When the two men left their table, Charlotte waited for a while to give them time to go to bed. Then she closed the Bible and went upstairs. She crawled onto her bed, pulled the quilt over her head, and did her best to ignore her companions’ snores, the honey bucket, the howling wind, and the pelting rain.
Chapter 19
IN THE MORNING it was still raining. The stream from which Charlotte had drunk the previous afternoon had disappeared under the black and swollen flood. The wagon track had vanished beneath a vast lake that was studded with isolated trees. Water reached halfway to the hocks of the two mules standing forlornly in the paddock. Wavelets lapped at the boards of the porch, where Charlotte now stood by herself, looking about.
She was not alone for long. The two men who had been sitting on the porch when she arrived at the inn came outside.
“Don’t worry about your brother, lad,” said one. “He’ll have found his way to high ground, where he’ll have wild turkeys for company, along with deer and rabbits, if he’s still minded to do some hunting.”
“When will the water go down?”
“It’ll start to drain away after the rain stops. Y’all better stay put for a few hours, ’cause you don’t know the currents. One false step could carry you away.”
While he was talking, his partner waded to the wagon and retrieved harness from under the tarpaulins.
“Surely thee won’t leave this soon!” exclaimed Charlotte.
“General Greene is waiting for these supplies. We’ve done this before. One time on the wagon track, we sloshed through water for six days. We know the way. The mules do, too.”
He stepped off the porch, waded to the paddock, and brought out the mules. While the men were hitching them up, the big, placid animals looked as though they had been through this a hundred times. The men climbed onto their seat at the front, and then the wagon started out, heading northeast. Its wheels were halfway to their hubs in black water.
When Charlotte went back inside, she saw Beaky Nose and Bushy Eyebrows seated at one of the tables, eating grits and drinking coffee. She sat down at the next table. In a few seconds the innkeeper’s wife set Charlotte’s breakfast in front of her.
While she ate, she tried to overhear what Beaky Nose and Bushy Eyebrows were talking about. Nothing much, she soon realized. The business of eating seemed to require their entire attention. Each sat hunched with his arms virtually wrapped around his plate, as if afraid someone would try to steal it.
After breakfast, she wandered back out to the porch. The rain had stopped. In the distance, the wagon pulled by the two mules was still in sight.
Beaky Nose and Bushy Eyebrows joined her a few minutes later.
“The rate it’s going, that wagon won’t cover five miles today,” said Beaky Nose.
“Don’t much matter,” said Bushy Eyebrows. “Slow and steady wins the war. Whenever they arrive, General Greene can use those supplies.” He turned his head toward Charlotte. “What’s your opinion of General Greene?”
“My opinion?”
“He’s a Quaker, or didn’t y’all know? They call him ‘The Fighting Quaker.’ Fighting goes against your beliefs, don’t it?”
“Well . . . er . . . I don’t know anything about General Greene.” She was starting to sweat, afraid to say something accidentally that would reveal she was not a Quaker.
“Nathanael Greene has more brains in his big toe than Cornwallis has in his whole head.”
“Is that so?” Charlotte murmured politely.
“Look what General Cornwallis did. Burned his own supply wagons so his army could travel light. He’s got eight thousand hungry Loyalist soldiers scattered in companies all over the backcountry. Hungry men can’t fight. Now, General Greene knows that. He knows you have to feed your men if you want a good fighting force.” He pointed to the wagon that was making its slow and steady way northwest. “Y’all know what’s on that wagon?”
“No.”
“Rice and sweet potatoes to feed the Patriots. We have wagons every week taking food to our fighting men. Last week we had a wagon loaded with hams, two wagons loaded with corn, and another carrying rifles and gunpowder. What do you think of that?”
His words sounded like a challenge. Was Bushy Eyebrows trying to goad her into condemning General Greene for his un-Quakerlike behaviour? She was puzzled to know what a real Quaker would say in response.
