke that rose from Lower Town; Douglass was sure she could.
Tavern signs, shop signs went down like steps. Men passed in and out of them; laughter floated up to her, the crack of a pistol shot punctuated the air. By one of the big anchors a drunk lay, and men went on around him, unnoticing. Up this street Barney would come, for it was the main road from the landings.
A woman in a chair with four bearers went past Douglass and down the steep street. Douglass had a glimpse of diamonds blazing in her ears, on her hands and around her neck.