"Now while I'm pleased that Roth's Union, you'd best not make it known till you have to. Could of been I was Confederate and your announcin' might not have set too well." Chagrined, the boy scratched furiously with his stick.
Chip got to the point. "Unless you've better plans, I'm suggesting you trail along with us. We'll be in Vicksburg right shortly and that'll put you safe within Union lines and more important, you won't be wanderin' around out in this swamp country."
The boy agreed swiftly, clearly pleased to be taken in. "Vicksburg would be fine, Mister ... ah, Chip. We were there before we lost the ship on a bar."
"Guess you'll be able to get in touch with Captain Roth from there, alright." He saw something in the boy's eves and added, "That's if you're a'mind to, of course."
Doug took the bait, "Well, the fact is, I'm not goin' back to sea, Mister ... Chip. Captain Roth's a real fine captain an' all, but I'm makin' other plans."
They made their way back to Saleman and broke camp. Chip led off, walking through encroaching dark, listening to the old man and the boy becoming acquainted behind him. He wondered if he might put young Doug in Saleman's care. With an army camped around it, Vicksburg could be a more dangerous wallow than this bug-ridden wilderness. It would take a while to reach the signaling point and more time until the boat came by. He'd give it all some thought.
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Starling's men did not hear the shooting, but a little after dark they came upon a shanty leaning over the water proclaiming itself a tavern and they went in to ask around and down a drink or two,
A group was gathered on the sagging dock, holding a lantern high and discussing a body lying in the bottom of a rowing boat. From the sailors they learned the whereabouts of a big frontiersman called 'Shadow' and at least one companion who sounded old and excitable. Drinks forgotten, they mounted and rushed to a rendezvous where Jonathan Starling's coach waited.
Not until dawn did they find Chip's camp, and it was mid-morning before they followed the clear sign to his embarkation point. They were many hours behind and it was not clear exactly what had occurred at the point.
Disappointed, but undeterred, Starling added up what he had discovered. The mountain man rode a horse with strange markings that couldn't pass unnoticed. A hog drover had seen an arrowhead brand on the animal and others along the way had verified it. The man was called Shadow and he had Walter Saleman in tow.
Himself no tracker, Starling could not read the sign along the river bank. A boat had touched here, he could see that, but his best man thought horses had been deliberately ridden around and could have turned upstream or down. They might even have struck out for the far shore, though judging the river's expanse that seemed foolhardy.
Starling sent men both north and south and retired to a comfortable ordinary to soak his swollen and discolored features. He procured a jug and prepared to numb the discomfort of his injured features, knowing he was drinking too heavily, but not caring for the moment.
The man calling himself Walter Saleman might be lost to him but Saleman had only provided financial opportunity and there were other ways to make money. However, hatred for the man who had disfigured him simmered in his soul. With his injuries he could not hurry, but he would persevere and in time he would find the man called Shadow.
Then, revenge of the sweetest kind would be his.
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Chapter 8
Captain Carter E. Roth was also a determined man, but where Jonathan Starling anticipated confrontation with the man called Shadow, the Captain participated only reluctantly.
His men brought in Jack's body and put their broken-headed compatriot to bed in a convenient hayloft. Their explanation to their Captain was not completely candid, but they had had time to worry it out and their story suited their circumstances.
As they told it, the boy had run for no reason while the crew was coming down river to join Captain Roth. They had finally cornered him when a wild man jumped out of the brush and without warning clubbed one of them and shot poor Jack stone dead. The boy had run off and they had come on in.
There were things they could add however. The man was called 'Shadow' by one of his band, who himself sounded like an old timer. Another crewman had special information. A few weeks before he had seen the same wild looking man on the East St. Louis loading docks. The man had been alone but he had two horses that got loaded on a Navy steamboat heading for Natchez. Could be the man had met a friend and was on his way back to St. Louis, or maybe just to Vicksburg, that was closest anyway.
