To the Far Blue Mountains

Jeremy was already in the boat. I swung over the side and dropped in beside him.

We pushed off. While we went ashore, Blue was to remain with the boat, hiding deep in the shadows.

"How far have we to go?" Jeremy asked.

"Almost an English mile," I said.

Suddenly, there was a heavy boom from seaward. Turning, aghast, we stared back toward the harbor entrance. Slowly but surely, a great ship was coming down the harbor ... and she flew the flag of England.

There was another boom, and the explosion of a shell scattered fragments and flame aboard the Spanish ship nearest to her.

"Come ... we'll have to hurry now," I said, refusing to look back again, or turn my head. Blue left us ashore.

The sun was gone behind the hill, a cool wind blew along the waterfront, and we hurried, running and walking toward the street named on the order. A native had given us directions.

"You're going through with it?" Ring asked. "Why not? We delivered the timbers, and we need the money."

"And if he will not pay?"

Suddenly, before I could answer, there was an explosion within the town. A great light shot into the sky and vanished, there was a dull rumble of falling timbers and debris, and we saw great crowds of men fleeing down a street.

There were flames everywhere now, and the deafening sound of muskets. Behind us we could hear the boom of guns from the ships.

We pushed through a crowd of rushing, shoving men and turned into the comparative quiet of the side street. A man ran past me, his face white, his eyes distended. I do not think he even saw me. A woman with a child cowered in the corner of a stone building, half hidden behind a barrel. It was as safe a place as any.

As we came upon the ship chandler's shop, the front of the shop was smashed by a cannonball. We forced open the door.

Inside, on the floor, a man lay dead, his skull crushed by a falling timber.

Clutched in one hand was a sack which he had begun to fill with gold from an open strong box.

Near him lay a bundle of papers. They were signed Diego de Guzman.

"It is he," I said. "Our paymaster is dead!"

Jeremy Ring flashed a smile. "His gold is not. Do we collect it?"

"Of course." I tucked the order for payment into the dead man's pocket. "There, senor. The order is yours, the gold is ours.

"Take the box," I said, "perhaps we shall be overpaid a little, but who will care?"

Jeremy dumped the gold back into the strongbox.

He tilted the box. "It is heavy."

"It will be lighter," I said, "when we spend it. But then," I added, "gold is forever heavy." Yet I was not looking at Jeremy Ring when I spoke.

Four men had burst into the door, swords in their fists, stopping suddenly upon seeing us.

"We will have the box," said the first. He was a blond and square-faced man of forty-odd with a livid scar across his brow and going into his hair. His face seemed familiar though I knew for a fact I had never seen him before.

Flames crackled and a nearby man cried out in pain. It was almost dark, and I had not noticed him in the leaping shadows. Out upon the bay, a big gun cleared its throat with a gush of flame.

My father's blade was in my hand when I looked at the square-faced man. "'At midnight,'" I said, "'in the flames of a burning town!'" I could hear my mother's voice. I felt as though another force had entered my body.

His ugly scar went a deeper red; the flames played a shadow game across his craggy face. His eyes went wide and he stared at me. "My God!" he said, and we crossed our blades.

Chapter 21

Oh, he was a strong one! The instant our blades crossed I knew he was good ... and dangerous. No stronger wrist had held a blade against me since I last had fenced with my own father.

" 'At midnight in a flaming town!' " I repeated, and he faltered, but only a little.

"Are you the one?"

"I am ... are you ready to die?"

"What man is ever ready?" He moved in, thrust, stooped suddenly and slashed a lightning stroke at my legs. Only I sprang back, and was sailing as he came to me again.

"My father taught me that one," I said.

"Your father? Must I fight him, too?"

"You fought him once," I said, "and bear the mark."

He was wary, pressing, but wary. I heard a pistol go off nearby, and from the tail of my eye saw a man sprawl dead, then saw another shot, and yet another.

"Ah? Was it he? But she said she had no husband!"

"She found him then," I said, "when he put his mark on you."

High mounted the flames, roaring, crackling, burning all about us. Red light gleamed in his eyes, reflected from his face, and the pall of smoke lay heavy over all. Our blades caught the glow and shone back the light. They clashed and joined, and the man and I stood like brothers close together, our swords uniting us. Then a quick disengagement.

"Finish him, Barnabas. We've far to go and the ship, by your order, will not wait."

Our blades crossed, I thrust, he parried, and I felt the thin line of pain as his blade caressed my skin and left a streak of blood for marker.

He was strong and very quick, a superb swordsman. Was he too good? Would we both die here?

No! There was Abby out there, and had it not also been foretold that I would have four sons?

Sweat streaked my face. Blood ran down my side. I moved warily.

"She was a grand, beautiful lass," he said suddenly, "with a fine lot of courage in her. Not a bit was she afraid, but she stood and told me to my face what would come."

"And well she knew," I said. "For she had the blood of Nial!"

"Aye." The blond and savage man moved in quickly, his blade like the flash of lightning in a far-off storm. "It took me a fair while to learn who he was!"

Suddenly his eyes lifted from our blades to mine, an instant only, "But she was wrong, for it is you who die this night, Son of Hers! You!"

He thrust low and hard, but my father had taught me that, too, and my blade was double-edged. I parried ... quite gently, and lifted quick my blade ... not gently.

My sword-edge missed his belly I'd intended to open but cleft his chin ... clean through as you'd slice a cheese. And then the smallest thrust forward and my blade was four inches out the back of his neck. He fell, almost twisting my father's sword from my hand, but I put my foot on his chest and drew out the blade.

The man was dead.

We went away then, dragging the strongbox, which was heavy enough for four men, and then Jeremy found a barrow and we loaded it in.

We ran, pushing the barrow at a stumbling run, first me, then Jeremy. We passed dead men and fleeing women and children, and then we reached the shore.

Blue was there. He had thrown matting over himself and the boat to conceal them from eyes who might want to escape across the channel.

We climbed in with the box and shoved off. Blue dipped deep the oars and the boat shot forward, and we looked once more at our ship.

"The devil!" Jeremy said. "She's moving!"

"Is she?" I looked. Was she? For a moment I could not tell, and then ... yes, she was, moving outward! She had caught the tide and was letting it take her, no sails lifted to attract attention, just a hand at the whipstaff.

"Let me spell you, Blue." I moved to the oars. He let me have them, and I put my back into it and the boat leaped forward. The tide was helping us, too. I glanced at the sky. There were stars, but it was fainting light, also.

We were gaining on the Abigail, and nearing the British warship.

We came alongside, and hailed, and somebody tossed us a line which we made fast to the boat. Then some tackle and we sent the chest up, and then a quick scramble and we were aboard, too, and picking up the ship's boat.

Yet scarcely was I aboard when a hail came from the starb'rd side. "Heave to!

We're coming aboard!"

Tilly crossed to me quickly. "It's the Royal Navy. What shall we do?"

"Heave to, instantly, and do our best. We're a Flemish ship with a largely British crew who were almost trapped by the Spanish until the coming of the navy gave us a chance to escape.

"Tell him that. It is all we can do. Keep Watkins and Wa-ga-su below and out of sight. If we have to, we'll bring Wa-ga-su up and be returning him to America as an emissary for Raleigh to the Indians, where he'll land his colony."

"You think quickly," John Tilly said dryly. "I hope it works."

"So do I," I said. "Otherwise it's Newgate for me."

The officer came over the side, a neat, trim-looking man, a fighter by the look of him and one who knew his business. "What ship are you?" he demanded.

Of course, he had seen the name on the hull, but it was a formal question.

"The Abigail, Captain." He was no captain but the unofficial promotion would do us no harm. "A Flemish ship with mostly an English crew. Thank God you came when you did. We'd sailed right into a trap."

"What do you mean?" The officer's eyes were missing nothing, but John Tilly was the typically stalwart British merchant officer, and must have pleased his eye.

"We're from America, seventy-two days at sea, and needing fresh water. We knew Kinsale Harbor, and when we saw Old Head we thought we were safe. We came right on in, and the first thing we knew we were under the guns of a Spanish fleet.

"We went ashore to plead our case, hoping to be allowed to go, and then the attack came and our boat came back to the ship just as you fellows were coming in.

"By the lord, Captain, you were a sight for weak eyes! When we saw that British flag and heard those guns ..." Tilly mopped his brow with a handkerchief. "What can we do for you, Captain?"

"Where are you bound?"

"Falmouth, Captain, to discharge and load supplies for America again. We've an Indian aboard ... one of the savages, you know, but he's a fine chap, and a great help to us. We're taking him back to speak to his colony for Raleigh. He's a good fellow and we've treated him well. We believe he will speak well to his chiefs when we get him back. It will ease the way for us."

"Your name?"

"John Tilly, sailing-master."

"I am Ephraim Dawes, first officer of Her Majesty's ship, the Sprite. Let me see your manifest."

Tilly led him to the cabin while I kept out of sight. It was unlikely that he knew me, but he would certainly know my name, for such a story as the possible discovery of King John's treasure would be bandied about.

Leaning on the rail, watching the water, I suddenly heard a faint rustle close by. Warily, I put a hand to my sword. The sound came from the ship's boat we'd hoisted aboard. I waited, and suddenly glimpsed a white hand on the gunwhale, then a head lifted enough for the eyes to see over and then, quick as an eel, a boy went over the gunwhale, paused, then darted for the shadows.

The last thing I wished was to create a disturbance that would lead to further delay in getting the British officer ashore, so I made no move.

A boy? A small man? Or perhaps a girl?

Hesitating only an instant, the boy ducked down the scuttle and vanished.

Unquestionably, whoever it was had somehow hidden himself carefully aboard the ship's boat ... perhaps with Blue's knowledge, possibly during Blue's momentary absence. Only one such possible hiding place offered itself ... the small compartment forward where the sail was stowed.

John Tilly and Dawes emerged from below. Tilly walked with him to the ladder where several British sailors were gathered.

"You're free to go," Dawes said, "but keep a weather eye out for Spanish vessels. There are a few about."

And then Abby came out on the deck. She looked quickly around, saw me, and started toward me. "Barnabas ... "

Dawes froze. Slowly he turned, staring at me. My clothes had been badly dealt with in the trouble ashore. I'd been somewhat singed, and I was dusted by falling plaster and wet from spray. I looked anything but a ship's officer.

