Devil's Prize

by Samuel Edwards

  After a long, dreamless sleep Ethan felt he was capable of meeting any emergency, and as he ate a hearty breakfast he accepted a long and earnest plea from his uncle in the best of humor. Each time Uncle Robert opened his mouth Ethan knew what he was going to say—now was the time to leave the army; no one could ever achieve greater fame in a community, and a wise man would capitalize on his immense popularity by entering private business, where he could transform the good will of the public into hard cash. The argument was not without its merits, Ethan had to admit, but more important matters filled his mind, and after promising Uncle Robert that he would review the situation, he buckled on his sword, fastened the gold buttons of his uniform and hurried down to the Battery.

  He usually walked the few short blocks to the fort in five minutes, but so many passers-by stopped him to congratulate him and shake his hand that it was a quarter of an hour before he finally reached his office. To 'his surprise Colonel Adkins had not yet returned from New Haven, and so, after making a brief inspection of the weary but celebration-hungry garrison, Ethan dismissed his entire command for twenty-four hours, leaving only a one-legged veteran of the war on duty. He knew that the Colonel would not approve of so generous a gesture, and would, in fact, be annoyed that the whole garrison had been dismissed, for it was one of his inflexible rules that no more than one-third of the personnel of a post could be absent from duty at any one time. But Ethan, who was a realist, knew that no commanding officer on earth could keep the troops within bounds today, and the speed with which the men left the Battery to taste the town's various delights confirmed his opinion.

  After the last of the men had departed, Ethan left, too. His next destination was the shipyard, and once again his progress was delayed by eager citizens. But he arrived there at last, and, after learning that Hendrik van der Puylen was convalescing comfortably, he went on board the frigate. There Howard Bradshaw, the governor's aide-de-camp, informed him that vast quantities of precious metals, spirits, silks and other valuables stolen from raided towns on the Long Island were stored in the hold. So far, Bradshaw estimated, the loot was worth the staggering sum of ten thousand pounds, and his inventory was not yet complete. He explained that the appointments, furnishings and objects of worth which were not claimed by the buccaneers' victims would be sold at public auction.

  While they were making the rounds of the ship, a messenger arrived with word that the governor, Sir Henry Fieldham, wanted to see Captain Wade at once. Ethan was surprised and pleased to see that the Governor's own gilded carriage stood in the dirt road of the shipyard, and accompanied by the messenger he rode in state to the Governor's Mansion.

  Sir Henry was waiting for him inside the entrance to the gold and white drawing room, and he had dressed in full uniform for the occasion. His broad smile was as genuine as the gold of his sparkling epaulets, and he barely gave Ethan a chance to salute. "His Majesty's felicitations, Captain," he said, shaking Ethan's hand vigorously. "And my own thanks in the name of every man and woman in New York Town, not to mention those whose property you've recovered."

  "Thank you, sir." It occurred to Ethan that last night's victory would bring its own blessings—the Governor would surely approve his promotion to the rank of major and would send it to the War Office in London, as soon as he received the papers from Colonel Adkins, who had to make the initial recommendation.

  "Come in and sit down." Fieldham led the way to a divan covered in white damask. "I want to hear your own account of what happened, partly because I have an old man's curiosity over deeds of valor and partly because I'll need to send a long report to London. Will you take a glass of wine?"

  "No, thank you," Ethan said, grinning. "It's a little early in the day. Your Excellency."

  "Nonsense!" Sir Henry filled two crystal glasses from a heavy cut-glass decanter. "It isn't often that I have this good an excuse to celebrate and still avoid a lecture from Lady Fieldham. Now, tell me how you captured those villains and their ship."

  Ethan told his story carefully, discovering that he was more at ease in action than he was with words. He gave full credit to his officers and men, to Hendrik van der Puylen and Jacques Gomez for the parts they had played, and he modestly mentioned his own role only when it was necessary. The Governor listened intently, interrupting occasionally to make an observation or to ask a question.

