MacFarlane's Ridge

by Patti Wigington

  He shrugged. “One is dead. The young one with brown teeth. He put up a great deal of a fight.” He looked right at her with his milky eyes. “He did not die like a man.”

  Cam nodded, shivering, getting the feeling that Man Who Sees Far knew exactly what had happened in the woods with O’Toole. She hadn’t liked Gavin O’Toole at all, but the idea of him screaming and pleading for mercy as he was tortured made her cringe just a little.

  “And the others?” asked Wanda.

  “They are well. They will be taken to the British as well, to trade for guns.”

  They learned that Basham and Meador, while somewhat bruised and battered, were still very much alive, and being held in a longhouse not far away. In the morning, they would all leave for Fort Wyndham. The trip would take nearly a fortnight on foot, and Cam thought about the blisters she could already feel swelling on her heels and toes. She shut her eyes, trying not to think about it.

  Pointy Club’s real name, they learned, was Kills Bears, which Cam thought was appropriate. Damn Near Drowned Me was actually called Plenty Rabbits, and he was the nephew of Kills Bears.

  “Is Kills Bears the chief?” asked Cam curiously.

  Man Who Sees Far shook his head. “He is the chief of the war council, but he is not the chief of our village. You will not meet our chief. He is away now.” He squinted at her. “You should be careful around Kills Bears. Do not make him angry. He is only taking you to trade with the British because that is what he was told to do. He would be just as happy to kill you.”

  Cam felt a knot form in her stomach. “Why? What have we done?”

  “You have done nothing. You are white,” whispered the old man, “and that is the only reason Kills Bears needs.”

  Plenty Rabbits came to get them then, and they were led away from Man Who Sees Far. He put them in another longhouse, this one full of women, and there they were fed some chunks of smoked meat. The other women sat far away from them, chattering and pointing at them. One young girl shyly watched them from the corner, and Cam smiled at her tentatively. The girl came over and squatted beside them. Cam guessed her to be about twelve.

  “Hello,” said Cam softly.

  The girl’s eyes widened, and she nodded to them. “I am Running Stream,” she said gravely.

  “You speak English,” smiled Wanda.

  The girl did not smile back. “Man Who Sees Far taught me the voice of the white man. He says it will help us some day if we can talk with the whites.”

  “Kills Bears speaks a little English,” Cam pointed out.

  “Yes,” Running Stream admitted. “But he speaks only words of war. He does not understand that it can be better to speak words of peace.”

  “Ah.” Wanda replied. “And you would like to speak words of peace with the whites?”

  Running Stream nodded vigorously. “Yes. The whites fight each other, and they ask us to fight for them. They should learn to live together as one people,” she said, a disdainful look on her pretty face.

  Cam couldn’t think of a suitable response, so she didn’t say anything at all.

  Wanda, struck by a sudden thought, asked, “Will you be coming with us to the British fort when we leave in the morning?”

  “Yes. I will talk to the whites at the fort so we can trade you for guns,” she told them matter-of-factly.

  Cam curled up on a pile of skins next to Wanda. Her whole body hurt, and she knew that tomorrow would be worse. Man Who Sees Far’s words had reassured her, though. As long as they didn’t anger Kills Bears, they would get to the garrison alive. And, she reflected, as long as Kills Bears thinks Wanda is some sort of wizard or – what did the old man call her? – a medicine woman, he won’t tangle with her. So all things considered, we might just make it there alive.

  As she lay there, Running Stream began to speak in her musical voice. The humming noises of the older women ceased, and Cam realized they had gathered around the girl.

  “I will tell you the story of how the Kanienkehaka came to be. It was a long time ago,” she said softly, “and there was a world called Sky World. In the center of Sky World grew a great tree, with many different kinds of fruit upon it. A man was given the job of protecting the great tree, so that no one would disturb it. The man got married, and when his wife was heavy with child, she found herself with a desire to eat fruit, but the husband refused to let her eat from the great tree.”

  The elderly women tittered amongst themselves.

