After an hour pacing the aftercastle, de Perpignan asked Brussard to give him some time to meditate alone.
"Certainly, Your Grace. If you need me during the evening, just call, and I'll be there." As Brussard descended the ladder, a wave broke over the bow and sluiced down the deck. He had to grab hold of the railing to keep from being swept off his feet. He thought about warning the bishop about the slickness of the steps, but reconsidered. It would sound too much like a nagging wife, and the bishop was already vexed enough. He waited until the water receded and then made his way to his cabin.
De Perpignan remained on the aftercastle, leaning on his cane and contemplated what had befallen him that day. The two seamen manning the whipstaff left him to his thoughts. The seas continued to build and presented a stark picture of God's power. The symbolism was lost on the bishop as he seethed about his ill-treatment by the captain. Down on the main deck, a few hardy passengers braved the elements to get some fresh air. Down below, most of the passengers were regretting the extra portions they'd eaten earlier. Eventually, only two men remained on deck. They had been fishermen in their youth and were enjoying the evening.
De Perpignan finally tired of the relentless waves and decided to turn in. He hobbled across the deck and started to descend the ladder. Just then, the ship lurched as it sank into a deeper trough. His grip on the railing slipped and he was pitched onto the ship's rail. He still held his cane and couldn't get a grip with his free hand.
Across the deck the two passengers saw his plight. As the younger one started to go to the bishop's aid, the older man held him back. "Didn't you listen to the sermon today? He made a big deal that the Lord would raise up the righteous. Since he seems to think he's so righteous, he should have no problem raising himself back on deck."
The bishop's struggles caused him to slide further overboard. The only thing holding him was a large splinter that had caught on his stole. As the two watched, the splinter broke and the bishop plunged headfirst overboard without a sound. "Well, I guess he wasn't as righteous as he thought he was. That was definitely a downward direction. The devil seems to have taken his own." With that, the two decided to retire before someone noticed the bishop's absence.
The next morning, after breakfast, Father Valmont went to the bishop's cabin to see how he was feeling. The seas were still running high, with a near gale force wind. Many of the settlers were below decks, sick in their hammocks. He assumed the bishop was suffering from mal de mere too. He was shocked to find the cabin empty, the cot unused. He immediately went to Father Brussard's small cabin to see if the bishop might have stayed there overnight. Brussard was awake but under the weather. He was also alone. Valmont grabbed him and pulled him to the door. "The bishop is missing!" Brussard shook his head in confusion. Valmont dragged him across the hall and showed him the empty cabin. "We must notify the captain and have him organize a search." Brussard fumbled on a pair of slippers and then followed Father Valmont to the captain's cabin. His thoughts were centered on how soon he could be assigned to the bishopric office.
De Bussy was seated at his desk, updating his daily log when Father Valmont knocked. He set down his quill, after wiping it dry and answered, "Come in!" He was surprised by Valmont's appearance. "Not bad news, I hope."
"I don't know. The bishop is missing! His bed is unslept in and neither Brussard nor I have seen him since we retired to our quarters last night." Brussard arrived just then and his nod confirmed Valmont's statement. His green tinge showed that the bishop wasn't his highest priority at the moment.
De Bussy rang for his clerk. "Summon the officers. It seems the bishop is missing. Have the watch officer summon the off duty watches." After the clerk left, he spoke to both priests quietly. "I'll have the ship searched completely, but I hold little hope. He may be sick or injured someplace." After a pause he finished the thought, "Or his body is someplace out of sight. Though it's more likely he went overboard in the storm.
"I'll have the crew look for signs on what happened. After yesterday's incident, it's possible foul play is involved. I'll question anyone who may have been involved or seen something."
