In the seven years of his degradation Jeremy had been flogged and starved, cursed and spat upon, and he had lived only for the day when his servitude would end. That day had proved anticlimactic when it had arrived six months ago, however, for he had been trained-as a gunsmith, and nowhere in the colonies but at Martin Smith's Foundry was such work available.
His companion was aware of Jeremy's mood but refrained from speaking about it. Instead this blond giant busied himself with bawling a stream of orders to the apprentices through huge cupped hands. Although Jeremy was fairly tall. Dirk Friendly dwarfed him. It was reputed that he was the tallest man in the colony, and even if the legend was slightly exaggerated, none could doubt that his size was extraordinary. He was surprisingly agile, however, and there was a perennial twinkle in the very pale eyes that peered out from beneath shaggy blond brows. A jagged scar that extended from his right temple to a point halfway down his cheek belied the mildness of his eyes and contradicted the ever-present grin on his thick lips.
"Lay that there barr'l straight, ye fuddleheaded knaves!" he roared, then turned in sudden exasperation to Jeremy. "If'n ye 'n' me had been that stupid when we was 'pprentices, we'd had our backs laid open, Jerry. I swear t' ye that whilst Friendly's m' name 'n' friendly's m' nature, I've half a mind t' knock some sense into the heads o' them 'dentured buffoons by a-crackin' their skulls t'gether till they c'n hear ev'ry church bell in London a-chimin'."
"What's that, Dirk?" Jeremy motioned to the crew working on the stern gun to tend to business and looked up blankly.
"Like I was a-sayin'," Dirk repeated patiently, "them 'pprentices ain't got the brains they was a-borned with, 'n' I "
"Oh, of course." Jeremy laughed suddenly. "And you're threatening dire things against them. Dirk. To be sure. You wouldn't lay a birch rod across the back of a single one of them any more than I would. And you know it."
"That ain't all I know," Dirk replied petulantly. "I know ye been a-standin' here rackin' them brains o' yeres, a-tryin' t' work out some new scheme that'll give us a hundred thousand guineas each 'n' make us famous as well. What is it this time, Jerry?" he asked, his tone gently chiding. "Are we a-headin' for the Seneca country 'n' carve us out some farms up Fort Albany way, or are we "
Color rose slowly in Jeremy's cheeks, and his eyes became a deeper shade of gray. "If anyone but you talked this way, Dirk, I'd run him through."
"If ye had a sword, ye mean."
"If I had a sword." The fire went out of Jeremy. "And I told you last month that my idea of staking out farmland was no good. Dirk. I'm not a farmer, and neither are you. If we walk out of Smith's and head up to the frontier, we'll just be trading one miserable existence for another—and probably get ourselves scalped besides. No, I'm afraid I'm out of schemes at the moment. Dirk. If we could get to some new place where we aren't known—and start life all over again on a different level "
"Me, I got an idee." Dirk chuckled, and the sound rumbled up from deep within his tremendous frame. "Looka here, Jerry. There's nobuddy aboard this here Bonnie Maid except us 'n' our apprentices. Nobuddy, that is, 'ceptin' the mate, Mr. Springer, who's here t' watch us 'n' who's a-settin' down in his cabin a-drinkin' himself groggy on rum b'cause soon as we're finished he's a-leavin' the tub for good 'n' all."
"He hasn't signed on for the next cruise?"
"Nope. He told me he's had a bellyful o' old Cap'n Groliere. There's nobuddy mean as a Frenchie t' work for, he says. Anyways, he'd be happy t' oblige us by clearin' out right now, I reckon. Then us 'n' our 'dentured men could take this here boat 'n' sail her anywheres we like."