  When Ethan finished, Sir Henry said, "Splendid!" and then crossed the room to a small, kidney-shaped desk. "What's your opinion of this Gomez person, Captain?"

  "Well, sir, I know he saved my life, so I guess I'm prejudiced in his favor. I haven't checked on his tale, of course, but there was sure nothing in his conduct that would lead me to believe he was one of the freebooters. Just the opposite."

  "Your opinion corroborates my own." The Governor picked up a sheaf of documents and leafed through them. "These all seem to be genuine, and Gomez carried several letters of introduction to a number of our leading citizens, your own uncle among them. The letters were signed by Marinus Boline, no less, and I've already received five of our most prominent merchants this morning, all of them swearing that Boline's signature is genuine. So in my view the papers definitely establish Master Gomez as a factor or commercial representative of Boline."

  Ethan whistled under his breath—it was inconceivable that anyone associated with the fabulous Marinus Boline could be a criminal. Virtually everyone in the New World had heard of Boline, who was said to own practically every business house in the city of St. Pierre and who allegedly controlled a majority of Martinique's plantations as well. Certainly his name was frequently mentioned in the Wade household, and Ethan knew that his uncle had been trying for several years to set up a relationship through which he could buy his molasses from Boline, whose product was the best and whose prices were the lowest in the West Indies.

  Sir Henry, who had been watching his young guest closely, smiled broadly. "I can see that your thoughts are the same as mine. Every merchant in New York will beat a path to Master Gomez' door—as soon as I release him from jail and he takes a suite at the King's Tavern."

  "You're going to set him free, then. Your Excellency?"

  "If I don't, I believe that every man of substance in the colony will sign a petition to the Lord Chancellor asking for my recall." The Governor picked up a folded and sealed sheet of parchment and extended it across the desk.

  "I've already signed the order setting our distinguished guest free. As a general rule I prefer to allow the commissions of inquiry to make their own decisions, but this is a special case. And there's no question in my mind that the commission I set up to hang the buccaneers will ratify my move."

  "I see, sir." Ethan stared at the parchment, not sure why it was being offered to him.

  "Captain Wade, I thought it would be fitting if you would be good enough to take this release order to Warden Johnson yourself."

  "I'd be very pleased, sir!" Ethan accepted the parchment and slid it beneath his belt. "I told Gomez I'd help him, and I'm glad I can keep my word to him."

  "You've done a great deal for all of us, as I have already written to London in my preliminary report," Sir Henry said, and paid him the honor of accompanying him to the door.

  Ethan paid his final respects quickly, then walked with long strides toward the jail on Wall Street. Nearly everyone who saw him greeted him, but he replied absently, his head in the clouds. His promotion was assured now, and if Colonel Adkins continued to block the advancement, Ethan thought he could go straight to the Governor. His feeling was more than one of elation, however, for mixed in with his high hopes was a strain of regret. He would keep his promise to Prudence and would enter the family business as soon as he was made a major. He knew he would be taking a sensible step, but he was accustomed to facing facts squarely, and he had to admit that he would find rum, merchant ships and molasses very dull after army life.

  He swung into Wall Street, and was soon at the city prison.

  "You no longer have a prisoner, Johns
on," Ethan said handing the warden the parchment. "I'm sure you'll find that's in order."

  The Warden broke the seal, scanned the document quickly and grinned when he saw Sir Henry's signature. "Well!" he said. "Well! I'll bid good day to you, gentleman.

  And you, sir," he added to Gomez, "if you'll send word to me later where you can be found, I'll have whatever of your belongings you've left behind sent on to you. They'll be sent without delay, you may depend on it."

  "Captain Wade," Gomez said formally, as though they were standing together in a drawing room instead of in the town jail, "would you do me the honor of having dinner with me? You make it exceedingly difficult for me to express my gratitude adequately, as you've done so much for me this morning. But I would be very happy if you would give me an opportunity to try."

  "A man who wears his country's uniform expects no thanks and wants none. Master Gomez," Ethan replied in embarrassment. "But there's nothing I'd like better than to dine with you."

