Scattered Seeds (13 page)

“An even thirty, mostly children.”

“And the baggage of the deceased?”

“Customs offloaded some at Port James. You are free to take the rest.”

Donald gasped. “It’s supposed to go to the families of the deceased. See what I meant, Henry, about you trying to deal with these adders?”

Henry saw, and by the low growl next to his ear, he knew his father saw, too.

“Can the sick walk?” Lieutenant Satterfield asked.

“The boys can, if pressed. The girl is a lunatic, totally incapacitated.”

“How dare they?” Henry spat.

“Keep your mouth shut and your temper in check.” Father’s eyes betrayed his difficulty in following his own advice.

Henry turned his back on the scene. He was trembling, in dire need of punching someone.

The lieutenant said to Fletcher, “Get a litter.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Fletcher shouted down to the rowboat, “Lambert, give me the litter and then come on up. One of them is a sack.”

A sack? His Mary? He made to lunge for the redcoat, but his father’s arms ringed his chest and held him fast.

“Stay your fists.” Father’s hot words blasted his ear. “Or God help me, I’ll gi’ ye a taste of mine.”

Fletcher hauled up a litter, while a pox-scarred redcoat climbed aboard.

“Where is she?” Fletcher asked.

Langley flicked his chin toward the open hatch. “Below. I’ll come with you.”

As they rumbled below, Henry tried to wriggle out of his father’s arms.

“Henry, they must not learn of our affection for her.”

“Your father’s right,” Donald added. “They know we are free men. Hold fast, or they will see we care for her and increase her price. Come, let us go to the bow and look as if none of this concerns us.”

Henry hunched over his lap and stared at his feet as if they were the most important things in the world. Donald and Father held him down, but there was no need for it. He knew what must be done . . . and what must not be done. The sooner the crew offloaded Mary and the brig weighed anchor, the sooner he could look for work.

Hold on, Mary.

He thought of the note in her pocket, glad now of its content. He imagined her happy tears as someone read it to her.

“Easy . . . careful now,” someone said. “That’s it, that’s it, a bit more.”

“Lambert, if you drop her, so help me, I will drown you.”

“Aye, sir, I won’t drop her, sir, I got her, sir.”

At least it sounded as though they meant to treat her well.

“Prentice!”

“Aye, sir!”

“Send up those bottles. You and Lambert row the sick ashore. Tell Barnes I want Walker to clean up those boys. Come back for me in three hours.”

“Aye, sir, I’ll tell him, sir.”

Lieutenant Satterfield, still holding his fistful of papers, bowed to the captain. “Now then, Captain McElwain, if you would be so kind as to direct me to your table, I shall sign the health certificates whilst we share a bottle of the finest Madeira ever confiscated on these shores.”

“But, sir,” Fletcher said behind him, nearly dropping one of the bottles pressed against his belly, “the physician—”

“Isn’t coming. If the captain says the rest of these folk are healthy, that’s good enough for me.”

Lieutenant Satterfield gave Fletcher’s head a good slap and wrenched a bottle out of his grasp, then turned back to the captain. “Let us get our business out of the way. There is a brigantine stuck in the mud a few miles astern of you. Plenty of time to drink to your health and discuss the bloody French.”

Chapter 22

“Hang your arse over the side,” someone said, “and let it go.”

“Jesus, the stink,” a muffled voice said. “I hope you learnt your lesson ’bout drinking from a river, boy.”

“A lesson learnt too late, looks like. Oy, the girl’s eyes are open.”

A lovely blue sky rocked above. Something slapped rhythmically at water.

Oars.

“You can’t tell me she has the yellow jack. Look at her skin, Prentice. White as snow.”

“Yeah, white as snow. They say she’s a loonie, though. Shame for her, innit?”

“Aye, a shame. She’s a looker. Bet she’s pretty as an Easter sunrise under that petticoat, too.”

Something nudged her ankle.

“What are you doing? Get your grubby hands off her. The leftenant ain’t even gone below yet.”

“He can’t see. Nobody can but them boys, and they’re too busy worrying about their arses.”

“Well, it just ain’t right.”

“Aw, hell, Prentice, you turning Quaker on me? Wait . . . what’s she saying?”

A shadow loomed above her and erased the sky.

“Calling for someone, I think. Probably her maw. They always call for their maw.”

“No, it sounded like ‘hell.’ Mayhap she’s calling on the devil for help.”

