The Saintly Buccaneer (20 page)

“Your commission.” Rommey experienced a thrill of pleasure, and grinned as shock leaped into Hawke’s face. “Well! For
once,
by heaven, you’re taken off guard!”

“Yes, sir—I am!”

“Oh, Hawke!” Blanche cried, taking his arm and staring at the document. “I can’t believe it!”

“You ought to,” Rommey grinned. “You moved heaven and earth to get me to go after it!”

She laughed in delight, and there was no shame in her. “You wanted to do it—but were just too stubborn.”

“As to that, you’re probably right,” he said ruefully. “But how do you feel about it,
Lieutenant
Hawke?”

There was one sign that gave Hawke away, Blanche had learned: when he was troubled—or pleased—he would touch the scar that ran down his cheek. He did so now, but there was a pleased light in his eyes as he looked at the captain. “I’m very glad, of course.” Then a shadow fell on his face as he spoke. “I have no other life other than the one you’ve made for me, Captain Rommey. I’ll serve you the best I can.”

“I know you’ll do that, Lieutenant Hawke. Now I must go. I’m spending the night at the inn. Take my gig. We’ll weigh anchor at dawn, so get a good night’s sleep.”

“Aye, sir—and thank you.”

After her father left the terrace, Blanche took Hawke’s arm and shook it fiercely. “Is
that
all you can say? You’re an old stick, that’s what you are!”

“I’m very happy, Blanche.”

“Ah, you’re afraid to show how you feel—that’s your trouble! You’ve got a career, Hawke! If you can’t shout, why, dance with me!”

She fell into his arms, and they began to dance across the paved surface, and soon he was grinning at her. “You just want me to be a lieutenant because you’re ashamed to be seen at your parties with a midshipman.”

“That’s it,” she laughed. “And I won’t be happy long with a mere lieutenant. A post captain—that’s what you’ve got to be, Hawke!”

“Why not an admiral?”

“Why not? Shoot for the stars!”

He laughed, and she joined him, saying, “It’s taken a long time to make you laugh, Hawke. I’ve invested two years of my life in you.”

He paused, shook his head, and asked, “Why did you bother, Blanche? You could have anybody.”

“Oh, I want—”

“You want something
different,
” he finished more soberly. “I’m just a freak, you know, Blanche.”

“Don’t say that!”

His face looked thin in the faint light of the lanterns, and he said quietly, “You think it’s romantic having a man who doesn’t have a past. But it’s not a game, Blanche.”

She bit her lip, sobered for once, and then she put her arms around his neck and looked up into his face. “I’m not playing games, Hawke,” she whispered. “I want you!”

The air was quiet, and he could hear the sound of cowbells far off on the night air. Holding her, he thought of the past two years, and realized that she had come to be the center of his world. His life with men on the
Neptune
was half of his world—and she was the rest of it.

“When I try to think of life without you,” he murmured, looking into her eyes, “I can never do it. If it weren’t for you, Blanche, I’d not have made it.”

She pulled his head down and kissed him, and was shocked at the emotion running through herself. But she had long known that he was one of the most physically desirable men she had ever known.

“You don’t need a past, sweet!” she whispered. “We’ve got a future—and that’s all that counts!”

The rest of the night was like a dream to Hawke. They went back into the ballroom and continued drinking wine, Hawke trying to keep pace with Blanche. When they left the ballroom, it was very late, and he was so dizzy from the wine, he could scarcely give directions to Blanche’s home to the cab driver.

He fumbled his way up the stairs, and then she said, “Come inside—just for a moment! You’ll be gone for so long!”

It was much later when he left her room and walked all the way to the wharf where the captain’s gig was still waiting. The crew of the small boat had been drinking, but he paid
no heed. He got out of the boat and made his report to the officer on watch.

“Midshipman Hawke returning to duty, sir.”

Burns grinned at him, returned his salute. “Not
Midshipman,
I think!” Then he turned and when they were below deck, he added, “Congratulations, man! Ye’ll be a bonny officer.”

“Thanks, Angus,” he said faintly.

Burns looked at him more closely, and sniffed his breath. “Ah! A bit of the grape, eh? Weel, ye do deserve it.”

