Algernon nodded.
Suddenly, Campbell’s jovial demeanor changed. He narrowed his eyes and questioned, “You Whigs or Tories?”
India’s hand moved to her pistol.
“Whigs,” said Algernon. “We are Patriots.”
Campbell paused and studied Algernon’s face a moment then boomed, “Well good, good!” He slapped Algernon on the back and took his elbow.
India let go of her firearm and exchanged a look of relief with Lucretia.
“Come in and have supper. You must tell me all about what is happening in the Low Country. We’ve been so damned busy up here with the Indians that we haven’t had time to worry about the British.”
“No, thank you. We cannot stay. We have to be moving on,” said Algernon.
“Nonsense,” Mr. Campbell protested. “Do me the honor. I need filling in on what is happening in Charleston.”
Reluctantly, Algernon followed him toward the cabin. Algernon was a naturally shy person and almost always uncomfortable with strangers unless he was doing a psychic reading for them. Lucretia pulled the wagon up and crawled down from her seat stiffly. India dismounted and tied the horses. Spring nights in the mountains were cool, and the women were glad to get into the cabin where it was warm. It was a small one room enclosure with a porch, nestled up against a hill.
“Sit down,” Campbell said, gesturing to a rough-hewn table and chairs in front of the hearth. He bent down to bring up the fire. Algernon lowered his hood and looked around the room. There were dried herbs hanging from the ceiling along with some meat and onions. A butter churn and cradle were in the corner. Lucretia eased down on the edge of a chair next to Algernon, and India sat across the table.
The man looked at the women and said, “Welcome ladies.”
“Do you live here alone, Mr. Campbell?” Lucretia asked.
He nodded and said, “Yes, I am a single man.” He swung a trammel with a cast iron pot over the fire to warm their supper.
India felt her stomach rumble with hunger. She was stiff as well. She rolled her head from side to side to loosen her neck. She was cramped from riding all day.
“So tell me. How do we fare with the damned Lobster Backs?” Campbell asked, looking at Algernon.
“I believe their siege on Charleston will be successful.”
“So they have moved up the coast?”
“That is why we have come to the mountains,” Algernon explained.
“Why?” the man asked. “You scared?”
“No, that’s not it,” said Algernon, frowning.
Campbell laughed and said, “Oh, I’m just ribbin’ ya.”
India was not sure what to make of this Logan Campbell. He was a handsome man with a bit more polish than most of the folk she had seen here in the mountains. His clothing was dirty from digging, but his shoes were of fine leather. They even had silver buckles.
She wrinkled her brow. Silver buckled shoes seem to be an unusual choice of footwear to be digging in the fields. The men continued to talk as India thought back to Campbell in the fields. It was springtime and instead of plowing he was using a spade. She knew little about farming, but it did seem odd. Next she looked at the cradle by the fire. Hadn’t Logan Campbell said he was a single man?
Her throat constricted. Something is wrong.
Then as if in slow motion, she watched Campbell get up from stirring the stew. Algernon rose to his feet at the same time. Algernon took a step forward, and India saw the flash of a blade. Then things happened fast. Algernon lunged on Campbell driving a knife deep into the man’s abdomen yanking it upward.
Campbell’s pistol clattered to the floor. It had been in his hand. He stared into Algernon’s eyes, with a look of surprise. He gasped, stumbled back, falling with a thud onto the hearth of the fireplace. He was dead.
India jumped to her feet, drew her pistol, and started for the door. Lucretia dove for Campbell’s gun, retrieved it, and stood up unsteadily. She was confused and alarmed. India listened by the door with her weapon raised. Algernon yanked a rifle from the mantel and grabbed Lucretia’s arm. They flattened themselves against the wall of the cabin as India slowly eased the door open with her foot. She was taut as a bowstring and held her breath to listen. The horses were quiet. Algernon stepped forward cautiously with the rifle in his hands then stepped outside with India behind him. They scanned the woods quickly. All was quiet.
