Captain Crossbones. Donald Barr Chidsey

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      “And how can your excellency find such a man?”

      “I believe that I have found him.”

      “Eh?”

      “I regarded you in court. My niece has spoken for you, and I have faith in her judgment. Just now I saw you fight—”

      “He was very fast,” George muttered.

      “To my knowledge he has killed four men on the so-called field of honor. He’s rated as one of the finest swordsmen in Christiandom.”

      “I see. But . . . what’s all this to do with me?”

      “Only that, as I said, perhaps I have found my man.”

      “I’m honored,” George remarked dryly. “But I am also puzzled.” He pointed to the gallows. “Has your Excellency forgotten that within an hour or so I shall be dangling? A dead man can’t catch Charles Vane.”

      “You could escape, couldn’t you? Come here—” He limped to the other side of the room, the other window—“Suppose I went below—to the jakes, say? Couldn’t such a man as yourself, left alone here, climb down the side of this tower? A lot of cement’s been knocked out from between the stones. That makes toeholds and handholds. An active body should be able to reach the wall, and run along it a little way to where it’s been knocked down. After that he’d only have to slide on his bum through a heap of rubble. Oh, some sentry might shoot! But the sentries ain’t very observant just before dawn, and they’re damnably bad shots anyway.”

      “But still—how could I learn all about Charles Vane?”

      “By becoming a pirate. You were caught up in a pirate band when you didn’t want to be, you say, so why should it be hard when you do? Truth is, you’d be a hero to them . . . now.”

      “These are strange words from a royal governor.”

      “This is a strange place.”

      George stared again at Nassau Bay, so serene, assured. He saw sand, palm trees. The magic prevailed, but there was an uneasiness about it now.

      “And if I was to bring you a good report—”

      “Then I’d recommend your pardon.”

      “You’d trust me?”

      Woodes Rogers looked at him for a long while.

      “Yes,” he said at last, “I would.”

      “And if I refuse?”

      “If you refuse,” said Woodes Rogers, “I’ll hang you.”

      “Even though you believe my story, as I think you do?”

      “I would infallibly hang you.”

      Bemused, George leaned out of the window and looked down the side of the tower. He saw the cracks. He believed that the thing was possible, though speed would be needed, for already the east was pale.

      “That’s against the law, of course.”

      “It is,” the governor agreed. “So many things are against the law, out here. But there would be nobody to punish for having permitted such an escape—nobody but the governor himself, which is unthinkable.”

      “Yes.” George grinned a little. “All right,” he said.

      “Good!”

      They shook hands.

      “You’ll need money. Here’s a purse. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I shall go down to the necessary-room.”

      “Yes, your Excellency. But . . . one thing more. What if I should fail? What if I should be caught and hailed before your court?”

      The governor nodded toward the gallows.

      “That,” he replied.

      “I see,” said George Rounsivel. “Thank you, sir.”

      CHAPTER III

      MOONLIGHT can be deceptive. Those cracks proved not nearly as deep as they had seemed, and the wall of the pineapple-shaped tower turned out to be much steeper than it had showed from above.

      Given time, George was sure he’d make it, but already the wall whitened, and soon he would be visible for miles.

      He moved as quickly as he dared, making every split-second count. Dreading dizziness, he would not let himself look down. If he fell he would land upon the ramparts, which this tower abutted. That was his immediate aim anyway. If then he toppled over to the ground—which was rock-strewn—he might crack his skull. Even if he managed to stay on the wall he could fear a turned ankle. They’d hang him all the same. One leg less to kick with, was his thought.

      A sentry passed below, stumbling as though in weariness. George froze. The sentry did not look up.

      Precious though the moments were, George made himself stay motionless a little longer against the fear that the sentry would return. The way he had gone, to George’s right, was a place on the wall where Spanish cannons had opened a breach. This breach was backed from the inside by spike-topped logs, a palisade intended only to be temporary, a stopgap. It was here that, as Governor Rogers had said, an agile man need only to slide to the safety of the ground outside, for the rubble had not yet been cleared away. A few planks had been thrown across this gap. George, breathless above, had not heard the sentry cross those planks; he paused. After a while, however, he started down again.

      His hands were wet with sweat, making his grip unsure. He had taken off his shoes and left them in the governor’s chamber, just below the window, for he believed that he could climb down better in his stockinged feet. But the stone was spikey and cut his toes, which began to bleed. The pain was not great, but he was in an agony of suspense lest a foot slip.

      He calculated that he was about two-thirds of the way down to the ramparts when the alarm was sounded.

      It came from an unexpected quarter. George’s fear had been centered below. It was from above that he was challenged.

      He heard the door of the governor’s room opened, and heard a step. It was not the walk of Woodes Rogers, for there was no limp in it.

      The window was agape, and George’s shoes just below the sill could be seen by anybody in that room.

      George looked up just as Thomas Robinson leaned out.

      Robinson’s face was shadowed, but there could be no mistaking that periwig or the magnificent spread of rose-point at the throat.

      The two faces were twelve or thirteen feet apart, George’s being bathed in moonlight.

      “Stab me, the dog’s . . . The guard! Ho, the guard!”

      Robinson’s head and shoulders vanished.

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