  “Then the woman began to have dreams of a place beneath the tree, and she convinced her husband to dig around the tree’s roots. The woman looked into the hole her husband had dug, but she could not see anything, because it was dark. She leaned over and fell in, but as she fell she grabbed two things. In one hand she held a tobacco leaf, and in the other a strawberry plant.”

  Cam glanced sideways at Wanda, who was listening with rapt attention. It was almost like being in Ian’s house, listening to the musical tone of Mollie Duncan’s voice, as she told her tales that she had learned from her father, passed down from one generation to the next.

  “As the woman fell deeper and deeper,” continued Running Stream, “she could see water beneath her. A flock of birds flew up and caught her, and lowered her down to the water. The birds asked Turtle if they could put the woman on his back, and then they asked who she was and where she was from. The woman was very homesick and missed her husband. She told them that her world was all land, but she did not wish to stay in this one because it was all water. The animals told her that there was land beneath their water, and they would bring her some.

  “They took turns diving beneath the water to bring some earth to the woman, but they all failed, except for Otter. Otter stayed under the water for so long that when he came back to the surface, he died, but in his paw there was a small piece of earth. The animals placed the earth on Turtle’s back, and the earth and Turtle both began to grow. The woman walked in a circle to keep the land growing, following the direction of the sun, and so the land took the shape of the world. The tobacco and the strawberry began to grow all over the land.

  “One day, the woman gave birth to a daughter, and when her daughter grew to womanhood she became the mother of twin boys, but she died giving birth to them. The grandmother decided to raise them, and she named them Teharonhiawako, the Holder of the Heavens, and Sawiskera, the Mischievous One. These twins fought over everything, and when they were men they even fought over the grandmother’s body when she died. Sawiskera wished to kick her body off the edge of the world, but Teharonhiawako wanted to bury her in the earth, for she was so much a part of it. Finally, Sawiskera pulled off his grandmother’s head, and tossed it high up in the sky, where it became the moon.”

  Cam suppressed a shiver, but couldn’t help listening. The girl’s voice was soft, yet strong, and she had a natural gift for storytelling.

  “Sawiskera and Teharonhiawako competed in everything. They began to create animals and plants. Teharonhiawako made a beautiful flower, the rose, but Sawiskera, the Mischievous One, placed thorns upon it. Teharonhiawako created the kind and gentle deer and rabbit, but his brother made the bear and the mountain lion to kill them. This went on for some time, until they decided to divide the world in half. The day would belong to Teharonhiawako, and the night to Sawiskera.

  “Because he was the keeper of the daylight, Teharonhiawako decided to make some beings to inhabit his world. He would make several different beings, and made a yellow one from the bark of a tree. From the foam of the ocean he made a white man, and from the soil he made one with black skin. Finally, from the red earth he created a being as well. He gave life to each of them, but they argued and fought amongst themselves. He explained to them that he must separate them so they would learn to be thankful for the good things of the earth, and respectful of other living beings.

  There were nods and murmurs of approval from the old women.

  “Teharonhiawako took the white, black, and yellow beings across the ocean, far awa
y from each other. He told them that some day, when they could learn to get along with others, he would bring them back together again. He kept the red being in his place of beginning, where he learned to live in harmony with the natural world. He was called Onkwehonwe, the Original Being, and because he learned a good way to live with the earth, Teharonhiawako was very pleased,” she finished.

  The old women smiled at Running Stream, for a story well told, and they silently filtered off to their own parts of the longhouse. Cam smiled at the idea of little clay people being sent off to their corners of the world, until they could learn to get along. With these comforting thoughts, she drifted into a deep sleep.

  It was still dark when the women of the longhouse awakened her. They snapped at her in their unfamiliar tongue, and she sat up groggily. Wanda was already on her feet, and the two of them were shoved outside into the cold morning air. Running Stream and Plenty Rabbits were already there, as was Kills Bears and several other members of his war party.