  "Excellent, sir!" Gomez' broad smile was genuine, and as they started down the street he tried to match his steps to his companion's longer ones.

  Realizing the animosity which townsmen felt toward a released prisoner, Ethan suggested that they dine at a place where they wouldn't be conspicuous.

  "You're very wise. Captain," Gomez agreed.

  "I must warn you that the tavern I propose is somewhat less than fashionable." Ethan led the way up a narrow lane toward Vantie's, where he knew they would not be molested. Under other circumstances he would have selected one of the town's more attractive inns, but Gomez would see them later in his visit to New York. "The food is good and the wine isn't bad, but the atmosphere is—well, unusual."

  "So much the better," the West Indian said politely. "In Martinique we specialize in the bizarre, so I'm sure I shall feel at home."

  He was surprised, nevertheless, when they arrived at a rambling, barnlike structure, the broad double doors of which stood open. The interior was a typical blacksmith shop, and Gomez raised his eyebrows. At the far end of the dirt floor was a stone hearth, heaped with charcoal, a young apprentice tending the bellows. A score of old iron hoops which had been removed from the rims of carriage wheels stood against one wall, and opposite them was a pile of rusty and broken horseshoes. A heavy anvil set on a stone block dominated the bam, near it a large, water-filled barrel. The blacksmith himself was so big that he seemed to fill the place, and when he rushed forward to greet Ethan, who was of more than average height, he towered a whole head above him.

  "Why didn't you take me with you last night?" Adam Vantie demanded in a deep bass as he threw his arms around Ethan. "You know there's nothing I like as much as a good fight!"

  Ethan laughed and introduced his companion. Vantie did his new guest the almost unprecedented honor of wiping his palms on his leather apron before shaking hands. Then, without further ceremony, he jerked a thumb toward the hearth. "You know the way, Ethan. I'll join you for a little when I've finished out here. I want to hear how you did the rascals in."

  Behind the hearth was a narrow door, and beyond it was a small, oak-timbered room containing half a dozen tables. It was broad daylight outside, but there was no natural light here, and candles stuck into the tops of bottles provided the only illumination. But the air was redolent of roasted meat and of strong wine, and the odors of the smithy did not permeate into this inner chamber. Two of the tables were already occupied, one by three of Ethan's militiaman.

  As soon as Ethan and Gomez had settled in their chairs Bess Vantie, the smith's wife, entered from the kitchen beyond. A neat, plump woman with gray hair, she wore a modest dress of black silk, with a black velvet ribbon around her throat. "Isn't this nice!" she declared, beaming. "Of all the taverns in town, you've come to us. Oh, this will help our trade, Captain Wade. It surely will!"

  Again Ethan performed the necessary introductions, treating Bess with grave courtesy, and Gomez was equal to the occasion, for he immediately rose and kissed her hand. "I have dined in many inns in my travels, madam," he assured her, "but never have I seen one like this!"

  "There's even more to my place than you think," she replied, studying him carefully. "Maybe you'd like to see the rest of the house." She nodded in the direction of a rickety flight of stairs.

  "We've come for dinner, Bess," Ethan interjected firmly. "And we're hungry. Master Gomez, I recommend the beef or the roast goose."

  "We'll have both, I think," the West Indian said. "And a jar of your best wine, madam."

  The authority in his tone made a distinct impression on Bess, who dropped him a curtsy, much to the amazement of the other patrons. She hurried out, and the sound of her voice could be heard in the kitchen. Ethan and Gomez had no sooner made themselves comfortable than a barmaid, who obviously served in other capacities as well, brought them their wine and two mugs. Her hair was powdered to resemble that of a lady, but there the similarity ended, for her gown of sleazy pink revealed more than it concealed of her overripe figure, and her skirt was daringly looped up in front to show an expanse of frilled black satin petticoat.

