Louis L'Amour (12 page)

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.

Dreamed of them, yes, but of my own hills the more. I wanted only to be back there, but first to stamp out this ugly thing, for I thought of Noelle in such a plight and no one to come to her aid.

If harm were done to any whom I loved, I should come back; if it were from the dead, I should come back and lay a hand upon those who were evil.

The fog moved around me in strange curls, caressing my cheek with ghostly fingers, placing a chill kiss upon my brow with a small touch of moisture.

The palisade loomed before me, and I went to the gate. A shadow moved, and a man stood there. “I be Tom.” he said, “on guard this night. Is there aught I can do for you?”

“I thought of going out,” I said.

“I would not,” he said. “There be unholy things in the night and a whisper of moccasins, methinks. I'd stay within and be glad, for the wall is strong.”

“Aye, you are right, and if all goes as I expect, I'll be needing rest before I go down to the sea.”

“They'll be bedding for the night soon,” Tom said. “The master is no lare stayer these nights. Ah, I've seen the time when they made the welkin ring with their singing of songs and drinking of ale, but not with the reverend here. Besides, there's a deal of work to be done, and all must rest.”

“Is there trouble with Indians at all?”

“It's been a time since. Oh, there's petty thievery and such like but no more than is expected. You can't blame them,” he added. “We've so much that is new and some'at curious to them, so they be picking up this and that to look at and sometimes to cany off. They do not have the same thoughts about ownership as do we, an' 'tis but natural.”

“Aye.” He made sense, this man. I wished all might
be as understanding, yet it was much to expect when most newcomers thought of the Indians as savages, ignored by the good Lord unless saved.

It may have been my father's easy way with folks or perhaps my mother's way or Lila's or the teaching of Sakim, but I was not one for believine all who believed not as I to be therefore heathens. Many are the paths to righteousness, and ours, I think, is but one.

Inside they'd put down a pallet for me close by the fire, but I drew it somewhat away. I liked not to sleep too warm but cool enough to sleep lightly so my ears can hear what moves about.

All were asleep, or seemed so. I drew off my boots and looked to the charge on my pistols and then stretched upon my pallet and stared up at the dark timbers, lit by the flickering fire. It was in my mind to go south to the Indies, yet there was uneasiness on me, for I should be venturing far from lands that I knew and among men who were strangers to me and whose ways I knew not.

In the night it rained, and I awakened to hear the sound of it on the roof and in the yard outside. Lying awake, I thought of the rain falling in the forest, and I wondered where Max Bauer was and those who had been with him. Here I was safe. Yet Diana had spoken truly, for if they were slavers and discovered my intent, they would kill me or seek to kill me. Nonetheless, I knew this foul business must be ended or no maid would be safe to walk free upon the land.

Or was it simply that something deep inside me still longed for the sea, something inherited, something only half held, some unnamed yearning? What man truly understands his motives?

Yet there was something else, something of which I had heard my father speak when talking to Jeremy or the others, that where man was, there must be law, for without it man descends to less than he is, certainly less than he can become. Even on the frontier where no law
had yet come, man must have order, and evil must be restrained or punished.

No man had made me my brother's keeper, but if no other moved to restrain evil, then I must do it myself.

These men had injured one whom I—I—I could not complete the idea. It was not true. It was only that—

I went to sleep.

Morning dawned, cool and damp with a wind from off the bay. Yance and I walked outside into the sea wind and stood together. “Don't worry about my crop,” I said. “The birds and the squirrels will harvest for me. Tell them where I am gone and that when spring comes I shall be with them again.”

“Kin, be warned. They are not easy men.”

“Aye. That I know.”

“Where will you go?”

“To Jamaica at first to ask about where many sailors come. I do not think there are secrets at sea even though some may believe so. At Damariscove, where I go to find a ship, I shall also ask.”

“Kin, do you remember John Tilly? And Pike? They were trading to the Indies in the
Abigail
, named for our mother. And the
Eagle
, too, the craft that took mother to England. That one traded to the Indies, also.”

“Aye. I remember.”

Henry came to the door. “Do we go now? I am ready.”

“And I. Good-by, Yance. Care for things until I return. And do not go off a-hunting. Stay close to Temperance for a bit.”

“You know how to give advice,” a voice said, “and do you take your own?”

It was Diana, standing alone and very still just outside the gate. I blinked at her, not quite understanding, but I held out my hand. “I will come back,” I said.

“Oh, will you?” She looked straight at me, her eyes wide. “And what then, Kin Sackett? What then?”

“An end to this bad business,” I said.

Her fingertips scarcely touched mine, and then she turned sharply away. What in the devil was the matter with the girl?

“Go, then,” she said over her shoulder. “Go.”

S
till lay the water over which we moved, with no sound but the ripple of our passing and the steady chunk of the oars. Fog lay thick about us and somewhere ahead an island. A long, thin, wooded island, and there was the harbor, Damariscove, settled, it was said, by a Captain Dammerill.

Yet the fisherman whose boat we hired shrugged when I said it. “Aye, it may be, but there were lads as came ashore there to dry their fish many a year before he ever caught the shadow of it.”

My father, too, had spoken of this, for fishers from the Grand Banks had come here to smoke or dry their fish before heading homeward for the shores of Europe. I spoke of this, and he looked at me again.

“Did he have a name, then?”

“He did. Barnabas Sackett, it was.”

He chuckled. “I ken the man. Ah, a rare one he was, too! A rare one! Tricky and sharp but strong! He made a name for himself amongst we who come from Newfoundland, for we love a daring man, and that he was.”