“I—I think I’ll get a bit of air before I turn in,” Hawke replied. He left and made his way to the stern, and for a long time stood there staring at the myriad lights of London as they winked across the velvet blackness of the night.

Finally he shook his head, turned, and went below, thinking of the future. That night he dreamed of Blanche and her long black hair spread out like a fan on a linen pillow—and the dream frightened him, bringing him upright in his hammock. He could not remember being afraid, but now he was—and he did not know why.

He had not felt his alien past so keenly before. For long hours, until the first rays of dawn thrust red and gold finger-like beams across his face, he lay there, and then the boatswain’s whistle shrilled, and he got up to face his new world.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A NEW LADY

“Why is it every time you two get together you fight like wildcats?”

William Alden looked over his foaming glass of ale toward Charity and Daniel Greene with a mixture of humor and irritation in his sharp blue eyes. Taking a pull at the brew, he added mischievously, his voice rusty, “And I allus thought that you Quaker fellers was set against fightin’. Sure don’t seem like it, Friend Daniel. Here you jump into this fight against King George with both feet. Then like that ain’t enough action, you get engaged to this girl of mine—and you fight with her worse than with the Redcoats.”

“She’d drive an angel to pick a fight, Mr. Alden, and
you
know it better than anyone else!” Dan retorted sharply, dropping the characteristic “thee,” as he often did since his association with the Aldens. Greene’s square face was ruddy with irritation, and there was a trace of real anger in him when he nodded at Charity and added, “If thee had been brought up with the Friends, thee would have a better idea of how to act like a lady.”

“If I don’t suit you, Dan, you’d better take your ring back.”

“No! Don’t say that!” She was, he saw, pulling at the thick band of gold that had been his mother’s, and he went to her quickly. Holding her hands tightly he prevented her from pulling the ring from her finger, and shook his head sadly. “Why am I always the one to have to beg? And this time I’m
right,
Charity—even thy father says so.”

“Oh, Dan, we’ve been over it a hundred times!” Charity pulled away from his grip and walked to the window. She stared out at the delicate cherry blossoms beginning to fall from the tree outside, and said nothing, but there was a stubbornness in the straight set of her back. Finally she sighed and turned to face them. As she began to speak, Dan was caught again by the beauty of her face, and thought back to the last two years and his struggle to keep from falling in love with her. He had not wanted it, for there was a reserve in Charity that he could not break down. He knew she did not love him as he did her, but he had gone after her with the same dogged persistence that marked everything he did. But even though she had finally (after six months hard pursuit on his part) agreed to be engaged, Charity seemed to be more distant than ever. Not that she didn’t show flashes of affection, but more often she seemed to hold him off at arms’ length.

He listened to her words, but he was asking himself silently,
Does she really love me?
And he was so afraid of the answer that he buried the thought and paid closer heed to her words.

“...so we’ve done well because we’ve been able to outsail any ship the British have. But we’ve missed a dozen rich prizes because the
Lady
doesn’t have the guns to take any ship except merchantmen. But if we sell the
Lady
and get a ship with bigger guns, don’t you see? Why, we could hit the convoys and take what we pleased!”

Her father stared at her doubtfully. “Sell the
Lady?
” he murmured, then shook his head. “You’re talking about a whole new thing, daughter. We can sail a ship—but engage an enemy warship? Why, we’d be lost!”

“Not if we got a good crew—and there are plenty of sailors just begging for a berth. A lot of them served on a ship of the line or one of the king’s frigates.”

“Thee would have us buy a frigate?” Dan asked sharply, unbelief in his face. “It takes
hundreds
of men for a ship like that. Why, even a brig would be—”

“Oh, Dan, a brig would be no good for a privateer!”
Charity’s green eyes lit up as she began to speak rapidly. It was an idea which had come to her months earlier, and now that she had shared it with her father and Dan, she was eloquent in her plea. “Look, if you use a schooner, she’ll crush like an eggshell if you try to lay her alongside a heavy ship in any kind of sea. They’re too delicate! And if a British sloop of war ever takes out after the
Lady
and the topmast carries away, you know we’d be lost.”