  When Cam looked up, she saw Peyton Basham and Ambrose Meador being pulled forward. Although Cam and Wanda’s hands were now free, the men’s wrists were tightly lashed together, and they were both tied to a length of rope that was being pulled by one of Kills Bears’ men. As she watched, Basham lost his balance and stumbled, pulling his large brother-in-law with him.

  They were bruised and dirty, and it looked as though one of Meador’s ears was missing a small piece of the lobe. At least they’re walking, thought Cam grimly. Meador spotted her and nodded in silent acknowledgement.

  As the sun rose, the group began to make their way down the main concourse of the village, between the two rows of longhouses. The women lined up, watching them and muttering amongst themselves. All of the village’s men appeared to be part of the war party.

  Except for Man Who Sees Far. He stood at the end of the wide path, watching them, and as they were walking past them, he smiled at Cam and came towards her. Before she knew it, he had embraced her in a bear hug.

  “If you and your man need to get out of Fort Wyndham,” he whispered quickly, “go to the church and pray.”

  He released her then, and she had no more time to think about his strange suggestion, because Man Who Sees Far stepped back and raised his hand to wave.

  As he did, Cam caught a glimpse of his left forearm. She suddenly felt dizzy, and a cold chill coursed through her body. Man Who Sees Far glanced back at her, and she met his milky eyes, suddenly understanding it all.

  She hadn’t seen it the night before, in the dim light of the longhouse.

  Now she knew what he had meant when he said you are like me. It had nothing to do with the fact that they both had white skin.

  When the sleeve of his dusty linen shirt had slipped back, she had seen it, as clear as day. Although sixty years had faded them slightly, the tattooed numbers on his forearm were still visible, standing out in the sunlight like a beacon.

  Otto Ruehle had been in a Nazi concentration camp.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Aboard the Frigate Lord Savernack

  June 1777

  The prisoners were back up on the deck of the frigate, as they were for two hours every morning and two hours every afternoon. Alexander McFarland stood alone, not interested in associating with the rest. None of them were his own men; he had no idea what had become of the twenty-odd sailors that had been working on his ship when it was captured, but suspected they were being held somewhere else. He also thought it likely that a good many of them had opted to join the British Navy rather than hang as pirates.

  The Lord Savernack was anchored in the Delaware River, not far, in fact, from where Alexander’s ship had been boarded. On the shore he could see the British garrison, Fort Wyndham.

  It was small, as far as military compounds went, but always seemed to be a beehive of activity. In fact, even as he watched, a group of red-coated soldiers climbed into a small boat and began rowing towards the Lord Savernack.

  He expected that eventually he would go to trial. It was merely a formality, really. If he was destined to hang for piracy, the British would already have decided that. They would come get him, parade him into a courtroom, chant their endless litany of charges, and then find him guilty on all counts. It was what they did.

  “MacFarland?” said a voice at his shoulder.

  Alexander glanced back, and saw one of the younger prisoners behind him. It was a boy named Ralph something-or-other. Ralph had been a cabin boy on another vessel, the State of Grace, which was captured slightly before Alexander’s own ship.

  “Ralph.”

  “Are they comin’ for us today, do you think?” Ralph’s voice was shaking. He was young, and likely had not yet seen much bloodshed, thought Alex.

  “They might be,” he acknowledged. “Ye’ll not have seen a man hang before?”

  The boy shook his head. “Have you?”

  “Aye.”

  Alexander could sense the boy’s fear; it was practically rolling off him in dark sweaty waves. “Is it as bad as they say?” whispered Ralph.

  “Not if it’s done right, lad. Not if it’s done properly,” he sighed.

  The lad looked at him, expectantly.

  “If ye’ve a good hangman,” he continued, “it will be quick, and that’s the best way. If ye’ve a hangman who’s not experienced, or not very good at it, well…” His voice trailed off.

  “Then what?” Ralph asked, his eyes on the lapping waves below them.

  “Then it’s bad,” Alex finished abruptly. “And that’s the whole of it, lad, and no more.” He walked away from the boy. He didn’t want to have the conversation, not with a lad who was too young to even have a beard or bed a woman yet, and most likely never would. Ralph’s age would not gain him clemency.

