by Michael Aye
“You don’t think we can take him up to the house?” Faith asked.
“Child, you see dat uniform. Dis man is one of dem heathen Britishers like tried to take Charlestown. Maybe he even was a part of it,” Nanny said rebuking the girl. “Master Adam see this man he’ll put him in jail like he does with folks at times. Shuck’s he might even ‘jus shoot him.”
Hearing this stopped Faith’s objections. Nanny was right.
“What you ought to be worrying about is what’s gonna happen to Lum if the Marse finds dat man heah. Like as not he’ll set Marse Hindley loose on Lum with dat whip ‘o his.”
“I won’t let him,” Faith said trying to be stern.
“Not much you can do, child,” Lum said for the first time. “We’s ‘a chance it. I don’t like to see none of God’s creatures suffer. Now let’s get this po soul inside and you go fetch Ruby. She’s helped with delivering babies and fixing mules and ‘da hosses and such. So maybe she can help him. Besides she’ll keep her mouth shut.”
***
Several days went by with Gabe suffering from high fevers. Ruby had washed and cleaned his wounds and put several stitches in his leg using a hair from ‘ole Bessie, the mule’s tail. Food was sneaked in for Gabe, and Faith was able to get some clothes together so Gabe’s uniform could be cleaned and repaired. As Gabe’s health improved he became anxious to be up and about. Lying in Lum’s bed, he watched the single candle as it gave off a faint yellow glow.
The flickering flame caused wavering shadows on the rough wooden walls of the cabin. The shadows would take shapes that would disappear, and reappear, and then other shapes would merge together. Watching the candles and hearing the slaves whisper among themselves Gabe grew afraid, not of death but of capture.
How long would he be held? He thought of his brother, Gil; surely he’d think he was dead. What of Dagan? Gabe was sure he was alive. If he were unhurt he’d be coming to get him. At times Gabe would fall asleep and awaken with Faith sitting next to him usually running her fingers along the gray furrow on his scalp. Once her kissing his lips woke him. When he reached for her she darted out of the cabin.
Damned if this girl didn’t intrigue him , Gabe thought. He got to where when he heard her enter the cabin he’d pretend to be asleep just to feel her hands, soft and tender, caressing his face and always touching his gray furrow.
“I know you’re not asleep. You’re just lying there pretending and hoping for another kiss but you’ll not get it.”
Listening to Faith caused a slight smile Gabe couldn’t prevent. He opened his eyes and looking at the beauty staring down at him said, “God, I’m in love.”
“Well, I still ain’t kissing you,” Faith replied. “Here I done saved yore hide and you playing possum with me to steal a kiss. I ought to turn you in, is what I ought to do, and I still might.” But as Faith rose from the side of Gabe’s bed she looked to see if anyone was watching, quickly leaned over and gave Gabe a quick peck on the lips, then without a word she dashed off.
With his strength returning Gabe would get out of bed and move about the cabin. “Keep away from ‘da ‘doh,” Lum had begged. Tonight he could stand it no longer. He had to be about, he had to have some fresh air.
“Well, if you ‘dat determined we’ll take a stroll when the marse goes down,” Lum said. Gabe could tell the old black man didn’t like the idea but also understood Gabe’s needs.
Walking through the shadows Gabe paused under a giant oak tree. The front of the house was there before him. It was a huge white house with eight columns. It was set up high off the ground and while the house was wood, it had been bricked from the ground up to the porch. Gabe counted ten steps that had to be twenty feet wide, leading up to the porch.
“Why is the house built so high?” Gabe asked Lum.
“Cause ‘da be a flood. This heah is what ‘da calls the low country. ‘Da’s a river what flows to the marsh and den ‘da’s the ocean. Course back datta way ‘da’s a swamp. Marse Hindley say’s they’s crocogators in dat swamp what eat up people.”
Gabe had never heard of a crocogator but didn’t pursue it. “Why do they brick up around the house?” Gabe asked, still curious as to the design.
“Why dat helps keep out ‘da rattlers and cottonmouths and copperheads. It’s where ‘da ‘stoh the potatoes and vegetables. And when we get eggs from the hen house we keep ‘dem there cause it’s the coolest place. Marse Adam keeps his wine and cider down there too.”