Jeremy stared out across the murky waters of Hudson's River and failed to notice the glint of humor in his friend's eyes. "It's not a bad notion. Dirk," he said slowly, "but there are two things wrong with it. In the first place, neither we nor the indentured men know anything about ships, and we probably couldn't sail the Bonnie Maid as far as Sandy Hook without cracking her up. We'd be caught sooner or later—probably sooner—and hung in Battery Park over yonder for piracy." Dirk guffawed and Jeremy looked up at him sharply, drawing back his right fist. Before he could strike. Dirk took hold of his wrist and held him powerless. "Now, now, Jerry," he soothed. "Ye know me, 'n' ye know that no man c'n aim t' hit me without a-gettin' his neck broke. Ye happen t' be luckier'n most, seein' ye saved m' life that time I near fell into old Smith's furnace, not t' mention the other time when ye come t' my help when I got over-big for m' boots 'n' took on all six o' them trappers by m'self in that free-for-all fight. But I'm a-warnin' ye—never raise a hand t' me. Me, I'm sorry I riled ye, right sorry, 'n' I give ye m' word I won't do it again. I know how strong ye feel over not bein' rich 'n' famous like ye want t' be, 'n' even if it don't make sense t' me, I got no call t' be a-rubbin' yer fur the wrong way."
He released the other's wrist, and Jeremy stared at it for a moment, then looked his friend straight in the face. "I'm the one who should do the apologizing, Dirk. You've been the only person I've known in the seven and a half years I've been in the colonies who's been a friend. I don't know what's come over me lately. I… "
"Ye need a woman." Dirk's eyes were twinkling again. Abruptly he turned and bawled a new stream of instructions to the apprentices.
"I'm taking care of that tonight. But it's something more. I'm restless, Dirk—I keep thinking that I'm getting older every day, and I have nothing better to look forward to than becoming a master gunsmith."
"There's worser lives," Dirk remonstrated gently. "Ye eat proper, 'n'…''
"You've never known better, Dirk. I say that with all due apologies. When we hit on the right scheme and you've had a taste of real wealth and power, you'll agree."
Dirk pulled off his hat and scratched his short blond hair. "If ye're so all-fired anxious t' get away, why not sign on t' the Bonnie Maid here? The new mate 'n' part o' the crew will be aboard her t'morrow, 'n'…"
"And change the lot of a gunsmith for that of a seaman? No, thank you, I've become accustomed to waiting, so I can wait a little longer. Dirk. I'll wait—until the right chance, the real chance, comes along. And then I'll take hold of it with both hands—and squeeze the living daylights out of it."
Despite the emphatic objections of the taxpaying landowners who paid the bills, the watch in New York Town had recently been doubled and there were now twenty-eight men, each armed with a stout club, a lantern, and a sash denoting his authority, patrolling the snow-banked streets and paths of the community after sundown in an attempt to keep the peace. But their efforts were feebly inadequate, and the net result was that, although New York's population was slightly below nine thousand, it was fast acquiring a reputation as the most lawless metropolis in the North American colonies. Nevertheless, there was an air of established respectability about the modest homes that crowded both sides of the lane known as the Wall Street, as most of the burghers kept watchdogs to discourage thieves, and the newer dwellings had been built with windows so small that no intruder could squeeze through them.
A new town law sponsored by the merchants who lived on the lane prevented shopkeepers from erecting edifices devoted to commerce there, but nothing could be done to oust Jakob van der Voort's Ordinary, which claimed rights of seniority in the neighborhood. Jan van der Voort, the present owner, had become sufficiently well to do, what was more, that no mere Wall Streeter wanted to incur his enmity by attempting to dispossess him. In addition, the food at the ordinary was too succulent, the beverages too heady for any man who enjoyed eating and drinking to take a chance on being barred from the inn.
The street itself was in a state of constant disrepair, and despite the attempts of the property owners to fill in holes at their own expense, there were deep ruts in the dirt, and the stump of an elm tree in the middle of the road made traffic hazardous, particularly for carriages. As Jeremy Stone walked briskly up the narrow side path reserved for pedestrians, candles winked warmly behind the oiled paper of the windows, and clear wood smoke poured up through chimneys. Most people had already finished their supper and were settling down for an evening of festivity.