Devil's Prize

by Samuel Edwards

  A new idea occurred to Ethan, as bold as that which had brought him to the ship in the first place. He pointed toward the quarterdeck, but as he started to tell van der Puylen his plan, he released his hold on the other's arm. The Dutchman was wasting no time listening to mere words, and before Ethan could speak he charged up the steps, brandishing his blade and shouting inarticulately. He started toward the freebooter's captain, who was leaning over the rail trying to rally his men on the main deck below, but he failed to see the helmsman, who stepped out from behind the wheel and levelled a long-barreled pistol at the raging Dutchman. Instinct made the Dutchman turn, and he lunged at the buccaneer seaman at the same moment that the man fired. The blade passed through the pirate's mouth, killing him, but his pistol ball lodged in van der Puylen's shoulder. The Dutchman howled with pain as he was sent sprawling.

  The freebooter captain became aware of the commotion behind him, but as he started to whirl around Ethan came up behind him and jabbed his pistol in the buccaneer's back. "You are my prisoner!"

  Evidently the bearded giant understood and spoke English, for he muttered a curse that anyone in New York would have comprehended at once. Even more important, he dropped his sword when the pistol dug deeply into his back, and it clattered to the quarterdeck.

  "Order your men to surrender!" Ethan shouted. "And tell them to start putting out those fires at once!" He could not control an exultant laugh as he added, "I'm taking you and your whole crew into port!"

  The laughter died in his throat as a thin ribbon of steel flicked before his eyes, and even before he realized that it was a sword it crossed his mind that the light of the fires made the metal look blue rather than silver. He was being attacked by a freebooter who determined to save his captain. He had apparently missed his target only because he had misjudged the sudden fall of the frigate in the trough of a wave.

  Ethan's dilemma was a terrible one—if he shot the captain, the other buccaneer would have time to finish him, and if he turned to meet this new foe, the captain would be free to join in the fight again. Even in the split second that he analyzed his position, however, he saw that someone else was joining the fray. A pistol butt crashed down on the head of the sword-wielding pirate, who fell to the deck, unconscious.

  Ethan saw to his amazement that his rescuer was a total stranger, a thin, middle-aged gentleman who was dressed as though he were about to attend a levee at St. James Palace. "Your duties take you elsewhere for the moment," the man said, his English marked by a peculiar though slight accent. "Your interests will be well served on the quarterdeck until you return."

  Ethan nodded, then motioned the giant toward the steps. "We'll go below so you can persuade your men to surrender. And don't try to trick me!"

  The reluctant freebooter captain started to move, but his path was blocked by the middle-aged gentleman, who forgot his dignity long enough to spit in the big man's face. "I warned you, Baptista," he said, his tone coldly venemous. "I begged you not to behave like a madman, and I warned you what would happen to you if you persisted in your insanity. Now you'll get what you deserve." Bowing again to Ethan, he smiled and stepped aside.

  In a few moments Ethan and his prisoner had gained the main deck, and there the giant Baptista had no choice but to walk first up the starboard side to the prow, then down the port side. At Ethan's continued urging, aided considerably by the pistol, the buccaneer ordered his crew to form bucket lines, to extinguish the fires that burned ever brighter and then to surrender themselves to the militiamen. The brief walk took no more than five minutes to accomplish, and in that time the pirates lost what little appetite they still had for combat; their remaining energies were being devoted entirely to putting out the fires that the soldiers had started.

  Ethan, not quite able to believe that his luck had been so good, summoned Corporal Fuller who, together with two other militiamen, herded the numbly compliant Baptista back to the quarterdeck while Ethan remained below to supervise the restoration of order. Most of the fires died out when water was thrown on them, but the blaze that had been begun in the stern did not respond as easily, and only after a quarter of an hour of hard work did the buccaneers, aided by a dozen or more militiamen, manage to put out the last flickering flames. When the soldiers started to collect their prisoners' weapons into a pile, Ethan, who felt he should be in at least three places at once, started forward, but stopped to order lanterns brought up to the darkened decks.

