The Man Who Was Poe

  “Where is she?” Edmund demanded.

  Peterson offered a most pleasant smile. “Who’s that now?”

  “My sister.”

  “Your sister …” the man echoed.

  “I don’t care about the gold,” Edmund said, as evenly as he could. “I won’t try to stop you. I just want you to let Sis go.”

  Peterson took a tentative step toward Edmund, who lifted the pistol higher. Peterson stopped. And smiled.

  “Is my sister in the boat?”

  “We’ll wait until Mr. Rachett gets here,” the man suggested and turned back to the rope he had been untying.

  “I want her!” Edmund called to him.

  “It’s no crime for a father to have his daughter with him, is it?” Peterson said over his shoulder.

  “He’s not her father!” Edmund cried. “And she doesn’t want to be there. You stole her.”

  “Believe me, I don’t want her. That’s Rachett’s notion. He thought having her would make our sliding off that much more certain. If it was me, I’d have got rid of her long ago. Like I did the other.” He looked about. “Mr. Rachett may be good with plans but he’s squeamish about the hard parts. His claim is that you can’t play cards without chips. Perhaps he was right. Seems the girl is a chip. So, if you put that pistol down,” Peterson said with a smile, “it might be possible for you to see her for yourself.”

  “Is she there then?” Edmund stammered, trying to brace himself against the gusts of wind which kept pulling and pushing his gun-holding arm.

  “I just said, if you put that thing down, we can talk. That’s Rachett’s point, isn’t it? ‘I’m a businessman,’ he said to me. ‘And businessmen bargain. And if one thing doesn’t work, try another.’ That’s his way and he’s in charge.”

  Peterson flung the rope onto the boat where it landed with a thud. A wave lifted the bow and eased it away from the wharf. The wharf timbers creaked. Edmund glanced at the Sunrise. She was single-masted, decked-over. Sis, he decided, must be below.

  “Well now,” Peterson said very casually, “you’re welcome to see for yourself.” He moved to one of the two remaining ropes that held the boat to the wharf. “Go on,” he coaxed. He uncleated it and flung that too on the boat. Only one rope remained.

  Edmund, increasingly uncertain and upset, took a step closer.

  Peterson backed away and lifted his hands. “I won’t touch you,” he said.

  Trying to keep an eye on Peterson, Edmund inched up to the edge of the wharf and examined the boat. It seemed deserted.

  “Sis!” he called.

  There was no answer, only the slapping of waves on the hull. Edmund glanced quickly over his shoulder at Peterson. The man was merely standing there, looking at him.

  “Sis!” Edmund tried again, leaning forward, mindful of his balance. It was then that he was struck from behind.

  “EDMUND!”

  Edmund opened his eyes. Poe was looming over him. Just behind him was Throck.

  “Where are they?” Poe demanded. “Where did they go?”

  Still groggy, Edmund struggled to a sitting position. His head hurt badly. “On the boat,” he managed to say. “I’m sure they’ve got Sis.”

  “Is that them?” Poe asked, pointing toward the river.

  Edmund twisted around. Out beyond Fox Point, through the swirl of mist and squally rain, he could make out the Sunrise tacking hard against the western marshes.

  “I think so,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to get to his feet. “Can we get them?” he asked.

  “If we’re lucky,” Throck returned. He stomped down the dock toward the other boat, a sloop-rigged launch named Peggy. She was a much smaller boat than the Sunrise, with considerably less sail.

  Poe began to undo the mooring ropes.

  For a moment Edmund merely watched, too dizzy, too bewildered to understand what was happening. Then he realized that the men were about to give chase to the Sunrise without him. That was enough to propel him to his feet, then hurry to Poe and help him lift the last of the ropes. Throck, meanwhile, had already hoisted the sloop’s mainsail, tied it down, and stationed himself at the tiller.

  “Come on!” he cried.

  Poe freed the last rope, then clambered aboard the boat.

  For a brief moment Edmund remained on the wharf, too flustered to move. But as he stood there, the Peggy’s sail caught the wind. She began to slide away. “Wait!” he cried and with a leap he jumped, falling into a heap at the bottom of the boat. Then he staggered up to his feet and looked over the side. The Sunrise was now moving across the river, out toward the bay.