Two hours later, after a search that left no area unchecked, the only sign found was a small shred of cloth on the ship's rail. It appeared to have been caught on a splinter and ripped off a cloth similar in color to the cape the bishop had been wearing. The two helmsmen were questioned intensively, but all they could remember was that the bishop had spent some time on deck with Father Brussard. They remembered the priest leaving by himself, and the bishop remaining by the railing, staring out at the seas. They thought he left a short time later and they heard and saw nothing afterward. The passengers were questioned. The two that had witnessed the accident swore they heard nothing while on deck. No one asked if they had seen anything. De Bussy suspected one of the settlers may have had something to do with the disappearance, but the physical evidence of the cloth seemed to point toward an accident. Since nothing could be proven either way, de Bussy opted for the less controversial answer.
That evening, after supper, the two priests held a brief memorial service for the Bishop de Perpignan. Only the captain and the off-duty officers attended.
The next day, de Bussy rendezvoused with Admiral Duquesne's ship and had himself rowed over to deliver the news in person. The admiral shrugged the news off. "I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did. From what you say, if he'd been on my ship, I would have heaved him overboard myself. With the injuries he had, an accident is quite likely. You did all you can do. Just make sure to write up a detailed report that I can send to the cardinal when I get a chance. There's no hurry. We have weeks before we even make landfall."
De Bussy heaved a mental sigh of relief. With de Perpignan's connections to Monsieur Gaston, the admiral could have chosen to sacrifice him to deflect criticism. He boarded his boat and returned to the Grande Dame.
The Bahama Islands, May, 1634
The opportunities were there for the taking. Michel Mousnier leaned back in his chair at the wardroom table and surveyed his fellow leaders of the fleet. It promised to be an interesting day. What little breeze reached the room brought a hint of another warm day ahead. Admiral Duquesne had summoned the leaders to a final meeting, while the fleet took on water and finished minor repairs from the crossing. Amazingly, no ships had been lost. The only episode of note had been the death of Bishop de Perpignan. Michel smiled at that, since it removed Monsieur Gaston's most visible supporter in the expedition as well as someone who could have upset his plans. It had the added benefit of providing an unexpected ally. Father Brussard should prove most beneficial in the plans that were unfolding. His ambition should be easily channeled. Admiral Duquesne had given every indication that he would leave all political decisions to Mousnier and Champlain, once landfall was made. The Calverts were an enigma. They had remained apart from the rest of the fleet and seemed anxious to head north. The two frigates they were taking with them would be missed, but they should settle the issues with the northern colonies. He just had to make sure the Calverts sailed soon.
That left Champlain. Samuel seemed to have regained his old vitality as they sailed west. He was like a schoolboy going to meet his first love. The warm weather did seem to be affecting him. If Champlain could just be convinced to honor his commitment to sail for Jamestown, the southern colony would be left in Michel's care. Duquesne rapped on the table to get everyone's attention.
"I'll try to keep this brief. The day promises to be another hot one and the ships are just about ready to sail. I'm sure most of you have some last minute details to attend to." He turned to Captain Villareal. "Were you able to repair that leak that was causing so much concern? I don't want you sailing to New Amsterdam with questions on your ship's seaworthiness."
Michel held his breath. He'd heard of the problem and he wanted Villareal out of the way. Villareal nodded. "My carpenter located the problem. A butt joint had sprung. He's replaced the board and its tight now." Michel stifl
ed a grin. With Villareal assigned to the New Amsterdam expedition, his only opposition in the fleet was now out of the picture. Villareal had made no bones that he favored Gaston.
Duquesne continued, "In that case then, we depart on the morning tide. Lord Baltimore, your ships will sail for New Amsterdam, in company with Villiers and Besancon. Once they have helped you complete your mission at New Amsterdam, they will continue on and land a garrison at Plymouth. From there, they will return directly to France."
The two frigate captains were beaming at the news they would return home before the hurricane season. The Calverts seemed satisfied and didn't raise any objections.
There was a knock on the door that interrupted the discussion. The admiral's steward had brought refreshments. While he served the wine, the admiral gave the two frigate captains detailed instructions on how they were to conduct their operations. When Duquesne began to cover what was to be done with the Dutch if they didn't leave peacefully, Champlain objected.