"You, there! What's your name?"

"Cracker's the name, beggin' your pardon." I touched my forelock with diffidence. "Barnabas Crocker."

"This lady called you by your first name?"

"Aye, my family served her'n for nigh a hundred years, though we be from Yorkshire."

I'd worked with Yorkshiremen and was handy with the accent ... at least to a degree.

"Where are you from, Crocker?"

"Filey was my home, an' well I wish I was back there now."

He studied me for a moment, then turned and went down the ladder. When his boat pulled away we stood for a moment, watching.

"Get some sail on her, John," I said quietly, "but not too quick with it until we're a bit further along. Then we'd best make a run for it."

Abby came to me. "Barnabas, I am sorry. I just didn't think."

"There's no harm done." I glanced up at the sails. The wind was strong and they were drawing well. Soon we would be out at sea, and with any kind of a lead the British could not overtake us. Yet I had said we were going to Falmouth and the more I considered it the more I liked the idea.

We had shingles, potash, and furs below, and might get as good a price at Falmouth as elsewhere. And it was an easier place to leave than Bristol. With every hour in these waters I was risking my freedom and the future of our project, but we had already made a goodly sum from our timber venture. What the chest contained we had not yet determined, but it was more than the worth of the timbers we sold.

Yet we still needed supplies, both for the homeward voyage and for our stay in the new land. Food, also. And clothing.

John Tilly came to me. "Falmouth it is," I said. "A quick sail in, we'll dispose of the cargo to the first buyer, then buy our supplies and sail. I want to be in port no more than two days."

"That is very quick," he said, considering.

It had to be. That British officer might get to thinking, and putting one thing with another, might come back for another look. At the moment we were nothing in his plans. With parties of sailors ashore, and a chance of further battle with the Spanish, we were only an incident in his life. It was unlikely he'd give us a thought until the situation at Kinsale was settled. With luck, we'd be in Falmouth, out, and gone by then.

The Abigail slipped quietly into the harbor at Falmouth and dropped her hook.

The gray battlements of Pendennis Castle, now in the process of completion, loomed over the harbor.

Jublain stood beside me, looking shoreward. "It is the Killigrews you must see here," he said, nodding toward the town. "If they are not off a-sailing after Spanish ships themselves, they will welcome you, I think. See the big house there? Close to the shore? That is Arwennack, the Killigrew home.

"Oh, they be a salty lot! They'd take your ship right from under you if you have not an eye upon them, yet they are respecters of boldness and courage.

"Speak to Peter, if you can. He's no longer young, but an able man, and you'll be safer talking to him than any of the others. Moreover, although he's a Queen's man he's damnably independent, and he's not likely to report your presence or hold you for the Queen's officers."

"You know him?"

"Served with him once. He'll remember me, I think."

"Let's be ashore then."

Peter Killigrew received us in a low-beamed room with a huge old fireplace. He took bis pipe from his teeth and placed it on the table.

"Your name?"

"Barnabas Sackett, master of the Abigail. I'm fresh into your harbor with shingles, potash, and furs. I'd like to sell what I have, load supplies, and be off. It is," I added delicately, "my impression that I do not have much time."

"Sackett, is it? Are you the one they are hunting up down the land?"

"I am. I was told you were a fair man, and an independent one, and I have some'at to sell and much to buy. From you, if you'll but have it that way."

"They say you've found King John's treasure?"

"Balderdash, Captain Killigrew. Pure nonsense. I found some gold coins and discovered there was a market for antiquities. Here and there I'd stumbled upon ruins in the forest and up on the downs, so I got a manuscript by Leland ... he walked over the country hunting such places. ... Then I went to a place I remembered and commenced digging. I found some more, but it was pure chance."

Killigrew made a rumbling sound in his chest. Then he said, "Luck! I've no faith in luck, Sackett! Luck comes to a man who puts himself in the way of it. You went where something might be found and you found something, simple as that.

"All right, Sackett. I like the way you stand, the way you talk. What is it you need?"

I handed him my list. "I'll treat you fair," he said. "You'll pay 10 percent more than I'd sell for here, but that's some'at less than you'd pay in Bristol or London."

He pushed some papers on his desk. "I'll have lighters alongside within the hour. I'll pay the going price for your potash. The shingles and what timber you have left, I'll pay premium for. They are hard to come by."

He turned in his chair and rang a small handbell. When a servant appeared in the door, he said, "Send Willys to me ... now."

He pointed to a chair. "Seat yourself, Sackett." He stared at me from under heavy brows. "So you're going back to America?"

"It is true."

"Fine! You've a fine ship there. Load her with mast timbers and send her back.

I'll buy them, and whatever else you have to offer, and if you take any prizes, bring them to me."

"I will do that," I said quietly, "and I am grateful."

He got up suddenly. "Let us walk down to the inn. I'll have a drink with you there. Could have it here, but I need the air. Need the walk. Don't move around so much as I used to.

"Raleigh's land, is it? Well, well! Savages there? You've seen them? Are they truly as fierce as we hear?"

I shrugged. "Some are, some aren't. They are good fighters, and some are good traders as well. I hope to be friendly with them."

"It is well. Send your ships to Falmouth. We'll treat you fair and ask no questions, nor make a report. Why, 'tis foolishness, this talk of treasure! I believe no part of it, for you acted no part like a man with gold."

We sat over our ale and talked, of ships and the Queen, of Raleigh and Essex and Mountjoy, and of Kinsale that had fallen, and of the actor Shakespeare, and a likely man I found him, Peter Killigrew.

The Abigail lay still upon the crystal water of the bay when I returned, and the lighters were alongside, out-loading our goods, and Abby was at the rail.

She looked anxiously into my eyes. "Barney, I was that worried! I was afraid they'd taken you for the Queen."

"Not them." Suddenly, I remembered. "Abby, have you heard anything unusual aboard ship? Or seen anyone not of the company?"

She looked at me oddly, and I explained. "A boy?" she asked. "Who came aboard in Kinsale? Oh, Barney, let's find him!"

"We must. I'd not like to be taken up for kidnapping." I called to Jeremy.

"Stand by the scuttle, will you? I shall go below."

"What's up?"

When I explained, he shrugged. "It's just another lad, wishing for the sea, no doubt."

When I was in the darkness of the hold, I spoke out. "Lad, I saw you come from the boat last night. Come out now, for we're sailing to America in the morning, and there'll be no place there for lads whose family will be wanting them."

There was silence, then slowly from among some bolts of sailcloth, he stood up.

We eyed each other in the dim light.

A fine, likely-looking lad he was, slender, but with good shoulders upon him, and a clear, clean-cut face with a shock of handsome hair. The skin of his face and of his hands marked him for gentry.

"Who are you, lad?"

He stared at me, brave enough, but frightened, too. "I am of Ireland," he said, "and my kinfolk are killed. I am alone, wanting only to get to France where there are others of my kind."

"To France, is it? You'd fly away and leave your land behind? We've enemies in France, boy."

"You have, if you're English, as I've no doubt you are. I've none, for it's Irish I am, and they are friendly to us there."

"Aye, so I've heard. You are Papists, Irish and French. Well, come on deck.

You'll be hungry, and Catholic or Protestant, you'll be ready to eat. I'll have no lad hungry aboard my ship."

"It is very kind of you."

Yet he watched me . Warily, and I was sure he had no trust in me. So I commented, "Boy, you've the manner and style of a lad well-raised, so I'll trust that you've honor as well."

He turned on me, drawing himself up a little and looking directly at me. "I have, Captain. In my family, honor comes first."

"Do you know the name of Barnabas Sackett?"

"I do not."

"Well, the name is mine, and a good name it is as names go, but I am wanted by the Queen's men. It is a mistake, but the devil of a time I'd have proving it, so come the dawn I shall be away upon the sea to America."

"America?" he was startled. "I had thought-"

"Aye, no doubt you had expected aught but that. Well, America it is, and I shall not come back. Nor did I think that you'd such a voyage in mind when you came aboard."

"To get away, Captain. That was all I wanted. Had they found me they'd have slain me ... upon the spot. I am-"

I lifted a hand. "Tell me nothing. It is not needed. I know something of the troubles of the Irish, and have naught against you, m'self, nor does anybody aboard, but there's some as might in the towns about here. Was I you I'd get far from the sea."

"You do not go to France, then?"

"To America only, and we'll touch no land, God willing, until we reach there. If you go ashore, lad, it will be here, in this place."

He stared off into the distance, frightened a little, but not wishing to show it.

"Say nothing of who you are, lad. Tell nobody you are Irish for a great while.

There be many a lad adrift in England now. Mayhap you can get yourself apprenticed-"

"I am a gentleman!"

"Aye," I agreed grimly, "but would you rather starve a gentleman or live fat an apprentice? Lad, I know none here, but I'll set you ashore with a good meal inside you, a bait of food to last you, and enough money to buy an apprenticeship in a trade you welcome."

Startled, he looked at me. "You'd give me money?"

We went on deck and to the cabin then, where Lila fed him well, with some talk from Abby and me.

"My name?" He hesitated. "My first is Tatton. I'll not be telling the other."

A handsome lad he was, with clear hazel eyes, and a warm smile. Such a lad as someday I hoped my son would be, but we put him ashore in Falmouth with five gold coins sewed into his waistband and a packet of food.

He waved to us from the shore road before he started off, and we saw him no more, a fine, sturdy lad, walking away toward a future no man knew.

Chapter 22

Dark flowed the waters of the Chowan River, dim the shadows in forest and swamp, sullen the light upon the empty hill where once our fortress stood. The timbers we had hewn with our hands, the joints we had fitted with loving care, the huge gate with its repairs ... all were gone.

Burned ...

"Do you see anything, Jeremy?"

Ring was studying the forest and the riverbanks through his glass.

We stood together on the poop, watching the banks slide by in the fading light of an aging day, seeing the red touch the hills with warning. Abby was beside me, large now with child, and John Tilly, calm, serious, a little worried, I think, for he approved not of our going. Jublain had told me at last that he had not the stomach any longer for the wilds. "I fear you must go from here without me, Barnabas."

Well enough I understood, and blamed him not a whit. There were other places for him, and other climes. In a way I was relieved, for I much wanted a good friend who knew where we were and what we did.

