None of the young men would admit how eerie they found Wethersfield in the dead of night. It was indeed the witching hour; not even the glimmer of a single candle was to be seen from any window. The thick mist that had settled over the town distorted what little light the thin and waning moon afforded, completing the haunted effect. As they waded ashore, the individuals that comprised this small group had never been quieter in each other's company.
"Well," Tom said softly, "I can't speak for you fellows, but I could use a little more light!"
His words seemed to break the spell, and their tension collapsed into stifled laughter.
"It's not All Hallows Eve without Jack-o-lanterns!" Gabe said.
"I know where there's a pumpkin patch," Caleb said excitedly, brandishing the small knife he always kept with him. "It's close to my sister's house. The owners won't miss a few."
"Who cares if they do?" Tom said, shrugging. "They'll think the spirits took them." The men chuckled in agreement at his remark, and he added, "Well, then, lead on!"
They headed toward the pumpkin patch, keeping quiet until they could unleash the full force of their mischief. On the way, Nat caught up with Caleb and spoke to him in a low tone.
"Do you happen to know where William Ashby would be building that new house?" he asked Caleb. For all the times Nat had been in Wethersfield, he was not sure where the Ashbys' unbroken property had lain. Until recently, only events that directly affected Hannah were the ones that interested him.
"More north-east," Caleb said, "the opposite direction of where we are going now."
"Perfect," Nat said, grinning. "We can give the good people of Wethersfield a little pageant as we go from one side of town to the other." He turned back to the rest of the group; half-whispering, half-calling, he said, "Come on, men. Let's make the most of it!"
As they came nearer to the pumpkin patch, Caleb grew bolder and more certain, except the brief moment when they passed his sister's house. Reaching the field, the men fell to the crop, gouging and carving the pumpkins with perhaps a little more gusto than was necessary. Finally, their hands sticky with orange viscera, every sailor had at least one pumpkin emptied, each whittled face more gruesome than the last.
Gabe had pocketed a few candles from the ship, anticipating the activity. Now, he lit them with the flame from their single lantern. Others gathered dried grass and sticks and built up a small fire inside the gourd, creating a particularly sinister effect. Looking around, Nat shivered involuntarily at the Jack-o-lanterns, and the otherworldly appearance the mist and firelight gave to his companions' faces. For the first time that evening, he felt a niggling uncertainty that, despite the flippant nature of their misbehavior, it would have drastic consequences. But if they werecaught, the sailors could be gone and back on the Dolphinbefore anyone knew who they were.
Taking a deep breath, Nat hoisted up his pumpkin. "Ready? Lead us again, Caleb—tonight all of Wethersfield will know that the spirits are at hand!"
Jack, a younger, normally quieter sailor, startled them all by being the first to burst into a raucous song as they tramped along the road with their vegetable torches. Laughing, Tom quickly followed suit, and then the rest of them joined in. Nat noticed several lights appearing in a few windows along the way, and knew they were waking up the entire community. He only laughed and sang louder. When the song ended, Nat was the one to introduce another, its lyrics far too vulgar for anything but a sailing ship.
In the middle of the song, Caleb suddenly stopped. "There!" he said, pointing, never slacking his pace. "There's the famous house, Nat."
Through the mist, Nat could just make it out, obviously one of the biggest houses in town. Though still unfinished, it was already an impressive structure—sturdy clapboard, a broad door, and, of course, sixteen empty window frames. Astonished, Nat stopped in his tracks, but when Gabe bumped into him, he resumed his stride. Beside him, Caleb gave a low whistle.
"What a house!" He lifted his Jack-o-lantern to try to see it a little better. "Quite a stylish one, that Mister Ashby."
"I think that the ghosts and witches around here would object to such wanton extravagance," Nat said, his voice raised so the others could hear him, "don't you?"
"Yes—we'd better keep them away!" Tom shouted in mock concern, though he never suppressed his smile. Forestalling Nat's idea, he ran up and set his Jack-o-lantern in one of the window frames. The others followed suit, laughing and lapsing in and out of song. The days and weeks cooped up on the ship had stored up all their energy; now that they were permitted to run and shout, there seemed no end to their gusto.
"That won't keep all the witches out!" Gabe said, pretending, like Tom, to be deeply concerned. "What about the one who's going to live here, eh?" He laughed, joined by those who remembered Kit only as the spoiled child who could float in water.
Nat forced himself to chuckle, though his heart wasn't in it.
"Would you come to live here," Tom asked, "if you saw these things welcoming you?"
"I wouldn't spit in a house like this," Gabe said, sneering. "Serves him right for putting on airs. Let that little brat have her comfort, and hope the roof comes crashing down on their wedding night!"
"Oh, bloody hell," Caleb said, his voice rising an octave. "The constable!"
His body going cold, his stomach plummeting, Nat turned and looked in the direction toward which Caleb was staring. Three stern-looking men were tramping resolutely through the mist, and Nat could see that at least one of them—if not all—had a musket. The jollity had vanished, and panic reigned.
"Get out of here!" Tom shouted, also spotting the newcomers. Gabe grabbed Nat's arm to pull him away. The constable and his assistants were faster than they seemed, and they caught Caleb first.
"Go on!" he shouted, but Nat stopped, shaking off Gabe's grip.