He turned to glance my way. “You do favor him, although you're taller. D' you ken Tilly and Pike, then?

“They were his friends, and if it is to sea you are going, you'll be in luck, for there's a ship of theirs at the island now, or there was.”

“Of John Tilly's?”

“Aye. The
Abigail.
She's been about a bit but seaworthy. She's been taking on water and trading for fur.”

My father's old ship and in port here! Suddenly I was impatient at the chunking of the oars, the slow, steady movement through the water. I had been relaxed, resting, waiting to arrive at Damariscove and thinking if I was lucky we might—I swore softly, bitterly. The ship might be gone before we arrived. Why could I not have known?

As if in answer to my impatience a small breeze blew up, and the fog began to thin. The old man went forward and hoisted the sail. Yet even so our progress was slow, too slow.

There was naught to be done but to hope she would not sail until we arrived. Henry looked around, amused by my impatience. “There will be other ships,” he said.

“Aye, but yon's a special ship, and I would dearly love to sail in her, be her master whoever he may be. If he be John Tilly—”

The fog lifted, and the wind picked up a little. It was not yet midday, but Damariscove was far off. A gull dipped low above us, and I felt a queer excitement stir within me.

I was at sea! How often had I heard stories of the sea and of ships! Of my father's battles with pirates. What was the man's name? Bardie, Nick Bardle. There was another, too, but I had seen him, knew him from long ago when Yance and I had slipped aboard his ship at Jamestown and spiked his guns. A rare bit of action that and one that pleased our father, although it was done without his knowledge.

Jonathan Delve
, that was the name. An evil man and one who hated our father.

Finally I dozed, rocked by the movement of the boat, and when I awakened again, it was fairly dark, and there was a darker line along the sky with a light showing low down near the sea.

“Are we there, then?”

“Yon,” our boatman said. “Would ye be landed?”

“Not if the
Abigail
is close by. I'd like to board her.”

“At night? They are a touchy lot aboard there and
wary. I'd say you'd best be known to them if you'd board, but I'll take you alongside. And there she lies, two points abaft the beam. I'll bring her around, and we can hail her.”

There was a stern light showing and an anchor light in the chains. We edged in close, and a hail came from her. “Lay off there! Lay off!”

“Is John Tilly aboard? If he is, I'd speak with him.”

“The cap'n? Lay off there. Who be you?”

“The name is Sackett,” I said. “I think it will have a familiar sound.”

“
Sackett?
” The watchman exclaimed. “Well, I'll be!” In another tone he called out, evidently to someone else on deck. “Joel? Call the captain. Tell him we've a Sackett out here.”

I saw light come into the darkness as the door yawned open; then there was a rush of feet, and a strong voice, which I knew at once, called down, “Sackett? Is it you, Barnabas?”

“It's Kin,” I answered. “Kin Sackett, his eldest, and seeking passage to the Indies if it is there you'll be going.”

“Come aboard, lad, come aboard!”

They dropped a ladder over, and I went up with Henry after me. My first time on a rope ladder, but I had the hang of it from words my father had spoken. The boatman had been paid, and there was naught to do but hoist our gear aboard, and little enough we had of it.

He was a strongly made man, his hair white and his beard neatly trimmed. “Ah, lad! It is good to see you! How is my old friend, your father?”

“He is gone, captain. The Senecas killed him … finally. Black Tom Watkins was with him, and they died well.”

“That he would do.” He paused for a moment. “So he is gone! It is hard to believe.”

“My mother is in England. She took Noelle and Brian there for their education.”

“Aye. I knew of that, and I have seen them both … in London. It was only a short time ago.”

“You
saw
them?”

“Aye. I had brought my ship up the Thames and sought them out. Your brother is a handsome lad, strongly built and something of a scholar. But your sister? She is a beauty, Kin, a beauty! I declare, lovely as your mother was. She will be even more beautiful when she becomes a woman, and she has not long to wait, believe me! Ah, what a handsome pair they are!

“Brian is a scholar. He has been reading for the law but much else besides. But there's been trouble, too, over your land in the fens. William, of whom your father often spoke and who was by all accounts an honest man, died. His nephew fell heir to his holdings and has laid claim to your father's land as well. I fear there will be trouble.”

“Brian will know what to do, and if it is help he needs, we will come.”

“Help is less important now than friends in positions of power. I do not know, Kin, what will happen.”

We walked aft together, and in the comfort of his cabin over a pot of coffee we talked long into the night of the old days and the new, and in the end I told him what I wished to do.

“To find one girl, Kin, I doubt if it can be done, yet you are your father's son, and he was not a man to be stayed by doubt. What I can do I will do.”

“There is gossip alongshore; this I know. I want to know the gossip about the ships of Joseph Pittingel and what I can discover about a man named Max Bauer. I believe these stolen girls would be sold to outlying plantations where they could be kept unseen.”

“If it is waterfront gossip you will be wanting, then Port Royal is the place. They be a packet of rascals there but friendly enough if they like you, and you'll have a good name among them.”

“
I
will?”

“Aye, they'll know the name Sackett, for Barnabas made a name. Have you heard the story told of how he took the pirate ship in Newfoundland and then hung high the pirate Duval until he cooled down? Pirates favor
a bold man, and your father was that, lad, he was all of that.”

He glanced at Henry. “A slave?”

“A friend. He volunteered to help. He's an Ashanti.”

“I know them. He will find some of his people in the islands, but most of them have taken to the hills in what is called the Cockpit County, and the wise do not go a-searching for them. There be those who call it the Land of Look Behind because you'd better or they'll be all over you. On Jamaica and elsewhere, too, they are called maroons.”