Sackett's Land

by Louis L'Amour

  The low island to which we came looked no different than it had. I went down the ladder into the gig, followed by Sakim and Jublain again, and once more we pushed away from the Tiger's side toward familiar land.

  Despite our previous visit, it was no easy thing to find the hulk again, and a slow, burdensome task to carry the furs all the way to the gig. Yet carry them we did, and again we pushed off. At the Tiger, Sakim climbed aboard and the furs were hoisted.

  Suddenly, there were shouts from above, frantic cries, then the boom of a cannon. The Jolly Jack had rounded the bend. A shot struck the water nearby and as the sails went up on the Tiger the wind caught them and she gave a lurch, turning quickly and thrusting sharply forward.

  As her bows thrust forward, she bumped hard against the gig. Standing in its bow, having just made fast the towline, I was pitched headfirst into the water.

  I went down, down, down. My lungs struggled for breath, my hands lashed at the water and I shot up. The gig, trailing behind the Tiger now, was a good dozen feet away. I heard the boom of another cannon and saw the Jolly Jack closing, yet there was a sudden concussion, a nearer shot, and I saw the ball hit the rail of the Jack and throw splinters high into the air.

  There was a scream, then the Tiger, firing at will, let go with another. The Jack, heading upstream then, passed the Tiger and I could see men racing along the deck to bring the stern gun to bear.

  Treading water, I suddenly, realized the Jolly Jack was abreast of me and not fifty yards off. The Tiger was sailing away. Instantly, I dove, swimming under water toward the island. Reaching its shore I walked and crawled until almost out of water. Then, with my face exposed, I lay still.

  The Jack was turning about to give chase.

  I could see confusion on her decks, one gun dismounted, a portion of the rail shot away. What damage had been done the Tiger, I had no idea.

  When she was well past I crawled on my belly up the sand, trying to imitate the wriggling of an alligator. When I came near some brush I crawled in. There, I sat up and looked slowly around.

  I sat amid some low-growing brush on a sandpit on the island of the hulk. I had only the clothes in which I stood, my sword and dagger, nothing more.

  Obviously the Jolly Jack had been lying in wait in some inlet, her mast lost among treetops, and we too intent upon my sandy island and the furs to spot her. Now the Jack was in hot pursuit and that she was the faster of the two vessels I knew full well. Also, she was heavier-gunned, heavier-manned, and altogether a more complete fighting ship.

  The Tiger had a lead and it had the wind. There was nothing for it but to run, and the Jack would follow.

  And I?

  I would remain here, on this island ... alone.

  Chapter 14

  When the Jolly Jack was well away I got slowly to my feet. I was dripping wet and clammy. The air seemed to have grown colder with a wind from off the sea. From my charts, the growth about me, and the season, this should be southern land, yet nobody had told the wind.

  I went to the old hulk, almost buried in sand, and went in under her side. Well I knew how to build a fire with bow and string, yet work as I might this time no flame would come. At last, too cold and weary to try more, I dug a place for myself in the sand, filled it with grass and crawled down inside it to sleep. And sleep I did ... sword in hand.

  Dawn broke cold with another spitting rain. My shirt and breeches had dried but little. Back under the hulk I found a bird's nest of twigs, dried grass and hair. This I brought out and once more set to work with bow and string.

  Soon a tiny tendril of smoke arose, and I glimpsed a spark. I blew gently ... it went out. I worked again, worked until my palms were sore, and then again the smoke. I worked harder and harder, and soon a spark ... another! I blew gently, ever so gently. The spark brightened, dimmed, brightened again as I breathed upon it, and a tendril of dry grass began to smoke. Soon I had a fire, a very small fire.

  When it was burning, I crept outside and looked carefully around.

  Where was the Tiger? Had she escaped? Or been taken by the Jolly Jack? Had I been seen after I fell into the river? Did they guess that I lived?

  There was fuel enough and more, but, sitting by the fire, I was suddenly overcome by depression.

