The Saintly Buccaneer (41 page)

“Not in the Bible, is it?” he grinned. “Then I don’t know it.”

“Well, it seems that when God created the world, He made a creature, a beautiful creature and it was both male and female. But this creature did something very wrong, so God tore it into two parts and threw it into the world. Now there were many of these creatures, but all of them had been torn in half, just like you tear a sheet of paper in half, you see?”

“Not really.”

“Why, when you tear a paper in half, only the other half of that paper will really fit, you simpleton! So the male half and the female half of this creature spent their lives searching through the whole world to find each other.”

“So they could fit properly together again?”

“Of course! So in this world every man has to search for the one woman that’s a perfect fit for him—and the woman does the same. And I think that Anne Winslow is the one you’re looking for, Dan. Neither Julie nor I would really ‘fit’ you.”

“And who is the other half of
thee,
Charity?” Dan asked quietly, pulling her to a stop and looking at her intently.

She was taken off guard, and to her extreme disgust, tears gathered in her eyes. He put his arm around her, murmuring softly, “I think that thee does know the answer to that.”

She sobbed against his shoulder, her words muffled as she uttered, “I do love him so, Dan!”

He held her until she finally pulled herself away, then
handed her a large white handkerchief. “It’s clean,” he remarked.

“What are we going to do, Dan?” she moaned. “We’ve both given our lives to God—though I’m just a baby at such things—and we can’t marry anyone who’s not going after the Lord.”

“Why, we must ask God to change them,” he replied. “He is able to do exceeding abundantly above all we ask or think.”

“Well, I can
think
a lot,” she spouted, a tremulous smile touching her lips. “But it’s a big order—even for God.”

They got back to the ship to find Paul bright-eyed with excitement. “Where’ve you been? Never mind—I’ve got a word from de Grass!”

“We’re pulling out?” Dan asked, his eyes shining.

“Not right now, not today—but soon. Here’s what he told me this afternoon. He’s let word get to Rodney that he’s sick, that he’s going to take the fleet back to France. And he’s even giving a farewell ball to make them swallow the bait.”

“Then what?”

“After the ball when Rodney is lulled to sleep, de Grass will slip away, but not to France. Our fleets will go to drive the British fleet away from the coast, and then Washington can move on Yorktown to whip Cornwallis.”

“It will work!” Dan agreed instantly. “Always before, when we whipped the British, they’d back up to that fleet, and we couldn’t do a thing. With the French there, Cornwallis won’t have anyplace to hide.”

“Get your best dress ready, Charity,” Paul laughed happily. “I’m taking you to a ball, and we have to make the English spies think it’s the real thing!”

“I don’t have a dress!”

“Well,
get
one!” he commanded. “I’m not taking you to a fancy ball in those breeches, and that’s final!”

“Aye, Captain Winslow!” She snapped to attention and gave him a mock salute. “I’ll be in uniform when you come to take me to the ball.”

The secret was guarded so carefully that even the men in the fleet were persuaded that the armada would sail for France. The ball was the talk of the whole island, and everybody with any pretension to social standing wrangled an invitation.

On the evening of the ball, Paul put on his uniform: snowy white breeches and a blue coat with one epaulette on his right shoulder. He wore Gilbert Winslow’s sword at his side, and his long black hair was tied back with a white ribbon.

He went on deck, and saw that the gig was ready. Just as he was about to ask where Charity was, she came up the ladder. He stared at her as if she were an alien creature from another planet.

She had managed to have a dress made by a woman on the island who sewed, and it had not turned out quite as she expected. The woman had spoken little English; she had done a beautiful job, but she was accustomed to making dresses for her own people—who wore their dresses cut much lower than was usual in Boston.

Charity had picked up the dress the day of the ball, and had not tried it on until she got back to her cabin. She slipped it on, then stood aghast, staring into the mirror. It was a beautiful dress, made of some frothy material she did not know, with ribbons of green interwoven through the hems of the white cloth. It fit perfectly—but she gave a gasp when she saw how low the seamstress had cut the neckline. She quickly gave a tug to lift it higher, but it was useless, for the dress fit like a glove.