“It don’t scare me none. You’re the one who touched her, not me.”

“Wait, there she goes again. No . . . sounds more like ‘hen’.”

“Maybe she thinks she’s back in Ireland, feeding the chickens.”

“Irish don’t have no chickens.”

“Sure they do.”

“Well, by the looks of ’em they don’t never eat ’em. Aw, boy, again? Jesus, get your arse over the side.”

Chapter 23

Donald joined Edward at the rail. “He’ll get through this.”

“I know,” Edward said.

“Should we go down to him? Talk to him?”

Edward shook his head. Henry would want to be alone for a while. It was his way. “Watching your child’s anguish is far worse than suffering your own.”

Donald turned away, but not before Edward saw sadness flood his eyes. He realized suddenly that he knew very little about the young Englishman.

“Ye’ve been good to Mary and Henry. I owe ye thanks for that.”

Donald faced him again and smiled, but Edward saw the falseness in it.

“What are your plans when we make Philadelphia? I do nae believe Henry has e’er mentioned them to me. Do ye have family waiting for ye?”

“No, no family. I mean to look for work with a printer.”

“A printer? That seems a wild waste of a great mind. Should ye not look for something in a court or a magistrate’s office?”

“Once I see to Mary’s petition, I am finished with the law. I have a plan for future, but it most assuredly does not include the law.”

It was hard to see Donald failing at anything he put his mind to.

“Will ye stay in Philadelphia?”

“I don’t know. I may head to New York or to Boston. Lots of printers there.”

“Ye would nae consider coming wi’ us?”

Donald laughed. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I would be worse than useless in the backcountry. I have had a great deal of time to think about what I must do. I am confident my plan is solid.”

“Our door shall always be open.”

“Much obliged. Look!” Donald pointed at a battery along the shoreline, where a row of cannon barrels reminded King George’s newly arrived subjects of his long reach.

“Have ye ne’er seen cannons afore? Ulstermen are used to English iron.”

“No, no. There!”

Upriver, beyond a harbor spiked with masts, spires rose skyward above a sprawling city.

Philadelphia.

Edward could find no walls around the city, no medieval fortifications, nor any bells or clocks in the steeples. Rows of houses and shops faced each other like infantrymen across stick-straight roads. The Georgian houses with their dual chimneys were impressive enough, but the opulence of the churches and government buildings took his breath away. Even the roads—the few he could see from the water—intersected at perfect right angles. The city seemed a modern marvel of Quaker precision, well beyond his comprehension but not his delight.

On the wharves, carts rattled over cobblestones as sailors and stevedores came and went. Hammer strikes emanated from every direction. Women with baskets glided along the streets like mallards on placid waters. Flatboat operators hauled goods to and from anchored vessels. Ferries transported passengers across the river to New Jersey.

“There’s a crowd waiting for us.” Edward nodded toward men in black gathering near a dock. “Word must have traveled fast from Port James.”

“Do you suppose all of those men are buyers?”

“Likely. The agent will have placed notices by now.”

“They look to be Quakers.”

“Let us pray they take the young.”

Donald gave him a quizzical look.

“A Quaker master will educate them, which is more than they can expect from some illiterate tradesman. Living conditions will be better, too.”

“The bustle of the city bodes well for finding work, does it not?”

“I thought the same.”

The captain emerged, squinting, from his quarters. By the look of him, he’d shared more than one glass of Madeira with the customs officer. He barked, “Mister Reed, take us in, if you please,” and climbed to the bridge. He clasped his hands behind his back and puffed out his chest, apparently intent on presenting his hometown with a magnificent image of himself.

“You would swear he commands His Majesty’s finest,” Donald said.

“Reef sails,” Reed shouted. “Let go the anchor. Ready hawsers.”

The brig floated toward the wharf.

“Sanderson, let go the hawser, if you please.”

A dish-faced sailor tossed a rope to a man waiting for it on the wharf. The man secured it to a bollard. The brig shuddered and groaned.

“Let go all hawsers,” Reed ordered. More ropes flew portside.

“That’s us, then, tethered to an unknown future,” Edward said.

Henry joined him, rubbing sleepy eyes.

“Och, ye up?” Edward dared not inquire as to his wellbeing.

“I came to see what shook me awake.” Henry scratched his head and took in his first glimpse of Philadelphia. “Bigger than I thought it would be. And cleaner.” He craned his neck to see downriver.

