I did not know. All I knew of the Indies was hearsay, and not much of that, yet the more I thought of it, the more I decided that this I must do.
Yance was quiet, and that was unusual for him. Despite his flamboyance, Yance’s thinking was sound, and he could see, even as I could, the problems involved. In the first place, there were many islands, and to which one had she gone? Had she survived the trip? Many people died aboard ship and were buried at sea, for the life was rough at best, the food poor, and many a tough sailor man failed to survive a voyage.
Jamaica, Hispaniola, Grenada, Cuba, Martinique, the names themselves were enchanting.
“You would have no chance,” Reverend Blaxton assured me. “It is a fine thing you think of doing, a noble thing, but you would waste time better spent in some other way. We do not even know that she was not taken by Indians or murdered somewhere along our own shore. It would be like searching for one snowflake in the dead of winter.”
“Anyway,” Yance said practically, “you’ve got your crop back home, and Temperance will be wondering what happened to us.”
“I did not mean for you to come, Yance. I meant for you to go home and let them know where I have gone.”
There was a deal of talk, which, as is always true in such cases, seemed to arrive nowhere, for there is always a repeating of arguments and a rephrasing of the same ideas and much time wasted. Yet as the talk went on, I listened with half an ear and thought my own thoughts, worrying over the possibility as a dog over a bone.
When first the words came to my lips, they came almost unbidden, yet the idea would not let me abandon it. The Indies were foreign to me, and I should not be treading the familiar ground of the forest or mountains or swamp but at sea and among islands and men of different backgrounds than I, and I would be among cities, which I scarcely expected to enjoy.
Yet what if I found her? From all that had been said, I guessed there was a core of steel in the lass, that whatever else she might be, she was not one to be easily conquered by circumstance or condition.
That she was possessed of more than her share of healthy animal spirit seemed likely, and the restraints of living in a community ruled by the congregation would be irritating and confining to such a one.
Well, to suppose. If she was indeed taken by slavers to the Indies and sold there, what then? What would become of her? Many a girl might give up, accept the life, and sink to the depths, ending when cast out as no longer useful, eaten by disease, or soaked in alcohol. But I could not believe that would happen to such a girl as this one. There was strength in her; for good or bad there was strength, and that must count for something.
Suddenly the door from an inner room opened, and Diana was there. She moved into the room like a dream of beauty and went to the fire to stir it.
“How is Carrie?” I asked.
She looked over her shoulder at me. “Sleeping, and the poor child needs it. She is exhausted.”
“And you?”
“There is not the time. I have things to consider.” She looked around again. “They will be coming, I think. They have had their time at Cape Ann and some other settlements.”
“What do you mean by that?” Maverick asked.
“She means,” Blaxton replied, “that they will have taken the time to raise the question about Diana as a witch.” He watched Maverick fill his glass and then added, “Joseph Pittingel, if he is involved, is a shrewd man. He would take the time to cast rumors about, even to making a few comments of his own. ‘The maids have gotten free, how else but that Diana is a witch? Also, were they really prisoners at all? Was this not some diabolical plot of her own? How could they vanish so utterly but by witchcraft?’ He will use the very argument Sackett offered at first, from what I hear, that no Indians had been seen for some time.”
“There is a place amongst us,” I said. “If you like, you may come to Shooting Creek.”
She hesitated only a moment and then said, “It is far, and we are known to none there.”
Maverick interrupted. “Then come to Shawmut. Become our neighbors. Thomas Walford, the smith, who helped me, would surely help you. He is a rough but goodly man.”
The remark irritated me, yet why should it? She would be safer close to Maverick than elsewhere. Was it because she might have accepted my offer had he kept still? I was being the fool again. It was something I was doing more easily these days.
Yance was looking at me and grinning like an ape. At least I had the good sense to say nothing, although Diana glanced once at me as if expecting some word. Yet what could I say? It was far to Shooting Creek, and what had we to offer that was not here?
“I shall go to the Indies,” I said, “and I shall find her. I shall find that girl, and somehow I will discover what is being done.”
Henry had come in the door as I spoke, and he said, “If you wish, I shall come with you.”
“It is no place for a free man who is black,” I said, “although I’d welcome it.”
“There are freedmen there,” Blaxton offered. “It has been said there are several thousand that do live in Jamaica. As long as he was with you, he would be safe.”
“And I can ask questions where you would get no answers,” Henry said. “Some of my people lived in the hills of Jamaica and some on the other isles. They would know who I am, and they would tell us what they could.”
“What if you ran into some of those you once captured?”
He shrugged. “They would be afraid. No one wishes to fight the Ashanti.”
“We will go, then.”
“There is no ship,” Diana interposed. “None but that of Pittingel.”
“There’s Damariscove,” Maverick suggested. “Many a vessel calls there for water or trade. Why, there was a settlement there before the Pilgrims arrived with their Mayflower!”
“Aye, Damariscove!” I had not remembered it. “Of course, we will go there.”
“Is there need?” Diana spoke sharply. “Why should you sail off searching for some girl you have never seen? Does she sound so attractive to you?”
“It is for you,” I protested, “and for others like you. This ugly business must be stopped and stopped now.”
“How noble of you!” Her voice held irony, and the tone dismayed me. I stared at her, about to make some angry retort, but said nothing. That seemed to irritate her even more.
“I have not asked you to do this for me,” she said, “and I would not. It is a fool’s errand, going off to find a girl you know nothing of on an island you have never seen and where you’ll find naught but enemies.”
She turned around to look at me. “Do you believe for one minute that Joseph Pittingel or Max Bauer would let you go? At the first word of such a thing they would have you dead, killed in some manner. You would do better to go back to that far land from which you come and cultivate your corn!”
Her disdain for my sense was obvious, but it only made me resolve the more. “Believe what you will. I shall go.”
I got to my feet, wishing to have no more words with her. Maverick was frowning at his pipe, Blaxton seemed amused by something, and Yance was smiling. What a smug lot they were! I’d be well rid of them, even Yance!
Turning to the door, I said, “Tomorrow, then, Henry. We will be off to Damariscove and a ship if we be so fortunate.”
Diana turned away, ignoring me, and I stepped out into the darkness.
It was very still and damp; a fog came in from over the bay and from the sea beyond. Many a tale of the sea had I heard from my father and those of our men who had sailed with him, tales of bloody sea fights and ships captured or sunk, of Newfoundland and of the Irish coast. How long before I’d see my beloved hills again and the slopes all pink and rose with rhododendron and laurel? How long?
As a boy, I had walked the seaside when with my father. I went to the shore above Hatteras, a long and sandy shore, with a salt sea wind blowing and the salt spray in my eyes and the sea birds calling as they swooped above. Long had I looked upon ships and dreamed of the places of their going, the far places, the mysterious places, the wild romantic names, Shanghai, Gorontalo, Rangoon, Chittagong, and Zanzibar.