At top speed, Algernon readied the horses while India stood guard with the rifle. Algernon whisked Lucretia into the back of the wagon as India mounted her mare. They did not speak until they had put many miles behind them, driving the horses fast. A full moon rode high in the sky, illuminating the road in front of them. Gradually, they slowed their pace. Lucretia fell asleep in back of the wagon, and Algernon hunched over the reins with his hood up. He was cold and exhausted.
“How did you know he was a danger to us, Algernon?” India asked.
Slowly, he turned his face toward her. “No great mystery. He was too friendly for people in these parts.”
India rode on in silence. So that was it.
She had underestimated Algernon, his demeanor was so gentle and his frame so slight, but he was indeed a dangerous adversary. India smiled a crooked smile as she rode along in the moonlight.
After a while, Algernon said, “I think he was a Loyalist waiting to kill patriots as they fled from Charleston.”
India looked at him. “Pardon?” she said.
“He had done this before. He had already killed several patriots by the time we arrived. Campbell wasn’t working those fields for crops when we met him this afternoon. He was burying bodies.”
* * *
The next day they took turns driving so they could sleep. After the confrontation with the Loyalist, the three were on guard and wanted to reach their destination quickly. Algernon told the women that sometime today they would reach Munroville.
By the time it was India’s turn to drive, it was drizzling. It started off as a mist then grew in intensity. There was an overhang above the driver’s seat, but her skirt was soaked, and there was run off from the roof onto her hat. She had on a dirty old tricorne, but the water still found a way to soak her hair and run down her back.
She turned around and looked through the little window at Lucretia and Algernon fast asleep on the bed. Even though she was tired, cold, and road weary, she pushed onward. She wanted to make it to Munroville before the trail became too muddy.
Suddenly, the horses jerked their heads up. A man on horseback stepped onto the trail from the underbrush. He was dressed in buckskin and carried a long rifle. He had a dark beard and black eyes. He moved his horse across the road casually and lifted a bottle to his lips, never taking his eyes from India. As soon as she reined in, four more men on horseback stepped out of the woods, gathering around the wagon. Some wore homespun, others wore buckskin, and they all had shot pouches strapped across their chests with powder horns. They carried long rifles. Except for one young man who had his hair in a queue, they all wore their tangled hair loose around their shoulders under tricornes and floppy hats.
India did not move, the water running off her hat in a steady stream. She wanted to reach for her weapon in the wagon but dared not.
“What’s your business here?” the first man growled.
India scanned the group and said, “We are wayfarers who tell fortunes.”
She heard movement in the back of the wagon and knew Algernon and Lucretia were awake. The leader jerked his head, directing two of the group to inspect the back of the wagon.
India heard the doors open and there was a loud cry. Her heart jumped, but she did not move, her eyes alert. She was certain someone was hurt.
“Well, I’ll be God damned!” one of the men shouted, trotting around to the front of wagon. “It’s that son of a bitch, MacBain! He’s back!”
The men exchanged looks as Algernon came around the side of the wagon, smiling. India looked from the men to Algernon and back agai
n, completely dumbfounded.
“What the hell brings you back home after all these years?” the man with the dark beard asked, resting the bottle on his thigh.
“I was homesick for all of you, bastards,” Algernon said with a smirk.
They guffawed and pulled their horses away from the wagon as Algernon crawled up beside India and took the reins. The atmosphere had changed considerably.
“How long has it been?” one of them asked.
Algernon shrugged. “Maybe twenty years.”
“Well, hell. You haven’t changed. You still look like a ghost.”
Algernon smiled again.
“Come on you God damn fools,” said the man with the dark beard and bottle, “Let’s go have a drink and welcome this rascal back.”
Algernon snapped the reins, and they followed the men down the trail. India looked over at him with surprise. “You didn’t tell me you were from here.”
Algernon shook the reins again. “How did you think I knew about Munroville? Did you think the spirits told me to come to this God forsaken place?”
India chuckled and looked back at Lucretia in the wagon who was sitting cross legged on the bed smiling at her.