She answered, “It’s an excellent idea to send food for your army. Then the soldiers won’t have to steal it. I’ve heard that both sides raid farms, leaving nothing for local people to eat.”
“So you ain’t gonna criticize General Greene?”
“I’m sure he has his reasons for whatever he does.”
“As for that brother of yours,” said Bushy Eyebrows, “what’s he think about this war?”
“My brother doesn’t take sides.” Charlotte shifted uncomfortably. “I just hope nothing’s happened to him,” she said, trying to change the subject.
“He never should have come here if he doesn’t know the swamp,” said Beaky Nose. “Neither should you, unless you want to be dinner for an alligator. As soon as the water level goes down, you should follow the track right back to Charleston; that’s what you ought to do.”
Suddenly Bushy Eyebrows gave a shout. “Billy, look who’s comin’ this way!”
Charlotte looked in the direction he was pointing, and there was a rowboat approaching the inn.
“Good ol’ Rufus,” said Bushy Eyebrows. “He knew where to find us.”
Charlotte stood watching while the boat pulled up beside the porch just as if it were a dock. The man called Rufus had reddish hair and a ruddy complexion.
“Mornin’ Billy. Mornin’ Abner.” He rested on his oars. “I figured I’d find y’all here.”
“It was either that or spend the night in the cave,” said Bushy Eyebrows. “Me and Billy reckoned Hewitt’s Inn would be a darn sight more comfortable.”
So Beaky Nose was Billy and Bushy Eyebrows was Abner. Just knowing their names made Charlotte feel a little more in control.
“Where’s Robert and Joe?” Billy asked.
“They went on home,” said Rufus. “They was worried about their livestock gettin’ caught in the flood.”
“That’s fine,” said Abner. “The three of us can do what needs to be done.”
“How’d you get along yesterday with our friend?” Rufus asked.
“No results yet. He’s mighty tough,” Abner replied as he clambered into the boat.
“We reckon one more night in the cave will have softened him up,” said Billy. “If he won’t talk today, we’ll try fire ants tomorrow.”
Billy climbed into the boat after Abner.
“Feels like she’s scraping bottom,” Billy said.
“That’s all right,” Rufus answered. “It’s just mud. I can push off.”
“Three men is too many,” said Billy. “If the water goes down much further, we’ll go aground. Then we’ll be stuck until the next high tide.”
“We’re all right,” said Rufus. “But we can’t waste any time.” He leaned into the oars, and off they went.
Charlotte, left alone on the porch, watched the boat pull away. It did not, she noticed, follow the same northeast course as the wagon, but headed due north toward a low, wooded island about half a mile away. The boat disappeared around the eastern end of the island, leaving her uncertain whether it had gone ashore or continued on. At least I know the general direction I must go, she thought as she went inside.
The innkeeper was sweeping the floor with a corn broom while his wife cleared the table.
“Now I’m thy only guest,” Charlotte said. “The others went off in a rowboat, and soon I’ll be on my way.”
The innkeeper stopped sweeping. “Not so fast. You should never walk through flooded land until you can see blades of grass sticking out of the water. That’s how you tell the shallow places. Never take a step where no plants are visible, or like as not you
’ll step off the edge of an underwater creek bank, and the current will sweep you away.”
“How long must I wait here?”
“Now that it’s stopped raining, the water will start to go down. Maybe by low tide you’ll be able to leave. That’ll be a few hours.” The innkeeper returned to his sweeping. “You know, running an inn during times like these isn’t easy. Everything’s political. Even asking a person whether he wants coffee or tea.”
“How can that be political?”
“It’s been political ever since England put a tax on tea. If you offer a Patriot a cup of tea, he’s likely to offer you the back of his hand.”
The innkeeper’s wife called through the open kitchen door, “You Quakers are lucky. Nobody forces you to take sides. I wish we could be treated like that. All my husband and I want to do is wait it out to see who wins.”
“We hope that nobody sets his sights on taking over the inn.” The innkeeper leaned on his broom. “It’s a good inn, though the land’s of no value. Would you believe we have six kinds of snakes in the swamp, three of them poisonous? And then there’s the alligators.”