  The Peggy followed, spanking the wind-chopped surface of the water with an incessant beat, pitching and yawing, sometimes violently. Edmund struggled toward the helm.

  “Can we get them?” he called to Throck a second time.

  “We’ll try!” Throck boomed out, never taking his eyes from the Sunrise. “Wet sails don’t help!”

  “They have my sister,” Edmund said. “I’m sure they do.”

  “Glad to hear it,” answered Throck.

  “And the gold.”

  “Better yet.”

  “How did you know where I was?”

  “He figured it out,” said Throck with a nod toward Poe. “In a dream, he said.”

  Edmund turned. Poe had taken a place before the mainsail. With his wet hair plastered back over his forehead, his greatcoat flowing out behind him, his intense gaze riveted on the Sunrise ahead, he stood like a ship’s figurehead.

  Holding to the thwarts, Edmund went forward to Poe.

  “Mr. Poe!” he called above the wind and rain. “Thank you for coming!”

  For a moment Poe remained mute. Then he said, “Did you think I would let you make an end to my story?”

  “Sir?”

  “Why did you destroy my manuscript?”

  “You wouldn’t help.”

  “Do you really expect to see your sister alive?”

  “She is alive. That man Peterson — he’s on the boat — he all but said she was.”

  “Edmund, she has died.”

  “That’s your story,” Edmund cried. “This is real!”

  “Edmund,” Poe returned, with just as much vehemence, “you may have destroyed the manuscript but you will not do the same to my story.”

  Sickened, Edmund turned away, fixing his eyes instead on the Sunrise. He could see her tacking back and forth in and out of the mist and rain, edging toward the bay in a southerly direction. Throck, following move for move, held the Peggy to their outside, which kept Edmund busy ducking under the shifting boom. Edmund could see for himself that while the Sunrise was a bigger boat with more sail, the Peggy had greater maneuverability.

  “Edmund!” Throck called. “Did you take my pistol?”

  Only then did Edmund remember. “They must have taken it from me.”

  “Then we shall hear of it soon enough,” Throck returned.

  Edmund watched the Sunrise. Now he could see Rachett, at her wheel, turn to look at the Peggy as, moment by moment, she gained on them.

  Edmund looked over his shoulder toward Poe. The man was simply staring ahead. Edmund was suddenly certain he had some plan in mind.

  Edmund made his way back to Throck. “Mr. Throck!” he called

  “What’s that?”

  “You won’t do anything Mr. Poe tells you to do, will you?”

  “Do you see me here?”

  “I do, but …”

  “And we two made a bargain, didn’t we?”

  “I know, but …”

  “Then don’t you worry about me.”

  Edmund gazed at Poe, then at the Sunrise. The Peggy was still following tack for tack. Lightning and thunder filled the sky. The rain began to intensify.

  “As long as we’re in the narrows,” Throck cried, trying to make himself heard over the weather, “we can work them. But when they get to wider water, into the bay as they’re trying to do, they can outrun us sure.”


  “Can you tell where they’re going?”

  “The bay. Then the ocean!”

  “Can you cut them off?” Edmund returned.

  “It’s what I’m trying,” Throck called. “You might try praying for this muck to lift. If it comes any thicker or stronger I’m likely to lose sight of them. Get yourself up by the jib and be prepared to run her to one side or the other. The faster you can do it, the quicker we’ll move.”

  Edmund started to go.

  “And boy! Keep an eye for rocks! They come up at you when you’re least aware — especially in shallows. I’ll need my eyes for the thieves.”

  Edmund scrambled to the forward sail, where he saw that Poe was still staring fixedly at the Sunrise. The intensity of his look made Edmund’s skin prickle.

  Throck held to his course. There were times when Edmund lost sight of the Sunrise completely. But after moments of breathless suspense, he would see the boat again. And once or twice, when they drew closer to the shore, he made out boulders, their jagged crowns breaking the surface of the water into froth and foam. Each time he cried, “Rocks!”

  “See them!” Throck returned.

