HMS Seawolf

by Michael Aye

  “We’ll bring Gabe back, sir,” Dagan said to help alleviate the tension.

  “You do that Dagan. Keep Caleb in line and away from the women and wine.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Dagan?”

  “Yes sir?’

  “How’d you talk Lord Anthony into keeping the damned ape?”

  “It took all I could muster,” Dagan replied with a grin on his face, “But in truth Silas and the ape has taken to one another so hopefully everything will be fine till we return.”

  “Have a safe trip, Dagan, and remind Gabe it’s his time to stand a round when he gets back. Now let me be off, Mr . Davy, commodores don’t like lieutenants keeping them waiting.”

  ***

  The decision to allow Caleb along proved fruitful immediately. After supping at a tavern Caleb knew to be frequented by Colonials it was made known Dagan needed to go to Petersburg to visit his uncle and let the uncle know about grave family matters.

  “Who be this man in Petersburg you want to see?”

  This question was from a man with long hair and a drooping mustache that seem full of food crumbs and grease. He wore a shapeless hat, a worn tattered coat, a buckskin hunting shirt that was glazed in grease, buckskin leggings and moccasins. He spoke with a twang in his voice.

  “His name is Andre,” Caleb replied. “ Andre Dupree, he raises thoroughbreds outside Petersburg.” It had been decided to let Caleb do most of the talking with Dagan only speaking when needed.

  At the mention of the name the wiry little man seem to relax. “Name’s Frost. Most folks call me Frosty,” he said pointing to his hair. “I been gray since I was just a young he coon. Kinda like nature’s way of a joke, I guess. Last name be Frost and an early frost on top ‘o the mountain.”

  “Are you headed to Petersburg?” Caleb asked.

  “Well, I got a might ‘o freight that needs to go that way soon, I recon. You ain’t no redcoat loyalist, is you?”

  “Our loyalty is to our family,” Dagan replied, speaking for the first time.

  “Well, I guess you’ll do,” Frosty said, “But I’m warning you, it’s not an easy trip. There’s bound to be British patrols and them fusiliers shoot ‘furst and ask questions later. Oncet we inland a bit it gets a tad easier.”

  “How do you get past the guards with freight,” Caleb asked. “I’m sure they search every wagon.”

  “They’s do’s, but who said we’s gona be in a wagon? No, we’d be caught for sure. I got myself a string of mules and packs.”

  “When do we leave?” Caleb asked.

  Frosty eyed the two suspiciously, “Well fer now that’s fer me to know and yer to be ready when I calls you. Then you’ll know. What I’d recommend is when yah lays yer head down to sleep, ‘has yer things packed case I calls.”

  ***

  It was just before dawn when Frosty come for Caleb and Dagan. “Stir yerselves if you wana go. Better grab yer coats cause it’s a might frosty… he! he! he!” The ole man chuckled at his own joke. The three made a quiet departure from the inn.

  “It’s dark,” Caleb commented as the frost crunched beneath his feet. “What time do you think it is?”

  “I recon it’s about four,” Frosty replied, “But let the clock worry about itself and keep quiet.” Frosty led them down a slippery path between several buildings and seemingly lead them in circles. Finally they found themselves at a tobacco warehouse on the edge of town. Here four mules were tied up with packs already loaded on their backs.

  “I wonder what’s in those packs,” Caleb thought to himself but knew better than to ask. Then out of nowhere, a cautious voice, “Yer late.”

  Caleb and Dagan could see the gun in the man’s hand. It’s barrel positioned just so it covered them.

  “Well, we’s here and we’s ready,” Frosty replied. “Them redcoats got patrols everywhere and I had ‘ta take an extra turn or two.”

  “Well be on your way,” the man said handing the lead rope to Frosty. A quick handshake and he vanished into the dawn.

  ***

  The three had traveled about an hour when Dagan could see they were walking along a muddy path just above a river. The animals moved as though they were used to the trail. Frosty had hold of the lead mule’s halter rope with his hand patting its nose.

  “All right, boys, lets get under cover for a spell,” he said as he led the way to a small shed a few yards inland from the river. As the dawn faded, the sky was cloudy and a light sprinkle had started. “Knew it was gonna rain,” Frosty commented. “My rheumatism is acting up a might.”