"Admiral, will it really be necessary to level the town? There are women and children there. Surely some accommodation can be made for those that want to stay?"
"Monsieur Champlain, you must remember that we are at war with the Dutch. If New France is to prosper, it cannot harbor enemies in its midst. We will offer transportation back to Holland on the frigates and the Ark and Dove, or they can go to the islands in the Indies. But they will go! If they choose to fight, then the consequences are on their heads. Cardinal Richelieu was very emphatic on that point. This is the one area I have no leeway in. You have a job to do in the Virginias. The last word we had there was that the settlers there were grudgingly accepting the transfer to France. I need your skills there to make the transition as peaceful as possible. Don't you agree?"
The admiral had backed Champlain into a corner that he could not graciously back out from. Grudgingly, he accepted the admiral's decision. It was hard for Michel to refrain from smiling. Everything had gone as he hoped. The admiral proceeded to agree to send a frigate and corvette with Champlain and his ship of Catholic settlers. The frigate would return south to the fleet after disembarking the company of soldiers it was transporting. The corvette would remain stationed there for protection against pirates and any possible rebellions by the current settlers.
Duquesne then turned to Michel. "That will leave you with two frigates and two ships with Huguenots and three ships with transportees. I will remain with your group until they are settled and then take one frigate back to France. Two will remain for protection against any Spanish attacks, unless you have another idea?"
This was the opening he had hoped for. Michel casually replied, "Would it be possible for Monsieur Champlain's ships to travel with us to our destination? With the added manpower, I would be more confident that we could get proper fortifications erected to aid in repelling any Spanish incursions. I'm sure the delay would be no more than two or three weeks before he could continue on his way, but Louisville would be much safer for the delay."
Duquesne looked toward Champlain, who sat there contemplating the proposal. "I see no harm in that," he replied.
Looking around the cabin for any other comment, Duquesne finally agreed, "Very well. Monsieur Champlain will remain with the fleet until the fortifications are settled for Louisville. Lord Baltimore will proceed directly to New Amsterdam. That's all, gentlemen. We'll sail on the tide."
Michel Mousnier graciously thanked Samuel Champlain for his assistance. Little did Samuel realize that he had just turned over the south of New France to Michel's control.
****
Second Chance Bird, Episode Four
Garrett W. Vance
Chapter Eighteen: Birdwatching
SouthCoast of Mauritius
The days passed by slowly on their stranded shore, becoming weeks, and now nearly two months. Pam Miller, her companions Dore and Gerbald and the survivors of Redbird's crewbusied themselves with various projects to increase their comfort and safety. The sailors used the tools recovered from the shipwreck to improve their shelters, Dore and Pam gathered the fruits and nuts they were sure were safe to eat, while Gerbald searched for game-birds (with Pam's rare blessing for such activities) and fished the bay along with the sailors. They were all alive and in reasonable physical health; staying busy was what they did to remain sane. Despite these various distractions they all felt the world was leaving them farther and farther behind with each passing day.
Old Fritjof had taken it upon himself to be Pam's caretaker. He had cut all the underbrush out from under her stilted hut and made sure that there were no creepy-crawlies lurking there. He cleared a sandy trail from her door down to the beach and swept it clear of leaves and debris every morning before she woke up, but not before leaving a coconut bowl full of cool water from the spring on her porch. Pam was embarrassed by the attention and told him he didn't have to go to all that trouble over her but the white-haired gentleman just shyly nodded and continued to look after her anyway.
"It is no trouble for me, Frau Pam. It is good for a man to have work to do and even better when it is in the service of a fine and important person such as yourself. Don't fret now. You have the princess' work to do. Just call on Fritjof if you need anything. I will be there for you."
Pam was touched by his eagerness to please and thanked him profusely, asking if there were anything she could do for him. Fritjof smiled with his few remaining teeth, his blue eyes still bright and sparkling in his long lived and wind wrinkled face.