  The skiff had arrived and was bobbing alongside the frigate in the water. A ladder was lowered so that the men below could board the Lord Savernack. Once on board, one of them unrolled a list of names. Of the hundred men on board, ten would travel to the fort today for their hearings. The other ninety were granted one more week before the ritual began all over again.

  The first name called was that of young Ralph Fitzralph, who was practically sobbing by the time he was pushed down the dangling ladder. Eight more names were read off with no emotion whatsoever, and finally, the fat dragoon holding the list glanced around.

  “And which of you sodding bastards is Alexander MacFarland?” he roared.

  Alex glanced up from his position near the bow of the ship. “I dinna ken about the sodding bastard bit, but I am called Alexander MacFarland,” he said politely.

  The dragoon squinted at him in the sunlight. “You know I’d be within my rights to have you shot right now for your insolence,” he sneered.

  Alex shrugged. He had resigned himself to the idea that death was just around the corner. It didn’t matter if it was at the end of a rope or down the barrel of a musket. He looked at the dragoon, pausing conspicuously for a moment on the large stomach which was nearly splitting through the front of the white trousers. “Shoot me if ye like,” he sighed, “but be quick about it, would you?”

  The dragoon swung the stock of his musket up and caught Alexander square in the chin. He toppled to the ground silently. The dragoon waddled over to him and leaned down. “I don’t know who you are, you bloody treasonous Scot, but someone at the fort seems to think you’re rather important. I’m to deliver you there alive, but it doesn’t matter to me one bit if your bloody jaw is broken when you get there,” he hissed.

  Alex said no more, and staggered down the ladder into the skiff.

  By the time the little boat reached the dock at Fort Wyndham thirty minutes later, the pain in his jaw had subsided enough that he knew it wasn’t broken, although at one point he discovered that one of his teeth was loose. He wiggled it with his tongue, and it popped out. He promptly spit the tooth over the side when no one was looking.

  Fort Wyndham was constructed of large logs, held together with mud
mixed with broken shells. The simple wattle-and-daub construction didn’t look terribly intimidating, but the men of the garrison had remedied that by constructing, right in the center of the fort’s courtyard, a gallows scaffold.

  Ralph Fitzralph wet his pants, and Alexander ignored him.

  They were led into a large cell, already occupied by several other men, many of whom Alex recognized from the Lord Savernack. He expected these men would be dangling from the gallows in the next few days.

  The fat dragoon shoved him contemptuously, and slammed the door shut.

  The cell was good-sized, although crowded, and the barred windows offered a straight-on view of the scaffold outside. Alexander staked out an unoccupied spot in a corner, and sat. Ralph followed him.

  “MacFarland? Can I sit beside you?”

  “Aye,” he shrugged indifferently..

  He wondered what the fat dragoon had meant about someone in the fort thinking he was important. He certainly didn’t know anyone here, and had rarely even come into contact with anyone from the royal army, even during his privateering excursions.

  A stringy-haired man sitting on the opposite wall recognized young Ralph, who introduced him to Alex. His name was Charlie Banastre, a former indentured servant, he said, who had run away from his master and signed onto the State of Grace a mere two weeks before the ship was taken in the process of commandeering cargo from a British ship.

  “Bad luck for me, eh?” he grinned, showing an expanse of bad teeth.

  “Aye,” agreed Alexander. “If ye had continued wi’ your servitude, you’d likely not be facing the gallows right now.”

  “Certainly I would,” reflected Charlie Banastre. “I killed my master’s wife before I run away, and I wager I’d be hanging for that as well,” he chortled.

  Banastre, although a thoroughly repugnant human being, was a wealth of information, and was able to tell Alexander a good deal about the workings of Fort Wyndham.

  “They’ve a new officer here, a chap named Clarendon. He’s a bit of a scary bastard, if you ask me. Something in his eyes not quite right,” Banastre smirked. Considering the source, Alexander thought the statement spoke volumes about Clarendon.