  Sudden gusts of wind brought the rain down in curtain-like sheets, momentarily obscuring their view. As they tried to batter through the rising waves their pace became lumbering. Lightning and thunder cracked the sky.

  Five miles below Providence, the bay widened greatly. The Sunrise, reaching the point first, began to come about.

  “There!” shouted Throck. “Here’s our chance. Watch which way they go!”

  Edmund peered over the bow through the storm. He could see for himself that if the Sunrise turned successfully, she would have a long run toward the south. The Peggy would never be able to match her in speed.

  Suddenly, the Peggy made a move to starboard. The Sunrise, ahead, turned the same direction.

  “She’s going that way!” Edmund called, pointing west.

  In response Throck roared, “Coming about! Throw the jib!”

  The sail instantly refilled with wind. The boat heeled; spray and rain blew into Edmund’s face and prevented him from seeing. Wiping his wet hair out of his eyes, he searched for the Sunrise. He could no longer see her before them. He looked back. Shocked, he saw her there. As the Sunrise cut to the west, Throck, instead of following as Edmund expected him to do, cut to the southeast, running as close into the wind as possible. The two boats were going in opposite directions.

  Edmund spun about. “They’ll get away!” he cried, not understanding what was happening.

  “Patience, boy,” Throck called. “Patience!”

  Edmund stole a look at Poe. The man’s face was a tense mask, unreadable.

  Edmund turned his eyes toward the Sunrise again. The boats continued to sail in opposite directions. Anxiously, he waited for Throck to give orders to pull the jib and resume the chase. But Throck held a steady course.

  As Edmund strained to see, he could just barely make out the Sunrise coming about sharply and begin to make her move down the bay, bucking wind and waves. It was as if she was following them!

  “Mr. Throck!” Edmund cried out in bafflement. “They’re chasing us!”

  Throck grinned but held steady.

  Edmund gripped the ropes tightly, expecting Throck to come about. But to his dismay, Throck continued to hold the Peggy on the same southeasterly course, glancing often over his shoulder to judge the two boats’ relative positions.

  Kneeling on the bow, Edmund could feel his muscles beginning to cramp from tension.

  Then he heard Throck cry, “Ready, boy!”

  Edmund squeezed the jib lines as tight as he could.

  “Coming about!” Throck shouted. Edmund yanked. The jib whipped across the bow. Behind him, the boom swung to the portside with a crack. The Peggy came hard about, heeling so deeply that water trickled in over the thwarts. For a moment Edmund thought they were going to capsize, but a second later the boat pulled herself upright. Now the Peggy had the wind behind her and was flying up the bay with hardly a ripple or sound beneath her bow. To Edmund’s astonishment, she was heading straight for the Sunrise.

  “We’ve got them!” Throck yelled.

  Remembering Poe, Edmund looked around. The man remained wedged firmly against the mast, eyes fixed upon the other boat.

  Edmund grew more uneasy.

  But now Rachett and Peterson realized what had happened. As the two boats drew rapidly toward each other it was the Sunrise that came about with a hard heel which raked her mast dangerously toward the surface of the water as she headed back up the bay toward Providence.

  “Trapped them!” Throck exalted.

  Even Edmund saw it. “Hurrah!” he cheered. The next moment, however, he heard a bang. At first he thought it was lightning. Then he realized it was Peterson shooting at the Peggy. But with both boats moving north, the wind strong from the south, the rain unceasing, and the distance still great, bullets were of no use. Peterson soon gave up.

  Once again Rachett shifted his course, heading the Sunrise toward the western shore.

  “He’s heading for shallower water!” Throck cried. “Trying to pull us onto rocks! Watch for them!”

  But hardly had the Sunrise made that shift than she suddenly came about yet again. Once more the two boats were running head to head.

  As Edmund watched, torn between searching for rocks and gazing at the Sunrise, he saw Peterson disappear from view. In moments he reappeared. In his arms he was holding someone.

  Edmund leaped up. “He’s got Sis!” he screamed. She was struggling, but Peterson held her fast.

  “Edmund! Keep watching for rocks!” Throck shouted.

