Acadia Song 04 - The Distant Beacon (15 page)

“No,” said the pastor, “I am not saying that. The evil one does destroy. Does cause much pain and suffering and loss. He does oppose and upset God’s plans for God’s people. But this does not need to defeat us. Because it does not defeat God. His overall plan for mankind—to take us from a troubled earth to a perfect heaven—that will be accomplished for all who trust His way. That is our hope. We mustn’t let temporary setbacks in a temporary world cause us to retreat and fail to keep that hope alive.”

Nicole wiped at her eyes. She asked Pastor Collins, “What then should be my next move?”

His eyes found the window as he shifted on the padded seat to rub two gnarled hands together slowly. “I wish—” he began, then started over—“no, it would be quite wrong of me to chart your course for you. That must come from God himself.”

“You are saying—”

“I’m saying I do not have the direction you’re seeking. You must find it for yourself. With God’s help. I am not wise enough, nor perfect enough, to line the way out for you. God alone will reveal the way, and in His time.” He leaned forward. “But there is more resting upon your mind and heart, yes?”

“After these weightier matters, affairs of the heart seem rather trivial,” Nicole murmured.

“Well, I don’t regard them as such. Not at all.”

Nicole’s cheeks flushed, and Pastor Collins watched her face intently. “It’s . . . Captain Goodwind.”

“A fine man.”

“Yes. Yes, he is. But not a Christian in any but name, I fear.”

Pastor Collins shifted position again, leaning back more heavily on the well-seasoned chair. “I expected as much,” he said.

Nicole’s head came up. “I cannot accept the suit of a man who does not share my faith,” she told him, her tone forthright.

“You would welcome such were he of a different mind?”

“Oh yes.” The words came quickly.

“Then I would suggest that prayer and patience are what’s needed.”

“But I have prayed—”

“And the patience?”

Nicole’s smile was tremulous. “Perhaps the patience is lacking,” she confessed.

“The hardest part.”

“It does seem so,” she agreed, sounding surprised at his understanding.

Pastor Collins retrieved his glasses and book. The lamp beside him flickered as a wisp of air current brightened the flame.

Nicole rose to her feet. “I do thank you for the wise counsel, both now and in the past. It seems that by now I should be able to untangle these complexities of faith on my own. But—”

“Never be afraid to seek counsel, my dear. We have been put here to be of help to one another. If anything this poor servant of God can say is of use in strengthening your f aith, then I feel both deeply humbled and rewarded.”

Nicole looked as though she would step forward and place a kiss on his bearded cheek. Instead she again expressed to him her thanks.

Just as she tur ned to go, he spoke once more. “Patience,” he repeated. “God always has His answers ready and in plenty of time.”

Chapter 15

A day’s journey inland from Boston revealed every river crossing to be closely guarded by British soldiers. But then just before nightfall, Gordon and his men happened upon a fisherman who was only too willing to row them across in exchange for two of Gordon’s remaining gold sovereigns. They waited till the dark of night, then crossed in two groups. Once on the other side they quickly set up camp and, exhausted, slept where they were. The next morning Gordon spent another sovereign on a farmhouse breakfast for everyone, consisting of eggs and fresh bread and dried fruit.

Downr iver they found the Amer ican gar r ison encamped in and around Cambridge. Before entering the village, Gordon gathered all their weaponry except for the long knives, wrapped them in an oilskin bundle, and buried it near a huge elm tree. A hundred paces later they were hailed by an outer sentry. After searching them for weapons, the sentry allowed Gordon and the others to pass through. Neither their dress nor their purpose caused any great interest. Gordon had the distinct impression that a great number of men were straggling into Cambridge, their goal being to enlist in the American cause. What was left of Gordon’s gold was spent on bread, cheese, and a jug of winter cider. With these packed away, they bivouacked beneath a sheltering maple.

The following day they made their way toward the village common. There was a certain unfamiliar quality to the army’s main garrison, something Gordon noticed almost as soon as he set eyes on it. Yet he couldn’t say exactly what it was. A few glances at his men told him they were equally confused. The soldiers they encountered looked weary and far less equipped than the British.

But the garrison itself seemed in good spirits, however, with the music of fife and concertina and mouth harp rising from several groups. It was only after he’d stopped two soldiers and asked directions to the garrison headquarters that Gordon finally said, “I have it.”

“Sir?” said Carter.

“The difference. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it.”

“Aye, there’s a feeling to this place I can’t put my finger on,” the bosun agreed.

“These are free men.” Gordon waved a hand about the place. Every stretch of green was covered with motley tents and men. “Point out to me the officers.”

His men turned and searched. Carter said, “They have to be here, sir.”

“Of course they are. But there’s none of the stiffness you’d expect within a British compound. You see, these are
free
men, none of them press-ganged and brought here against their will. They’re here because they want to be here. They’re fighting for a cause they believe in.”

He watched his men try to wrap their minds around the utterly foreign concept. Most had come into the service as boys and done so because they had little choice in the matter. It was either through the merchant service, the navy, the army, an apprenticeship to someone born into wealth, or a guild. Gordon moved toward the redbrick building that was pointed out as the garrison headquarters. “You men stay here while I get a glimpse of the lay of the land.”

The stark contrast between the British and American attitudes was even more apparent inside the headquarters. Men came and went here in easy liberty. The officers held command, yet they didn’t boast in their superiority. They ordered and the men obeyed, simple as that. A structured military system had definitely been put in place. And yet as Gordon stood in the anteroom and waited for someone to address him, he saw indications that here was something entirely different from anything he’d ever seen before. Finally, as an aide ushered him to a side office, the word came to him. These soldiers were
volunteers
.

“Captain Goodwind, do I have that correct?”

“You do. At your service, sir.”