“What are those buildings off that way towards the river?”
“That’s the sawmill then past dat is the gristmill. We can do bout anything heah on Marse Adam’s plantation. We’s got a blacksmith shop and dat big building over there is ‘da ship’s warehouse and jail.”
“Ship’s warehouse. What’s in that?”
“Why thangs ‘da bring in off ships. We plantation slaves, we don’t go over there. Only Marse Hindley’s boys go over there. They’s men watch over dat place with guns.”
“Hmmm,” Gabe said deep in thought. Was this where the gunpowder was to be sent after being unloaded from the Turtle?
“Foh Missy Faith’s mama and daddy died they owned ‘da plantation and Marse Adam shipped ‘da cotton and wood and stuff. But now he head of it all. He is Missy Faith’s uncle but she don’t care much for him.”
“Why is that?” Gabe inquired.
“Well, she don’t say but nanny says Marse Adam look at her like a woman from town and not his dead brother’s child.”
“Tell me,” Gabe asked, “Why is it you and nanny are so close to Faith? More so than the other slaves.”
Wiping the sweat from his balding scalp with a dirty rag, Lum placed his battered hat back on. “Nanny was Missy’s wet nurse and I was Missy’s daddy, Mr. Thomas Montique’s, personal servant. Marse Adam, he jus kinda lets us be, less it pleases him to do ‘utter wise.”
“What’s that sound?” Gabe asked. A loud baying sound had broken out by the warehouse.
“Sumthin’s going on over by ‘da warehouse dats set dem dawgs off. Let’s get on outta heah foh trouble starts.”
Turning the two found themselves face to face with Hindley, the overseer. He had two other men with him, both carrying muskets.
“Who you got there Lum?”
“He’s jus a friend ‘o Missy Faith’s, suh.”
“Missy Faith’s friend. Well I ain’t never seen him around before.”
“Naw suh, he’s a new friend,” Lum answered the overseer.
“Does Mister Adam know his niece has a guest?”
“I don’t rightly know, suh. I’s ‘jus lookin after him foh the missy since he been sickly.”
“I see,” Hindley said suspiciously, “What are ya’ll doing out this late?”
“We just took a notion to stretch our legs.”
“Have you stretched your legs over by the warehouse Lum?”
“Oh naw suh, we show to gawd ain’t sir. You know’s ole Lum ain’t going no where’s around Marse Adam’s warehouse.”
“What about him?” Hindley asked pointing to Gabe with a curled black bullwhip in his hand.
“Oh naw suh, naw suh, you know I wouldn’t let nobody do dat and me catch ‘da blame for it.”
BANG! …BANG!…
“Shots down by the river,” one of Hindley’s men said.
The bays of the dog continued and added to the noise. Loud voices could be heard.
“Looks like whoever was at the warehouse is trying to escape down by the river, shouldn’t we move on?” Hindley knew his man was right but something smelled about this man with Lum.
Now lights were on at the big house and Adam Montique’s voice could be heard. “What’s all the commotion?”
Making a quick decision Hindley ordered, “Smith, you and Lum take this man on up to Mister Montique while Ledbetter and I go see whats about down by the river.”
Gabe had the desire to run but knew if he did he’d have little chance of making it. He also knew things woul
d go worse for Lum and he didn’t want to endanger the old slave. As the three men approached the mansion’s front steps Gabe saw a man standing up on the porch.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he thought. He’d known there was something familiar about the name Montique but couldn’t place it. Now he knew. This was the man from Antigua. He had owned the house Commodore Gardner had lived in. He’d also had numerous ships under contract to the Royal Navy. Now it appeared he had chosen to fight with the Colonials. I wonder if he still has Royal Navy contracts, Gabe thought to himself. Stepping to the edge of the porch, Montiqu e held a lanthorn up high.
"What do we have here?" he asked Smith.
"Some white man with Lum. Mr. Hindley says to fetch him to you as he claims to be a friend of Miss Faith's.
"Well, step forward," Montique ordered. Holding up the lanthorn he noted the worn clothes Gabe had on. As Gabe reached the top step he decided to act the part of an old acquaintance.