  Then, while he tried to collect his wits and decide what needed his attention next, he saw the middle-aged gentleman approach, and they smiled at each other. "You are most thorough, Captain," the stranger said quietly. "I approve. And as you will undoubtedly want to put these rascals on trial, you'll be pleased to hear that I haven't killed the villain whom I was forced to strike. New York may enjoy the pleasure of hanging him with the others.

  In the meantime, permit me to offer my congratulations on your victory."

  Ethan grasped his extended hand. "I have you to thank for saving my life, sir. Who are you?"

  "Permit me to introduce myself. I am Jacques Gomez, of St. Pierre on the island of Martinique, at your service. But it is I who must thank you for delivering me from a nightmare that I thought would never end. I shall be pleased to tell you about it when you have a few moments to spare." As blandly unconcerned as though he were in someone's drawing room, he sauntered off in the direction of the quarterdeck steps.

  Ethan, unable to shake off the feeling that he was dreaming, sent out a call for his officers. Lieutenant Greer, a nasty cut on his forehead and another on his arm, appeared with a casualty report, and Ethan was relieved to learn that his losses had been comparatively light. Three of his men had been killed and another eight had been wounded, but the toll in the ranks of the buccaneers was twice as high. The immediate problem was to sail the frigate ashore, and Lieutenant Greer knew as little about ships as did Ethan. But at that moment Ensign Davis, unmarked and cheerful, came forward with the announcement that he was an expert sailor.

  "Abijah, your talents are inexhaustible. Pick yourself a skeleton crew, and, if you need any of the cutthroats yonder to help, we'll put them to work—under guard." Ethan jerked a thumb toward the waist, where the sullen freebooters were now huddled under the watchful eyes and rifles of a squad of militiamen.

  Davis needed no further urging; he gave orders to weigh anchor and then strutted off to the quarterdeck as though he had commanded a ship for years. No one looking at him would have guessed that he was a very junior militia officer, and Ethan, looking after him, laughed and turned back to his deputy.

  "Lieutenant Greer," he said, "fire every last one of our remaining flares so that people on shore will know we've won. Waterford may be a mite nervous, and I don't want him to open fire on us as we sail in."

  On the quarterdeck Ethan found Hendrik van der Puylen, his shoulder neatly bandaged, propped in a high chair of the type used by officers of the French navy. He was issuing a stream of instructions to the sweating militiaman at the wheel and to Ensign Davis, who stood beside 'him. On the starboard side, expertly trussed and gagged, was the freebooter captain Baptista, glaring malevolently at the helmsman. As Ethan took in the scene, someone touched his arm, and he turned to Jacques Gomez, whose existence he had momentarily forgotten.

  "All goes well for you now. Captain," the West Indian said courteously. "One who knows the harbor is guiding this accursed ship." As he nodded toward van der Puylen, Ethan noted for the first time that Gomez was wearing a formal white wig with waved side pieces.

  "How did he get better so fast?"

  "He has not recovered, of course," Gomez replied with a deprecating smile. "He has lost much blood and will need to spend some days in bed. But he is strong enough to lead us safely to shore."

  "The last I saw of him he was prostrate, with a pistol bullet in him." Ethan was still not sure that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.

  "Oh, that." Gomez reached into the pocket of his magnificently em
broidered satin coat and took out a small lead pellet. He displayed it briefly in the palm of his hand, tossed it into the air and caught it again in the manner of a conjurer performing a feat of magic. "I happen to have some small knowledge of the art of surgery, and fortunately the bullet wasn't deeply imbedded in his flesh," he said modestly. Then he nodded abruptly toward the helpless figure of the trussed giant, and when he spoke again there was venom in his voice. "I only regret that Captain Baptista was not similarly indisposed. It would have been a pleasure to apply a knife to his person. I might have repaid him for the anguish he has caused me, but I suppose I must be satisfied with the penalty the law will impose on him."

