Last Pages. Oscar Mandel

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СКАЧАТЬ a heap of bad feeling on the island, Judge,” he said, “like a wind, speak East, speak West, a cold wicked wind. But I don’t meddle none in white man’s business. I don’t sit down into no committees.”

      “Committees, eh? I assure you I know all about their rebel committees.”

      “They know all about you that you know all about them,” replied Mamack with a grin. “They say you and Mr. Applegate hush hush at night, in the dark, only one candle, you write names with ink in a book.”

      “Rubbish!”

      “But maybe they write names too, eh?”

      “Let them!” The military note was coming closer. “We have ways,” he added, “of slapping their writing hands. As for you—”

      “I better fix that window. Big storm step out of sky any day.”

      “Not yet! Tell me, have these patriotic gentlemen tried to keep you from mending it?”

      “They call a small meeting about it, sir.”

      “A meeting! A meeting about my window!”

      “Small meeting, Judge. A bowl of cider and a pipe in Swain’s tap room. I said to them, I said, ‘Gentlemen, who am I? Josh Mamack, Pokanoket tribe, honest worker, no rum hardly ever, I must mend the Judge’s window, not decent to keep the Judge in draft.’ And they said, ‘Go, friend, go in peace.’”

      “So now it’s the rebel committee that runs Nantucket! The magistrates and the selectmen no longer count. Tell me, Mr. Mamack, while you gentlemen were guzzling cider and puffing on your pipes, was not the vandal’s name mentioned by chance?”

      “Who?”

      “The window breaker’s name!”

      “The window breaker? O Lord—I don’t know—”

      Weamish, who had been standing, now sat down behind the desk and spoke with the voice of a judge addressing a sheep-stealer. “Mr. Mamack,” he said, “I am the chief magistrate of this county.”

      “I know, sir. We’re mighty proud of you.”

      “I order you to speak. Who broke that window? One of the Coffins? Young Macy? Coleman? Hussey’s children?”

      “How would I know? How would anybody know? But I have an idea, Judge.”

      “Aha!”

      “Because as I said it’s near the window what break when you was stamp distributor.”

      “What of it?”

      “I better fix that window. I talk too much.”

      That the Indian was hugely though slyly enjoying himself escaped the good judge, who now slammed the desk and knocked over a small British flag set in a silver base.

      “Don’t go near that window! Finish what you were about to say!”

      “Yes, sir. I figure the moment I come in, I says to myself, by cod, Mamack, it must be the same Spirit which done it in sixty-six. Spirit, he smashed like he was trying to tell you, ‘Watch out, Judge Weamish, the people don’t have forgotten!’”

      Mamack uttered these words in his best sepulchral tone.

      “Spirit be damned!” Weamish now trembled and blustered at the same time. “Rogues and rascals! They will not forgive a man for carrying out British law.”

      By this time a squad of Redcoats was nearing the house, and Weamish took comfort in the drum’s rat-tat-tat.

      “Thank God for Sergeant Cuff!” he said. “Thirty-odd Redcoats will suffice to curb these Sons of Liberty.”

      “We don’t see so many soldiers since the French War,” said Mamack, who now brought out his most innocent tone. “How long they purposing to stay, Judge?”

      But this time he was disappointed. “Forever, damn it!” Weamish replied. “Go mend that window!”

      “Yes, Judge,” and he began to work, while Weamish went to another window, and opened it to wave at the Redcoats in the street below. There were ten of them, led by Sergeant Cuff himself, a tough-jawed man in his fifties, carrying a sword hanging from his shoulder and a pistol wedged into his belt. He had halted his men just beneath the window. It was evidently the Sergeant’s wish to greet the Judge.

      “Proud looking lads!” shouted the Judge down into the street. Mamack also peered out the broken window.

      The street was wide enough to allow for a little complimentary drill with musket and bayonet, to the sound of drum and fife, honoring the Judge, whom the Sergeant saluted by taking off his cocked hat and waving his sword, while shouting commands. A horse-drawn cart rumbling by, driven by a pair of disapproving Quakers, gave the soldiers a squeeze, but Weamish waved, Cuff saluted, and Mamack thought he would try again when drill and drum were over and the detachment marched away.

      “What’s your opinion, Judge? They going to hold down the harbor? Put a few fellows in jail? Take our ships away from us?”

      “We’ll see,” said Weamish smugly, and he could not help adding (because one does sometimes boast even to an underling), “Sergeant Cuff has orders from Colonel Montague at Boston to make no move without my consent.”

      Mamack let out a whistle. “One day, Spirit tell me and tell me sure, one day you going to be Royal Duke in London. Mark Mamack’s words, your mummy, she be the proudest lady from here to Boston.”

      Weamish inspected Mamack’s work. “I see you’re almost done. Good.”

      Now, catching sight of a gentleman on horseback trotting down Main Street at leisure, he opened the intact window again and called out.

      “Mr. Applegate, do dismount and pay me a visit. There’s a cup of chocolate for you if you don’t mind finding me in my morning négligé.”

      John Applegate, a wealthy Tory landowner from Concord, was on the island for what he hopefully called a “short visit” with his relatives the Rotch family, his property, perhaps his life, having been threatened at home by the Rebels. His wife (they had no children) had remained in timorous charge at Concord.

      Looking up from his saddle, he replied to the Judge’s invitation, “Thank you, my friend, but I’ve no wish to intrude on preparations for your elegant visitors.”

      “What elegant visitors, Mr. Applegate? This is Joshua Mamack, a common laborer.”

      “Mamack indeed!” cried Applegate with a laugh. “I mean the two ladies who came ashore from the New York packet this morning.”

      “I know nothing about it! Two ladies? I beg you, sir, do come up for a moment and explain.”

      “I will,” replied Applegate, dismounting and tying up his horse. Jenny had already opened the door, and he climbed the stairs into the library.

      “Sit down, sir, sit down; two ladies? I’m dumbfounded.”

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