  “Have you tried a willow bark tea?” Caleb asked. “It’s supposed to be good for such agues.”

  “That a fact,” the old man said. “I been nursing my sour mash along and it’s done a fair job keeping my aches down.”

  “Yes, but the willow bark does more than calm the malady. It will quench the humour that inflames the joint.”

  “How’s come you know so much about rheumatism?” Frosty ask.

  “I’m a physician, of course,” Caleb responded as full of dignity as he could muster.

  “Huh!” Frosty snorted. “I done saddled meself with one man who’s ‘edumecated and tother that can’t rightly speak.” Then the old man grinned as a thought entered his head. “What kinda cure ya got fer byils?”

  “Byils? What’s a byil?” Caleb asked.

  “I thought you was a doctor. A byil is a sore. A big sore. I gets ‘em on my seat.”

  “Huh!” Caleb replied, “You mean you get boils, likely from setting on your arse to much. However, the cure is to lance the lesion and drain out the putrefaction. I will sometimes apply a poultice and a wick.”

  “Well, I ain’t got nairn now,” Frosty replied, “But next time I do I’ll look you up if you’s about.”

  ***

  The rain got harder as the sky darkened and the wind grew. “It’s sure to be a gully washer,” Frosty volunteered as he went about taking the packs off the mules. The smell of the wet animals filled the small shed.

  As the rain picked up, water began to drip through the roof in places, some dripping down the flank of one of the mules, causing it to stamp its foot and swish its tail. The earthen floor soon started to dampen as well but overall the men were comfortable in the temporary shelter.

  After an hour or so the rain dwindled to a mist. Rising from his spot in the corner, Frosty groaned and stretched. “I better go scout out the ferry. If you will, load the mules so we can leave quick as I’m back. That rain has most likely played havoc with the crossing so we need to be quick about it ‘foh the blame river swells ‘ta where we can’t cross.”

  As Frosty ducked out the door, Dagan started rubbing the dampness from the mules back in preparation for loading the packs.

  “What do you suppose are in those packs?” Caleb asked Dagan.

  “I don’t know and don’t want to know.”

  “You don’t want to know?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if we’re ever asked I can truthfully say I’ve never knowingly aided the enemy.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Caleb thought seeing Dagan’s wisdom.

  By the time the mules had been rubbed down good and the packs loaded Frosty was back. He paused just inside the doorway to catch his breath, “Theys a British patrol down by the ferry. Whole passel of Hessian by Gaw’d, and they’s headed this way so let’s skedaddle. We’ll circle round and come in from the south. Give ‘em Hessians time to clear on out. I just hope the river ain’t to swelled to cross by then.”

  ***

  For two days after a haring raft trip across a flooded river, the trio with their mules wound themselves deeper and deeper into the wilderness. Caleb commented to Dagan at one point when they had stopped to rest, “I’m damn glad he know’s where he’s going cause I don’t.”

  Overhearing the comment, Frosty replied, “We’s on a game trail.”

  “With these supplies,” he said noddin
g his head toward the mules and packs, “We have to stay off the main trails.”

  Wild game was abundant. Fish filled the creeks and streams, but Frosty didn’t want to waste time fishing. “Take too long,” he swore when Caleb brought it up. Once when crossing a small stream, they came across a black bear with yearling cubs. Frosty gave them a wide berth.

  “Don’t want to lose one of the mules or one of the ewes either,” Frosty said off-handedly. On the third day he shot a deer. “Nice fat doe,” he said cheerfully, “Bout time we had us some fresh meat.”

  “You boys ever ate venison,” he asked as he cut out the back strap and tenderloins. Holding the pieces of meat Frosty had a gleam in his eye. “This is ‘fah tonight. We’ll take the hind quarters for later.”

  Laying the fresh cut meat on a rock, Frosty then wiped his bloody knife and hands on the legs of his buckskins. Seeing this Caleb couldn’t help but shake his head. It wasn’t over ten to fifteen feet to the stream where the man could have washed his hands. Oh well, Caleb thought, eyeing the soiled buckskins. What’s a little blood compared to what was already on the man’s garb. Some of it even seemed to be alive, and since the rain all of it smelled. If Frosty could live with it so could he.