Roth doubted the completeness of his men's explanation. They were a sorry band of wharf rats he had recruited to handle his schooner on its tow north to Vicksburg and the sail back down to New Orleans. It had been uneventful to Vicksburg and the Army garrison had quickly unloaded the cargo of grain. Unballasted, they had slipped back down the broad but constantly shifting river expecting no difficulties. Then a loggerhead wedged into a sandbar stove the schooner's planking and she had foundered in water so shallow her decks remained dry.
Unable to float her, the Navy required her destruction lest the Confederates have better luck and acquire a ship to harass the river traffic.
Roth supervised the stripping of everything useful and lit the fires in her belly that burned her to a useless hulk. With outward calm he watched the immolation of much of what he had acquired during a dozen years at sea. Inwardly his spirit cried for both his ship and himself, and he vowed to be done with the oceans and the rivers as well. He had bled, sweat, and struggled through storms, pirates, and artful moneygrubbing shippers only to be cast ashore in an almost nameless shantytown, surrounded by itchy bodied, tobacco chewing, sly-eyed rabble that kowtowed to Union strength while succoring a Rebel cause out the back.
The Navy willingly and generously purchased the salvage of blocks, spars, ironmongery, and sails. Far from their major naval bases, ship stores were hard to come by.
Roth had held his slapdash crew together while he tested the waters for another ship or another course. Nothing satisfactory appeared and he had resolved to disband and depart the pestiferous river for more promising climes. He would keep only the ship's boy, letting the others drift as they had before.
A year earlier he had picked Doug Fleming from an orphanage for the children of deceased soldiers and sailors. The boy had a name but little else. He proved personable and hard working with a heartwarming eagerness to learn. It had been a mistake to leave Fleming with the rest of the crew. Undoubtedly their brutal and vulgar ways had been too much for the boy. It seemed strange that he had run off, for another day would have seen him back with his Captain, but the crew's story, including the part about the leather clad man, rang true.
Captain Carter Roth paid off his crew and prepared to do what had to be done. A villain had attack his men, savaged one, killed another, and probably carried off the ship's boy. Honor and tradition demanded justice but Captain Roth cared only about one twit for those reasons. The important facts were that some ignorant lout had crossed him and now held someone belonging to his ship. Roth took it highly personal! He strapped his pepperbox pistol to his wide naval belt, threw a small sea bag over a broad shoulder and was ready.
He would catch an Ironclad north to Vicksburg and begin inquiries. If the man called Shadow was known to the Federal Navy, he would find him, release young Fleming, and administer the punishment he found best suited Shadow's crimes. Probably he would shoot the animal and improve the world a little.
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When they reached the waiting place, Walter Saleman almost fell from his horse and dropped immediately into exhausted slumber. An elderly black man had raised a fishing fire near their signaling point and Chip asked him to douse it and remain where he was until they embarked. The old man readily accepted a proffered coin and Chip could hear him singing softly to himself off to one side.
He and the boy sat in silence against a mossy old tree and watched the dark sweep of the great river. Chip was drawn to the youth
. The boy had made the best moves he could and had fought with all that he had. That stood him tall in Chip's estimation.
Doug Fleming was fascinated by the heavily armed giant who had, calm as ice, pistol-whipped Jack's main man then shot the bosun as dead as an anchor. His rescuer was clean shaven, just like Captain Roth, and in a land of scraggly whiskers or dandified beards and mustaches, they both stood out.
It took a mite of courage to speak, but after a while he managed. "Uh ... Chip. You going to stay in Vicksburg once we're there?"
"Nope, I'm heading on up the river. Then I'm catching a train to the east. Going home, probably.
Thought I'd get into this war and soldier some, but they claim I don't fit in. Hmmpf! More I see of the war, the less sensible it gets. Damned South is licked an' won't admit it, so a bunch more have to die convincing 'em."
"Guess I'll just stay in Vicksburg and try to get word down river to Captain Roth."