“I saw one,” said Charlotte. She sat down at the table. “It was about five feet long.”
“Just a baby!” said the innkeeper’s wife as she set down another plate of grits in front of Charlotte.
“Don’t scare the lad.” The innkeeper resumed sweeping. “Alligators don’t bother us much. Of course, if they’re hungry, they can move real fast. For a few yards, an alligator can outrun a deer. It swallows the deer—hair, hoofs and all. Then it doesn’t need a meal for weeks. Until it gets hungry again, it just lies there basking in the sun.”
“When I meet an alligator, how do I know when it ate its last meal? It isn’t as if I could ask.”
“Look for the bulge,” he answered. “A big bulge in the middle means the gator’s digesting something big.”
“I’ll remember that.” Charlotte finished her grits, stood up and pushed back her chair. “I noticed an island about half a mile to the north. The men who went off in the rowboat headed in that direction. I think that’s where I’ll look for my brother.”
“Island? That’s no island. It’s the top of a hill, as you’ll see when the water goes down.”
Feeble sunshine was now coming through the windows.
“I’ll wait on the porch,” Charlotte said, “to let thee get on with thy work. But first, will thee sell me a flask that I can fill with clean water, when I find some.”
“A penny for the flask,” said the innkeeper. “The water’s free. We always keep on hand a barrelful from the spring. At high tide or whenever there’s a flood, we might as well be in the middle of a desert, for all the water that’s fit to drink.”
She sat on the porch all morning, watching the supposed island grow wider and wider, closer and closer. What had looked like a lake studded with isolated trees gradually transformed into land. When tips of grass finally emerged, she went back inside to pick up the flask. The innkeeper and his wife wished her good luck in her search.
With her first step off the porch, Charlotte discovered that the water was barely past her ankles, but the bottom was so soft that she sank halfway to her boot tops. Thanks to Mrs. Doughty’s concoction of beeswax, tallow and tar, not a drop of water penetrated the leather of her boots.
It must be low tide, she thought as the water continued to drop. Before long she was walking not in water but upon soggy land, picking her way around pools that steamed in the afternoon sun. Beside one pool a sixteen-foot alligator lay motionless. The gator had a deeply ridged back, armoured flanks, a muscular tail, and a huge, swollen belly. With a bulge like that, it can’t be hungry, she assured herself. But she couldn’t help wondering about the unlucky creature being slowly digested inside. A deer? A hog? Either would be about that size. She gripped the handle of her knife as she walked by. When giving it to her, Mrs. Doughty had said that this was the knife her husband had used to cut out leather soles for shoes.
Charlotte knew how to handle a knife. After her brothers had gone off to war and there had been nobody else to help Papa on the farm, she had learned to slaughter hogs. A grisly business, but she could do it. With a good knife in her hand, she was the equal of any alligator. That’s what she told herself.
Chapter 20
AFTERNOON IN THE swamp. But under the trees it felt like twilight—an eerie, green twilight. The cypresses were hung with moss like torn curtains. Vines thick as tree trunks grew from tree to tree. Little animals skittered under the brush.
Charlotte hoped she was walking in the right direction. With the dense canopy hiding the sun, it was hard to be certain that she was heading north, the direction the boat had gone. But where was the boat? Where were Rufus, Billy and Abner? Where was the cave?
Maybe this was a wild goose chase and she might as well give up. But she couldn’t give up, knowing what fate awaited Nick unless she rescued him. At least she was following a path, she thought. A path always leads somewhere. There’s no such thing as a path to nowhere. And since this one seemed to lead in the right direction, she would follow wherever it took her and hope for the best.
A yellow snake with black stripes undulated across the path. It was a very long snake—seven feet at least—and she waited for it to complete its crossing. As the snake finally disappeared into the undergrowth, her eye caught a fleeting movement between the trees, an indistinct figure too upright to be an animal. A rustle of leaves made her ears prick. She fought down panic. To run would serve no purpose. Better to maintain a steady pace and keep a good grip on her knife.
