may be, but he’s not a wasteful man.”
So we talked a little then, of old times and new times, of the fluyt, and all
the while we tried to avoid the thought of good-bye.
For good friends we were and the time for parting near, and no one wished to be
the first to speak of an end to what we had together.
Jublain was my oldest friend among them, of a chance meeting when he helped me
escape my first serious trouble. Now I would see him no more. Or would I? Who
can say, in such a world?
Yet the urge was on us, and on Abby no less than I, the urge to see beyond those
blue mountains, to find a new land, to break new earth, and see our crops
freshening in the sun of a new spring. For land beyond the mountains is ever a
dream and a challenge, and each generation needs that, that dream of some
far-off place to go.
We had crossed an ocean to come … why? What drove us more than others? Why did
Pim come with us and not Jublain? Why Jeremy Ring of the dashing manner and not
John Tilly?
Thus far we had come together, and now some strange device, some inner urge,
some strange thread grown into our beings was selecting us to move on westward.
Selecting? Or was it we ourselves who chose? Never would I cease to wonder at
why one man and not another.
We had made our last purchases from Peter Killigrew, three light, strong boats
that we carried on our decks for launching. Now we put them ready, and sliding
down the river we went along to that other one to the south, a somewhat larger
river, and so Wa-ga-su said, a larger one.
Much time I spent with Wa-ga-su. He knew my chart at once, put a finger on the
sounds, and traced the rivers. Here and there he showed me changes in the river
or parts that had been wrongly marked.
“Each year I shall come once along the coast,” John Tilly said, “and shall tell
others to keep an eye out for a signal from you.”
Once more upon the map I showed him the area in which I planned to settle. “Of
course, there is no way of knowing until upon the ground, yet I shall follow
this river, I think, to the place where it comes from the mountains. Then I
shall look for some valley, some cove, some sheltered, defensible place, and
there we will settle.
“We have the tools, the seed corn, and much ammunition. We will plant our seed
in the spring, and we shall try to find minerals, not gold so much as the useful
minerals, and there we will claim land. I shall even mark out some for you if
you should change your mind.”
“Barnabas?” Jublain put a hand on my arm. “Cannot I, even at this last moment,
persuade you not to do this thing? It will be long before other white men come,
and longer before they reach the mountains. You will be very few, and you will
be alone. Think of Abigail … without women, without the friendships, the
comforts …”
“Lila will be there. We will make friends among the Indians.”
“You hope! Well,” he shrugged, “so be it. Perhaps it be your destiny, Barnabas.
But if you have sons, send at least one of them home to England. There will be
no education here for them.”
“We will teach them. I have books. Yet, that is one thing you can do, Jublain.
Do you remember where we first cached our furs? In the cave?”
“I do.”
“If you come this way, bring books, wrap them well in oilskin, and hide them
there. It may be that one day we shall return to the coast, and we will look for
them.”
Again we shook hands, and then we talked of other things, and at the last, when
our ship was anchored off the river mouth, and our three boats were lowered and
well stowed with our gear, two boats to be rowed, and one towed behind, Sakim
suddenly came from below.
“With your permission,” he said quietly, “I shall go with you. You will need a
doctor where you go, and your wife will need one. I would like to come.”
For a moment I could not speak. I simply held out my hand and he took it, so our
party was thus the stronger, and stronger by as able a man as I had known.
In the first boat were Wa-ga-su, as our guide and interpreter, Abby, Lila,
Sakim, Pim Burke, Black Tom, and myself.
In the second boat were: Tim Glasco, a square-built, strong young man, blond and
cheerful, who was a journeyman blacksmith; John Quill, who had been a farm boy
on a great estate in England; Kane O’Hara, who had been a mercenary soldier;
Peter Fitch, a slender, wiry, tireless man who had been a shipwright and a
ship’s carpenter; Matthew Slater, a farmer; and Barry Magill, who had been a
cooper and a weaver; and Jeremy Bing.
Abby kept her eyes firmly set on the river before us, her face slightly pale,
her eyes large and solemn. Lila gave never a backward glance, nor had she ever,
I think, once her mind was set upon a way to go.
As we moved upriver, I assayed again the strengths and weaknesses of our party.
We were strong in body and spirit, I knew, but we faced our first winter in the
wilderness, yet winter on the coast might be even fiercer.
We saw no Indians, we saw no wild game. The boats moved slowly and steadily
upstream, holding well to the center of the river except when we could escape
the direct current and move in shallower, quieter water near one shore or the
other.
Each man pulled an oar, myself not excepted. Only Wa-ga-su, who sat in the bow,
was free of that labor, because we wished his eyes and attention solely for the
river and its banks.
On that first day we made what I felt was ten miles. Toward dusk, Kane O’Hara
killed a deer, and Sakim speared a large fish. We moved to an island and made a
small camp with a carefully screened fire.
The river flowed softly seaward, a faint wind rustled the leaves, then was
still. Our driftwood fires threw a warm glow upon the faces of the men as they
gathered about, eating and talking. Our boats had been drawn into a small cove,
sheltered by trees and moss hanging from their branches. Peter Fitch had
remained aboard, and I walked down from the fire to talk with him, and to listen
to the night.
An owl flew by on slow, prowling wings. “Big one,” Fitch said.
“Yes, it was.” I hesitated. “Why did you come, Fitch?”
He looked around at me, and seemed a little embarrassed. “I did na wish to go
home wi’ empty hands,” he said, “for I made big talk of what I’d do when away
upon the sea. Back yon in the village, I had dreamed dreams of going to battle
and winning a princess, maybe, or a lot of gold.
“Well, I’ve been four years gone and nothing to show for it but scars and the
memories of bad times.
“Bad times were never in the dreams. Oh, I kenned enough to know there’s many a
slip, but I had high hopes, and they laughed at me for big expectations.
“Maybe it come of a-settin’ in the chapel listening to the sermon, and thinkin’
more on that chap buried in the stone box beside the altar. They had his figure
carved in stone atop it, although I knew little enough about him who was buried
there. He’d built the church himself, there at Acaster Malbis … that was our
village … back in 1306 or some such time. He came of a Norman family who’d
come with William the Conqueror, and they had lands from him.
“The name of the first one was Sir Hugh de Malebisse, which somehow became
Malbys or Malbis, and they do say that when he came over he had little but a
name and a sword, although there may be no truth in that.
“But I’d set there thinking of what he won with a sword, and it seemed to me
that what one could do another might. Captain Sackett, I talked big. I can’t go
home with empty hands.”
“Why should you?” I said. “There will be land here for all, and once located, we
shall scout each his piece, and all adjoining they’ll be.”
“I’d like that. Will there be a stream on it? And trees?”
“Aye. We’ll see to it.”
Turning away, I added, “Keep a sharp eye and a listening ear or you’ll not make
it. The savages don’t even need to see the color of your hair to want it.”