That was a little different than his plan of a few hours ago and Chip felt more than a little uneasy about it. Vicksburg was rough and no place for a loose child.
"Well, Professor Saleman will be movin' on and I expect he might take you along. I'll tell you truly, he's a wealthy man and he cares about people in difficulties. You could do worse than tie up with him."
The boy didn't seize on the idea so Chip went on. "Vicksburg isn't a place to be alone. No tellin' if Captain Roth'll get your word, or if he'll come up for you. You'd best consider Professor Saleman."
With childish abruptness Doug changed the subject.
"You wear skins and all—you been out west—maybe to the big mountains?"
Willing to put problems aside for the moment, Chip told some about his travels. It helped explain his sweat-stinking leathers that made him smell like a pile of buffalo guts. He didn't want people to think he always stunk like this.
When he slowed down the boy sighed and startled Chip by resting up against him, sort of snuggling like he might against a father.
"Maybe that's what I'll do instead of findin' Captain Roth. Maybe I'll just head on west to Texas or even Ohio." Chip had to smile at the boy's geography and guessed he had better temper his tales a little.
"You know what's across this river, Doug? Miles and miles of swamps and bogs with only a road or two. Headin' west across from Vicksburg there's only one road. If a man follows it far enough he comes onto rolling country and beyond that, grasslands too wide to think about. All that country's wild an' not too friendly. If you were to go that way you'd best go with a strong company that'll keep you on when they get somewhere."
"What are you goin' to do at home, Chip? Maybe you can raise horses like you said your Pap does."
"I'm goin' to get me a farm." Chip rolled the words slowly, savoring the sound of them. "It's going to be up in a place called Pfoutz Valley. There's good limestone ground up there and I'm going to put up a house and a big barn. I'm going to plant an' have some cows. We'll have pigs and I may pick up a huntin' dog or two."
"Who's we, Chip? You married an' all?"
"No, but once I get settled I'll find the right woman. Till then I'll just plug along, I reckon."
"Huh, the mountains sound better!"
"Uh-huh, thought so myself once, but I learned better. Perry County is where I want to be. A man's got everything there that he hopes to get by lookin' around. Took me a while to discover that; just like it does most young people. Like it will you, most likely."
"Well, maybe I'll settle down there too after I live with the Indians awhile."
"You're plannin' on movin' in with them too, are you?"
"I heard somewhere that a man can't stay alone a whole winter out in them mountains or he'll go crazy for sure."
"Anybody that spends winters in the high country is already crazy. Indians move to sheltered places just like the animals do. Only thing livin' up on the mountains in the winter are denned up bears. Fact is, I spent a few cold moons among the tribes an' there's worse livin', that's for certain."
The boy thought about it, "Can't be much worse than bein' at sea, Chip. Food is terrible and the weather's most always contrary. If it wasn't for Captain Roth I'd never go again. But...." He let the thought trail away.
Chip was surprised at how he was sitting down talking seriously to a boy of Doug's age. Maybe a year on a ship made a difference but where most youths weren't worth more than a minute's listening to, this one he even enjoyed.
The sound of a laboring engine came distantly across the water. Chip rose and stretched. "That'll be our boat, I reckon. Won't be long before we're out of this."
He swiped disgustedly at the insects swarming around him. "You'd think the stink of these old skins'd drive 'em off, but they like 'em better all the time."
The boy laughed. "You could pile 'em off to one side and all the bugs could go there, Chip." Chip grunted at the humor.
"What we've got to do is show two fires, one above the other. You scramble up that live oak and I'll hand you up a good torch to hold high. Be careful and don't catch any of that hanging moss afire."
He blew the black man's coals into flames and made a simple torch from a number of pine branches around a pair of resinous cones. When he got the ground fire going well and judged the engines about close enough he handed the blazing torch up to the boy.
Doug Fleming held it high and began waving it frantically. "Just hold it still, boy, and don't let it burn you. They'll see it alright."