From the prickling in the back of her neck she sensed more than saw that someone was shadowing her, moving at her speed while taking care to remain concealed. It isn’t a robber, she told herself, because a robber would have no reason to delay. A robber could leap out to attack her any time he felt like it. So the person shadowing her must have a different motive.
They kept on like this for half a mile before the idea came into her mind that she might not be the only one afraid. Perhaps the unseen person wanted to talk to her but lacked the courage to bring matters to a head. In that case, it was up to her.
And so she stopped, faced the tangled mass of green growth, and said, “Who is thee?”
Silence.
“I know somebody’s in there. Thee has no need to hide from me.”
The leaves parted. A face peered out. Charlotte saw black skin pitted with smallpox scars, a pair of wide-set dark eyes, and a tangled mop of black hair.
“Jammy?”
The face disappeared into the foliage.
“Please come out. If thee is Jammy, Phoebe has told me all about thee.”
A boy emerged as if stepping through a green wall. He was thin and wiry, about the same height as Charlotte. He wore no shoes or shirt. His breeches were torn. Insect bites covered his exposed skin.
“Who are you?” the boy asked. “How come you know Phoebe?”
“I’m Charlotte Schyler.”
“Charlotte’s a girl’s name.”
“Yes.” As she pulled off her hat, a curly lock of her hair fell loose and bounced gently on her forehead.
He looked at her more closely. “Saints alive! You are a girl!” He paused. “Ain’t you the girl I seen going into Miz Doughty’s house?”
“That’s where I live. I was there the night the slave catchers came.”
“They caught Phoebe, didn’t they?”
“Yes.”
“What’s gonna happen to her now?”
“She’s free. I’ll tell you about it. It’s good news . . . at least it’s good about Phoebe.”
As Charlotte’s words poured forth, she forgot about “plain speech” and dropped all pretence of being a Quaker. She told Jammy how Nick had bought Phoebe in order to set her free, and how ruffians had seized him and carried him off.
When she came to the end, he said, “So Phoebe’s free and they’re together—Phoebe and the baby.”
“And you think your man is somewhere in this swamp?”
“I’m sure of it. At the inn where I slept last night I recognized two men who’d been watching Nick at the slave auction. I heard them talking about a prisoner they had chained in a cave. From the things they said, I knew it was Nick.”
“There’s a cave not far from here. White folks lived there for a spell. After they left, I was thinkin’ of using it myself. Then I saw some different white men go in there.”
“What did they look like?”
“Like white men. There were two of them. One was wearin’ a coonskin hat and the other—”
“Yes! Those are the men. Did you see them today?”
“No. Yesterday.”
Suddenly Jammy lifted his head like a startled deer sniffing the breeze. “Somebody’s comin’!” Grabbing her arm, he pulled her off the path and into the tangle of vines and trees. “Get down!”
She threw herself onto the ground. Looking out through the leaves, she saw too late that she had dropped her hat— the black, wide-brimmed Quaker hat—that she had been holding in her hand. It lay in the middle of the path.
At that moment, Billy and Abner came walking along the trail. Charlotte held her breath.
It took only a moment for Billy to spot the hat and pick it up. “Well!” he said. “What have we here?”
“It’s the hat that young Quaker was wearing,” said Abner.
“All Quakers wear the same kind.”
“That’s a fact. But you don’t see many Quakers in the swamp.”
Billy examined the hat. “Could belong to his brother. He said his brother was huntin’ here.” He paused. “Abner, there’s something fishy about this.”
Both studied the hat.
“You’re right,” said Abner. “I smell a rat. What kind of a man lets his hat fall off and don’t bother to bend over to pick it up?”
“A man in a big hurry. Maybe something was chasing him. That would explain it. I’m gonna shove the hat in my pack. Maybe we’ll meet the owner later on. We can ask a few questions when we give him back his hat.”
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