“I can’t go like this!’ she wailed, and stood there staring at herself. “He’ll think I’m a—a
hussy!
”

But it was only an hour before the gig left—so finally she set her jaw and declared through clenched teeth, “I’m going to that ball if I have to go stark naked!”

And when Paul Winslow looked at her as she came up to him on the deck, he batted his eyes, for he had never seen anything more beautiful!

She stood there challenging him defiantly with her large
green eyes and said, “Well—are we going, or are you just going to stand there staring at me?” Despite her words, her face was red, and she pulled a thin shawl around her shoulders.

“You look ravishing, Charity,” he replied, taking her hand and leading her to the gig. The boat was full, and Dan took one look at her, then smiled broadly, though he said only, “Well, thee is all dressed up for the party, I see.”

The ball was held at the great ballroom of Government House. It was a grand affair, with light from a thousand candles flashing on gold sword hilts, setting aglow the decorations of noble and distinguished officers. The Count de Grass, with the wife of the governor on his arm, led the grand march, the blue, white and gold of uniforms making a splash of color.

“I’ve never seen such a beautiful sight!” Charity murmured, clutching Paul’s arm tightly. She looked carefully at the beautifully gowned ladies, their white shoulders and bosoms bathed in soft loveliness from the golden light of the candles, and felt less conspicuous in her own dress.

The evening sped by, and she found herself in Paul’s arms, gliding across the floor. He held her loosely, but she was conscious of his strong arms around her. She danced with other officers, and when he came to her and suggested, “Let’s get a breath of air,” she was ready.

They stepped outside, moving away from the palace until they came to an open garden. The music and the sound of voices were muted as she stood beside a fountain with him.

He said nothing for such a long time that she began to get nervous. But then he looked at her and said, “I remember a time like this, Charity. It was the first thing from my past that came to me—and now it’s all as clear as if it happened yesterday! I can remember all of it!” His voice rose with excitement, and he took her hands unconsciously as he cried, “All of it! Not just bits and pieces!”

“Tell me, Paul!” she begged.

“Why, I was in love with Abigail and so was Nathan—but
both of us were fools, though we didn’t know it. And it was at a ball like this that Nathan took her out to a garden and I followed them. I was ready to kill both of them.” He shook his head in wonder as he continued. “I betrayed Nathan to the British, and he was almost executed. What a fool I was!”

She asked quietly, “Do you remember—about us, Paul?”

He stared at her, then nodded grimly. “Some of it I do. I remember you coming into the inn looking for help for Julie—and I remember getting drunk and taking you upstairs.”

She reached up slowly and touched the scar on his face. “Do—do you remember when I gave you this?”

He put his hand on hers and shook his head. “No, thank God. I was too drunk, I suppose—and that’s
one
memory I never want to come back. What a swine I am!”

She left her hand on his face and shook her head swiftly. “No! You’ve changed, Paul. Your father spoke to me about it. He said you
did
die in some ways—that the man you were doesn’t exist. And he’s so proud of you—and so am I!”

“Are you, Charity?” he whispered, his face pale in the silver moonlight. “Are you fond of me?”

“Yes!” she whispered, letting him take her in his arms and press his lips to hers. It was not a demanding kiss, but gentle and sweet.

When he lifted his head he said evenly, “I want to marry you.”

She stared at him and stammered, “But—what about Blanche?”

“What about her?”

“Why, you’re going to marry her.”

“No. I went to her before we left New York. You do remember I left to go into the city?”

“I—I believe I do remember something about it.”

He laughed and squeezed her in a delightful fashion. “Oh, Charity, you didn’t speak to me for days! You were jealous, weren’t you?”

“Of course I was!” Her eyes flashed and she pulled back
from him. “And what did you two have to say? Was it a loving reunion?”

“Not exactly,” he said dryly. “I managed to sneak out to their summer place and send a message inside. She sent a note back. Would you like to see it?” He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket.

She took it from him and held it to the yellow light shining from the windows of the house.

You are a traitor to your country!
it stated in large letters.
If you don’t leave at once, I’ll notify my father and you will be shot as you deserve!