The engine's steady beat slowed and soon they could hear the splash of paddle wheels coming closer. Surprisingly, the boat stopped well out and they heard an anchor chain run out before the sounds of a small boat being lowered reached them.
Doug came down the oak and they waited while the rowing boat came closer. "Probably being cautious before bringing the big boat to shore." It made good sense but somehow Chip wasn't so sure. He kept the boy beside him, well behind the firelight and behind big trees.
The rowboat beached and a young bosun hopped ashore, hand on cutlass and looking for someone to address.
"Lieutenant Shatto, are you there?" The bosun came walking around the fire.
"We're here and we're alone, so you can take your hand off that big knife."
The seaman bobbed his head and thumped his forehead in a sort of salute. "Let's get aboard then and we'll be away in one boatload." He looked nervously at the black forest.
"Wait a minute now." Chip didn't like it. "How about putting that boat against the bank? We've horses and kit to go along. That's how we came in so it isn't hard."
"Captain says just people, Lieutenant. He don't let animals on his ship." He saw Chip's rising protest and raised a placating hand. "Won't do no good arguin' about it, Lieutenant. Captain doesn't care much for runnin' the Army's errands as it is."
Chip thought of the thousands of miles the Appaloosa had carried him and decided not to abandon the horse without better reason. He stomped off to the side while he thought it out and decided perhaps he could turn the Navy's stubbornness into an asset.
He ignored the bosun's urging to hurry and shook Walter Saleman awake. While the old man got himself together, Chip took the boy aside.
"Now Doug, there's a few facts you don't know. To make a short story, there's a bunch of mean people chasin' Professor Saleman. In Union hands he'll probably be safe enough, but we've got a chance to draw off those that're after him, assuming you're willing to ride a few days with me.
"What we'll do is dress you up to look sort of like him and cross the river leaving a trail they can follow.
By that time, the Professor will be nearly to Washington and as safe as he'll ever be."
The boy was already nodding agreement, but Chip intended being fair about it. "Once we reach Vicksburg, the horse and trappings will be yours. Hell, if the Navy's willing to abandon them down here, there's no reason you can't keep one."
He explained his plan to Saleman who seemed too worn to more than half understand as he shed coat and hat for the boy to we
ar. He muttered about seeing them all in the Capital and slumped onto a convenient thwart.
The bosun pushed off without even a backward look and Chip turned away to find the old black man.
Did the negro know someone with a boat that could take two men and their horses across the river? He did and agreed to show them.
They rode the horses around through the brush laying false trails that should confuse any followers and headed north along a barely discernible footpath. Before dawn they had roused a small village of free blacks and negotiated with the boat owner for passage across and landing at the nearest road.
The boat was a cranky affair propelled by three pairs of long sweeps, but it was big enough and the oarsmen picked a rhythm that moved them as much across as down. They landed close by a road that wound off through the spread of bayous and swamps. Chip paid the boatmen a bit extra to rest up until just before dark. If Jonathan Starling had been close on his heels, he would now be at least a day behind.
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Starling was far behind. Not until the following day did his men locate the blacks who had seen Shadow and his muffled companion, and by the time Starling had come up, the day was gone. A night crossing was dangerous enough to reject. In the morning the boat crossed with Starling's men who immediately thundered off in belated pursuit, Starling chose to cross on a second trip, resting in his coach and comforted by his bottle. His team and the tall hunter required a third crossing.
Despite the delays, Starling was pleased that Saleman still accompanied the mountain man. One boatman claimed the other figure looked more like a boy to him, but Starling failed to notice.
Captain Carter Roth gained passage on a sailing packet laboriously working her way upriver, but later a side-wheeler took them in tow and they made rapid progress toward Vicksburg where he hoped to find Shadow and free his ship's boy.
Perhaps he would be able to turn Shadow over to military justice and not be required to shoot him, but he resolved to at least give this Shadow a proper licking. He owed at least that much to his dead seaman.
Chip Shatto (Perry County Series) Page 7