  Gomez took in her appearance in a single glance, and thereafter he studiously ignored her. It had been Ethan's experience that pseudo-gentlemen often revealed their true character when they were thrown into contact with trollops, but Gomez gave every evidence that he was the solid and respectable person that his credentials indicated. The girl loitered near the table for a few moments, but when neither paid any attention to her she flounced off, muttering under her breath. And Gomez, who had poured some wine into the mugs, proposed a toast.

  "To our friendship, Captain Wade! Long may it flourish I And may I have the chance to repay you some day!"

  "The scales are already balanced," Ethan protested. "You saved me on the frigate, you know!"

  "That was nothing, sir. I was settling a score of my own. And there is something I can do for you, I think. A man can assure himself of a tidy profit in my city of St. Pierre when he has the right business connections, and—" He stopped speaking when he saw that Ethan's attention had been diverted elsewhere, and he followed the direction of the younger man's gaze.

  Someone had just entered the taproom, and paused just inside the entrance. A haughty man with a ruddy complexion, he wore the silver epaulets of a colonel on his scarlet uniform. Ethan rose at once and saluted. Ordinarily an officer was not required to salute a superior indoors in a public place, but Colonel Russell Adkins had his own ideas of what constituted respect from his subordinates. For a long moment he continued to stand very still, then he advanced into the room, the color rising in his face. Behind him was Adam Vantie, whose polite host's smile could not hide his worry.

  The Colonel straightened his tricorn hat as he drew closer, and it was plain that he was angry. Ethan hoped there would be no scene in the presence of the gawking militiamen, and he wondered whether the Colonel had noticed that they were here. When he was really annoyed he didn't care who heard him, and some of his tantrums at the Battery had created a sharp decrease in respect for him on the part of the troops.

  "Good day, sir," Ethan said, forcing a smile.

  "What are you doing here. Wade? Why aren't you on duty at your post?" There was a shrill note in the Colonel's voice.

  "A soldier is entitled to his dinner, sir." Ethan spoke softly and calmly.

  "And the garrison—they've all gone off somewhere to dinner, too, I suppose. Wade, I was shocked when I returned from New Haven a short time ago and found the Battery deserted. Never in all my years in the King's service have I encountered such dereliction! Why, it took me over half an hour just to locate you, and it was only by good fortune that several citizens happened to see you coming to this—this place and directed me here. You neglected even to leave word with the one man still on duty as to your whereabouts!"

  Ethan bit back the retort that would have been so easy to utter; technically he was in the wrong for having disobeyed a standing order, so he would have to try to make the Colonel se
e reason. "Sir," he said, keeping his voice down, "you didn't see the men last night or this morning. As you've probably heard, they won a very considerable victory over the freebooters, and they wanted to celebrate today. Neither you nor I nor anyone else in New York could have stopped them, so I thought it was better to give them the time rather than let them snatch it on their own authority." A discussion such as this should have taken place in private, but as the Colonel was giving him no choice he had to defend himself here and now. "You forget, sir, that militiamen are not the same as—"

  "I've heard all of your arguments before, and they impress me even less than they have previously. You are presumably an officer. Wade. You hold the King's commission. You are therefore responsible to me." Adkins glanced fleetingly at Jacques Gomez, and when he saw that the man was someone he did not know he again directed his full attention to Ethan. "You know my orders, but you deliberately choose to ignore them. Simply because the whole town is singing your praises, you feel free to desert your post and let your men do as they please. A hero who captures a freebooter is no longer subject to superior authority, it would seem."

  "No, sir." Ethan understood the Colonel's fury all too well. Adkins had always been jealous of him, and last night's triumph, in which he shared none of the glory, was too much for him. He would be unable to mention his own role in the report he would send to London, for he had played none; and even worse, his name would not appear in the dispatches that Sir Henry Fieldham would send to the attention of the Lord Chancellor. An alert colonel who had conceived and executed a plan for the capture of a buccaneer would have given himself a boost on the ladder that led to a brigadier general's gold half-epaulet, but one who had taken no part in the only significant military operation in the colonies since the war's end was doomed to oblivion.