The officer didn’t bother to rise or introduce himself. He indicated a chair across from his desk, using a leatherhilted dagger as a pointer. A blue longcoat with the stars of senior rank was tossed over a gun rack in the corner. “Have a seat, Captain. Now then, do I understand you and your men wish to join us in our cause?”

“That’s correct, sir. I admit it may sound a bit unorthodox, but we wish to formally declare for the colonies.”

“You mean the
former
colonies,” the officer corrected sharply.

“Of course. Forgive me.” Gordon glanced over to where the aide stood. Almost slouched, really, showing none of the deference Gordon would have expected. The man observed him with undisguised curiosity.

The officer inquired of Gordon, “You have military experience?”

“Of a sort. I was raised through the ranks of His Majesty’s merchant navy.”

“And now you intend to join with us. Interesting.”

Gordon gave a brief overview of all that had happened. The man listened intently without attempting to hide his skepticism. When Gordon mentioned his family ties to the Virginia militia, the officer asked his aide, “Do we have anybody about here from that far south?”

“I believe Samuels is from Richmond, sir.”

“See if you can locate him.”

The conversation between Gordon and the officer turned to the inconsequential until the aide returned with a bearded dark-haired man who wore a tattered longcoat with a colonel’s markings on it. The man took one look at Gordon and exclaimed, “Saints above, you could only be a Goodwind!”

“That’s right, sir. Do you happen to know my brothers?”

“Aye, count both as friends.” He pumped Gordon’s hand. “Isaac Samuels, from Richmond.”

“Gordon Goodwind. An honor, sir. What can you tell me of my family?”

“Your brothers are well, last I heard. Their families are growing. They tend towards daughters, the both of them. Eldest was born the same week as my middle boy, going on twelve now.” A pause, then, “There’s been some heavy battles down our way as of late.”

“So I’ve been told.”

He clapped Gordon on the shoulder. “Never you mind. If any will walk away sound in mind and limb from this mess, it’s your two brothers.” To the officer behind the desk he said, “If this man is cut from the same cloth as his kin, we’re well served if he will join our cause.”

“Well, that’s good enough for me.” For the first time, the officer stood from his chair and offered his hand to Gordon. “General Phillip Mitchell, Captain. Welcome to the ranks of the American Colonial Army.”

“Nay, that won’t do, not do at all.” The bearded man clapped Gordon’s shoulder a second time. “What the man means to say is, Welcome home.”

“Your arrival couldn’t have come at a better time, Captain.” The officer signaled to his aide and said, “Go find that liaison fellow.”

“Right away, sir.”

General Mitchell turned back to Gordon and continued, “Our navy, such as it is, is scattered to the back of beyond. The ships are located at smaller ports from Maine down to the Chesapeake.”

“Not that we don’t have some good men and fine ships,” Colonel Samuels added. “We’ve just laid keel to a new one by the name of
Constitution
. To be built from Georgia live oak, I’m told. A wood hard as old iron.”

“Be that as it may, our problem is supplies,” said the general. “The British are choking us off, most especially by sea. We don’t have enough clothes, food, powder, lead, artillery, even men.”

“But there’s good news!” an excited Samuels interjected. “At long last.”

“Aye, that there is,” said Mitchell. “We’ve just received word that the French have declared for America.”

“That could make all the difference,” Samuels said, and Gordon nodded agreement.

“What I need to know from you, Captain, is how familiar you are with the coastline.”

“Quite well, sir. I’ve sailed vessels about these waters for a dozen years now.”

The two American officers exchanged a silent communication. Mitchell said, “Very well, then. I understand a French fleet is making its way down the coast and carrying much-needed supplies. I want to assign you a boat. It’s not much for a man of your talents, no more than a fishing vessel that’s used to hugging the coast.”

Gordon was quite certain it would be rather primitive.

“No doubt it will do us fine, General,” he said.

“The boat will serve the purpose we have in mind and little else. We must connect with this fleet before they encounter the British blockade. You will be sent north with instructions to guide the French away from the Boston harbor and lead them up the coast to Newbury. Do you know it?”

“I confess not, sir.”

“No matter. It’s a hamlet, nothing more.”

“But it won’t be known to the British.”

“Precisely. We’ll have runners at the ready, and as soon as you signal, we’ll send up a brigade to cart the supplies down to us here.” He scribbled on a square of parchment, dusted the page, then handed it to Gordon. “The officer in charge of our efforts is one Captain Langford. But there’s every chance you won’t see him at all. He and his ships are all stationed along the New Hampshire coast, hoping to locate the Frenchies before they ever draw near.” He inspected Gordon with a keen eye. “You and a few others will be our final line of warning before the Frenchies sail right into British hands.”

“I won’t let you down, sir.”

“We’ll all be glad of that.” At a knock on his door, the general said, “Come in!”

The general’s aide reentered, escorting a warrior. At least that was Gordon’s immediate impression.

“Captain Goodwind, may I introduce you to Henri Robichaud. He is French by way of Louisiana, and will act as your translator and go-between.” Gordon reached out to shake his hand and found a grip as hard as iron.

Chapter 16

The vessel was just as Gordon had envisioned, a floating hulk with rags for sails. He halted his sailors’ protest by saying, “Never you mind, lads. We’ll do our stint, help guide the newcomers to shore and safety, and be off to better things.”

The Frenchman, Henri Robichaud, was certainly an enigma. The way he twisted his frame so as to look back over his shoulder, his features set in scorn, left Gordon wondering if the man hadn’t spent a lifetime perfecting the manner. Hate seemed to smolder in the dusky eyes. Not just fury at Gordon, but at life in all its bitter forms. “So . . . the British officer finds the boat not to his liking? Too much sweat and hard work for the gentleman? No place for him to set his cup of tea?” he flung out in his French-accented words.