“So much for my hopes,” he sighed. He took the paper, tore it to shreds and tossed it into the air, saying, “Now that is settled—will you marry me?”

She longed to throw herself into his arms, but she shook her head. “I want to, Paul. I love you so much! But something has happened to me.”

“Can you tell me about it?”

“It was when your grandmother died. I called on God—and He came into my life.” She peered up at him, her eyes filled with tears, and said, “I belong to God, Paul—and the man I marry will have to belong to Him, too.”

He stood there, his face lean and his eyes fixed on her. Finally he said, “I seem to be running into God at every turn. All I can say is, I can’t go to God just to please you. That would be wrong—but I tell you this, Charity, everything I’ve seen that’s good in this world has been in the form of one of God’s people. I want that goodness in my own soul.”

She touched his cheek gently, and then whispered, “You will find God, Paul! You will find Him!” And her eyes were filled with faith as they turned to go inside.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

THE DUEL

The plan of de Grass to pull Hood’s eyes away from the French fleet was a success—or so it seemed from the reports of the informants who brought news to the count. He waited for two weeks, and was gratified to learn that Hood’s squadron had moved away from their position toward the north. De Grass acted immediately, issuing orders that the entire fleet move out. The fleet set sail two days later, and according to the count’s orders, took a course that would lead to France rather than America.

“He’s a wily old fox,” Dan remarked to Charity as they stood with Paul on the
Lady’s
deck admiring the fleet. They had taken station off the flagship, and had a clear view of the white sails of the warships as they followed in order. “I think we’ve fooled Hood—which is a pretty hard trick to bring off!”

“What happens now, Paul?” Charity asked.

“Oh, we’ll fake him out on this course for a day or two, then turn and make a drive for the coast. There are just a few British warships there now, and this fleet will drive them off, bottle up the army—then Washington will move in and have Cornwallis in the palm of his hand. And that’ll be the end of the war. But,” he went on thoughtfully, “if we run into trouble, remember your promise to stay below. I’ll need every man I’ve got.”

Two days later, de Grass ordered a change of course exactly as Paul had predicted, and for the next four days every square yard of canvas was put on the yards, for surprise was
the essence of the scheme. If word of the attack got out, Hood or Rodney would race to meet the French fleet and parry the blow.

On a bright Sunday morning Dan hurried into Paul’s cabin with a message. “Signal from flagship, Captain. You’re to report to the admiral aboard his flagship at once. I’ve had the gig put out for you.”

Paul wiped the lather from his face, threw on his clothes, and was soon in the gig headed for the flagship. He climbed on deck, and was escorted at once to de Grass’ cabin.

“Captain Winslow reporting, sir.”

“Winslow—you made good time.” The count’s face was tense and he told Paul hurriedly, “We’re in trouble, I fear. Our lookout spotted a ship up ahead just at dusk. He got only a glimpse, but she was there this morning—a frigate, he thinks.”

Winslow saw the danger at once. “You think she’s a British ship?” That was what they had feared most—the fleet being spotted and a report made, alerting the English forces.

“It has to be,” the count concluded gloomily. He struck his hands together and cried in anger, “It will destroy our plan!”

“We’ll have to capture or sink that ship, sir!”

De Grass stared at Winslow with a set jaw. “It’s our only hope—but she’s a frigate. We have only ships of the line. None of my ships could catch her—” He paused and seemed to be weighing the quality of the young captain as in a balance. He studied the dark eyes, the firm mouth, the air of determination, then added, “No ship—except yours, Captain Winslow.”

A fire leaped into the eyes of Paul Winslow, and he said instantly, “We’ll do it, Admiral!”

“Think of it, Winslow!” The count came close and looked down into the face of his officer. “She carries three times your guns, as you well know. Her crew will be well trained, and I don’t know of an instance of a sloop defeating a frigate in a close action duel.”

“We’ve got to try, sir,” Winslow urged. “If that ship gets away, I think it will mean America loses the war.”

De Grass nodded slowly, his eyes moody. “I believe you may be right. Washington can’t hold the army together much longer. We’re his last hope. You know the odds, my boy. Are you certain you want to attempt it?”