At the last I had decided to leave the ship to Tilly, for Jublain wanted it not, only passage back to Europe or to the French lands to the north. Pimmerton Burke, Tom Watkins, and Jeremy Ring would come with me, and others had chosen also to attempt the wilds. Jublain assured me he would come again on another voyage, but within days now we should be pushing upstream with Wa-ga-su as our guide.

We had hoped to find the fort intact, but it was gone, burned. Had they found the food caches? We did not need the food now but a time might come, and it was a comfort to know it was there.

We went up the hill in the morning under a sullen sky of clouds with lightning playing, and we stood among the charred timbers and felt a sadness upon it, for what man does not love that which he himself has built?

The earth above the caches was grown now with grass. If the food had been found it was long since. The nuts, at least, would keep.

We returned and went back aboard and sat at table with few words between us. "Is it all gone?" Abby asked.

"Burned," I said, "a few timbers and ashes. Grass grows where our house was, and where the wall was built. I think it must have been but a little while after we sailed."

"Nick Bardle?" she asked.

"Indians, I think. Bardle would not burn it. He would rather leave the timbers for further use sometimes, if along this coast he needed a spar. Scoundrel he 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."

There was a good smell of food in the air, pleasing because it was of the country. The cooks had boiled venison and wild turkey together, which all relished.

Seated, Abby and I ate and talked of our son to be ... or daughter. And with our food we drank the water of the Roanokes, as fresh and clear as water could be.

We talked of our home in the blue mountains, the home that was to be, and they were fine, bold dreams we had.

Wa-ga-su came suddenly from the darkness and spoke softly to me, and I did not move, but reached out with my swordcase and touched Jeremy upon the shoulder. He glanced from me to Wa-ga-su and got up slowly, walking to the pot for another helping, then back to us.

"Three canoes," Wa-ga-su said, "twenty, thirty men. They are on warpath."

"Jeremy," I said, "as quietly as can be, send Slater, Magill, and Black Tom Watkins to the boats to join Fitch, and do the rest move one by one to the shadows and to the fallen trees near the boats. Leave the fires burning."

"What is it, Barnabas?" Abby asked.

'There will be a fight. Get to the boats, you and Lila."

No sound disturbed the quiet night. Men walked away and darkness remained. The men looked to their muskets. As for myself, I put three pistols in my belt and carried a musket also.

The night was still. Somewhere a nightbird called.

They came with a rush.

They came with savage yells, intending to strike terror to our hearts, and had they found us unawares or sleeping, the yells and the sudden attack might have done so. Nor was the attack so well planned as I thought them usually to be.

They had seen our fires, and without closer inspection, decided we must be gathered around them. They must have waited some time.

When they finally charged toward the firelight, spears and tomahawks poised to strike, they came upon emptiness. One warrior, quick to perceive, had turned sharply back when Slater shot him.

It was taken as a signal, and all of us fired. And in an instant they were gone ... vanished.

Three bodies lay upon the earth, two obviously dead, the third only wounded. Yet he lay still.

I could see his eyes. They were open and alert, although he had been hit hard.

We reloaded our guns. The night was so still I could hear the rustling water among the reeds at the shore. Pim was beside me and I whispered to him, telling him to get the boats afloat and all aboard.

He slipped away. There was still the faint smell of powder smoke mingled with the dampness of mud, wet foliage, and the smoke from our now dying fires. Behind me I heard faint movements, and Glasco came up to my side. "I don't like it," he muttered. "It was too easy."

"You're right. We're going to pull out. I'd rather row all night than lose a single man."

From down the shore we heard a splintering crash, then another, and then a third.

Then all was silent again.

At the last moment, with all aboard, I waited ... listening. There were faint, whispering movements, then silence. Overhead there were stars.

My hands touched the rough bulwark, and in utter silence we moved away. So silently that I heard but once the sound of a paddle.

"Will they follow?" I asked Wa-ga-su.

"No canoe," he replied.

"But they must have canoes."

"No canoe," he replied, and I detected a smug satisfaction in his tone. "I fix."

The oars dipped deep, and we moved off into the night. Abby was close beside me.

I put my hand over hers and she leaned her head against my shoulder.

"Tired?" I asked her.

"Yes ..."

"You've a right to be tired. We'll find a good place and rest."

"No, it's all right, Barnabas. I'll be all right." She paused a moment. "There is so little time before winter comes."

It was in all our thoughts. We were alone in an unknown land, with danger all about, and no hope of rescue if aught went wrong. We had cut all ties, but we floated together in the vast interior of this green strange land.

We were moving toward the mountains where it would be cold during the winter, and we had meat to kill, fuel to gather, shelters to build. Our only security lay in ourselves, in what we were, and what we would become. But had I chosen from thousands those who were with me, I could not have chosen better.

Leaving the bow, I went back to take the place of Tim Glasco at an oar, and after a half hour I shifted across the boat to give Kane O'Hara some rest. When I returned to the bow, Abby was asleep, as was Lila. I moved alongside Wa-ga-su.

"Tell me about the river," I suggested.

"There are villages," he replied. "One of them we will see tomorrow or the day after."

"Are the Catawbas a strong people?" I asked.

He shook his head somberly. "We are strong, but we have lost many men in war with the Iroquois, and we have been driven from our country in the north. The Iroquois fight everybody, kill everybody. Very savage, those people."

He spoke English well enough, after his months with us, and I spoke a good deal of his language.

"Then the Cherokee attacked us and we were driven to the place we live now. We will go no further. We will fight them again and again, but we will not leave."

"Are all of your people here?"

"No ... some are still in the north, but they will come."

"Wa-ga-su, we have told you how many are the English. Soon they will come here.

Many will come. Some will return, some will die, but more will come. We would be friends to your people. Think on this, and say what you think to your people."

"You wish me to say it is good for Catawba to join with the Queen's men?"

"I cannot advise you, Wa-ga-su. Much harm may come from it. What is right for us is not always right for you, and those of us who come are hungry for land-"

"There is enough for all."

"That may be. I do not know if there is ever enough. And there will be trouble with the English and the French and the Spanish even as there was trouble with the Iroquois."

Wa-ga-su was silent.

We continued to row.

The first light of dawn was upon the water, vaguely yet, but swirls of water could be seen and ripples, and the trees began to outline themselves against the morning sky. One last star hung in the sky like a far-off lamp. Turning, I spoke to Jeremy, who was at the tiller. "There!" I pointed. "We will eat and rest."

We went up to the shore in the dawning, and beached our boats on the water, not too firmly, and tied them with slipknots, and a man remained armed with a musket in each boat. The rest stepped ashore and I walked along, gathering bits of brush and bark as I went. Others picked up driftwood, and behind some of the logs and rocks we found a smooth place some twenty feet across. Pulling some rocks together for a crude fireplace, I shredded some bark in my hands, put it down, and added twigs. Spilling a thumbnail of powder on the flattest piece of bark, I removed the charge from my pistol and, cocking it, pulled the trigger. A spark leaped into the powder and in an instant the fire was going.

Wa-ga-su had disappeared into the brush. I warned the others, so that a hasty shot might not kill him, and walked back to the boats.

"Keep down," I said, "and keep your eyes open. They can be all around before you see them."

Matt Slater went down to the stream to fish. There was a deep pool just below where the boats lay and he cast his hook there.

We ate and then slept on the grass with two men guarding; then those men slept and two more took over. Wa-ga-su returned. He had seen many deer and turkey tracks.

Shortly after noon we started upstream again, this time using sails, as there was better wind. It was not much, but it saved us all the labor of rowing or poling against the current. We moved up slowly. When we camped at dusk we were more than twenty miles from the scene of the fight.

Day after day, we pushed on. The stream grew narrower, the water, if possible, clearer. We hunted with our bows and arrows, killing turkeys aplenty and an occasional deer.

And all of us were changing. We were better hunters. We had become stronger and more confident. Traveling along a stream as we were, there was always game, and there were many fish. If the Indians fished with bait, they did so rarely, and the fish were easily taken.

At sundown on the tenth day, Lila came to me. "We must rest soon," she said. "I think we have not much longer to wait."

"She is right," Sakim said. "I think within the week."

Glancing west, toward where the blue mountains lay, I tried to calculate. If it was smooth water, not too many curves ... and if there were no waterfalls, could we reach the mountains in two weeks?

Sakim shrugged. "We will see."

Lila turned and walked back to Abigail, and I made a round of our camp.

I mentioned two weeks to Wa-ga-su, and he shook his head no. "More far away," he told me.

He waved ahead and to the south. "The cold will come. Sometimes snow. Much ice on rivers. I think it is best you stay with my people. The Catawba is good farmer. Much grain. You stay."

There was hypnotic fascination in the journey by river. We moved along one bank or the other, choosing where the current was least strong, and often our way was overhung with the branches of huge old trees. At other times we were far from the banks, moving along in the brightest sunlight.

It was already cold at night.

Several times we saw deer swim across the stream ahead of us, and once we killed one for meat. Several times we killed turkeys, and once a bear.

We saw few Indians but were quite sure they saw us, and looked upon us with wonderment and curiosity. Yet as the distance grew we became more confident, more excited by what lay before and around us.

By night our flickering campfires lighted the wilderness, and sometimes we sang the old songs from home. Kane O'Hara had a fine voice, as did Jeremy. Of my own singing the least said the better. I liked to sing, and would have sung always, but my voice had no quality.

Much was I learning, for Wa-ga-su pointed out trees and plants used by the Indian for medicine or food, and also much about Indians themselves. The Catawba and the Cherokee were ancient enemies, and the legends among the tribes were that both had come from the north, although long, long ago and before any white man had been seen, even before De Soto or Juan Pardo.

There were mornings when the sunlight sparkled on every ripple, and shadows dappled the banks, and there were days when the rain fell in sheets and we could see only a few yards before us. Sometimes we were hard put to avoid huge drift logs that came down upon us, but each day we moved farther, each day we progressed some little bit.

"It takes a long time," Peter Fitch mumbled, one day. "I would na have believed 'twas any so far, or there was so much empty land in the world."

" 'Tis a miracle," Slater agreed, "and they do say there's more beyond the mountains."

Suddenly, Fitch caught my arm. "Captain, would you look now? What is that yonder?"