  Later, after they had camped and Dagan had filled his belly with roasted venison he lit his pipe and laid down to rest. The camp fire would crackle and small embers would pop into the air only to fall back into the bed of hot coals. An owl hooted in a near by tree and something splashed in the creek not far off. Frosty had let his pipe go out and was relighting it from a burning stick from the fire. Caleb had already laid down. Asleep? Dagan didn’t think so, not by the uneven breaths. Caleb had long, even breaths when he slept. Frosty snored.

  Settling on down, Dagan gazed at the stars. Everything seemed too peaceful, so tranquil. It was hard to imagine a war was going on. How was Gabe? Dagan felt tormented not knowing. He knew Gabe was alive but he couldn’t get a better feel for what was going on.

  It was impossible to rush Frosty who seemed content with the mules’ slow pace. Dagan felt an urgency and wanted to be moving but knew it would do no good to push their guide. He would not be rushed.

  It was almost noon the next afternoon when the forest seemed to be less dense. Ahead they could hear voices and then they could see a wagon pulled by oxen pass by. They came out of the woods to a well used road.

  “Yonder lies Petersburg,” Frosty said pointing with his musket and that a way be ya uncle’s place. It’s not more’n two miles.” Shifting his musket, Frosty held out his hands. “I don’t usually take ‘ta strangers, ‘specially British, but you boys be true gen’men. I hope you find ya kin in good health. You boys been good help and good company and iffen I gets me another “byil” I’m gonna look ya up, Caleb.”

  Dagan and Caleb shook the offered hand and thanked Frosty for all his help and generosity.

  Watching the old man lead his mules on toward Petersburg, Caleb said to Dagan, “I’ll miss the ornery old coot, but not his smell.”

  “No, I’ll not miss his smell either,” Dagan said, “But if I was ever in battle I’d like a bunch of his kind on my side. I’d put up with the smell to have such a marksman.”

  “Aye,” Caleb agreed, “Especially if he can cook venison.”

  Chapter Five

  The road soon became less traveled and then turned into a well-used wagon path. After a short while they came upon a fence of stone with woods on the right side of the road and fields to the left.

  “We’re close,” Dagan told Caleb. “This is the same kind of fence we had at home.” As they walked up to the yard a hound started barking and running toward the two men, scattering a group of chickens. As the dog approached, Dagan held out the back of his hand and after a few soothing whispers, the dog went back and lay under a huge oak tree.

  Uncle Andre had a nice home and the kitchen seemed to be separated from the main house by a breezeway. As nice as the house was it was the barn that caught the visitors’ eye. It was a huge two-story building that had been built in the Dutch fashion with open doors at both ends. The rear doors opening into a corral. A lean-to had been built off one side and under it a blacksmith’s shop setup.

  Uncle Andre was standing in the barn door with a harness over his shoulder. He had on a battered hat and had a long stem white clay pipe in one hand. Seeing Dagan, he rushed up to him and gave a great hug.

  “My boy, my boy,” he kept saying. “You’ve grown into a man.” After the greeting Dagan introduced his uncle to Caleb. After the introductions Andre looked at his nephew.

  “I knew you were coming. There’s been a raven in the oak there for three days now.” Then with a somber look he asked, “Is there trouble, Dagan?”

  “Aye, uncle, there’s trouble.”

  Before the conversation could go any further a young woman called from the house, “Papa! Come quickly Papa, I can see Kawliga and Jubal coming cross the pasture with a new colt.”

  Looking at Dagan, Andre said, “We’ll talk later but right now we have to attend this colt.”

  As Andre hurried off, Dagan turned to his friend, “Want to see…” Dagan broke off his question. Caleb was staring at the young lady on the porch. “Caleb, Caleb?”

  Finally looking at Dagan, Caleb said, “A goddess. A goddess in the wilderness.”

  ***

  After an evening meal of greens, potatoes, roast pork, biscuits and cherry pie, a sated group sat in the parlor. Dagan had been introduced to his cousins, Jubal and Katheryn. Kaytheryn, who went by the nickname Kitty, was Caleb’s goddess. Small talk filled the room. Finding the new colt had been luck.

