As the officer came over the side, I said, “We’ve had a bit of trouble here,
gentlemen, but it is all over now. What can I do for you?’
“We need water,” he said, “and seeing you hove to, we thought you might know
where it could be had, or might be watering yourself.”
“There is fresh water ashore,” I said, “and I’ll gladly guide you to it, and
help you with the watering. As you see,” I swept an arm at the deck and the
ship’s crew, “we’ve had a spot of trouble here. I am a settler ashore, and came
aboard this ship to trade six bales of furs. The master of the ship and his crew
attempted to steal my furs and my wife.”
He looked around, his face grim. “Well, he didn’t, did he?”
“We had more men ashore than he reckoned with, Captain.”
“May I see the furs?”
“You may. They are close to the spring where you will get water.” I indicated a
spot on the shore. “If you will go there, I’ll join you.”
He hesitated. “You’ve come well out of this. I hope there is to be no more
violence.”
Suddenly his head turned sharply, and I looked. Oldfast Wilson leaned against
the jamb of the door, his face battered and bloody. His mouth gaped wide where
I’d torn his cheek.
“My God in heaven!” The captain of the ship turned to me.
“We had a fight, Captain. The man is uncommonly strong.”
“He beat me, damn his soul. Beat me.” Oldfast Wilson shook his big head in
bewilderment. “I thought no man could do it.”
“We’re going ashore now, Wilson, and we’re taking some powder, shot, and about
six hundred pounds of food. If you’ll tell me how much I owe, I’ll pay.”
“Take them and be damned! I’ll not touch your money!” He turned his head. “He’s
Barnabas Sackett, Captain. Wanted by the Queen. I thought to take him back to
England.”
The captain of the new ship shrugged. “I’m not a warship, only a peaceful trader
bound for the Indies. I shall buy his furs if the price is right. I do not know
that the Queen wants this man, nor have I been asked to search for him. Nor am I
aware of his crimes, if any. He has approached me with courtesy, and I shall
respond in the same way.”
Two weeks longer we waited, and saw no sign of the Abigail. There was no more
time to be spent, so we took our boats and started up a stream that emptied into
the sea somewhat to the south of our former route.
And it was then that the fever took me, fever and chills. For days I was ill.
Sometimes we lay up along shore, often we pushed on, but Abby was ever at my
side and ever in command. She who knew much of men and ships, and in this my
illness, took over. When there was doubt, she resolved it, when there was a
decision to be made, she made it.
With her father, aboard ship, Abby had learned much of such things, and
understood the necessities of command. So it was fever and chills, chills and
fever. And no sooner did I start to get better than Tom Watkins was down with
it. Sakim understood it well enough, for it was an illness found in many
tropical lands, he said.
For several days we laid up, resting, at a place called Cross Creek. It was a
meeting place of many trading paths, but no Indians came while we were there, or
if they did, they avoided us.
Lila made a loblolly that she had learned from the Catawba, a dish made with
Indian corn and dried peaches. Kane O’Hara killed a buffalo and Jeremy a deer,
one of the largest I have ever seen, with a noble rack of horns.
Finally we could walk about, although very weak. Each day I tried a few more
footsteps. I was constantly worried about our crops, about the fort, and the
worry that must beset Slater and Quill, for we had long overstayed the expected
time.
Then there came a day when I determined to wait no longer, but to return to our
boats and proceed up the river. We began loading, packing the carrierboat
carefully, then the others.
We were just pushing off when four Indians came from the forest and stood
looking upon us, and something in the looks of one immediately drew my
attention.
“Potaka!” I called.
He stepped into the water and waded toward me, hand outstretched. “Sackett! It
is you!”
The Eno laid hold of the gunwale with both hands. “Where is it you go, my
friend?”
“To the land of the Catawba,” I replied. “We now live there, although we plan to
go beyond the blue mountains.”
“Ah? It is ever beyond the mountains with you, Sackett. But we will come also.
The Catawba are our friends.”
With four more rowers it was no time until we reached a point from which we
could leave our boats. Once more we concealed them near the opening of a small
creek where there was a reed-choked backwater, drawing them well back into the
reeds and covering them with others to hide them well. Into each boat we put
some water to keep the bottom boards from shrinking. Once more we shouldered our
burdens and began the overland trek to the fort, a much shorter distance now due
to the fact that the river we had used had taken us closer to Catawba country.
On the first night out Potaka came to me, much disturbed. “Many warrior come
this way,” he said.
“Who?”
“Tuscarora … maybe thirty mans … no woman, no child.”
A war party then … headed toward the Catawba, toward our fort.
“When?”
“Four days … I think. Maybe three days.” It was bad news. Traveling at the
speed with which a war party could travel they must have arrived in the fort
area as much as two days ago.
The four Eno scattered out and went through the woods. They could fight and
would fight, but they were no such warriors as either the Tuscarora or the
Catawba. When they returned they reported no sign of Indians.
We moved on, traveling more swiftly. My strength was returning, and Black Tom
Watkins could walk once more, yet neither he nor Fitch were well men, and we had
to move warily so as not to be surprised by the returning party.
Desperately, I wished to forge ahead, but dared not leave my family at such a
time. We kept close, with Enos out ahead and behind.
The months had made me into a woodsman, more so than ever I have been, and
Jeremy also. The gay young blade whom I had first met at the down-at-heel inn in
London now wore buckskins. The hat with the plume had been put aside for another
hat, and he wore moccasins instead of boots. Kane also, had become the complete
woodsman, and the others to a degree.
Suddenly we broke out of the woods and the fort lay before us, charred by fire,
but standing.
“Kane? Barry? Stay with my wife.” Pim, Jeremy, Glasco, and I moved out in a wide
skirmish line, our muskets ready.
Sakim and Peter brought up the rear, and the Indians scattered wide on our
flanks.
There was no sound from the fort.
No hail from the walls, no welcoming smoke … only silence and the wind.
The grass bent before it, the leaves stirred upon the trees. Each step I took
brought me nearer … to what?
The gate of the fort stood open, the bar lay on the ground inside. My eyes
searched the battlements but nothing moved. We moved toward the gate.
“Sakim? Fitch? Stay outside. Watch the woods. I am going in.
“Pim, after a minute, come in … and you, Tom.”
Musket ready for a sudden shot, I stepped inside. All was still. No sound
disturbed the fading afternoon, and then, at the door of our cabin, a body.
Scalped … and dead. Several days dead, but the weather had been cool.
It was Matt Slater.
Matt Slater, who so loved the land, and who had, at last, wide acres of his own.
A square mile of forest, meadow and fields traded for a plot, six by three.
There was no sign of Quill.
“Scatter out,” I said. “We’ve got to find Quill.”
“He may be a prisoner.”
“If he is,” I said, “we’ll go get him. No matter how far we go, or how long it
takes.”
Our cabin had been looted, our few possessions gone or broken. The same was true
in every room until we mounted the ladder to the walk. We saw several patches of
blood, dark stains now, some visible on the earth below, some upon the walk. The
ladder to the blockhouse had been pushed over, and evidently whoever had made