Edward knew what he sought, but the pesthouse was out of sight.

A gangplank clattered against the brig, and a redcoat boarded with a lanky clerk. “Good to have ye back with us, Captain McElwain,” the redcoat said. “I trust your journey went well.”

“Lost a few, I am sorry to report, but I cannot think Mister Conyngham will be too disappointed with the numbers.”

The redcoat bypassed all pleasantries. He thrust out his hand, fingers wiggling. “Health certificates and passenger lists.” A hint of brogue flavored his speech.

Captain McElwain handed him the papers.

The officer flipped through them. “Mmm, aye. Ye have three full fare passengers.”

“Aye, two named McAdams and one Pemberton.”

“Loyal subjects of the Crown?”

“Aye.”

“No need for oaths, then. That is convenient. Call them forward.”

“McAdams! Pemberton!”

“Here,” Edward said.

The officer gave them a head-to-toe scrutiny. “Ulstermen?”

“England here,” Donald replied.

“What part?”

“Surrey.”

“Surrey, ye say. I know it well. And the two of ye.” He turned to Edward and Henry. “Are ye from Surrey as well?”

“Nay, sir. County Donegal.”

The officer lifted his chin. “Ah, the auld sod. Not much happening there these days, is there?”

“Starvation is happening there,” Edward replied.

“Well, I am confident ye shall find plenty to eat here.” His eyes conveyed good cheer. “My luck to ye.” He handed each of them a paper. “Ye’re free to disembark, but make the Lord Mayor’s office your first stop. These papers bear two of the three signatures ye’ll need in order to be lawfully present. The third will be given and sealed at the Lord Mayor’s office. Should ye depart for the hill country without it—for I assume ye plan to join the rest of the Ulster rabble there—then ye run the risk of being taken for a runaway servant. Ye’ll need to present these papers to anyone who questions your presence in these Colonies, do I make myself clear?”

“Aye.”

“Otherwise, ye may be taken into custody and forced to defend your lawful status at your own expense.”

Edward glanced at the name scrawled on his certificate.

Edward McAdams.

He wanted his real name to serve as the foundation for a new life in a new land, but he could find no way around it now. If they admitted their fraud, a sheriff would nail them to the pillory.

“Now then,” the officer said to the clerk, “ye may be about your business. I am certain your captain is anxious for his own table and a meal that does not include salted meat.”

“Henry,” Edward whispered, “go and get our things. Donald, have ye much?”

“Only a small bag and my good shoes.”

He watched the two boys disappear below as the clerk began calling out a long list of passengers’ names.

One by one, the passengers stepped forward.

“Your indentures have been purchased. Proceed with your belongings to the last bollard and make yourselves known.”

Children thrashed in the arms of strangers as parents kissed them goodbye. Women screamed and refused to give over their children.

Edward turned away, his throat constricting and his breaths reduced to wheezing gasps. He knew the heart-wrenching dispersal of the passengers played out at every colonial port, but nothing prepared him for the sting of it.

Henry and Donald returned and caught him wiping away a tear.

“Father, what is the matter?”

“Bear witness to this. Mark me, son, ye’ll mind it for the rest of your days.”

“I canny, Father. Let us go.”

“Nay, son, one day, as ye bounce a grandwain on your knee, he may want to know the story of his people. Watch so ye can gi’ him a faithful account.”

Edward regarded the pitiful souls herded down the gangplank like cattle to the shambles. They sobbed, and in their frailty, they dropped precious belongings from home into the water.

A weak-chinned redcoat met them on the flags of the wharf. They followed him, weaving on unsteady legs like newborn colts and drunkards on their way to the magistrate’s office, casting forlorn glances back to the brig, where loved ones stood waving.

“They will rise.” Edward offered a silent prayer that he was right.

“Come, Father, please. Let us go.”

They climbed onto the gangplank and shimmied past a handful of men in fluttering black cloaks waddling up to the brig like fat cormorants.

More names were shouted. “Henshaw, McBride, Maloney, McManus, step forward.”

Edward stepped onto the wharf, and his legs turned to pudding. He fell to his knees, Henry and Donald landing beside him looking confused and frightened. They sat up and glanced back at the brig, where the Quakers circled the passengers like wolves selecting the weakest prey. His niece—and very likely Henry’s future wife—could have been among them.

“Come.” He wobbled to his feet. “Let us see what we can do about Mary.”