She obeyed slowly, watching him as he went over to the balustrade and looked across the blue tropic seas, as if he were deciding how to frame his next words to her. He ran his hand absently over the rope.
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"How did this get here?" he asked.
She said, "I don't know." But she did not look at him. "It looks like a figure eight, doesn't it?"
"No," he said absently. "It's a bowline, not a figure-of-eight. A bowline, Douglass, is one of the most common and useful knots known to seamanship. It forms a loop, of any length, and the heavier the pull upon it the tighter it jams. It's used for lowering men over a ship's side, and so forth."
"Lowering men?" she repeated, leaning forward.
He turned from the sea. "Have you been lowering a ship's company?" He smiled a little, and dropped down into the chair opposite her. "Lean back, Douglass. I've news for you."
She said, "A man could have lowered himself down it?"
"Of course," he said. "And it looks as though a man did—-from the condition of the knot—it's tight; it's had weight." He contemplated her, frowning a little. Then he said strongly, "If he came, you missed him; or we were here." His jaw set and he got to his feet. "How long are you going to hang onto this silly dream? That the legendary Barney will descend upon the island and carry you off singlehandedly?"
Her red mouth set rebelliously, and her grey eyes shone. "How dare you, sir?"
"Douglass, let's quit play-acting. You haven't fooled me for a long time. As a matter of fact, one of the reasons this house is under guard is because I expected he might turn up. We missed him, too, if he came, and this indicates that he did. But he won't come now."
Douglass looked at the rope. Hood continued. "Put it out of your mind. There are heavy batteries at Tumbledown Dick, English Quarter, White Cliffs, Gloucester and Townsend. And I didn't come this morning to talk about Barney; I came to talk about you. There is almost nobody left on the island save the plantation owners, and the Dutch merchants. You have no place here; we're going to send you home."
There was silence. Then Douglass said, "But I don't want to go!"
"You've been saying that for three months. Your position here is no longer tenable, and for a matter of fact neither is ours. I can tell you that frankly. It's no secret. Our every move is watched and reported. Yesterday we got word that the big convoy, the first one, under Commodore Hotham, was intercepted by a swarm of well-
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informed French privateers. That's been happening to all of them.
"Let me tell you, Douglass, your legendary Barney is too busy preying on our commerce. It's almost incredible. It's as though someone were at his elbow telling him that such and such a barquentine left Stasia, bearing north-northeast, carrying cannonballs, whereas the information about convoys is relayed fast to every French and American privateer—in the whole damned world, I think! The capture of Stasia was supposed to cut off the rebels from the sources of their supplies, and to punish the Dutch; instead, it looks as though we're supplying the rebels free! We've been busy as bees mopping up honey, instead of fighting the French!" He got to his feet and paced across the balcony. "And the admiral's last order is that every national save the Dutch are to leave."
Her golden head was bent a little; the long lashes shadowed her eyes. "Sir," she began.
He cut her short. "The answer is no." He looked down at her and sighed.
"Oh, Douglass, forget him. Give him up."
"I don't think I can."
"What if he were dead?"
"I—I—well, I think I should want to die too. There is no such report, is there?"
"No, unfortunately. But there have been reports . . . It's been five months now. There have been reports . . , What if he has found himself a new love, a mistress?"
There was a flash of anger in Douglass' eyes as Hood went on.
"I do not know this. I do not believe it. But Barney was not born for one woman. His mistress is always and only Adventure. Call it what you please— Glory, The Sea. That's what he is wedded to. Everyone knows that for him women are only passing excitements. How many he has had! So many who loved him and tried to hold him! They've had no better success than we. We have him, he seems to be ours and then, as in Plimouth, he is gone."
Douglass may not have been listening to all this, for suddenly her smoldering eyes changed and she said:
"Passing excitement. He was only a passing excitement to me. Very exciting, but passed now forever.
"Yes, he could have come, could have sent word if he wanted to. Good, I'm glad.
"I was never serious. It could never have worked—he off on his
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pirated vessels somewhere at sea and I in that Philadelphia. I don't like the country at all. I'll be glad to get home to England."
"And the company of Englishmen. You could almost take your pick of my officers. Captain Reynolds wants to marry you, and Captain Henry—"
She raised her eyes. "The fleet leaves?"
"I can't answer that. But your sojourn here is almost ended. Be ready to leave on a moment's notice." He still stood over her. Now he sat down beside her. "I'm sorry." He took her hand in his. "Maybe the more beautiful a woman is the more trouble she gets into." He smiled. "Why don't you marry John Reynolds?"
Douglass stood up. She walked to the balcony and the dangling rope. Then she turned. "Perhaps I shall, sir." Then she added, "In England, of course."
Chapter 35
DE BOUILLE GLUED THE GLASS TO HIS EYE. HE WAS LYING ON THE bare ground, his toes dug into the dirt loosened by his own restless movements.
He was hot and sweaty. The sun had boiled down on him for the last four hours, or almost four hours. Soon this vigil would end, and he visualized Joshua peacefully asleep in the cool darkness of the cave. "Lucky bastard," said de Bouille to himself cheerfully, for there was big news today. His half-shut blue eyes gleamed when he thought of the report already written.
Joshua had begun it, at dawn, and begun it ominously.
"Eighteen men hanged this morning for mutiny." That was marked six-thirty.
The next entry came at ten. "Cofferdam below fort blown up."
The roar of it wakened de Bouille. Now he could see the incoming tide washing up over the destruction. He winced a little as he watched. There was no doubt but that the English were systematically destroying the harbor. And there was no doubt that they were provisioning the fleet for sailing.
He had made his last entry. With dirty fingers he rolled it up and tucked it into the oilskin packet. This he placed under the big rock,
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carefully. Joshua would come soon, in fifteen minutes precisely, and until then it rested safely, hidden well, in case; it was a precaution they always took.
De Bouille yawned. By his side lay his loaded musket, and at his hand his pistol. The sun glinted on the barrel. He looked at his watch, squinting at the hands in the brilliant sunlight. Only ten minutes more. He almost fancied he could hear Joshua coming, when he realized suddenly, with a tenseness that held him crouched low there, supine, that it was not Joshua at all.
The first thing that flashed through his mind was that the packet was safe. He had already laid down the glass. Slowly he raised himself enough to crawl, drawing his legs up under him. The big rock over which he had peered to watch the harbor might serve as protection. He eased himself around it, still almost fiat on the ground, dragging the musket with him. Once around it, he reached out for the pistol.
He told himself that now he must try to see who had made those noises. He wet his lips. Hunched over, he looked around the big black rock.
Right below him the Quill sloped down into a mass of thick trees. This spot could be approached through that cover, and that was why it was one of Joshua's and his favorite spots to watch from. Now he fancied he saw the branches of those trees move. But it was not fancy. De Bouille saw plainly the flash of a red uniform.