  But Edmund only had eyes for Sis and the Sunrise. The two boats were rushing headlong toward one another, closing rapidly now. The Peggy was sailing smoothly while the Sunrise seemed to be dancing up and down as if on a prancing horse. Above them lightning cracked and thunder clattered. Rain raked the deck. But so steadily did both boats maintain their courses that Edmund was certain they would collide. He darted a look back at Poe only to realize that the man was now standing just behind him.

  Edmund turned again toward the Sunrise. Peterson, trying to steady himself, had made his way to the bow and was holding the struggling girl in front of him like a shield even as he held a pistol out in the other hand. Rachett, still at the helm, was yelling at him.

  “Mr. Poe! Look out!” Edmund warned, then dropped to the desk.

  Poe remained upright, as if daring Peterson to aim at him. Sure enough, Peterson fired. The bullet went astray.

  The boats were no more than forty feet apart.

  “The girl!” they heard Peterson shout.

  Edmund pulled himself up to a kneeling position again and looked. Sis had broken away from Peterson and was scrambling toward the stern of the Sunrise. Peterson was in full pursuit. But then, as she approached the helm, Rachett suddenly abandoned the wheel and lunged at her.

  With the rudder no longer under control, the Sunrise swung wildly about. There was a loud snap and the shriek of tearing wood. Trying to regain control, Rachett flung himself back to the wheel, turning it wildly now this way, now that. As Edmund watched, breathless, Peterson drew close enough to Sis to make a grab for her just as she leaped into the water.

  Edmund jumped to his feet. The instant he did, Poe’s arms clamped down on him.

  “Let me go!” Edmund screamed.

  “The story!” Poe cried into his ear. “The story!”

  Absolutely frantic, Edmund butted and kicked Poe back and, once free, flung himself into the bay. Icy water closed over him, its coldness numbing; he could not move arms or legs. He began to sink, swallowing a mouthful of water. He gagged. The convulsive movement brought back consciousness. He kicked out and swung his arms, pushing himself with swift downward thrusts until his head burst above the water’s surface. Once there he thrashed about in search of Sis.

  The first thing he saw was the Sunrise on her side. She had
capsized. And Sis was nowhere to be seen.

  “Edmund!” came a cry. “Edmund!”

  Edmund turned. Sis was no more than five feet away, working hard to keep afloat. They began to swim toward one another.

  Throck, meanwhile, had brought the Peggy sharply about in the wind. As if a brake had been applied, the boat stood still, trembling. Now Throck eased her forward, and drew up to them. Hanging over the Peggy’s side, he hauled Sis and Edmund into the boat.

  The boy looked back over his shoulder just in time to see the Sunrise slide beneath the waves.

  “They’re gone,” he heard Throck cry with horror.

  As Edmund and Sis huddled together, the Peggy sailed beneath the rain toward the dock from which they had started. Edmund, suddenly remembering, looked for Poe.

  Poe was staring out over the bay. But then he turned and looked at Edmund. Only then did Edmund realize the man was weeping.

  And Edmund knew it was not for Peterson and Rachett.

  SIX HOURS LATER Edmund and Poe left Sis and her mother and walked down the steps from the tiny room together. Poe had already announced he was leaving. Now the two of them stood awkwardly on the street.

  “Will you and Mrs. Whitman marry now?” Edmund asked.

  A pained expression came into Poe’s face. “I don’t know,” he said gravely. “I will fetch the daguerreotype and bring it to her.” He shook his head. “But I believe I have too many enemies.”

  “Why?”

  “My art is too strong. I frighten the timid,” Poe said, and abruptly began to walk away.

  Edmund watched him go. Unable to restrain himself, he called out, “Mr. Poe!”

  Poe stopped.

  “You never did want to save my sister, did you?” Edmund said. “You only wanted to make sure she’d die.”

  Poe said nothing.

  Edmund felt a swell of disgust. “You’re always talking about death,” Edmund continued, “but it’s living you’re frightened of.”

  Poe turned. His eyes were full of anger. Suddenly he thrust a hand into a pocket and drew out a piece of paper. Edmund recognized it as part of a page from the notebook.

  “Edmund, you said I wished your sister to die. I say I wished my story to live.