We had camped that morning under some great old trees on a broad flat bank of the river. Beyond the trees there was a wide savanna or plain, and out upon it lay a huge beast, a great, hairy black monster of a thing. As we watched, he got up suddenly, lunging to his feet and staring at us. His broad flat face, thickly matted with hair, was toward us, and his beard almost touched the ground.

Suddenly others like him began to appear.

Wa-ga-su came up beside me. "Good meat," he said. "Good hide also. You kill?"

I had to think twice about that. I'd seen some bulls in my time, but nothing quite like this one, nor nearly so big. And there was wonder in me if a bullet could bring him down, but Wa-ga-su assured me the Indians often killed them, sometimes with arrows, but occasionally with spears.

At his urging I rested my musket on its wiping-stick, aimed, and fired.

The huge beast moved not a whit, but continued to stare at me, finally jerking his big head up and down as if irritated by me or perhaps the bullet. I had begun at once to recharge my gun, and at the shot, O'Hara and Pim had come quickly from the trees, they being closer.

The beast then took a step toward me and suddenly bent at the knees and went down, then rolled over. The others did not run off or even seem to notice, not having heard such a sound before, and not connecting it with any danger to them.

Wa-ga-su was now pointing at the nearest cow, and truth to tell she had turned partly away from me so I had an excellent shot at the space behind her left shoulder. Knowing full well that I had many mouths to feed, I took rest and fired again, with equal good fortune. It must be admitted that neither beast was as much as fifty yards away and in plain sight, nor were they moving. But he was standing and looking, she grazing. Now, seeming to scent blood, the others moved off a little, looked back, then walked on across the savanna, and calling the others, we moved out to butcher our beasts.

Quill and Slater were expert at butchering, so leaving them to the task-with Wa-ga-su to advise and Fitch to help-I put Barry Magill at the edge of the woods to keep an eye out for trouble from inland while the others worked.

Abby was lying on a pallet near the fire and I went and sat down near her, holding her hand. She looked very pale this morning and I was frightened to see her so, and guessing how I felt, she squeezed my hand. It was getting very close to her time.

Watkins and Glasco were fishing, Pim putting a splice in a rope we had broken negotiating a falls, where we had to remove our boats from the water and take them overland, tugging and hauling them, then returning for our baggage and carrying that on our shoulders.

Suddenly there was a low whistle from Magill, and instantly, Glasco and Watkins took up their muskets. Pim stepped to shelter behind the bole of a huge tree while Black Tom and I went through the woods.

Our butchers had stopped cutting meat and were standing erect. Magill had his musket leveled, and Fitch was kneeling behind the carcass of the bull, holding his own musket.

On the crest of the low rise where we had first seen the buffalo stood several Indians. Each carried a bow and a spear as well, with a quiver of arrows behind each left shoulder. As we watched, another Indian appeared, then another, and another.

My musket was in my hands, and I waited, watching.

When at last they ceased to appear, at least thirty warriors lined the crest.

Against them we could fire three shots before they would be upon us.

Chapter 23

They stared upon us, and we upon them, and then Wa-ga-su stepped suddenly forward and called out to them in his own tongue.

Instantly they were alert. One of them came a few steps forward, peering at him.

Wa-ga-su spoke again, and motioned them back, wisely guessing that any sudden advance might bring gunfire.

He walked toward them, speaking the while, and they waited for him. Suddenly they were all about him, showing great excitement. They seemed to know him, and yet I could not be sure.

He turned then and came to me. "They are my people," he said. "They are Catawba." Then he added, "They hunt for meat, but they have killed nothing."

"Wa-ga-su, the cow we must have, and the hides of both, but I would not see your people hungry. They may have the bull."

Walking out to the butchering, I explained to Quill, Slater, and Fitch. "Skin out the cow," I said, "and get the meat and hide. I think we will make some friends here."

At Wa-ga-su's invitation, they descended upon the bull, and in no time at all fires were going and meat was roasted.

Lila met me at the edge of the clearing. "I think we must stay here," she said.

"Her time is upon us."

Thoughtfully, I looked around. The grove of trees where the boats were drawn up was lovely, a peaceful place, open to the sky and with a good clear lookout in all directions, as well as a good field of fire.

There was water, fuel, and as evidenced by the buffalo, there would be game. If my son was to be born, it would be better here.

"Is this your country?" I asked Wa-ga-su.

"No ... but my people are great hunters and wanderers. They travel far."

"They have women and child with them?"

"Many." He motioned toward the southwest. "Over there." Then he added, "You have given them much meat. They are pleased."

"If they are your people," I said, "they are our people."

The remark pleased him, and he repeated what he had said before, that it would be well for us to live with his people until the winter had come and gone.

"It may be," I said, "if it pleases your people. But we must try to find a place near the mountains ... in a small valley, with water and timber."

"There are many, and many more over the mountains."

"What people live over the mountains?"

He shrugged. "All people hunt there, no people live."

Together we went back to our camp. The fire was burning, the boats tied along the bank now, and an awning of sailcloth had been raised, under which Abby was lying.

Sitting down beside her, I told her we would remain where we were until our child was born, and I told her of the Indians, whom she had not yet seen, and of the buffalo I had killed.

"It is a good place," I said, "and we can hunt nearby and gather fruit and nuts to help our eating. It is such another place as this that we will find."

"Why not here, Barnabas?" she asked me.

"No. It is lovely, but it is not the blue mountains. I think in those mountains we will find a place we love, and another place, as well."

"Another?"

"Someday we may wish to move on, or our children. We must think of our children.

The land we have passed through is too fair a land to lie empty as it is, and more men will come and settle there."

Abigail was listening, a smile on her face.

"There are mines to be opened here. I have heard much of metals the Spanish found. And the furs we can trade with Peter Tallis."

Holding her hand, I talked long of what we must do, of the planting of grain, the saving of seed, the planting of fruit trees and vegetables.

Sakim came up to join us. "There are many plants here that I know, plants used for medicine in other countries."

Around the campfire, we talked. "It would grow whatever we need. Is it not so, John?"

John Quill nodded. "It is true." He looked around him and shook his head. "I cannot believe it, Captain. So much land, and so few people, when in our country people long for the land and have none, for it all belongs to the great lords.

Even the wild game is theirs."

"Aye," Tom Watkins agreed, "but trust not the red man. Have you seen their eyes when they see what we have? Each of our boats becomes a treasure ship to them, worth as much in their eyes as the richest Spanish galleon is to us."

Tim Glasco spoke then. "We have come far, and we follow wherever you go, but what is it you plan?"

So I told them, talking quietly, of the valley I sought. A place with good water, good land, and timber for fuel and for building. Then to build first, as before, a stockade and shelter, and then to survey for each a square mile of land.

They stared at me. "A square mile?"

"Aye, and why not? There is land in plenty, and each should have, if we can arrange it so, some stream frontage, some timber, some meadow. But at first I think we should remain together, inside the stockade at night.

"During the day we can work our land. Perhaps a piece close by that belongs to all, and which all work, and then each his own, further out. Within the stockade we must have stores, a granary, and the blacksmith shop, and a shop where Magill can weave and make barrels for us.

"There, with luck, we can build a small community, a world of our own. We will also trap fur, and when we have sufficient we will go down to the sea and trade, for more ships will come, and colonies will be established."

Well I know that what I said would require doing, and no easy thing it would be, and also now that we had come to a stop ... or soon would ... there would be more chance of trouble among us. Circumstances had tended to weed out many of those who might cause problems, but being human, there would be differences of opinion, for the ideal situation may exist but not ideal people. Wise I might not be, but I was wise enough to know that I myself would make mistakes. I was subject to anger, to sorrow ... I do not think to discouragement.

If we lived among the Indians we would soon become Indians, and it seemed best that we keep to ourselves, be friendly, exchange gifts and favors, and with the buffalo bull we had begun well, for the bringer of meat is welcome at any fire.

Up to now we had been fortunate, but now we faced a winter, perhaps not a hard winter, for from what Wa-ga-su had said the winters were not bad ... except occasionally. Nonetheless, we would need fuel, food, and shelter, and much hard work to have them.

All of us would change, and I myself had already changed, for suddenly I had become a leader of men who depended upon me to lead them well. Now I had to think carefully, and to plan, I had to be sure the work was evenly shared, and the food as well. I wished not to interfere with the Indians nor their way of life, but to learn from them. They knew the plants and animals of this country, they knew the seasons and how high up the rivers a man could go by boat.

Whatever their thinking they had found a way of life in tune with the country, a way that seemed good with them.

Abby was not one to lie long upon her bed, and soon she was with Lila, cooking, sewing, and mending garments for the other men as well as myself. Her time was soon, and I walked into the forest alone, worried, thinking of her, and knowing little of such things as births, yet glad of the presence of Lila and Sakim.

Dark flowed the river past our grassy banks, whispering through the reeds and rustling in eddies near the roots of old trees. Dappled was the water with light and shadow, and above the water the changing leaves, for frost had come and brought autumn colors to the forest. Soon the leaves would be gone, and the trees bare until spring.

The forest aisles were a place for thinking, for all was still, with only the rustling of small animals and birds. There was little time left to us to find our winter haven and prepare for the cold and storms, so little time. And yet it would be best to wait, to wait just a little longer.

My thoughts prowled the forest and saw in the mind's eye the place we might find, and one by one I went through the moves to be made, so many at work on a stockade, so many on shelters, and so many for hunting and gathering. And there must be changing about to give all a taste of each.

A move well planned is a move half-done, and I tried to think through every phase. We would go, I decided, a little farther by water.

It was a Catawba who warned us.

He came suddenly, running from the trees beyond the clearing, screaming "Occaneechee!" And he ran toward us, darting swiftly from side to side. I saw an arrow strike near him and grabbed my musket at a rush from the trees along the shore.

Turning, I fired from my hip at a charging Indian and saw the bullet strike him, yet his step scarcely faltered. Even in that desperate moment I felt awe at the man's courage and his strength. He came on, and I dropped my musket and fired a second time, with a pistol. He staggered then, but came on, and I killed him with a knife, breast to breast.

There was firing everywhere, and then a sudden charge from the Catawba, taking the attackers on the flank. Their presence was a total surprise, and the Occaneechee attackers broke and fled. Turning sideways, I lifted a pistol, brought it down in line, and shot another as he fled into the trees.