  "I can assure you that Captain Baptista will be hanged," Ethan replied, studying Gomez carefully. There was a sensual quality in his face that indicated even more strongly than did his extravagantly expensive clothes that he liked luxuries, but his eyes were clear, his lips firm and he gave the impression of being an honest man. However, he had yet to explain his presence on the frigate, and while Ethan was grateful for the extraordinary help that Gomez had given him, he was nevertheless a trifle suspicious. "As for you, sir, I hope you can establish your own standing on this ship."

  "Indeed I can," Gomez declared earnestly. "I'm a person of some consequence in St. Pierre, as my papers will prove. I took passage on this foul ship, believing her to be a merchantman, and it wasn't until we reached northern waters that I learned to my horror that she was actually a vulture of the sea. Baptista is a clever rogue. Captain. He wanted my presence on board to justify his existence if he had been stopped by your English patrols or those of the Spanish or French in the West Indian Ocean." He smiled and touched his lips with a lace-edged handkerchief. "I am neither more nor less brave than most, I suppose, so I don't mind admitting that I've lived in terror during these past ten days, ever since Baptista began raiding your coasts."

  "You're lucky to be here, Master Gomez," Ethan said warmly, satisfied that the other's story made sense. "And I certainly owe my own life to you. You have my word that I'll speak in your behalf before the commission of inquiry and will tell them precisely what you did for me."

  "I appreciate your kindness, sir," Gomez replied, bowing. "Am I to be taken into custody?"

  "I'm sorry to say that will be necessary, under our law. But it's only a technicality. Master Gomez, so you need have no fears. You'll find that justice is dispensed fairly here."

  "I'm sure it is, and I'm not afraid," the West Indian murmured, then brightened. "Speaking of the law. Captain, I happen to know a little about international marine rules, and it occurs to me that you haven't yet taken formal possession of this ship. And as your Dutch friend there will have us alongside a wharf very shortly, I suggest that you go through the rituals or your court of inquiry could be placed in an embarrassing position."

  "You're quite right," Ethan said, chagrined that he had been derelict in his duty and that he had needed to be reminded of it by a foreigner.

  Drawing his sword, he walked to the wheel, then turned to Hendrik van der Puylen and Ensign Davis. "I hate to interrupt you, but as you're acting as joint captains of this ship, I need you as my witnesses."

  Van der Puylen gave a few more instructions to the helmsman before replying. His face was grey and drawn, but his eyes were bright as he said, "You claim the ship now, Mijnheer. Only the hurt in my shoulder makes me forget to tell you, but you make me better yourself. It is good to see you think so clear as you fight!"

  This was hardly the time for Ethan to admit that he had not remembered his duty, and he was anxious to make the ceremony as brief as possible. Raising his sword high over his head, he called loudly, "Hear, all men! I now take possession of this frigate in the name of His Majesty, King George, and I declare before these witnesses that I claim her as a prize of war. From this time forth she is the property of the Crown!"

  As he sheathed his sword, Gomez appeared at his elbow, chuckling. "You English colonials are cut from the same cloth as the English across the waters. A Frenchman or a Spaniard would have proclaimed his sovereign half-owner of the ship—and would have kept the remaining half for himself."

  The frigate was rapidly approaching the port now, and after a few minutes more Ethan realized that the ship was nosing toward the docks of van der Puylen and Company. He smiled to himself. By berthing her there, the canny Dutchman would be able to charge the colonial government a fat rental fee, which was the very least due him after his heroic efforts tonight.

  "Ahoy, there!" A voice suddenly called out from the darkness. "Who are you?"

  Ethan cupped his hands. "Captain Ethan Wade of His Majesty's army, with a prize of war!"

  "It's him all right," someone cried. "It's Wade!"

  There was a mighty cheer, and to Ethan's astonishment some twenty or thirty torches were lighted on the shore, revealing scores of New York's citizens bearing arms of every description. Not knowing what had taken place at sea they had rallied to the defense of the town, and had been prepared to give battle had the frigate still been in the hands of the freebooters..

