Starved as the crew was for the sight and feel of land, no one was allowed to go ashore save the watering party, now busy with their casks and sledges up Pigeon Creek, at whose foot we were anchored. One of the marines stood at the head of the gangway, blocking any attempt at leaving.
Such members of the crew as were not involved in watering or on watch stood by the rail, talking and joking or merely gazing at the island, the dream of hope fulfilled. Some way down the deck, I caught sight of a long, blond tail of hair, flying in the shore breeze. The Governor too had emerged from seclusion, pale face upturned to the tropic sun.
I would have gone to speak to him, but there was no time. Annekje had already gone below for the goat. I wiped my hands on my skirt, making my final estimations. It was no more than two hundred yards to the thick growth of palms and underbrush. If I could get down the gangway and into the jungle, I thought I had a good chance of getting away.
Anxious as he was to be on his way to Jamaica, Captain Leonard was unlikely to waste much time in trying to catch me. And if they did catch me—well, the Captain could hardly punish me for trying to leave the ship; I was neither a seaman nor a formal captive, after all.
The sun shone on Annekje’s blond head as she made her way carefully up the ladder, a young goat cozily nestled against her wide bosom. A quick glance, to see that I was in place, and she headed for the gangway.
Annekje spoke to the sentry in her queer mixture of English and Swedish, pointing to the goat and then ashore, insisting that it must have fresh grass. The marine appeared to understand her, but stood firm.
“No, ma’am,” he said, respectfully enough, “no one is to go ashore save the watering party; captain’s orders.”
Standing just out of sight, I watched as she went on arguing, thrusting her goatling urgently in his face, forcing him a step back, a step to the side, maneuvering him artfully just far enough that I could slip past behind him. No more than a moment, now; he was almost in place. When she had drawn him away from the head of the gangplank, she would drop the goat and cause sufficient confusion in the catching of it that I would have a minute or two to make my escape.
I shifted nervously from foot to foot. My feet were bare; it would be easier to run on the sandy beach. The sentry moved, his red-coated back fully turned to me. A foot more, I thought, just a foot more.
“Such a fine day, is it not, Mrs. Malcolm?”
I bit my tongue.
“Very fine, Captain Leonard,” I said, with some difficulty. My heart seemed to have stopped dead when he spoke. It now resumed beating much faster than usual, to make up for lost time.
The Captain stepped up beside me and looked over the rail, his young face shining with Columbus’s joy. Despite my strong desire to push him overboard, I felt myself smile grudgingly at the sight of him.
“This landfall is as much your victory as mine, Mrs. Malcolm,” he said. “Without you, I doubt we should ever have brought the
“I’m sure you would have managed, Captain,” I said. “You seem to be a most competent sailor.”
He laughed, and blushed. He had shaved in honor of the land, and his smooth cheeks glowed pink and raw.
“Well, it is mostly the hands, ma’am; I may say they have done nobly. And their efforts, of course, are due in turn to your skill as a physician.” He looked at me, brown eyes shining earnestly.
“Indeed, Mrs. Malcolm—I cannot say what your skill and kindness have meant to us. I—I mean to say so, too, to the Governor and to Sir Greville—you know, the King’s Commissioner on Antigua. I shall write a letter, a most sincere testimonial to you and to your efforts on our behalf. Perhaps—perhaps it will help.” He dropped his eyes.
“Help with what, Captain?” My heart was still beating fast.
Captain Leonard bit his lip, then looked up.
“I had not meant to say anything to you, ma’am. But I—really I cannot in honor keep silence. Mrs. Fraser, I know your name, and I know what your husband is.”
“Really?” I said, trying to keep control of my own emotions. “What is he?”
The boy looked surprised at that. “Why, ma’am, he is a criminal.” He paled a little. “You mean—you did not know?”
“Yes, I knew that,” I said dryly. “Why are you telling me, though?”
He licked his lips, but met my eyes bravely enough. “When I discovered your husband’s identity, I wrote it in the ship’s log. I regret that action now, but it is too late; the information is official. Once I reach Jamaica, I must report his name and destination to the authorities there, and likewise to the commander at the naval barracks on Antigua. He will be taken when the
“He’ll be hanged,” I said, finishing what he could not. The boy nodded, wordless. His mouth opened and closed, seeking words.