  I was alone. Even if the Tiger survived, it might be too severely injured to return for me, even if Captain Tempany believed in my survival.

  They were gone, and I was alone. What happened now was up to me.

  The old hull in which I sheltered myself had somehow been destroyed, its crew drowned or killed by Indians, the hull finally beached here on this island. It had been as large a vessel as the Tiger. There was little upon which to make an estimate, but the line of the bow was unusual. It did not appear to have broken in half, only that the larger portion was buried in sand, many years ago.

  I went outside into the rain and dragged some brush nearer, then picked up various odds and ends of logs, broken timbers and the like to keep my fire alive.

  The hull was thick, and exposure to the elements had not weakened it, I could wish for no better shelter. At the back end I could go into what must have been a sort of forecastle, but that I had not yet explored.

  What we had first assumed was the captain's quarters was nothing of the kind, and I was determined, when time permitted, to explore further. Perhaps even to dig a little.

  When time permitted! And what kind of time would I have now? Merely enough to keep soul and body together, to eke out a precarious living. That would take all the time and skill I had.

  First, I must have food. I must make another bow and some arrows, and I must get skins for a warmer jacket, for now I stood in nothing but breeches and shirt, neither of which would last. In the meantime I had to eat.

  Several times along the river I had seen great turtles; I saw none now. Several times I had seen deer, but I saw none. Fishing in such weather as this was out of the question.

  The channel between my island and the far shore was not wide, but the current ran swiftly. I was a good swimmer, but not that good, and had no wish to trust myself to that powerful current with a sword to impede my movements. So I added sticks to the fire and huddled close, trying to envelop it and absorb all the heat I could.

  But to sit idle was impossible, so I searched among the rubble of drift around the old hulk until I found a long, straight shaft of about seven feet in length, and sharpening the end with my dagger, I hardened the point in the fire. It balanced well, would make a staff for walking, and a crude spear. Yet it was in no sense an adequate weapon.

  Reeds and willows there were in profusion, so I'd have no trouble about arrow shafts. Points were another thing, and points needed time. I'd also need a bow. In the meanwhile there was a thing I could do, and with those willows closest to hand. I could make a fish-trap.

  Slipping out into the rain, I hurriedly cut a couple of dozen long whips of willow. Forming a hoop of one of these I began to bind the ends of the others to the hoop at intervals, using willow bark or the fibres of some of the coarse grass growing nearby to make them fast. Stretching them out, I then bound the other ends together in a tight group making a sort of elongated funnel.

  With some much shorter sticks tied to a half circle of willow, I formed a sort of trap to put at the opening. The current and movements of the fish itself would allow them to enter; getting out would, hopefully, be much more difficult. It was crude, hurriedly done, and not a job I would have boasted of to any fen-man, but I was hungry and anxious. When the trap was completed I waded waist-deep into the water and moored it with stakes. Returning I found patches of scurvy grass, known as useful in preventing scurvy. Tearing up a handful I returned wet and cold to my shelter, huddled over the fire and ate the grass.

  It was mightily unsatisfactory.

  I was lonesome and tired. Shivering, I huddled over the fire, getting up at intervals to drag fuel closer to hand, for the fire was insatiable. Small though I kept it, its angry flames ate hungrily of
the wood, and I dared not use the greener, slower burning wood which would produce too much smoke.

  Finally, I napped.

  Suddenly I was awake. It was dusk. My fire was smoldering coals. For a moment I lay still, staring at two of those coals. Somehow they were out beyond the edge of my fire. What would coals be doing out there? How would—?

  I came off the sand with a lunge, narrowly missing banging my skull against the over-hanging ship's side. With a sweep of a hand I knocked some stacked wood into the flames, the smaller stuff gathered for kindling in case my fire went out.

  The fire sputtered, then the flames reached up, and my hand went out, grasping for my spear.