  After turning the captured vessel over to the governor's aide-de-camp and the prisoners over to the city warden, first making sure that Gomez would have comfortable quarters, Ethan set foot on land. Weary and dirty from battle, he turned toward home. No sooner had he started down the wharf, however, than someone cried, "There he is!" and before he quite realized what was happening two men had lifted him onto their shoulders. Others ran ahead with torches and an impromptu victory parade began.

  "We been waiting for you. Captain!" a man with a raucous voice cried. "You're the finest lad in town."

  "Three cheers for the pirate tamer!" someone else shouted, and the roar that went up could be heard all over New York.

  Ethan laughed and tried to regain his feet, but his captors kept a firm grip on his legs. "Let's celebrate tomorrow," he begged. "All I want now is my bed."

  "Then that's what you'll have!" one of them replied. "But we'll take you there, by thunder! We don't aim to let you walk a step tonight. It wouldn't be fitting."

  As the celebrants marched down the Broad Way and were joined every few feet by eager newcomers, it crossed Ethan's mind that he was truly the hero of the day.

  Three

  ETHAN had to make a speech before the reluctant crowd would release him in front of his uncle's imposing house on Queen Anne Street, but he quickly discovered that no one really cared what he said—the people cheered indiscriminately every time he stopped for breath. At last he broke free and stumbled up the broad stone steps. The front door was open and he was dismayed to see several beaming faces in the frame. He might have guessed that his uncle would not miss the opportunity to share in his glory.

  Robert Wade extended his pudgy hands in an exaggerated gesture of welcome, and the townsfolk, who continued to stand outside the gate, applauded him, too. His attitude toward Ethan had been dour in recent months, but no one would have guessed it as he threw his arms around his nephew and enveloped him in the folds of his expensive plum silk coat. "I'm proud of you lad," he said, his plump body shaking with emotion.

  His partner, Talbot Courtney, threw an affectionate arm around Ethan's shoulders. "You spoiled my supper party, you rascal, but we had to be here to greet you," he boomed, tugging his vermilion brocade vest over his stomach with his free hand.

  The capture of the freebooter could not possibly account for their extreme affability, Ethan knew, and his uncle immediately verified his surmise. "Lord Huntrey," Robert Wade declared, "permit me to present my renowned nephew—my son, really."

  Ethan could scarcely keep a straight face as he bowed to a heavy-set gentleman in a knee-length coat of black silk. Had he not been so tired he would have guessed that the firm of Courtney and Wade would take advantage of his exploits to impress their wealthy customer from London. Both of them had spent long hours trying to persuade Ethan to give up his army career, but all of their arguments were forgotten for the moment, and as they sto
od on either side of him their smiles seemed to indicate that he was a valuable property they were placing on exhibition.

  Lord Huntrey said something, but Ethan did not hear him. Behind the nobleman, in the drawing room, stood Prudence, looking lovelier and more desirable than ever in a blue dress with white ruffles around the neck and down the front. Ethan had eyes and ears for no one else.

  and he advanced to her slowly, thinking that their quarrel had taken place years ago instead of mere hours. She stood very still, and there was uncertainty in her green eyes.

  "I didn't want to come," she said in a voice so low that only Ethan could hear her. "But they insisted. If you'd rather not see me, I'll go."

  Ethan did not reply at once, and came still closer to her. Meanwhile Robert Wade and Talbot Courtney exchanged secret smiles of satisfaction; they could not have planned a more effective demonstration for Lord Huntrey, who could now see with his own eyes that their company's future was assured.

  "I thought it was you who didn't want to see me," Ethan realized that he was filthy, that the grime and stench of battle still clung to him, but Prudence did not shrink from him.

  "I was stupid," she said bluntly, looking up into his eyes. "I was wrong to make such a commotion over nothing. And if you don't want to forgive me—"

  "Forgive? I'm the one to ask for forgiveness, Prue. After the way I shouted at you "

  "Never mind, darling." She placed a hand over his lips.

  He took her in his arms and their lips met; neither was conscious of the three portly gentlemen who chuckled and nudged each other in the entrance hall, and, as their bodies pressed close, neither was aware of the sounds of revelry that floated in through the open windows from the crowd outside.