We moved out then in a rough crescent, those of us who could. I recharged my musket and pistol and sank my knife hilt-deep in the soft, black loam to cleanse it of blood, and we went after them. There was still a bit of fighting here and there. I saw an Indian bending a bow at me and fired quickly ... too quickly.

My shot barked the tree at his head but he was no squirrel and merely sprang away, his arrow wasted into the brush.

Another came at me with a spear, but I parried the thrust with my musket barrel and sprang close, grasping the musket in two hands, shoulder-high, and driving the butt into his face. He took the full force of it and went back and down, and for a moment there was fierce fighting on all sides, but when the attack broke I called out, "Fall back on the camp! Fall back!"

Some heard my hail and passed on the call, and slowly we did fall back, for I had no desire to waste our strength by scattering in the woods.

Quill came from the brush near me, and then O'Hara a bit farther along. Glasco, Peter Fitch, Slater. ... Anxiously, I counted them off as they gathered, moving back, pausing here and there to recharge their muskets.

Barry Magill was the last to come, bleeding from a gash on the face. Now all were present but Jeremy.

"Ring?" I asked.

"He did not come," Pim said. "He stayed in camp."

"Jeremy?" I could not believe it.

"Aye," Pim said, and there was an odd look to his eyes that puzzled me.

The Catawba came back, too. Not a few of them with scalps. We had struck the Occaneechee a blow ... five men dead, and no losses to us, despite their surprise. But we had been thinking of this for weeks, and were ready. And the Catawba were always ready.

Two Catawba were wounded, only one seriously. We had come off better than we deserved, but somehow the attackers had not known of the presence of the Catawba, who were old enemies and fierce fighters. It was their sudden attack that had saved us.

"I want to see Jeremy Ring," I said, and he heard me speak and came toward me.

He bowed low, sweeping the ground with his ragged plume. "I regret my absence," he said with mock seriousness, "and nothing less could have kept me from your side, but I thought it best to stand by your kin," he said.

"My kin?" I stared at him, stupidly.

"Your wife," he said, "and your son."

Chapter 24

So my son was born on a buffalo robe in the heat of an Indian battle, under a tree by the side of a stream in a wild and lonely land, and he was given his name by a chance remark, a name he would carry forever. For we called him Kin, and thought of no other, and kin he was to all of us, to the meadow, the woodland, and the forest.

Abby was healthy and strong, and came from her labor smiling, proud she had given me a son. For a second name we called him Ring, for the man who had stood above them, sword in hand, musket and pistols hard by, stood there in case any Indian should break through our ranks and come upon them.

Kin Ring Sackett ... the name had a sound, and it was a sound I loved.

Lila brought him to me, my hands still hot from battle, the smell of powder smoke about me, and I took him carefully, for I'd no knowledge of babies, and held him gently and looked in his face, his eyes squinted and dark, his face still red and pinched, but he looked at me and seemed to laugh and grasped my thumb and tugged strongly. Oh, he was a lad, that one!

Two days later we left our river camp and moved up the river. For three full days we moved, but the water was becoming less for the season was late and the rains had not yet come. We beached our boats at last in a small bayou, unloaded them upon the shore, then drew them deep into a forest of reeds and hid them there.

We cached some goods on the spot, and hid them well, then moved out upon the trading trail, carrying the rest, and my own pack the heaviest of all. Yet strong I was to bear it, and the more willing that now I had a son, the first of my name to be born in the new land, a son who would know no civilization, but only the wilds.

He would grow up on woodland paths, riding rough water in a canoe down lonely streams and hunting his own meat in the wilderness. Looking about me I knew I could wish no better life for any man than that I was giving to him. A lonely life, but a wild, free life.

"There must be more than that, Barnabas," Abby said. "He must learn to live with civilized men also, for how can we know who will come to these shores and live upon these hills?"

The way we went was long, but the Catawbas traveled with us, returning to their country, and I set myself to learn from them, their language, their customs, their knowledge of wood and savanna. Never would I learn all they had to teach, for so much was natural to them that they assumed all would know it, things so obvious in their way of life that they would never think of teaching anyone, presuming knowledge.

We traveled slowly with them, for they hunted and gathered along the way, and late though the season. I relished the slower travel for the chance it gave to know the country.

The path we took was an ancient trading path that led across the country with many branches. Traders were usually respected and left to travel unmolested, as trade was desired by all, yet there were always renegades, outlaw Indians or war parties from afar that might not respect the trade route.

Wa-ga-su was much with us, and I began to notice a certain aloofness toward him by the others of his people. He seemed moody, sometimes puzzled, often downcast.

"What is it with my friend that he is troubled?" I asked.

He glanced at me, then shook his head. After awhile he said, "When I went away I was a great man among them. They loved and trusted me. No man was greater on the hunt, none brought more meat to the village, and none was greater upon the path of war. Now all is changed."

"What is the trouble?"

"They no longer trust me, Sackett. I told them of the great water, and they shook their heads in doubt, then of the great stone cities you have, and of the many people who live without hunting ... they think me a liar, Sackett.

"My words are no longer heard in the village. When I speak they turn their backs upon me. They believe me a liar or that the whites have bewitched me.

"You see, they think you a small people, a weak people, even though your firearms make you great in battle. They say, 'Why do not they trap their own furs? Hunt their own game? If they do not, it is because they can not. Therefore they must be a weak people.' "

"I am sorry, Wa-ga-su. It might be the same with my people if I told them of the vast lands here, with so few people, of the great rivers, the tall trees ... they might not believe me, either."

"Yes, I think it is so, Sackett. We grow wise, you and I, but in wisdom there is often pain. No man of my people has traveled so far. None but me has crossed the great water, none but me has seen the great cities and the horses and carriages.

But if they will not believe what I have seen, if I am no longer great among my people-then I am an empty man, Sackett.

"Who is it for whom one becomes wise? Is it not for the people? For his people?

Do I become wise only for myself? I become wise to advise, to help ... but they do not believe and my voice is only an echo in an empty canyon. I speak for my ears only and the sound is hollow, Sackett."

"You have a place with us, Wa-ga-su, a place as long as you live."

"Ah? I thank you. But of course, it is not the same, is it?"

We walked on together and the great forest was green about us.

"They believe the horses, do they not?"

"Horses they have seen, or their fathers or grandfathers have seen. The Espanish men had horses. I have heard it there is a people beyond the mountains have horses, but only a few taken from the white men or left behind by them."

"What game lies beyond the mountains, Wa-ga-su?"

"The buffalo are there, the deer, the mountain cat, a still bigger deer, and there is the animal with the long nose and big white teeth."

"What?"

"It is true. I have not seen it myself. My grandfather told us of them. They were a large animal that men used to hunt. They had great teeth ... curving like so, and a long nose like an arm. They were very hairy."

The elephant? Here? It was not possible. There were elephants in Africa, and my father told me of the Carthaginians using them in war against the Romans, and the bones of still more ancient ones had been found in Europe. But here?

"You know of the great sea beyond the mountains?"

He shook his head. "There is a sea to the north, very far off. There is a sea to the south, also very far, but beyond the mountains there is no sea. There is only land."

No great western sea beyond which lay Cathay? No land of Cipango? Wa-ga-su must be mistaken. All the best minds said there was a sea beyond the mountains.

For days upon end we walked. We carried our burdens and we hunted for game, and somehow we lived, and somehow at last we came to the land of the Catawbas, after fording another great river. We moved into the foothills of the mountains, and Wa-ga-su led us to a small valley, its steep sides heavy with forest, and a stream that ran though the meadow at the bottom.

Abby came up beside me and stood, looking about. "We will stop here," I said, "and here we will build our home."

"Our home, Barnabas?"

"For a time, Abby. For a time ... there are still the mountains ... and the land beyond."

Chapter 25

Once again we were at work, felling trees, hewing them into timbers, building a series of cabins and the stockade that would surround them. Tom Watkins and Kane O'Hara went to the woods, a-hunting. Near the slope of yellow mountain, in an open meadow, they killed two buffalo. This meat we dried against the winter's coming.

Our skills were the greater for what we had built before, and the houses and stockade went up easier, despite our lesser numbers.

Kin had filled out amazingly, and was a laughing, energetic little fellow as befitted the first of our name to be born in the new lands. Abby was much with him, and Lila with them both.

Peter Fitch, who was the best of us all at timber work, having been a shipwright, paused in his work one day. "I think of Jonathan Delve," he said. "I did not like the man. There was a crossgrain of evil in him, but he was strong."

"He was that," I agreed.

"And dangerous," Peter added.

"Aye. He is well gone."

Fitch stooped to take up his broadaxe. "If he is," he said.

I had turned away, but at that I stopped. "You do not think he is?"

"If he finds not what he went after, he will think of you. He will know you had some money from furs and timbers, and he will come to believe the story of King John's treasure. He will also begin to wonder why you go west into an unknown land.

"He will not believe you are what you are. He believes all men are evil, that all will steal, connive, do whatever is necessary to obtain wealth. He will think you very shrewd. He will say to himself, 'He goes to the western sea, there to build a ship and sail away to the Indies or Cathay.' "

I shook my head. "The Indians know of no western sea, and when Hawkins' men marched up the country, they saw no western sea, nor heard of it. Some say they walked from Mexico to the French lands in the north, some say only from Florida, but they covered a deal of country."

"No matter. Let the Indians believe what they wish, and you as well, but Delve will believe what pleases him best. He hates you, Captain, as he hates us all.

Mark it down ... we have not seen the last of Jonathan Delve.

"He proposed to us once to leave you and join Bardle, or to open the gates to Bardle when he attacked."

Later, talking to Jeremy and Pim, I spoke of Fitch's words. "Aye," Jeremy agreed, "I have been thinking of the man. It is far to follow, but who knows?"

Yet there was little time to think of such things. When men live by hunting it is a constant task with all our mouths to feed, and usually the Indians who came visiting. The amounts of fresh meat they could put away was astonishing.

Often I went with Abby and Lila to the woods, gathering nuts, and whenever we went, Kin was along, carried by one of us.

We learned to make clothes of buckskin, and moccasins such as Indians wore, and we learned to know the roots and leaves that could be eaten, although with winter coming the leaves were few and no longer tender.