"We've met sir," he said. “I had the pleasure of being introduced to you at a reception given by Commodore Gardner in Antigua.” Gabe held out his hand to Montique whose face became hard, and twisted into a glare, his eyes like burning coals as the flame from the lanthorn reflected in them.
With clinched teeth, Montique spat on the porch. "Damned if we haven't. Mr. Smith, we have before us the bastard son of a British Admiral."
Without thinking Gabe lunged at Montique but before he could reach him Smith clubbed him with the butt of his musket. As Gabe went down he heard a woman screaming, "Uncle, what have you done?"
Chapter Eight
Once on the river travel was much faster. The old store owner was so grateful to Dagan and his group for running off the 'river trash' that he sent a runner to a nearby Indian village to set up a barter. After a short time, Kawliga had made a trade for two canoes.
"They're not in their prime," Caleb said of the canoes, "But for a sack of tobacco, flour and salt I think we did better than we hoped for."
It sure beats walking , Dagan thought. He'd always felt more comfortable on water than on land. They traveled for several days on the river, at times they'd have to haul the canoes overland for a short distance in an effort to miss rocky rapids, snags or fallen trees. Then once past the hazards, the journey downstream would begin anew.
Each night they'd make camp on shore and far enough from the river their fire couldn't be easily seen.
"Still smell smoke, but no see blaze," Kawliga had said in his short sentences. Kawliga had also proved to be an excellent cook. He fried bacon at night, cooking enough to have for breakfast in the morning without cooking again. He was good at cooking fried cornbread in the bacon grease and on a couple nights he even fried sliced sweet potatoes. Jubal seemed to think nothing of Kawliga's cooking abilities but Caleb and Dagan were impressed.
"Sure beats the hell out of old Frosty's cooking," Caleb swore.
"That it does," Dagan agreed but both men missed the 'old coot'.
One morning Kawliga spoke to Jubal who in turn turned to Dagan. Motioning his head toward the Indian Jubal said, "He thinks we’re in South Carolina now.”
“How can he tell?” Caleb asked.
“Lots of ways,” Jubal replied. “There’s more moss on the tree limbs that are hanging over the river. The lands more flat, more swamp and backwater. You don’t see the clearly defined river banks we’ve been used to.”
The air that had smelled like honeysuckle now seemed to have a fetid odor. Birds stood in the shallows. A white wood ibis on the bank beat its wings and lifted off. A sound like a bellow was heard.
As the bird lifted off Kawliga pointed. “Alligator scare bird, make it fly.”
Lily pads were thick in areas, some with bright yellow blossoms. Turtles sunning on logs made plopping sounds as they slid into the water as the canoes passed by. Herons stood high on their long thin yellow legs.
These were all changes Dagan and Caleb had seen but had not realized the significance. They were out of their element and Dagan was once again thankful he’d been able to obtain such guides as Kawliga and Jubal.
“The only things I’ve seen different,” Caleb responded, “Is more mosquitoes and snakes.”
That night it rained again and the men slept under the boats. They had turned the boats over and using downed tree limbs to prop them up, creating a shelter of sorts that kept things dryer and made the night more comfortable.
“Supplies are about out so we have to get some soon,” Dagan told the party that night before they turned in. “If we don’t find a trading place on the river soon we’ll have to go inland before we continue to Charlestown.”
Rising early the following morning the group rowed with a determination, putting a great distance behind them before the sun started to set. It was like they could all feel the urgency that possessed Dagan’s very soul. As the canoes turned toward the shore another bird caught Caleb’s eye, “Look at that. That’s the prettiest bird I ever seen.”
As the colorful bird flew off, Jubal said, “That’s a bunting.”
“I’m not sure what it is,” Caleb thought to himself, “But I wouldn’t mind seeing Kitty with a thin nightgown on the same green color as the bird’s feathers had been.” Caleb was still enjoying his thoughts when the canoe made a grinding sound in the mud. With his mind thus distracted he jumped from the canoe to pull it up on shore.
