Yankee Privateer by Andre Norton

Author:Andre Norton [Norton, Andre]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

10

Crofts Uses a Needle

"My lord," wrote Captain Whipple back,

"It seems to me it's clear

That if you want to hang him

You must catch your privateer"

—THE YANKEE PRIVATEER

The file of redcoats who had marched the Captain in were passing back through the gate again as Fitz came running down the yard, unmindful of slippery pavement and the pools of dark water he splashed through. Between the collar of his boat cloak and the cocked brim of his hat, Crofts' face was a pale blur, but, at the sight of Fitz, the Captain moved quickly forward, his hands out in greeting.

"How are you, sir? Where have they been keeping you?" Fitz found himself babbling.

"Come in, come in, out of the wet—both of you!" called a voice from the doorway. "Mr. Lyon, bring the Captain up to my room."

Henderson and Neagle stood there, and it was the schoolmaster who had given the order. So Fitz escorted his commander up to the schoolroom of the Old Mill. Once inside, Crofts dropped his sodden cloak across the bench and sent his hat sailing after it. There were two sharply cut lines by his mouth, and his lips were set thinly and tightly together. He stood for a moment blowing on his chilled fingers, as if he were at a loss how to begin.

"Where have you been, sir?" Fitz could not help asking a second time.

Crofts jerked at his grubby stock and accepted, with a bow of thanks, the noggin his host offered him.

"Mostly on board Sir Henry Powell's frigate. He's a prodigious talker, is Sir Henry." Crofts tasted his potion, and then with raised eyebrows he bowed again to Henderson in acknowledgment of a greater treat than he had expected. "Questions, questions," the Captain shook his head. "One might believe the poor man thought I had full intelligence of all the privateering to be done in the Channel for the next six months! Such a bustle of inquiry as I have never been plagued with before—not even from the honorable naval commissioners—and they are wordy men at their best."

"How many of our men are here?" He turned to Fitz abruptly with a question of his own.

"Twelve, sir. I'm the only officer. I don't know what has become of Dr. Watts and the badly wounded—“

"They are temporarily lodged at the naval hospital," Crofts answered. "Watts, as a noncombatant, may be released soon. Twelve, eh?" He finished his drink. "Only twelve." He stared at the wall, not as if he saw the gray blocks at all. "Only twelve," he repeated dully. "It did not take them long to whittle us down to their fancy."

Fitz picked up the Captain's cloak and spread it over the bench to dry. He felt a sudden reluctance to face Crofts at that moment, and he jumped when the other demanded harshly:

"What of that knock on your head, Lyon?"

Involuntarily his hand went up to the soiled bandage which still crowned him. "Nothing bad, sir. I had me an almighty ache for a while, but the worst is over.

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