Barry Magill set up shop in a corner of the yard and went to work at his trade.

Barrels were needed for storing nuts and fruit. Yet the barrels were only one of the things he made, for he made several brooms, buckets for carrying water, two rakes for raking hay, and sap buckets for the gathering of sap from the sugar maples.

Black Tom came in one day with a smooth section of slate about four feet square.

"It's big," he said, "but I figure you might cut it up to make slates for the young un. I see some chalk rock down the valley a ways, too."

He rubbed his palms on the front of his pants. "No use him bein' without eddication. No tellin' what will come to pass in his time, and a body should know how to read, write, and do sums."

"Thank you, Tom," I said, and he went away vastly pleased.

Wa-ga-su was with us much of the time, and he went often to the woods with Sakim.

Soon the stockade was built and the cabins roofed, a larger stockade then before. Building with logs was a foreign thing to we of England, yet my father had seen it done by men from Sweden, as had Jeremy Ring. The timber was present, and land must be cleared for planting, so we were able to accomplish the two tasks at once. Yet never were we to feel secure.

The Catawbas were our friends, but they had warred against nearly all the tribes at one time or another, and as we were the friends of the Catawbas we were regarded as the enemies of others, although we had no such feeling or desire.

Most to be feared were the Cherokees from the south or southwest, and the Tuscaroras from the north.

There came a day when I had taken my rifle from the hooks above the door, and with Kane O'Hara and Pim Burke I went far into the mountains.

"Do not be afeered," I told Abby, "if we come not back this night. We must look about and find a way into the farthest mountains, as well as to scout the land.

We may lay out a night or even two."

"Well ... have a care," she said, and went to join Lila, who muttered something about "going gallivanting."

We went up the bottom of Muskrat Creek and crossed the southern tip of the Chunky Gal Mountain and over the bald peak known to the Indians as Yunwitsulenunyi, meaning "where the man stood." Wa-ga-su had told us the story that once a great flying reptile with beady eyes and furry wings had dived down suddenly from the sky and seized a child. This happened several times and the Indians cleared the mountaintops with fire and set up a watch to warn them of the flying beast. Then its den was found in an inaccessible place on the side of the peak and the Indians invoked their gods to strike the monster dead, and the gods responded with crashing thunder and vivid lightning and the monster was set aflame, writhing about in its agony.

The Indian on watch on that bald peak fled in terror and so for surrendering to his fear the gods turned him to stone, and there he remains to this day, the so-called Standing Indian.

We killed a brace of wild turkeys and camped that night against the rock face of a cliff in a corner away from the wind, and shielded by several ancient hickories. Our camp was on a river I thought to be the one called Nantahala, but we were high up and in a lonely place.

"It is far from London," Jeremy commented.

"Do you miss it?"

"Not I ... I was nothing there, a soldier without a cause, a sailor without a ship. This ... this is grand, beautiful! Had I not come here I should never have known it existed."

Dark bent the trees above us, flickering the flames and their shadows; the fire crackled, and a low wind moved through the trees, mourning for a summer gone. We huddled above our fire yet thought how beautiful was fire, how much a companion on the long marches and the lonely nights ... even the bright dawns, with meat cooking.

We slept that night with the stars seen through the branches, with the sound of things that move in the night, and the little sounds the mountains make, the faint creakings and groanings and rattles of changing temperature and wind.

Before first light Jeremy was gathering dry branches, and Pim had gone to the stream for fish.

On the morning of the third day we started back. I had brought with me several well-tanned deerskins, and upon these I made a map of the country so far as we had seen it. The route by which we returned was different from the outer route.

This was only partly because we wished to see new country, but it was never well to retrace a path where an enemy might lie in wait.

During the weeks that followed we made several such trips, and upon one of them Abby joined me. She was a good walker, and loved the country as much as I, and we brought Kin with us, carrying him Indian-style. Many of the mountain tops about were bare of trees, and this we could not understand although Pim Burke believed the Indians might have burned them off to offer a better view of the country around. Of this I was not too sure, for over much of it one saw only the tops of trees while enemies could move close under their cover.

Cold winds blew down from the north. We built our fires higher, and had no trouble finding the chinks in our log walls that had been left when we applied mud to the cracks. The cold wind blew through each of them and made us only too aware.

Meanwhile we gathered fuel, hunted a little, and cleared ground for spring planting, moving rocks into piles, cutting out the larger roots until we had several acres ready.

With the onset of colder weather we went into the higher mountains and set out traps.

"What of the furs?" Slater asked.

"We will go to the coast," I said. "Tilly will return with the fluyt, or other ships will come. We will go downstream by boat, sell our furs and what else we have, and then return here."

Often, I talked with Wa-ga-su about the lands beyond the mountains, and from his memory he dredged tales told by Catawba wanderers from other eras. Returning to the long-nosed animals, I learned again from him that no Catawba he had heard of had actually seen such an animal, but there were stories of them and he believed they might exist beyond the mountains.

Yet the stories, he agreed, might be very old, told of a time long ago.

We had climbed one day high up on Double Mountain, Wa-ga-su, Jeremy Ring, and Tim Glasco. Abby was with us, and we had stopped, enjoying the cold with its freshness and the smell of pines and cedar.

Suddenly Wa-ga-su said, "We go now. Indian come."

Experience had taught me to react quickly. I wasted no time in asking foolish questions. I said not what nor where, but catching Abby by the arm, started off the bald where we were and into the brush.

Below us was a level stretch of ground and on the far side a huddle of boulders, cast off by the mountain into a jumbled shape. There was a small spring there, as we had lately learned, and Wa-ga-su led us there, at a fast trot.

We had almost reached it when there was a sudden whoop behind us and a flight of arrows, yet we scrambled into the rocks and I turned at once to look the way we had come.

Nothing ...

Wa-ga-su had retrieved one of the arrows. "Seneca," he said, "very old enemy of Catawba."

There were four muskets amongst us, and Jeremy and I each carried two pistols.

"We must not let them catch us unloaded," I said. "Wa-ga-su, do you fire with me. Let Jeremy and Tim hold their fire while we reload."

Several times I glimpsed movement at the forest's edge, but they were wary. I think they knew not how many we were, but guessed at once where we lay, for the rocks offered a good position, and perhaps they, too, although from far away, knew of the spring.

Abby put Kin in the shelter of some rocks and we lay still, waiting. A Seneca near the edge of the timber lingered too long in one place, and Wa-ga-su fired.

We saw the Indian stagger, then fall. A chorus of angry yells sounded again and there was a flight of arrows, and two of them fell within the cluster of rocks.

It was not a circle, rather a mere cluster perhaps sixty feet long, half again as wide, with some rocks looming up in the center. Kin lay in a narrow crack in one of the largest of these.

They circled closer, daring us to fire. An Indian darted into the open, then dove back to shelter. Several times they darted out, trying to draw our fire. It was obvious they had encountered guns before, probably from the French or English far up the country from which they had come, for the home of the Senecas was several hundred miles away to the north. Yet Wa-ga-su assured me they often raided the Catawba as well as other peoples of the area.

The Catawba, he said proudly, were such noted warriors that every Seneca wished to kill one, to have his scalp to boast of.

Suddenly, they charged. The distance was scarcely twenty yards, and there were at least a dozen. Wa-ga-su had reloaded. He fired first, catching the big Indian in mid-stride. Deliberately, I held my fire, then when they had come on two strides further, I fired. Passing my musket back to Abby to reload, I drew both my pistols.

Jeremy fired, then Glasco, and I fired a pistol. Four Senecas were down and the attack broke, the Indians scattered in all directions. Wa-ga-su fired again ... missing.

Yet they had managed to carry off three of their men. Two others lay exposed.

One was in plain sight upon the grass, the second lay over a slight rise and we could see only his hand, although the rise was of a few inches only. Yet the hand did not move.

The cold wind blew, a few spatters of rain fell. "Keep your powder dry," I said, needlessly, for we all understood the necessity.

Five Indians down ... it had been a costly attack for them.

"How many were there?" I asked.

Wa-ga-su shrugged. "I think not many, but they are strong fighters. We must watch. They will try to get others and return."

Wa-ga-su lay quiet, watching. I could not but reflect on what our coming had meant to him, and what he had gained in knowledge he had lost in prestige within the tribe. He had no place among them now, for his word was doubted. At the same time, they could see that he stood high with us, as indeed he did.

He had indeed traveled farther, perhaps, than any member of his people. He spoke English very well, for he had much opportunity. That he was a man of keen, active intelligence was obvious.

Rain began to fall, a light, misting rain. I took a blanket and covered the crack where Kin lay. He laughed at me and waved his arms, making small noises.

In one hand he clutched an arrow that must have fallen near him. When Abby saw it she was frightened and hastily took it from him lest the point be poisoned.

Suddenly a Seneca darted from the brush. I fired, but he dropped as my musket came up and the shot was a clean miss. The Seneca lay on the grass, nowhere visible, yet there. He lay perfectly still, and we watched, determined to get him when he should rise from the ground.

Only he didn't rise. Some minutes later, Ring nudged me and pointed. The hand that we had seen was gone. Somehow the Seneca had succeeded in retrieving that Indian, and had vanished with him.

The other lay in plain sight. We waited. "Two muskets," I said. "We must get him."

Suddenly, Wa-ga-su darted from the rocks. He ran swiftly forward, dropped flat beside the dead Indian, and with his knife made a quick circular cut, then grasping the hair he jerked off the scalp.

Rising to full height, he shook the bloody scalp and shouted taunts. Instantly, there was a flight of arrows, but he wheeled and ran, darting this way and that, to the shelter of our rocks.

I had heard of scalp taking, but had not seen it done before.

Slowly, the winter passed. The springs which had frozen into crystal cascades over the edges of cliffs-sheets of glistening ice that could be seen from afar -now began to melt. The ice disappeared from the higher courses of the rivers, and the water began to rush with greater speed.

There were several bales of furs, a few freshwater pearls, and many skins, including four great buffalo hides.

"We will go to the coast," I said that night when all were together. "With luck we shall meet Tilly and the Abigail."

"Who will go and who will stay?" Fitch asked.

"All will go who wish it," I replied. "We should go down very swiftly, but the return will be slower."