  “The old mare always wonders off to have her foal,” Andre had explained. “Why she can’t have them in a clean stall in the barn is besides me.”

  “Papa,” Kitty said, “Queenie had ten puppies this morning. Had them under the back porch steps.”

  “Puppies,” Caleb commented, “I love puppies.”

  “Do you? Would you like to go see Queenie’s puppies?” Kitty asked.

  “If you don’t mind?” Caleb directed this to Andre.

  “No, go ahead,” then to Kawliga Andre said, “Get a lanthorn.” Andre’s way of providing a chaperone, Dagan thought.

  As the group left to see the puppies Andre turned to Dagan, “Kitty is starved for companionship since her mother died. We’ve all been lonely, but it’s worse for Kitty. She was only four when the small pox came. Since then her only contact with women folk was when she went to school and now on Sundays at church. I have two squaws to help out but they can’t teach her about being a lady.”

  Getting up from his chair, Andre made his way to the fireplace mantle. He took down two pipes and a canister. “Virginia tobacco,” he said as he offered a pipe to Dagan. “Best tobacco in the world.” After lighting up, Andre looked solemnly at Dagan, “Jubal’s got the gift. He doesn’t fully understand it yet. But like with the new colt he knew exactly where to go. Kawliga recognized it first. He calls Jubal, ‘little colonneh’, which in Cherokee means little raven. Say’s he’d be a big man in an Indian tribe, a shaman no less.”

  “How’d Kawliga come about?” Dagan asked.

  “We came up on him in the woods one day while hunting. He was sick with fever and about gone. We took care of him and he’s been with us since.” Then while Kitty was still showing off Queenie’s puppies Dagan told his uncle about Gabe. Andre listened without interrupting but nodding at different times. Leaning on the mantle and puffing on their pipes the two men were silent for a few minutes, both in their own thoughts.

  Andre broke the silence, “You’ll be wanting Jubal and Kawliga to lead you to Port Royal to fetch Gabe, so let’s turn in so you can get an early start.”

  Walking out on the front porch before retiring, Dagan saw Jubal returning from the barn. He’d gone there to check on the colt as soon as the meal had ended so he’d not heard any of his father and Dagan’s conversation.

  As he climbed the stone steps to the
porch he put out the lanthorn. He then looked at Dagan and said, “I’ve been yearning for a trip. I reckon you came at the right time. Maybe I can get rid of some of this wanderlust Pa fusses about.” Then looking at Dagan, Jubal spoke again, “Kawliga says your colonneh. The raven. He says you know things.” Without waiting for a reply Jubal went inside leaving Dagan alone with his thoughts.

  Good-byes were said the next morning at first light. Dagan did not miss the lingering look and holding hands between Caleb and Kitty. Shouldering their packs, the group headed off with Kawliga in the lead. Andre had drawn a map of sorts. The group would travel overland to Hillsborough, North Carolina, following a well-used road. Then they’d head slightly west toward Salisbury where they’d obtain canoes and head southeast on the Yadkin River which runs into the Pee Dee River. They’d travel the Pee Dee as far as they could to the South Carolina coast and then make their way south along the coast past Georgetown, then to Charlestown. Once in Charlestown, they’d decide how to proceed on to Port Royal.

  “Here’s a letter to Francis Marion explaining you’re only after Gabe and not snooping for the British. If trouble arises, show it. It might come in handy.”

  “What makes you think he will help even if we need him?” Caleb had asked.

  “Well, we’re both French Huguenots,” Andre answered, “But more important he rides a horse I gave him. He’ll help. If you run into trouble with the Colonials in South Carolina just ask for him.”

  ***

  The first part of the journey was easy. However, crossing the Cape Fear River had slowed down their journey. It had started to rain the night they’d passed through Hillsborough. The rain continued and by the time they’d got to the river the worn out and drenched men decided to rest before crossing the swollen river.

  Kawliga made a lean-to out of pine limbs and brush. This kept most of the rain off the companions and finally a fire was started using first pine cones to get a blaze going then adding semi dry wood dug from beneath leaves and pine straw.