"No, no, I am a simple fellow and have few needs. But, if it were no trouble to you, one day when you meet again with Princess Kristina I would be greatly honored if you would pass my humble respects to her. That would be a true kindness to a faithful servant of the Vasa such as myself."
Pam promised to do so, and didn't say it aloud but intended to make sure that on that future day Fritjof would be right there with her to give his respects himself. That would be a real treat for the old guy. I'm going to make that happen. He can get that precious photo autographed in person! The thought gave her a very warm and pleasant feeling. She realized that she had grown very fond of these stouthearted men of the north and that it was a blessing to be caught in such trying circumstances with such trustworthy people around her. Some day I might even look back on this castaway life and miss it . . . but not too much.
One overcast morning Pam and Gerbald, finding they were stocked up with enough food to last several days and utterly bored with life at camp, decided to follow the river into the interior. They had been too busy to explore further since the triumphant discovery of coffee a few weeks prior and Pam was absolutely itching to get back to her search for the elusive dodo.
The going was fairly easy. They passed through a corridor of grassy meadows between the river and the forest's edge. The sun burned the clouds off around eleven, at which point it became hot enough to chase them into the shade of the woods. The forest floor was clear of thick underbrush, a mossy parkway through ancient tree trunks. Pam kept her eyes open for new birds along the way, occasionally stopping to observe and sketch one of the myriad species that inhabited the island. She had decided that her best bet on finding any dodos was to simply stop looking for them, contenting herself with the many other amazing birds that inhabited these isolated forests. She wondered how she would ever manage to catalog them all. It would take ages to do it right . . . but then again she might have that kind of time if they couldn't find a way off this mysterious island. If she could find natural substitutes to replenish her diminishing paper and pencil supplies.
That thought made her mood sour despite the beauty of the venerable groves and soon she was just slogging along in a funk, not really paying attention to her surroundings at all. Just as she was sinking into a really bad mood Gerbald let out the low whistle that meant "Look at that," one of the signals they had developed in their years spent birdwatching in the wilds of the Thuringerwald. Pam froze, carefully scanning the tree limbs for a choice specimen. Gerbald ga
ve her a nudge with his elbow and pointed downward with a small movement of his head.
Pam followed his gaze to a large, odd-looking bird standing just six feet away from them. It had sturdy yellow legs and cracked a nut with its grotesquely large and powerful bill. The bird regarded them calmly with a bright yellow eye turreted in a beak that covered nearly all of its head. Overall it was awkwardly-shaped and a bit comical looking, with fluffy white tufts of feathers puffing out at its tiny wings and arched tail, just as it was in all the illustrations she had seen. It stood a bit more upright and was slightly thinner than it had been portrayed in art. Pam's eyes were wide as she marveled at the living creature here, its breath moving the downy gray feathers of its chest, its ponderous beak clacking softly as it swallowed the nut. It was the strangest bird she had ever seen, a bird she had once never hoped to see, a bird lost forever in her former world. It was the poster child of the doomed and extinct, now, now alive right in front of her stood the dodo.
The three of them stood there for a very long time, content to stare at each other. At last the dodo gave them a dismissive coo (just like a dove!) and dipped its plated head to search for another nut. It found one and the powerful beak anchored on its large skull effortlessly crushed the shell with a satisfying crack, sending the meat down the gullet. Pam felt her face grow hot and wet, she was crying, crying the tears of joy a child might if through some happy magic she found herself in the living presence of a real Santa Claus, stepped out of the chimneys of legend in jolly flesh and blood.
"It's so ugly!" she said softly with a laugh in her voice "And it's also the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!" She took Gerbald's hand for confidence, then together they took first one, then another step closer to the dodo, which simply ignored them as it continued its nut-cracking. At last Pam reached out with trembling fingers to gently touch the downy gray feathers. "It's real." she whispered. "This is really happening." She gasped as she saw two more dodos foraging nearby, blithely paying no attention whatsoever to the humans among them.
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