"I do not know," John Quill said. "I may stay. I have found land that I like, and I may build my own cabin, plow my own land." He looked up at me. "I never owned my own land, Captain. I farmed all my life on land owned by others.

"It is good earth. I like to see it turned by the plow, I like to feel it in my fingers. It is fine soil, and it will grow a fine crop."

"Aye," Slater agreed. "I feel the same. I have laid out a square mile alongside John's, and I cannot believe it. I walk through the forest, along the banks of the stream, and I see blackberries growing in thickets, and nuts falling from trees, and it is mine."

"The Catawbas," I said, "can teach you much of planting. You are farmers, but they know this land, this climate. It is well to listen. I think you each know more than they, but what they can teach is important, so learn from them."

Quill nodded. "I have talked with their head men. I have agreed to give them one-third of my crop for five years and then the land is mine. Slater did the same."

"You will go or stay, Slater?"

"I feel as John does. I will stay. I wish to get in a crop, and to know my land better."

The others would come, and we talked much of the going, for there were other streams down which we might go to the coast, others that called for a shorter trip overland, and we could build boats or rafts for the trip.

In the end it was decided to go back the way we had come, but then to sail down the coast, and return up one of the nearer rivers.

Lying abed, and before sleep came, Abby and I talked of this. "I want to go," she said, "but so much can happen. I worry about Kin."

"He will travel well," I said, "and it is our way. He can learn no younger."

The wind whispered around the eaves, a soft wind, a spring wind. I stirred uneasily. Was I doing the right thing? Should I dare such a long trip?

Yet we all needed a change, we all looked forward to seeing a ship from home.

Three days later, at the break of dawn, we started our trek to the boats.

Chapter 26

The water was a mirror, polished and perfect. Only our oars made a ripple, only our oarlocks a sound. A gull sailed by above, no wing moving, and our boats moved slowly outward from the land, moved toward the Outer Banks lying warm in the midday sun.

There was no ship upon the water, no sign of sail against the sky. Here all was quiet, and we watched, straining our ears for something beyond silence.

How many ships had come this way in times past? How many an eye had looked across this empty water? For no man may know the history of the sea, nor does the sea have a memory, or leave a record, save its wrecks.

To cross the wide ocean must never have been a problem. All that was needed was the courage, the desire, for men had sailed farther, long before. The Malays had sailed from their islands south of the Equator, from Java and Sumatra to Madagascar. And Cheng Ho, the eunuch from the court of Imperial China, had sailed five times to Africa before Columbus or Vasco Da Gama.

What wrecks might be buried in the sand out there where the warm Gulf current from the south came up to meet the cold Arctic current from the north? What unknown ships might here have ended their days?

Hanno had sailed around Africa ... and where else? For long the Phoenicians and the Carthaginians had kept the Straits of Gibraltar guarded so that no other ships but theirs might sail to the seas beyond, and thus to the markets they wished to keep for themselves. In later times men had begun to call the Straits the Pillars of Hercules, whereas, in truly ancient times, the Pillars had been far to the east, on the coast of Greece. But this men had forgotten, and names are easily transferred, one place to another.

Of these things I had learned much from Sakim, who was a scholar, a wise man in his own land, and versed in many sciences.

The Philistines, he told me, were a sea people who came to the shores of what they call the Holy Land from somewhere to the west. They sailed over the seas in their high-prowed boats to attack the shores of the Levant and of Egypt, and they settled there and brought the first iron known to that coast.

Many nations had sailed far upon deep water before them, and even before the sailors of Crete and Thera, called Atlantis by some, had gone west of Africa.

The idea that the world was flat was never put forth by a seafaring man. It was a tale told to landsmen, or to merchants who might be inclined to compete for markets, for in those days the source of raw material was closely guarded.

Coming up to the inner shores of the Outer Banks, I remembered the sunken ship and the alligator, and wondered idly what had become of Jonathan Delve ... and of Bardle, too, for that matter.

The thought of Bardle was worrying. If he should appear now, with a ship, we would be helpless before his guns. Yet it was unlikely he would spend much time along these shores, and after months of absence he would not expect to see us again.

A low, sandy shore lay before us, topped with brush and some scattered groves of trees. These Outer Banks stretched along the coast for a great distance ... nearly two hundred miles, I had heard, but I suspected it was not quite so far.

We took shelter in a deeply notched bay of fair extent almost exactly opposite the tip of the mainland that extended down from the north into the smaller sound. The Bank was at that place scarcely more than a mile wide, and we had drawn our boats close in shore. We waded to the beach.

We made camp there.

For days we camped on the beach, keeping always a lookout on the farther shore, but we saw no ship. Yet it was a quiet time, enjoyed by all. With Abby I took long walks along the shore where one could see for miles. We searched the shore for whatever the tide might have washed up. Obviously, no Indian had been along for some time for we found a cask of good brandy, and the wreck of a lifeboat still containing a sail and a boat hook. We found several gold coins, the skeleton of a man, half buried in sand, many logs, ships timbers, and other debris. We found three boxes, close together on the sand, with water-soaked clothing, all of which we took back to our boat for ourselves or the Catawba.

Despite all this, for miles the beach was bare and empty.

We kept our fires low, used dry and relatively smokeless driftwood, and kept a sharp lookout at all times.

Each day brought an increase of doubt and worry. Despite the pleasure of camping, it was beginning to pall, and still no ship came.

Was our voyage downriver all for nothing? Should we wait longer? Or once more return to our fort?

Then on the twenty-fourth day, while we were gathering driftwood, I looked up and saw the ship.

She was not more than a mile offshore, and feeling her way south. I looked at her long through my glass, and Jeremy studied her as well.

"British," he said, after a bit, "let's give her a hail."

"We shall," I said, "and then do you, Pim, O'Hara, and Magill stay from sight.

Peter and Sakim can stay with the boats, and also keep out of sight. I'll meet them with Watkins and Glasco."

"If it is going aboard a ship there is," Abby said, "we shall go as well. I want Kin to see a ship, and all of us to have a bite of English food."

"All right," I agreed reluctantly, "come along."

Yet I took the time to charge two pistols and conceal them under my buckskin hunting shirt, and my knife as well. My sword and my musket were in plain sight.

The ship hove to, then dropped her hook and put a boat over the side. We waited, standing on the beach.

There were seven men in the boat. The man in command was a burly, smiling fellow with a cheerful face. "Well! Isn't this a pretty sight! English, I'll wager, and castaways."

"We've furs to trade," I said. "And we are here willingly, and do not wish to be picked up."

"Ah? Well, of course not. But the master asks that you come aboard ... be his guests. Have a meal, and then back to the shore you shall come." He glanced curiously up and down the empty beach. "Although why you'd like this better than old England, I can't guess."

He looked around. "Furs, you say? Well, the captain's the man for that. He'll trade. Come! Supper is waiting, and the captain ordered up the best when he saw you through his glass. 'Women,' the captain said, 'it's a bit of time since we've seen the whisk of a skirt, and two such lovely wenches-women-I've never seen!'"

We scrambled up the ladder and over the side, and as I came over, a hand reached out for my musket. I pulled it back, smiling. "I will keep that," I said.

"There's redskins ashore and there might be pirates as well."

A huge man, as large as two of me and fat, came down the deck. "Let it be, Joshua! Let it be! The man's a guest aboard here, and welcome to his arms if he wishes!"

He held out a huge hand. "Wilson here! Captain Oldfast Wilson, master of the Lion, out of Portsmouth! How do you do? Your name would be?"

"Barnes," I said, "and this is Mrs. Barnes. We are," I lied, "settlers on this shore. Is this one of Raleigh's ships?"

"It is not. It is my own ship." He glanced from me to Watkins and Glasco.

"Settlers, you say? I did not know there were any such, since Grenville's men were lost and the Raleigh settlers vanished from Roanoke."

"Our ship was a Flemish galleon-"

There was a movement behind me, and then a man stepped around to face me. It was Emmden.

"He lies! That is Sackett! Barnabas Sackett, and it is the Queen herself who wants him!"

"Of course, it is!" Wilson was smiling smugly. "I glimpsed you once in London, m'boy! Saw you fair! Even from the glass I was certain sure 'twas you. By all that's holy, this is a good day! A reward from the Queen herself, and-"

"Cap'n?" Joshua said. "He said he had furs to trade."

"Ah? Furs, is it? Well, a fair trade we'll have. Do you be telling us where the furs are now. You tell us, and you'll eat well and sleep well aboard this ship!

Otherwise, it's the blackest corner of the hold and a weight of chains for you, and certain drowning if we sink. What'll it be m'boy? Irons or the furs? Treat me right, and I'll do the same by you!"

"Well," I said reluctantly, "do I have your word on that? I have but six bales-"

"Six?" The greed shone in his eyes. "Why, of course! For six bales you have my word on it, and the best of quarters for you and your lady as well. Even for the wench yonder." He indicated Lila.

"There's no hope for it, Abby," I said, shrugging. Then I added, "There's a ship's boat across the island, and the bales on the shore hard by. If you send a boat, I'd be glad to show them-"

"Na, na, m'boy! I'd not be troublin' you." He pointed a finger at Black Tom Watkins. "We'll send that one. He'll know where they are, an' he'll lead us right to them. He will if he wants to live without fifty lashes a week until he dies.

"Do na think I'm a hard man, m'boy, but there's a world of deceit and evil about us, an' a man does have to protect himself, now doesn't he?"

He glared at Tom. "What's your name, man?"

"Watkins, and I'll gladly show you where the furs lie If you'll let me become one of your crew or drop me in the nearest port. I've had my fill o' that," he jerked his head toward the shore. "Savages by night an' no drop of ale by day.

I'll show you, certain sure I will!"

"Joshua," Wilson turned on us, "do you take them below. Keep them together for the non, and if there's no furs, well, we'll have a bit of their hide. Hers, too." His eyes glinted. "No doot 'tis a pretty hide, but will show the better for some blood on it. Do you take them below."

They had taken my musket and a hand had jerked away my sword, but there was no further search and I'd the knife handy and two pistols.

Pistols were not that common thing about and I doubt they gave it a thought, with me so obviously armed with musket and sword. Put us all together, they did, and in a small cabin near the main one, and we stood crowded there, scarce room to turn about.

"What now?" Lila said. " 'Tis a brave man I know you are, but what is one against all, and only Glasco aboard to help."