“Welcome to Munroville, ladies,” Algernon said. “You have just met the Overmountain Men.”
Chapter 36
They rode over a rickety wooden bridge to a tavern by a stream, a large structure with hand hewn siding and two field stone fireplaces. The men talked and laughed with Algernon, shaking rain off their hats, stepping over benches and shouting orders at the barmaid. Several of them picked up the fabric on Algernon’s robe and exclaimed, “What the hell is this?”
India and Lucretia sat in a corner. Lucretia had worked in taverns all her life and knew that respectable female guests, if present at all, must remain quiet and unobtrusive. After the men had their refreshments, the innkeeper found them and returned with tankards of beer and helpings of chicken pudding.
India studied the Overmountain men. Most of her adult life, her companions had been men. She had instructed them, consulted with them, and led them, but this group was like nothing she had ever confronted. They were rugged, primitive backwoodsmen, so intertwined with the land and survival that they were only a few steps away from being indigenous people themselves. As she looked at their light skin, blue eyes, and large frames, she reminded herself that they were Celts like her, but most of them were of Scotch Irish descent. This presented yet another barrier. How could she gain the support and respect of an age old enemy?
India looked across the table at Lucretia who was watching her. “You are going to have your hands full,” she said.
“Aye,” said India, pursing her lips. “But they are our last hope.”
A tall thin older man with spectacles on his nose stood up, stepped over the bench, and walked over to them. He was smoking a clay pipe. He took it from his mouth and said, “Ladies, I am the Reverend Lamb. May I sit down?”
Without waiting for a reply, he pulled a chair out and sat down. He looked at India and said cryptically, “I have been expecting you.”
India’s expression did not change. “So you too are a diviner, Reverend Lamb?”
He said in a voice pinched high with advancing age, “No, but I know one. Prudence Hennessey informed me you were coming.”
A smile flickered on India’s lips. I should have known the old gal’s powers were far reaching.
Reverend Lamb jerked his head at the men, drinking and shouting. “They won't be easy.”
India said nothing.
“They don’t think much of females, you know,” he said.
“Do they know anything about me?”
“No, but they’ll hear Irish in your voice.”
“It could be an advantage,” said Lucretia, encouragingly.
“If I use my words carefully,” said India.
“Let’s cut our teeth right now,” said the Reverend standing up with his chair scraping the floor. “Look here!” he announced, helping India her to her feet.
The men continued talking and laughing. “Shut up and listen to me!” the Reverend roared.
The men looked up, running their eyes over India. There were probably fifteen men in all, lined up at benches or standing by the bar. Some of them were young and robust, others grizzly with age. They all looked like they needed a bath. It was twilight and the tavern was dark and smoky. The innkeeper had just lit tallow candles on a pewter candelabrum overhead.
“This here is Lady Allen. Some of you may have heard of her. She come up from Charleston to look for help in fightin’ the Redcoats.”
One man with long greasy hair and a pot belly shouted with a thick Scottish brogue, “We got enough fightin’ to do with the Cherokee.”
India stepped forward. “Gentlemen, I appreciate that fact, but I am sure you know that the Cherokee have aligned themselves with the British. They are a common enemy for us all.”
They were silent. Although India spoke the King’s English, years of residence in Ireland gave her an Irish accent. It was not lost on the group.
One of them asked, “You’re Irish but not from Ulster. Where are you from?”
Algernon shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
India looked at the man coolly and said, “I will take questions in a moment.”
Reverend Lamb was stunned by the confidence and pluck of this woman. She began her talk. She spoke of the siege of Charleston and reviewed the advancement of British troops along the coast. The Overmountain men listened for a few moments then began to look at each other. Two of the men started muttering, and then several started to talk between themselves. In a very short time, they had all gone back to eating, drinking, and laughing. India’s eyes flashed green. She was enraged at the insolence, but gritting her teeth, she carried on.
