Would it were so now!
What am I, Tatton Chantry, to do, marooned upon this shore with nothing?
I am, and have ever been, a superior swordsman. I have more than a modicum of knowledge as to tactics and fortification, and I have some knowledge of herbs, medicine, and magic-if they be not the same.
I could, on request, conduct a siege or a battle, or I could train a legion. I could negotiate a truce, a surrender, or a ransom for a king, but how can I find a meal upon this desolate shore? What use is my knowledge now?
It has been said of my family that we are descended from Irish kings, that our family came to Ireland with the Milesians. That I was born to the velvet. Yet I remember only that I was son of an Irish chieftain living in what passed for a castle on the rocky shores of Ireland.
As a boy I roamed those rocky shores, fished and swam, hunted too, seeking out all the caves and crannies. They came hunting us then, the British did. Like wolves they hunted my family down, driving us one by one to the wall. My father and my uncles died, fighting bravely, and at the end my father told me to flee. “Go!” he said. “Go the way you know, and live, that our blood shall not die, and that our name shall live, if only in our hearts! Go now, my son, for I love thee well and would not see you die! Live well, live as a gentleman born, as a man bred, and as an Irishman always!”
And so I went…
A boy I might be, but the British would still have cut me down had I not fled. But I had nimble feet and a nimble brain and the wish to live long enough to see them die.
It was then my knowledge of the crannies and caves served me well, for I led them a chase down the rocks. I went through cracks where they could not follow, being so much larger than I, and I taunted them with it.
One tried to follow and became wedged between two boulders, trying to get a pistol up with a free hand to shoot me. Before he could fire I bashed him on the skull with a boulder, grabbed his knife from his belt, and fled down a tunnel under the rocks which none of them knew. Thus I left the body of my father and the ashes of my home.
There followed months of dodging and hiding, of stealing a bit of milk here or begging a scone there until I came at last to the sea again. I was not the first to flee my island home, nor would I be the last.
There were cousins of mine in armies abroad, and could I but reach them….
2
But all that was long ago. Now I stood alone upon an empty shore, my ship gone, and I myself given up for dead. My small fortune was gone, nothing left for me but what I could win with my wits and a sword.
Now the sea was empty, and empty the shore as far as eye could reach. It was a gently curving shore falling away to the west and south, for where our ship had put in lay in a wide bay between two capes, the one still visible to the east.
We had come ashore in the dawning, and it was not yet midday.
Far away to the north, a half-year of walking, lay French settlements. To the south were Spanish settlements, and one of these was said to be on the Savannah River. My choice was a simple one: stepping from the brush, I turned right and started to walk.
Soon my strides shortened, for the sand was deep. My boots and my jerkin were heavy and the weather was warmer than that to which I was accustomed. Pausing at last, I removed my plumed hat and mopped my brow.
Far away to the south I thought I could make out the topm’sts of the Good Catherine. All I possessed was aboard that ship, carefully saved and treasured to make my venture. Had I remained aboard and the trade gone well, I might have returned a wealthy man.
On I walked into the blue and white afternoon, a blue sky above me, a blue sea on my left, and a long white beach before me, stretching away to infinity. I walked now with a certain swagger, for my depression was ended. After all, was I not the son of kings and cavaliers? And best of all, I had my youth, my strength, and all the wide world before me.
How, in such fine weather, could a man be anything but in humor? True, there was no tavern around the corner to which I might repair for a bit of a dram, or a cold bottle and a bird, if the thought came. There were savages about who might take my life—but take it they must for I would not offer it freely. How could I feel the less because of this? I had strength and a sword, and a man has been known to conquer a world with no more.
This thought I kept with me, for what small nurture it would be, during the darkest hours. My enemies, if such they were to be, had bows and arrows, with a far greater reach than the point of a blade.
Arrows and a bow? What was I thinking of? Had I not, as a lad, used an English longbow? And had I not made one or two of my own?
When I had walked the sun down, my eyes were restless for a place to sleep, some shelter, some haven, some corner away from the eyes of those who might come seeking.
Fortunately, in the loose sand my boots left no denned print. I slowed my pace. The sea was empty still, yet there were ships along these shores, the ships of several nations, and it was possible I might come upon one such to which I might signal. Ships came hither to trade for furs or pearls, to seek for gold, to take on water, or just in passing from the Spanish seas back to Spain itself. Dutch, English, and French ships were also here, and not a few of them. But now, when I needed the sight of one, there were only empty seas.
A moment! What lies yonder? Some dark mass, extending from the sea’s edge inland, piled high … tangled. Roots, old casks, broken spars … a stove-in ship’s boat. Here in a tight turn of the shore, the sea had swept itself of debris and piled it, thrown ashore by wave and wind.
Warily, I circled the heap. My route led past it—which meant that I must go inland around it—but here, I thought, lies shelter. Surely, amidst this piled-up drift from the sea, there must be a corner away from the wind.
Removing my hat to spare the plume, I ducked under an overhanging root thrust like a tentacle from the root-mass of a great up-torn tree. I stepped over a smaller trunk and found myself in a shadowed and secret place, a cave half-covered and all hidden. Hanging my hat and jerkin upon a root, I gathered great slabs of bark from the drying trunks and placed them overhead to shelter me from rain. I gathered others to form better sides, and in a matter of minutes had a tidy little home, lacking but fire and food.
Almost a hut, as thick-sheltered overhead as though thatched. What more could be wished by man or beast?
How simple are the wants of man! How much at ease he can soon become! Yet my stomach growled, protesting my good spirits.
“Be still, beast,” I said cheerfully, “you’ve naught to gain by complaining. This day you’ll do without, and perhaps many another, so let you be silent and endure.”
The sea was out there. With the coming of day, and with some ingenuity, I might rig a pole and line, cast into the surf, and catch a fish or two. Yet to do this I must stand bold against the sky, visible for some distance, an invitation to any scalp-hunting Indian. Better a growling, protesting stomach than one ripped open to the blowing sand.
And so … I slept.
My stomach awakened before my eyes did. Some vagrant odor, some sweet aroma … broiling meat!
I sat up.
Morning had come while I slept. The sun was in the sky, the waves rustling on the beach … and again, that smell of broiling meat. I got up swiftly, banging my skull on an overhanging limb. The sea had been a good builder but a poor architect. Brushing off my clothing, I rearranged my jerkin, shook the sand from my hat, fluffed the plume, stepped out upon the sand. Nothing.