Part 69 (1/2)
”Then we weigh anchor.”
”In this squall?” Mewes' voice was incredulous. ”We can't put on any canvas now. It'd be ripped off the yards.”
”We've got to. The Roundheads are already moving on Bridgetown. We'll try and use those new short sails.” Winston urged Morris forward with his pistol, then turned back to Mewes. ”Any sign of that African we talked about?”
”I've seen naught of him, and that's a fact.” He peered
up the beach, hoping one last cursory check would suffice. Now that the rain had intensified, it was no longer possible to see the hills beyond. ”But I did manage to get that Spaniard from Ruyters, the one named Vargas.” He laughed. ”Though I finally had to convince the ol'
King of the b.u.t.terboxes to see things our way by bringin' over a few of the boys and some muskets.”
”Good. He's on board now?”
”Safe as can be. An' happy enough to leave that d.a.m.n'd Dutchman, truth to tell. Claimed he was sick to death of the putrid smell of the Zeelander, now that she's been turned into a slaver.”
”Then to h.e.l.l with the African. We can't wait any longer.”
”'Tis all to the good, if you want my thinkin'.” Mewes reached up and adjusted Morris' helmet, then performed a mock salute. He watched in glee as the English commander's face flushed with rage. ”You're not takin' these two d.a.m.n'd Roundheads aboard, are you?”
”d.a.m.n you, sir.” Morris ignored Mewes as he glared at Winston, then looked down at the pistol. He had seen a double-barrelled mechanism like this only once before--property of a Spanish diplomat in London, a dandy far more skilled dancing the bourree than managing a weapon. But such a device in the hands of an obvious marksman like Winston; nothing could be more deadly. ”There's been quite enough . . .”
”Get in the longboat.”
”I'll do no such thing.” Morris drew back. ”I have no intention of going with you, wherever it is you think you're headed.”
”I said get in. If you like it here so much, you can swim back after we weigh anchor.” Winston tossed his bundle across the gunwale, seized Morris by his doublet, and sent him sprawling after it. Then he turned to the infantryman. ”You get in as well.”
Without a word the man clambered over the side. Winston
heaved a deep breath, then took the muskets Katherine was carrying and handed them to Mewes. ”Katy, this is the last you're apt to see of Barbados for a long while.”
”Please, let's don't talk about it.” She seized her wet skirts and began to climb over the side, Winston steadying her with one hand. ”I suppose I somehow thought I could have everything. But I guess I've learned differently.”
He studied her in confusion for a moment, then turned and surveyed the dark sh.o.r.e one last time. ”All right, John, prepare to cast off.”
”Aye.” Mewes loosened the bow line from its mooring and tossed it into the longboat. Together they shoved the bobbing craft and its pa.s.sengers deeper into the surf.
”What's your name?” Winston motioned the infantryman forward as he lifted himself over the gunwales.
”MacEwen, Yor Wors.h.i.+p.” He took off his helmet and tossed it onto the boards. His hair was sandy, his face Scottish.
”Then take an oar, MacEwen. And heave to.”
”Aye, Sor.” The Scotsman ignored Morris' withering glare and quickly took his place.
”You can row too, Colonel.” Winston waved the pistol. ”Barbados is still a democracy, for at least a few more hours.”
Morris said nothing, merely grimaced and reached for an oar.
Katherine laid her cheek against Winston's shoulder and looked wistfully back toward the sh.o.r.e. ”Everything we made, the Commonwealth's going to take away now. Everything my father and I, and all the others, worked so hard for together.”
He held her against him as they moved out through the surf and across the narrow band of water to the s.h.i.+p. In what seemed only moments the longboat edged beneath the quartergallery and the _Defiance_ was hovering above them.