"And what of Tom?" Abby asked, holding Kin close. "Is it true that he's turned upon us?"

"Of course, the blackg'rd has!" I spoke loudly, and then, ever so softly, "I'd trust him with my life!"

"You have," Lila said. "Be sure of that!"

"Aye," I said, "and I'm trusting another man as well, a wise and a shrewd one, that Jeremy Ring!"

Chapter 27

Two pistols I had, but that meant but two shots, and then it was the knife until death.

Where had they put my sword and musket? In the main cabin, I was sure. That sword had been my father's, and I wanted it back again. Yet now I would have accepted any sword, any weapon.

Looking quickly around the small cabin, I saw nothing. Yet they had put us hastily there, not thinking, and there might be something about. Leaning toward Lila, I urged her to look.

Softly, she began, feeling the man's bunk, searching the drawers of his small cabinet. A compass, a Bible, a small, much-worn booklet on navigation, a sewing kit... nothing more.

"Lila," I said, "the pillow."

She looked. Pillows were a not often thing aboard ship, but this man loved his comfort, slight as it was, and he had a pillow, a soft, downy pillow with a faint, fishy smell. Gull feathers, no doubt, and made by himself.

She looked under it, but I shook my head and made a move to indicate holding it over her face. Lila got the idea at once and took up the pillow, placing it on the small stand near her.

Jeremy Ring was a quick-thinking and shrewd young man, and I was guessing he would at once surmise something wrong when he saw the boat returning without us.

Truly, my life and those of my family and Lila were in his hands. His, and those of Tom Watkins.

Yet I had no wish to trust to any man when so much was at stake, and there was every chance we might ourselves do something. I liked not the look of the man Oldfast Wilson.

Well, I'd two shots. If the worst came for it, he would get the first one. If we could get a guard to open the door, and I could distract his attention, then Lila and her pillow might well do the rest.

If a man or woman is inclined to murder or violence, owning a gun is not important. There are always a dozen things about with which a man can be killed.

For myself, I'd no wish for any of it. I'd been controlling my temper better these days, with hopes I might someday conquer it altogether. For I'd always been inclined to go into fierce although not unreasoning rage. It was a serious fault, and I'd worked hard at controlling myself, for giving away to anger is a weakness in a man.

We heard no sound except those made by the ship herself, and occasional movements above deck. Abby clutched my hand. "Barney," she whispered, "what will happen?"

"Trust to Jeremy," I suggested. "If there's a fight we've some likely lads ashore there, and if they fail, then we've to do something ourselves."

Waiting was a hard thing. Abby put little Kin down on the bunk, and he seemed happy enough, unaware of what was taking place.

A long time passed, and then we heard steps upon the deck outside, and the door was opened. It was Joshua, and he held a pistol in his hand. "Cap'n Wilson wants to know how far they had to go? They've been a long time aboot it."

"Well," I edged to the side of the door away from Lila, "they'd to cross the bank, y' know. 'Tis maybe a mile, but walking in deep sand is slow. Going and coming, that's two mile. They'd to unload the furs from the boat and carry them across. Six bales, and each bale a load for two men, I'd say."

Deliberately I put my shoulder against the door so he had to turn to face me and turn his shoulder to Lila. The pistol was aimed right at me, and at such range he could not miss. Lila was hesitating, and I said, suddenly, "Whatever they do, they'd best do it!"

I snapped the last words and slapped the pistol barrel with my right hand just as Lila clapped the pillow over his face. Yet all did not go as I hoped.

Slapping the pistol barrel, my hand did not make firm contact, knocking it only slightly aside. And as Lila clapped the pillow over Joshua's face she jerked him back, off balance. The gun blasted and something stung my cheek and brow, and then Lila was holding Joshua tight and I had wrested the gun from him.

There was a pounding of feet on the deck as someone came running, but I stepped over Joshua. Abby caught Kin up and followed, and we made for the deck. Lila dropped Joshua, now unconscious or dead, but she did not neglect to strip him of the now empty pistol and his cutlass, and well I recalled that with a cutlass she was not one with whom to trifle.

Abby turned swiftly toward the door of the main cabin at the end of the passage and opened it. I was facing the opposite way, toward the deck. A man lunged into the opening, a bare blade in hand, and thrust hard at me.

The door was narrow, and as he thrust, I fired. The bullet took him in the chest and smashed him to a dead stop. Then his eyes seemed to glaze over and he fell toward me. I thrust the empty pistol in my belt and caught up the cutlass and went through the door to the deck.

Facing me were a dozen men, and not one of them was Wilson. I'd the cutlass and one shot. Lola came up beside me, with her own cutlass.

"Drop it!" He was a burly, black-bearded fellow with a bend in his nose. "You'll get nowhere with this!"

There are times to fight and times to talk. The two of us might account for three or four of them before they had us, but behind us were Abby and Kin.

"Joshua," I said, "is dead. By this time your crew are dead or prisoners. I've two dozen men ashore there, and more than a hundred Indians. Put a boat in the water, and we'll go. Try to keep us and we'll leave you for the Indians."

"Captain?" The big black-bearded man called out. "Captain Wilson?"

He was looking over my shoulder. Fear went over me like a dash of icy water on a wild night at sea. Wilson had been behind us, in the main cabin!

I stood fast, but I was frightened. Abby was back there, Abby and Kin. They were behind me, and Wilson behind them, yet if I turned to look, we all were lost.

"There's no use to call him," I said. "Get the boat in the water if you wish to live, and-" I added-"if any of you wish to cross the blades with Lila, be advised she's stronger than any two of you, and better with her blade than any four-"

"Five," Lila said coolly. "I've marked that many for my own. Do you take the rest."

It is not good for a man to think too long if he must act, and too many ideas had been thrown at them, each causing doubt and hesitation.

Joshua dead ... where was Captain Wilson? Indians ashore, the boat crew possibly captured or dead, two blades and a pistol facing them-and at such range where at least one man must die before blades could be crossed.

They hesitated, and in so doing lost their advantage.

Quickly I stepped forward, Lila beside me, and they backed up, warily. There was no command, each waited for the other to act, and still no word from the cabin behind us.

Torn with fear, I dared not look around or lose my slight advantage. What was happening ashore I knew not, nor where stood Abby with my child.

Suddenly there was a shout and a crash behind me, a boat bumped the ship's side, and the men before me, half started forward at the shout from the cabin, half turned toward the ship's side.

Holding my fire, I thrust quickly at the nearest man. He tried to parry the blow, but his reaction time was too slow although he partly parried it. The point of my blade, and a good six inches of it, went into his thigh. Withdrawing quickly, I cut sidewise at a second man, who leaped back and tripped over a third.

Suddenly men were swarming over the side, and the first over, sword in hand, was Jeremy Ring. None of the ship's crew were armed with pistols, as was natural, and all of my men were.

There was a scream behind me and, wheeling, I leaped into the passage and in two steps was at the door of the main cabin. It stood open and beyond the table stood Abby, holding Kin. Her face was very white, her eyes wide and cool, and she was facing Oldfast Wilson.

His face glistened with sweat, his shirt was wet, and there was a smell of brandy in the room.

"I'll kill you, you-!"

My pistol I had thrust into my waistband, and my point was low. I was deceived by the man's huge size, and never suspected the quickness with which he moved.

He turned like a cat and struck out hard with the telescope he clutched in his hand.

The blow caught me across the knuckles and my cutlass went to the floor. He leaped at me, and my reaction was the instinctive one of a man with a knowledge of fisticuffs. I struck, left and right, into his face.

Blood splattered, but the next minute he had me wrapped in those huge arms.

"Now!" he gasped, "I break your back!"

His strength was enormous. He had seemed huge and fat. He was all of that, but he was also a man of unbelievable strength. His huge arms wrapped around me and he began to crush. Desperately, I hooked short, smashing blows at his face, and every blow crushed and split the skin, but oblivious to my blows he tightened his grasp. I felt a streak of agony go through me. I struggled, fought to break his hold and could not. I felt my breath going. He was leaning his huge weight on me now. His mouth was wide and gasping. Blood trickled from lips broken by my punches.

I thrust a thumb into his cheek and dug my fingers into the flesh below his ear and behind his jaw. With all my strength, I ripped at his cheek. Something broke and began to tear and he screamed. With a tremendous heave I threw him from me and struck hard with my right hand, and the blow caught him on his upraised chin.

His head went back but, mad with fear, I smashed again and again at his face and body. Hitting his enormous body was useless. I might as well have pounded a huge leather sack filled with wheat. So I struck again and again at his face and he fell back and I staggered, catching myself on the doorjamb.

Somebody caught my arm and I jerked free, turning to see Jeremy Ring.

"All is well," he said. "We have the ship."

Chapter 28

"Sail, ho!"

The call came from the deck, and as one person, we left the smashed and bloody cabin and went to the deck. A fine tall ship was bearing down upon us, flying the flag of Britain. I swore softly, bitterly. I had never thought, as a lad, to look on that flag with anything but respect and affection.

"Stand by," I said. "I do not mean to be taken."

They were lowering a boat, and in a few minutes it was nearing our side. Six men were pulling at the oars. A stalwart, square-shouldered man sat at the tiller.

As they came alongside, he asked, "Is it all right to come aboard?"

"It is," I said.

My men were walking about, picking up dropped weapons. There was a splash of blood here and there and the crew of the ship or what remained aboard had been herded into the waist, where O'Hara and Magill stood guard over them.

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 the stand within had fired along the walk on either side, keeping the Indians at a distance.

Pushing gently on the door, I found a timber wedged against it, but managed to get a hand through and moved it enough to open the door.

John Quill sat facing the doorway, his head on his chest, his musket across his knees. There were eight other muskets within the room, all placed in position near loopholes or the door.

Kneeling beside him I touched his hand. Turning sharply I said, "Get Sakim up here! He's alive!"

Chapter 29

We buried Matt Slater on the land he loved, and buried him deep in the earth. We planted a tree close by his head that its fruit might fall where he lay. His years had been given to raising crops, and seeing the yellow grain bright in the sun, so we put him down where the seasons pass, where his blood could feed the soil. We left him there with a marker, simple and plain.

HERE LIES MATTHEW SLATER, A FARMER

A FAITHFUL MAN WHO LOVED THE EARTH