He faltered, torn between self-preservation and a sense of responsibility. He had started this game; it was his idea. Now Caleb was going to be punished for what five others had also done. His pulse racing, a part of his mind screamed at him—along with Gabe—to get away and save himself from a harsh reprimand. In an instant, he saw his father's expression if, in the morning, they were one crew member short.
"Tom and the others have already gone!" Gabe shouted. "Nat, let's go!"
But Nat's hesitation cost both of them their escape. At the last minute, they instinctively turned to flee; it was already too late. Nat struggled only a little against the constable when the man grabbed him, knowing it would be pointless. Drag their heels though they might, the fact remained that the constable and his men had several firearms, while Nat, Caleb, and Gabe were equipped with only a few small knives. When the last man snatched Gabe, however, the sailor lashed out in a fit of temper that suited his head of fiery red hair.
"Gabe, for heaven's sake, stop it!" Nat said. In spite of the situation, his friend's ferocity amused him.
"Be silent!" the constable barked, giving Nat a hearty shake as he bound him by the wrists.
Gabe continued to struggle. "Get away from me, you filthy—"
"Damn it, Gabe, shut up," Nat shouted, "or they'll shoot you!"
A small group had begun to gather at the edge of the Ashby property, one member being William himself. As the troublemakers were turned around and marched toward an unknown fate, Nat twisted his neck to get a good look at the young man. In the light of the Jack-o-lanterns, he saw on William's face such an unsightly expression of disgust and shattered pride, that it made the entire situation well worth it. For the rest of their march, Nat could not suppress his usual smile.
Gabe muttered several unintelligible obscenities under his breath as the men led the sailors toward the constable's shed. Caleb remained silent; when they passed his sister's house, he looked away as though she stood at the threshold. The entire time, the three law keepers admonished them fiercely for their behavior.
"Theft—vandalism—trespassing—disturbance—blasphemy!" the constable raged. "It's the stocks on Lecture Day for you boys, and the inside of my shed until then!"
"How dare you insult one of our most upstanding citizens," another spoke up. "You'll never be allowed into the boundaries of Wethersfield again."
"Vile criminals," the third muttered, "disturbing the sleep of peaceful, God-fearing people in times like these. Whipping is too good for ye."
"I suppose it's the fires of Hell for us, then?" Gabe asked, his rage cooling into something like haughty bitterness. His captor rewarded him with a sharp rap upside the head.
"You think this is a matter to be taken lightly?" the constable asked. "Do you think Almighty God finds it amusing, what you have done?"
None of them answered, and he might have mistaken their silence for remorse. To himself, Nat could not help thinking that the good Lordwas a little entertained by their prank. After all, His Son had been born in a stable. Surely the Almighty considered William Ashby's ostentatious house just as ridiculous as Nat and his comrades did.
At last they reached the constable's house, and the shed a little ways beyond. They shoved the three seamen roughly into the small structure that served as a jail, locking it securely.
"Settle in," one of them growled from the liberated side of the door. "Lecture Day is two days away—it's just now Tuesday. Any attempt to escape punishment will fail, and only make things worse for you all."
But the men of the Dolphin were well accustomed to justice and the penalties of misbehavior. When the constable and his men had left, Nat worked his brain to imagine all the possibilities that awaited them on Thursday. He came up with nothing worse than what he would face when they returned to the Dolphin. Suddenly, two days in this shed did not seem so bad after all.
"I suppose we'd best hope that the ship stays becalmed," Gabe was saying, "else your father will just go on without us."
Despite the situation, Nat could not help laughing. He could imagine his father doing just that. "We'll have to stay here for weeks, until they come back, ready to set off for the Indies."
"I don't suppose so, really," Gabe said. "No…not with the three best crew members stuck ashore!"
"At least the others managed to get away, and the entire ship will know what happened by morning." Nat grinned, imagining the jealous looks from a few of the sailors who had missed out on the fun. Then he thought of his father's reaction, and the smile faded quickly.
"If they can find their way back," Gabe pointed out. "You know Tom is as stupid as—"
He stopped. Both men looked at Caleb as if for the first time. He had remained silent since their capture, and sat on the filthy, straw-covered floor with his face turned to the wall. Even in the darkness, they could sense his silent rage. Nat's own mood had lightened ever since he spied the confused repugnance on William Ashby's face. He tried to console Caleb.
"Here now, mate, it isn't so bad. They won't hang us for this first offense."
"It's all very well for you," Caleb finally said. "You can go back to the ship and forget it ever happened."
"So can you, once it's all over."
"Did you not hear what they said?" Caleb's voice rose as he turned and looked directly at Nat. "We could be banished from Wethersfield! You're from Saybrook, Nat, and Gabe is from God only knows where, but I have kin in this town. I may never see my sister again."
Nat was silent, trying to supply the right words.
"I never should have agreed to this idiocy."
"Belay that, Caleb," Gabe said without a particle of mercy. "You've lived in the Colonies long enough—what did you expect?"
Caleb's only response was to frown and wrinkle his brow, as though resisting every second they spent in that room. Gabe turned to glare at Nat, silently entreating him to say something to bolster their shipmate's courage. Nat only shrugged and hunkered down beside him, his back against the wall, to wait out the long, cold two days.