Suddenly there was a sharp crack on the table. Everyone stopped talking and looked up, startled. A tiny wizened old woman, doubled over with age took her cane from the table where she had slammed it and roared, “You will listen, God damn it!”
India looked at Reverend Lamb. He mumbled apologetically, “My mother.”
India was shocked; the pastor himself was advanced in age. The group begrudgingly allowed India to finish, their eyes darting at the matriarch nervously. Instead of grilling India at the end of her speech, the Overmountain men simply got up and left the tavern.
Only the Reverend Lamb and two men remained. They came over to the table where India, Lucretia, and Algernon were sitting. Old Mrs. Lamb went to the kitchen. One of the men had dark curly hair and freckles and the other was stocky with chestnut hair and a pug nose.
“Lady Allen,” said the younger man with curly hair. “Our folk are from County Mayo. I am Carrig Muldoon and this is Arden.”
They smiled and nodded to India and Lucretia. Carrig was a handsome young man with a bright smile. His brother Arden looked as though he had been in many fights. His nose was flattened, and he was missing his front teeth. He weaved slightly as he stood before the table.
“We are Irish Catholics,” Carrig announced. “We lived here a long time before the Scots would even talk to us.”
Lucretia looked at Arden’s flattened nose and wondered if the Overmountain men had done more than talk to them.
“We’re here to tell ya not to give up,” slurred Arden. “They hate anyone coming up from the Low Country telling them what to do.”
“But I am not from the Low Country originally,” India responded.
“That is another problem for you. You’re Irish but not Scotch Irish. They hate Irish Catholics, but take heart the only sons of bitches they hate more than us are the Tories. In a while they’ll start to listen to ya.”
India nodded. “Any suggestions on winning them over sooner?”
Carrig shrugged and said, “No, it’ll just take time.”
“We have little of that,” said Algernon. “We are losing this war.”
* * *
They camped by the strea
m near the tavern that night, and India fell asleep staring at the moon through the window of the wagon. She tried to think of ways to convince the Overmountain men to join their cause, but she was at a loss for ideas. India pulled the covers up around her. Suddenly she found herself thinking of Quinn and how he held her at night. Her stomach began to knot. She pushed this memory from her mind and turned over in bed abruptly, thinking of something else. It was difficult growing callous and cold again, but gradually the mortar on the fortress was hardening.
The following morning the rain returned and Reverend Lamb’s wife invited Lucretia and India up to the parsonage to have a hot breakfast and a bath. The parsonage was down the road from the tavern next to the Presbyterian Church. It was a two room log cabin with a field stone foundation. The homestead was tidy and well- kept surrounded by pines, maples and hickory trees. There was a barn and a small structure near the trees with smoke rising from the chimney. Lucretia spied old Mrs. Lamb carrying a large bundle of wood to the small building. The tiny woman nodded a greeting to her.
“Come in,” said Reverend Lamb’s wife who was standing at the door of the cabin. She was a tall woman with gray hair, sunken cheeks, and lips. She had no teeth. “Reverend Lamb is in the sugar house cooking sap. He will not be in all day. You ladies will have your privacy to wash up.”
There was a fire in the stone fireplace at the end of the room, and in front of it stood a spinning wheel, settle, and a large Windsor arm chair. A colorful rag rug was on the floor by the kitchen table and there was a large Bible on the mantel. India could see a tub of steaming water in the bedroom.
“You go ahead and clean up,” Mrs. Lamb said to Lucretia, and turning to India, she ordered, “You eat while the water heats up for your bath.”
Using her apron as a hot pad, Mrs. Lamb pulled a frying pan off a trivet and slid fried eggs and side pork onto a plate for India followed by some pancakes soaked in butter and maple syrup. India sighed. It felt good to have someone else in charge.
When Lucretia finished bathing, the women changed the water for India’s turn. It felt wonderfully relaxing to be bathing again. She eased herself down into the hot water, running the soap over her scalp and skin. India had mud on her body and grit in her hair from the long journey.
The Sword of the Banshee Page 33