“Why can’t we put heavier cannon on the
Lady?
” Dan asked.

“She’s not made for fighting, but for freighting,” Charity returned. “Look, what we need is a smaller craft, a sloop. Then we can use fewer men. You can come down on some lordly merchantman and blow him out of the water. You can tack three times to anybody else’s once—and the heavier British ships won’t waste time chasing you because they know they’d never catch you.”

William Alden rubbed his chin and studied the face of his daughter. He had become a rabid Patriot in the years since his son’s death at Valley Forge. Every prize they took from the hated British and consigned to the struggling forces of Washington seemed to be a taste of revenge, and for the first time he began to think that Charity’s scheme was not as wild as it had seemed at first.

“Well, I’d do ’bout anything to put a crimp in the Britishers. What sort of ship are you thinking of?” he asked cautiously.

Charity hesitated slightly, and there was just a touch of a blush on her tanned cheeks. “Well, Father, actually, I’ve already found the ship.”

“What!” Dan looked at her in consternation, and then shook his head in despair, but said no more.

“Last month she came through and took on supply. A good fast sloop, bigger than most—about ninety tons. Thirty or forty can fight her as well as a hundred and twenty could fight a brig. But she’s already armed with enough guns—and there’s plenty of room for a fair load of prisoners and for
the prize cargo. And there’s not a British-built vessel of any size whatever that can catch her.”

“Where’s she located?”

“Twenty miles south, Father, in Portleigh Harbor—and I know we can get her cheap. The captain’s name is Benteen, and he’s afraid he’ll lose the ship in this war.”

“Tomlison offered me six thousand for the
Lady
last week. He’d go to seven, I reckon.”

Charity laughed out loud, pleasure spreading over her face. “Let’s go take a look, Father. You’ll not be able to say
no
to this one.”

Then she went to Dan and put her arm through his, and looking up with a glint of affection in her eyes, urged engagingly, “Come on, Friend Daniel, wipe that frown off your face. You may like my plan better when you hear what I’ve got planned for you.”

“I can’t wait,” he said grumpily, and stalked off, his pride injured. But later that day when they were on their way to see the ship, he brought the matter up. They were alone in the buggy, Charity’s father having gone off on other business. The air was sweet with blossoms and the smell of new grass. Taking off his coat and putting it behind the seat, he looked at the warm blue sky and the rich greenery of the landscape.

“Not much like our buggy ride from Valley Forge, is it, Charity?”

“No.” She bit her lip and shook her head, sending her auburn hair cascading like waves in the sun. “I don’t like to think about that winter. I thought they’d all die in that place.”

“They didn’t, though.” He smiled at her and added, “Christmas Winslow came through it.”

The thought of the fat baby drove the gloom away, and she replied happily, “He’s the prettiest thing I ever saw!”

“I’ve seen one thing prettier,” Dan said quickly. He slipped his arm around her and drew her close. She did not resist, but when he kissed her, though her lips were warm and soft, there was something in her that held back. He quickly released her
and said hurriedly to cover up his disappointment, “I guess Christmas is about the only high point right now.”

“Things aren’t going well for Washington, are they?”

That was putting it mildly, for though Washington and his rag-tag continentals had lived through the winter of 1778 at Valley Forge, they had been on the run ever since. Clinton, the British general, had attempted to move his army from Philadelphia to New York, and in the battle of Monmouth, the Revolution had nearly gone to pieces. Washington’s most trusted general, Charles Lee, had broken and commanded a retreat, and only the dramatic appearance of Washington had saved the day. He had dismissed Lee (which was, in Dan’s mind, a move long overdue), and all that year the British had chased the Americans around like foxhounds on the scent.

Late that year a French fleet had come to help, but through a series of misfortunes had given up and left for the West Indies. Washington had almost wept, Dan had told Charity, for the general was convinced that only when they could cut the British off from their navy was there any hope of winning the war.

“It hurt the general when Arnold turned traitor, didn’t it, Dan?” Charity remarked.

“Like to have killed him! He was the best we had, Charity.” He studied the landscape, then shook his head. “Never know what went on in that man’s mind. I reckon it was pride. He was sharp, intelligent, but they never gave him any good posts.”