up his life on any land so that I would not die.”
Captain Willis left his place behind the brass rail and approached his
prisoner. Even then Washington did not feel any fear. “Do you know how long you have prowled His Majesty’s ship?” he demanded.
“I have not prowled. I am not able to prowl.”
He came closer. Washington smelled drink on him. Strong drink. “How has your face appeared outside my window?”
“Your window?”
“That look of ignorance is very well practiced, Mr. Washington. But we both know you are no cripple. Raise him from the chair,” he commanded two men. They obeyed.
“Now, stand away.”
The surgeon rose. “But, Captain—”
“Away from him, I said!”
When they released him, Washington stood on his healthy leg as long as he’d ever remembered. It was long enough even to feel the hot air sift though the weave of his worn duck trousers, and to turn his wish to dance into a need. Now, without Fayette’s arms supporting him, it was a need that pressed at his core, even as his good leg buckled.
The surgeon pulled Fayette’s coat from his back drenched in sweat. No coat, no chair. Washington shivered without his amulets.
“I’m so thirsty,” he whispered.
The surgeon nodded. “Captain,” he called out, “this man is incapable of being a threat to you, or to anyone. Look.”
He cut the trouser leg. Washington felt the silence weigh on him. He closed his eyes as he felt the stares. Just above his leg irons, the stitches began carving a drunken path up his shortened, misshapen leg, stopping at the scarred knee. The sight even stunned the captain to silence. For a moment.
“It was the Frenchman!” he bellowed. “You can crawl, powder monkey. He put you out there nightly, he brought you to my window!”
“He never did.”
“You are under oath, Henry Washington.”
“He never did,” he repeated, louder.
“How did you get there after that damned Frenchman became food for the sharks? Who assisted you? Was it Collins? He will stand on the gallows beside you!”
“It was no one, so help—how is it said?—so help me, God.” He glanced up at the chaplain. “Is that what these words are? A prayer?”
“Be still,” the small man urged nervously, but Washington couldn’t stop. Illuminate. They were all listening. Remember. “I saw a fine room once,” his dry voice croaked out now. “Tapestries on the walls. Is that what I was seeing? But you were not there, Captain. It was only a dream,
wasn’t it? Fayette? Judith? Quel dommage, the dreams are the best I can do at remembering.”
First Lieutenant Mitchell stepped forward. “Captain, I beg you to recess the court. The prisoner is not well.”
Captain Willis’s wild eyes underwent a sea change. He smiled benignly. “Nonsense. The accused recites American states like a schoolboy. He’s in perfect health, and capable of treason. For which I find him guilty, and sentence him to hang, at first light, as soon as we are in sight of the beloved country he knows so well.”
“Sir, may I remind you that the evidence is circumstantial at best and points not to this man at all, but to the one already dead?”
“You may indeed, Lieutenant.” Captain Willis turned and called out over the assemblage, “The trial has concluded.”
“C ease. No more,” Washington whispered.
“Don’t be such a coward, man! Heat exhaustion requires strong countermeasures! You should be grateful that the captain has relieved the surgeon and put me in sole charge of your health. There. It’s done now. Raise your arm.”
Thrumming stuffed lint into the wound, then handed the bowl of blood to Collins. “Here,” he said. “Overboard.”
Washington took the officer’s sleeve. “Tell the sharks it’s but to appetize,” he whispered. “Main course at first light.” Collins didn’t laugh. Had he forgotten how to tell a joke? Washington wondered, disappointed. Or was Collins angry with him about the welts on his back?
Captain Willis left his place behind the brass rail and approached his
prisoner. Even then Washington did not feel any fear. “Do you know how long you have prowled His Majesty’s ship?” he demanded.
“I have not prowled. I am not able to prowl.”
He came closer. Washington smelled drink on him. Strong drink. “How has your face appeared outside my window?”
“Your window?”
“That look of ignorance is very well practiced, Mr. Washington. But we both know you are no cripple. Raise him from the chair,” he commanded two men. They obeyed.
“Now, stand away.”
The surgeon rose. “But, Captain—”
“Away from him, I said!”
When they released him, Washington stood on his healthy leg as long as he’d ever remembered. It was long enough even to feel the hot air sift though the weave of his worn duck trousers, and to turn his wish to dance into a need. Now, without Fayette’s arms supporting him, it was a need that pressed at his core, even as his good leg buckled.
The surgeon pulled Fayette’s coat from his back drenched in sweat. No coat, no chair. Washington shivered without his amulets.
“I’m so thirsty,” he whispered.
The surgeon nodded. “Captain,” he called out, “this man is incapable of being a threat to you, or to anyone. Look.”
He cut the trouser leg. Washington felt the silence weigh on him. He closed his eyes as he felt the stares. Just above his leg irons, the stitches began carving a drunken path up his shortened, misshapen leg, stopping at the scarred knee. The sight even stunned the captain to silence. For a moment.
“It was the Frenchman!” he bellowed. “You can crawl, powder monkey. He put you out there nightly, he brought you to my window!”
“He never did.”
“You are under oath, Henry Washington.”
“He never did,” he repeated, louder.
“How did you get there after that damned Frenchman became food for the sharks? Who assisted you? Was it Collins? He will stand on the gallows beside you!”
“It was no one, so help—how is it said?—so help me, God.” He glanced up at the chaplain. “Is that what these words are? A prayer?”
“Be still,” the small man urged nervously, but Washington couldn’t stop. Illuminate. They were all listening. Remember. “I saw a fine room once,” his dry voice croaked out now. “Tapestries on the walls. Is that what I was seeing? But you were not there, Captain. It was only a dream,
wasn’t it? Fayette? Judith? Quel dommage, the dreams are the best I can do at remembering.”
First Lieutenant Mitchell stepped forward. “Captain, I beg you to recess the court. The prisoner is not well.”
Captain Willis’s wild eyes underwent a sea change. He smiled benignly. “Nonsense. The accused recites American states like a schoolboy. He’s in perfect health, and capable of treason. For which I find him guilty, and sentence him to hang, at first light, as soon as we are in sight of the beloved country he knows so well.”
“Sir, may I remind you that the evidence is circumstantial at best and points not to this man at all, but to the one already dead?”
“You may indeed, Lieutenant.” Captain Willis turned and called out over the assemblage, “The trial has concluded.”
“C ease. No more,” Washington whispered.
“Don’t be such a coward, man! Heat exhaustion requires strong countermeasures! You should be grateful that the captain has relieved the surgeon and put me in sole charge of your health. There. It’s done now. Raise your arm.”
Thrumming stuffed lint into the wound, then handed the bowl of blood to Collins. “Here,” he said. “Overboard.”
Washington took the officer’s sleeve. “Tell the sharks it’s but to appetize,” he whispered. “Main course at first light.” Collins didn’t laugh. Had he forgotten how to tell a joke? Washington wondered, disappointed. Or was Collins angry with him about the welts on his back?
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