outh Prize laying odds and making wagers on whether or not they would finish in time. When Marlowe found himself unable to sleep he would take a turn on the guardship’s deck, and from there he could see the sailors and the field hands toiling by lantern light in the waist of the Wilkenson Brothers, breaking open hogsheads, emptying them, reprizing the tobacco, and storing them down again.
On several occasions the Wilkensons sent a man over to invite Marlowe to inspect their progress, for fear no doubt that he would demand the new casks be brought up again once they were stowed down. He declined these invitations, each time sending his word as a gentleman that he would trust another gentleman to honor his agreement and the law.
Two days later, with the tobacco fleet making ready to sail, the job was done. The Wilkensons’ sloop cast off from the ship’s side and began to beat northwest up the James River, and from the deck of the Plymouth Prize Marlowe could hear the ringing of hammers as the wedges in the battens were driven home. He was impressed. He never thought they would finish in time.
“Boarding party, are you ready?” Marlowe asked. Gathered in the waist was another armed party, much the same as the first, but bigger.
“Ready, sir,” said Lieutenant Rakestraw, leading the gang.
“Very good. Into the boat, then.”
“Tom,” said Bickerstaff, standing at Marlowe’s side, “is this entirely necessary? Have we not had vengeance enough?”
“What we put those bastards through was a mere annoyance compared to the damage they have done us. Look here, Francis, you made the point yourself. Burning our crop does little harm to you and me. It’s the field hands who suffer. It is more their loss than anyone’s.”
“You are not doing this for the field hands. This will not restore their crop. I fear we are only prolonging our pointless warfare with the Wilkensons.”
“Nonsense. This will put an end to it, and will give us assurance that such will never happen again. I must go.” With
that Marlowe climbed down into the boat, unwilling to discuss a decision that he had already made.
Once again he climbed up the side of the Wilkensons’ ship, an armed band at his back. The ship did not look nearly as tidy and bravely rigged as she had two days before. There were bits of wood, clumps of tobacco, broken barrel staves, and hoops scattered about. Rigging lay in great piles on the deck. The men looked utterly exhausted, as if they had hardly slept in days, which, in fact, they had not.
The Wilkensons were there, Jacob furious at Marlowe’s effrontery, George weary and afraid.
“Marlowe, what in all hell is it now?” Jacob Wilkenson demanded. “I was fool enough to accept your word as a gentleman that there would be no more inspections.”
“And none there shall be,” Marlowe said brightly. “If you say the cargo is legally done, then I am composed of trust. But there is just one more matter.”
Wilkenson and the master exchanged glances, a mutual dread of what Marlowe would say next. A well-founded dread, as it happened.
“I am short of men,” Marlowe said, “having not replaced my casualties from the battle of Smith Island. I fear I shall need some of the men from your company to man the guardship.”
“You think you will press men out of my ship? You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I am. We all must sacrifice, you know, for the good of all. The guardship needs men enough to protect the tobacco fleet.”
Jacob Wilkenson took a step forward, his lips pursed, and Marlowe could well imagine what he was about to say, but he never had the chance. The master grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back, and in a tone of weary resignation asked, “How many men do you want, Marlowe?”
“Oh, I should think eight would do it. These men here, for starters.” Marlowe indicated the five men who were just lying back to deck after having loosened off topsails and topgallants. The fact that they were working aloft, and working the
topsails, told him that they were the foremost hands on the Wilkensons’ ship.
“Eight hands!” This announcement shook the master from his resignation. “But that’s half my men! I can’t sail if you take eight men!”
“Indeed?” The Plymouth Prizes under Rakestraw’s direction had already herded the topmen and three others and were standing in a semicircle around this group of exhausted, confused, and increasingly angry men.
“Look here, Marlowe,” said George Wilkenson, trying once more to be the voice of reason. “You have taken your revenge for what you perceive as our crime against you. But this is too much. You know full well that we will lose a whole year’s crop if we do not sail. There are no more seamen to be found on the Chesapeake.”
“I know all too well about the paucity of seamen in these colonies. That is why I must take yours.”
“If you need men,” said the master, “why d’ya not take one from each of a dozen ships?”
“I could,” Marlowe admitted. “But I will not.”
“God damn you!” Jacob Wilkenson exploded at last. “You cannot do this! You cannot press men without the governor’s consent! You are breaking the law, you blackballing bastard!”
At this Marlowe looked around in dramatic fashion and said, “I see no law here, sir, other than myself.”
“Get off my ship.”
“Very well. Lieutenant Rakestraw, see these men down into the longboat.” Rakestraw, with many a push and strong word, began to file the unfortunate men down the ship’s side and into the Prize’s longboat.
“Marlowe, you bastard, you whore’s son!” Jacob Wilkenson was across the deck in an instant. He grabbed Marlowe by the collar, and before Marlowe could react jerked him close so their faces were inches apart. “You’ll not get away with this, you bastard, d’ya hear? You upstart, coming to this place and worming your way into command of the guardship…”
Marlowe said not a word but reached down to his cross-belt, unclipped a pistol, brought it up between them.
“You think you have the governor in your pocket, sir, but let me assure you-” Jacob continued, then stopped as he felt the cold circle of steel, the end of the barrel pressed into the soft flesh under his chin. He faltered in his harangue. Marlowe drew back the cock.
“Please unhand me,” Marlowe said. Wilkenson’s grip went slack and Marlowe stepped away, easing the cock of his pistol down. “Another of your family had the temerity to insult me thus, and you were witness to his fate. Be thankful I do not demand satisfaction of you. However, if you wish to meet me like a man, you need just tell me. If not, I will thank you to keep your mouth shut.”
The Wilkensons stood staring their hatred at him but said nothing. Marlowe knew they would not rise to the bait. Matthew Wilkenson’s arrogance might have been marked by bold stupidity, but Jacob Wilkenson was more cunning than that, and George was the kind of coward who would be devious rather than openly aggressive.
“Very well, then,” Marlowe said, “let this be an end to it.” He bid them both good day and followed Lieutenant Rakestraw down into the crowded longboat.
Let this be an end to it. He might well hope for that. They all might hope for that, but Marlowe knew it would never be, his words to Bickerstaff notwithstanding.
He had seen enough of that kind of conflict, faction against faction, to know that the only way for it to end would be for one or the other side to admit defeat or for one side to finish the other off.
And Marlowe knew that neither he nor the Wilkensons would ever admit defeat.
Chapter 19
IT TOOK the Plymouth Prize and Northumberland and the hundred and fifty ships of the tobacco convoy the better part of a day to up anchor and make sail. They started well before dawn, and by late afternoon the wide rendezvous at Hampton Roads, once crowded with anchored vessels, was entirely empty, save for the forlorn and nearly deserted Wilkenson Brothers.
With late afternoon giving way to early evening, convoy and escort filed out of the great Chesapeake Bay. They wound their way past the Middle Ground Shoal that lay like a submarine trap between the welcoming arms of Cape Henry and Cape Charles and stood out for the open sea, where the only thing between them and England was water. Water and pirates.