As soon as he landed he felt something move beneath his feet then felt a sharp pain in his leg. A blur went past Caleb’s eyes then he saw Kawliga’s tomahawk embedded in the ground in front of the canoe. A headless snake laid writhing and flopping in coils.
“Let’s see the bite,” Kawliga said as he lay Caleb flat and using his knife cut the lacings on Caleb’s moccasins and then split his trouser’s leg. A red whelp was present and one small dot of blood. Not two dots, but one. Jubal wiped the spot of blood away.
“Not deep, just enouh to draw blood and looks like only one fang.”
Kawliga walked back over to where the dead snake lay. A large bulge was around the snake’s middle. The Indian slit open the snake and a rat fell to the ground. “Snake not long eat, broke fang. Snake slow with full belly. Caleb get sick maybe, not likely die.”
Kawliga then walked a few steps to a plant. “See plant, snake root. You chew root you not die,” he said as he dug up the root. “You chew.”
“I’m damn glad to know your expert opinion,” Caleb said, trying not to show the pain he was feeling from his throbbing leg and also trying not to gag on the root he chewed.
Jubal broke into a laugh, “Look here, this canebrake had thirteen rattles. That’s the same number of colonies we got. You’ve done been bit by a colonial rattlesnake Caleb.” Dagan burst out laughing and in spite of his pain, so did Caleb.
***
Kawliga’s prophecy proved true. Caleb lived but his leg did swell and was very sore as the group made their way down the long stretch of wharfs after finally reaching Charlestown.
“ Damme,” Dagan said, “place looks like a floating market.”
Bay Street was lined with wholesale stores and residences that ran parallel to the Cooper River. The river was choked with brigantines, sloops, and schooners from abroad. Tied-up as they were, there was little hope of escaping any enterprising British naval patrol. From up river, barges, dugouts, and canoes made their way down from the interior full of country produce to be sold to the town folks.
Negro slaves were everywhere. A few Cherokee Indians were also about so no one paid much attention to Kawliga.
“Look!” Caleb tapped Dagan and pointed to a man holding a sign: “Mary McDowells most notorious brothel for lewd women - Pinckney Street.”
“What’s a brothel?” Jubal asked.
Both Caleb and Dagan turned and stared at the boy. For once, both were speechless. “Your Pa will tell you about it,” Dagan finally managed to say.
“Why can’t you?”
“Well, some things need to be discussed between a father and son.�
�
“But Pa ain’t here.”
“You’ll see him soon enough.”
“You just don’t want to tell me. Well, I recon I’ll just go over to Pinckney Street and find out.”
“Huhmm…” Caleb said, “Might not be too bad an idea.”
“Shut up Caleb,” Dagan said, then turned to Jubal, “You ever read the Bible?”
But before he could explain further, Jubal cried out, “Mr. Frances…Mr. Frances over here.”
Dagan was both relieved and concerned. Relieved he didn’t have to explain what a brothel was but concerned about meeting the enemy. He had the letter of introduction but had hoped he wouldn’t need it. Now he was facing Frances Marion, a Colonial colonel. Marion was a smallish man. He wore a crimson jacket and a battered helmet with a silver crescent and the words “liberty or death” was on his head. He had a slight limp. Seeing the limp was noticed, Marion said by way of explanation, “Broke my ankle during the battle of Fort Moultrie.”
“I see,” Dagan said trying to decide how to proceed with this man who could have him thrown in prison, or worse…shot. After a second Dagan decided to be truthful and straightforward. “Colonel, I’m a British sailor. I’m looking for my nephew who commands a British warship. I have a letter for you from my uncle, Andre, Jubal’s father whom I believe you know well.”
Without the slightest change in his facial expression and demeanor, Marion said, “Well, it appears we have a bit to discuss. Let’s move to a place more suitable than the Bay Street wharf. I know of a nice little tavern that puts together a fantastic frogmore stew. Shall we go?”
Dagan had no knowledge of what frogmore stew was but felt compelled to follow the man known as the Swamp Fox as he limped off toward the tavern.
***
Marion read Andre’s letter and listened to Dagan’s story. Then he said, “I’ll get you to Beaufort…if I have your word you’ll collect your nephew and be off. No spying, no sabotage, just get your kin and get.”