Free Strange Yesterday by Howard Fast Page A

arm. Expertly he steered, the sea catching hold of the boat, lifting it first, and then dropping it into the hollow of each succeeding swell. Silent, she sat beside him upon the stern seat.
    It seemed that hours had gone past before they overhauled the Angel , past the Narrows, with all sail set. The West End barely discernible through the night, they took the boat aboard, beating in a circle towards Sandy Hook. In all that time, the pursuit, if there had been one, had never gained enough to be heard. Sandy Hook blurred further, and then fell away as they wore out to sea. The open east was before them.
    The woman was taken below to a cabin that had been prepared for her; the boat was lashed to the davits; and with a broad, rippling spread of canvas, the brig Angel stood to sea. John Preswick walked to the poop-deck and remained there for a while, leaning against the rail. Near to him, a seaman pressed against the wheel; above the sails whispered; the shrouds hummed to the breeze.
    The night was dark and just a bit moist; with a soft, wavering swish, the yellow-green water curled away from the prow.
    Then he was called below to Mr. Cortlandt’s cabin. Mr. Lennox was there, and Mr. Mitchell, and the captain. There was rum on the table, and a bottle of chartreuse, and a pot of tea. There was also a chest full of gold, jewels, and paper money. Abruptly, it brought back the century past, when British and American vessels preyed cheerfully and openly upon the Spanish Main; but there was something else about it that prompted him to laugh, why, he knew not. Somehow, it all seemed ridiculous—no, not ridiculous, but whimsical; and he recalled the face of the girl when she had called him a child. But why must he always think of her as a girl, when she was so palpably a woman, as old, perhaps, as he was.
    They motioned him to the table, and he sat down. Mr. Lennox smiled broadly and contentedly, saying to Mr. Cortlandt: “You have not disappointed me. He is such a man as you said.”
    â€œI usually judge my men right. A splendid night, Mr. Ridge.”
    â€œThank you.” This was all very well, thought John Preswick, but why could he not forget the face of the girl? Damn all Jewesses, with their black eyes!
    â€œWe are making for Lisbon,” Mr. Cortlandt went on. “Mr. Lennox has suggested that you see to the comfort of Miss Preswick. She will be given all possible courtesy and freedom.”
    Apropos of nothing, Mr. Lennox remarked: “They were fools. They should not have had either gold or money in the house; but they were women.”
    Mr. Mitchell laughed.
    â€œIf you will excuse me,” John Preswick said. “I have had a hard evening.”
    They nodded profusely, and he left the cabin and went up on deck taking in the cool air in great gulps. The girl stood just beneath the poop, her dark gown blending in with the shadows, only her bare arms and her face distinguishable enough to startle him. He stepped back.
    She turned then, and she looked full at him, her eyes inscrutable wells. And he faced her, seeking for words. Feeling that she had an unfair advantage of him in every way, he was curiously at a loss.
    â€œHow did you come on deck?” he inquired.
    â€œThey did not lock me into my cabin. Evidently they were satisfied that I could not run off—now.”
    Coming a little closer, he fumbled awkwardly at the buttons of his waist-coat. He still wore the dapper clothes of earlier in the evening, but he was no longer at ease in them. “If you should want anything, I will take care of it. You need only ask for me—Mr. Ridge.”
    â€œI shan’t desire anything,” she said coldly.
    Hastily, he interposed: “But you needn’t fear me now. The other was a part of my trade—a matter of course.”
    She began to laugh; her laugh was a tangible ripple, but her face was ice. Then her face became sober and dark, and she looked at him from beneath her long,