He held the door open for them. One by one they filed past. De Graaf, shaking with anger, watched their blue backs walk away from him. He had an hour. But what was he going to do with it?
Joshua woke slowly. Thirst wakened him. He started to sit up and felt a throb of pain in his head. He sank back again and closed his eyes.
He opened them slowly. The ceiling at which he stared was unfamiliar. Forgetting his head, he sat up and felt for his wallet. Its bulk reassured him; he realized he was fully dressed save for his
165
shoes, and he turned his head to see who was in bed with him.
He saw the back of de Bouille's head. He, too, was dressed; he was sound asleep, sprawled out. Joshua tried to remember where they were.
While he was remembering thirst again assailed him. He got up and went to the elaborate table on which stood a pitcher of water. He poured a glass, and drank it; he poured another glass. His head ached.
But now he knew where they were. A very high-priced bawdy house. As Joshua looked at de Bouille, he grinned. He said aloud:
"I hope to God they didn't charge me fifty guineas for you."
De Bouille stirred. He opened his eyes. When he saw Joshua he tried to sit up and sank back. His eyes closed. "And I was going to have fun." He groaned, and turned over. "I remember picking a Ma'moiselle, and it wasn't you," he murmured in the pillow. "Do you suppose twenty-eight is too old?"
"Considering it carefully, in the light of what daylight there is," Joshua said, "I seem to remember vaguely we were very drunk when we got here."
"Don't make excuses for us," de Bouille said, trying again to sit up and succeeding. He made a terrible grimace and held his head.
Joshua decided to go over to the window to look out and see if they were where, he thought. He squinted through the glass, and then pushed the window farther open and stuck his head out.
It was barely dawn. But it was light enough for him to descry immediately the red coats of British marines, marching double file, past the corner fifty feet down and they were followed by three British officers.
They filed past the corner, muskets over their shoulders, and Joshua turned from the window. "De Bouille," he said calmly, "the British are here."
De Bouille swung his legs off the bed. "What did you say?" he asked.
"You heard me," said Joshua. He inclined his head to the corner. "They're marching up the main street—a detail, ready for action, back toward the beach. They were accompanied by three officers."
De Bouille had been drinking a glass of water. He sat down on the bed and reached for his shoes. "Let's get going," he said, standing up.
Joshua was already at the door. "I remember seeing Captain
166
Black, last night!" He raised his voice. "Yanks!" he shouted, "The Redcoats are here." He opened the nearest door and flung it open. A woman's cry answered him, but Joshua had found Black the first try.
"Black," he shouted.
Captain Black sat up in bed. "Are you still drunk?" he wanted to know.
"The British are here!" Joshua said. "Come on!" He started down the hallway, flinging open doors as he came on them. Black appeared in the hall behind him, wearing his trousers only. "Are you serious?" he roared at Joshua, twenty feet down the hall.
Joshua turned. "Yes!"
De Bouille was standing at the top of the stairway, loading his pistol. "Come on!" He started down the steps.
Black dived back into the bedroom for his pistols, and his belt. Fastening it, he ran down the stairway after Joshua and de Bouille, and following them was another American they none of them knew. He caught up to them in the street.
"Are you sure?" he panted. He had snatched up his shirt and was putting his arms in it.
"I'm Rourke, first mate of the 'Salem Belle'!"
The four of them stood there in the empty street. With a single thought they raced for the next corner, where they could see over the harbor. What they saw was enough.
"Rodney," Joshua said.
"What a sight," murmured de Bouille. His quick mind was recapitulating. While the others stared at the line of battleships that completely blocked the harbor, and had under its guns the only fort, he said, "What you saw, Joshua, was an ultimatum being delivered to the Governor! Presumably we have about thirty minutes left of the probable hour they allowed him!"
Black said, "There is no escape by way of the sea!"
"No," said de Bouille. "You two go to the beach and rouse the crews; we'll go through the town and arouse the Americans here! Then make for the Governor." He swept them all with his black eyes. "We can offer to defend the town. We can offer our services!"
Without a word Black and Rourke started down the steep street fast, raising their voices as they went. As their cry of "Yank. Abandon ship!" rose up from the beaches, and echoed over the water, the Dutch town of Oranjestad, Upper and Lower Town, was roused
167
by the cry used five years before by an American named Revere at Lexington. Joshua couldn't think of any better words. He shouted,
"The Redcoats are coming!"
De Bouille took it up. They raced through the streets banging on doors, and from the taverns, the bawdy houses, from side alleys and poor lodging houses, the Americans poured. Half dressed, but carrying what weapons they had, they responded to the old battle cry.
Doors banged and stood open; windows flew up. Gunfire sounded. By the time Joshua and de Bouille reached Upper Town, they had at least three hundred men with them, and more coming.
"To the Governor!" de Bouille shouted.
Five minutes had passed.
At the top of the long street, leading down into Lower Town, Joshua paused for just a moment, to see the men behind him streaming up the hill, and coming from the side alleys. From here, too, he saw that already boats were pulling from the American merchantmen in the harbor, loaded to the gunwales with men. There was only one American privateer—Black's vessel. As Joshua watched, he saw the first line of battleships moving closer for the beginning burst of fire.
"Horses," cried de Bouille, motioning the men on.
He and Joshua ran through the garden of a lovely home, making for the stables. Within, they each seized a horse, and, saddleless, galloped out, through the garden. And once more, from astride a flying horse, came Paul Revere's cry.
"The Redcoats are coming!"
De Bouille repeated it in French, in Dutch. It was shouted out through the narrow ways, as they also yelled encouragement to the men who were following, afoot and ahorse.
Every stable was looted quickly of its animals. From hastily opened windows, British officers and seamen got into the fight. Musket fire sounded; Limeys rushed into the streets and hurled themselves into the fray. But the Americans didn't stop to fight now. They pushed onward, toward the goal Joshua and de Bouille indicated. They quickly disposed of whoever tried to stop them, leaving dead and wounded behind, of enemy, of their own number. They pushed on.
Meanwhile the relentless hands of a watch were ticking. De Graaf had laid it on the bureau; he was dressing in Lady de Graaf's bedroom.
168
"Accoutre yourself finely, my dear," he said over his shoulder as he surveyed the neatly clubbed wig that was being laid on his head. As always, he reached up and settled it himself.
The whole mansion was alive with sound. Lady de Graaf turned to her husband as her maid hooked her gown. "M'lord," she asked. "What—"
He picked up his watch and put it in his waistcoat pocket. "We shall surrender in style," he said, and then, ears alert like a hunting dog's, he dashed suddenly to the window. Across the spreading lawns, down the road he saw two flying horses; he heard the sounds of more horses, and men. He jumped immediately to a conclusion.