  Facing me, just beyond the fire, was an alligator. Perhaps a crocodile, for I did not know one from the other. Its small red eyes gleamed from the fire's reflection, and I crouched. I yelled at it, but it paid no attention, its eyes fixed on mine with a baleful gleam.

  Escape was out of the question. To go to right or left would still leave me within sweep of the mighty tail, and I had been warned many times that the alligator strives to knock its prey into the water or break its legs with its tail. The jaws were parted slightly revealing rows of ugly teeth, and hanging from them the remains of some other creature it had eaten, or perhaps only some riverweed.

  There were no rocks. I threw a handful of sand, but the beast paid no attention. His tail moved slightly. Once he lifted a foot as if to move, then put it down again.

  I added a heavier stick to the fire, suddenly awake that my fuel supply was badly depleted. And when my fuel was gone? How could I face such a monster with my six foot stick? True, I had my sword, but how tough was the hide? This alligator was a monster.

  Moving slightly to one side, his eyes and nose followed me, the jaws parting slightly as if in anticipation.

  Suddenly he lunged toward me and I thrust hard at his eye with my spear. It missed, but the jolt of the blow against the horny plate jarred my arm to the elbow. I had heard of natives wrestling these creatures, but surely their creatures had been smaller than mine—as large around in the body as a good-sized donkey.

  He came a tentative foot further, in no way disturbed by my spear. He was crowding me, knowing I was trapped, knowing that if he could force me deeper into my shell I would be helpless. He avoided the fire, coming at me around the right side, moving carefully.

  I stabbed with the spear, ineffectually, then thrust suddenly with my sword. The point of the blade took him above the nose and skidded along the upper side of his jaw, making a long scratch, but penetrating scarcely at all.

  He came on, a step further, circling the fire, jaws agape. I was bent over now, unable to move swiftly, still near the fire but being inexorably backed into the old hull. I struck again with my spear but suddenly the jaws snapped and the spear was gone, broken in half. Sword in hand, I thrust suddenly. The point penetrated an inch, perhaps more. Instantly withdrawing I cut a slash at the ugly nose. The jaws gaped, and with incredible swiftness the alligator lunged.

  He was a huge fellow, his body twelve to fifteen feet long, and when he lunged he must have come forward at least six feet. I twisted under the overhang, trying to get outside. My foot slipped in the sand and I fell, my left hand falling near the fire.

  As the monster started for me, my hand closed over the end of the heavy stick I had recently put into the fire. Its end was aflame, and I hurled it with all my strength into the gaping maw before me.

  The beast gave a tremendous roar and went into a convulsion, twisting this way and that in a fury of pain and anger.

  Rolling over into the edge of the fire, I sprang up and dove out into the rain, stumbled and fell, got up again, and was knocked sprawling by the monster, rushing for the river oblivious of me. I heard him splash, saw him submerge. He surfaced almost at once with a roar, then went down again.

  For a long time I lay still, sprawled on the sand. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and slowly, I drew my hands under me. Somehow I still clung to my sword. Getting up I looked around, rain streaming down my face, soaking my clothes once more.

  Staggering, I made for my shelter in the hulk. Once out of the rain, I fell on the churned up sand and lay there, gasping and trembling. Finally, I pulled myself together.

  My fire had been scattered, but here and there some embers smoldered and using a stick for a rake, I gathered them together and added fuel. The fuel I now had was wet, but slowly the fire took hold. I crouched beside it, trembling.

  There could be no thought of sleep. I gathered fuel, and sword across my knees, I dozed and waited for the dawn that seemed never to come. And when it came at last it was gray and cold with a wind blowing the rain before it, bending the trees, and whipping sand like shot that rattled against the hulk and stung my cheeks.

  Sword in hand, for now I expected danger behind every bush, I went down the island to where I thought I had seen some green ash trees. They were there, and I cut a long, smooth pole about the size of my wrist or a bit larger. It was a young tree that had been fire-killed, and looked to be a proper bit of bow material.

  Taking it back to the hulk, I picked up several fist-sized pieces of rock on the return journey. Seated once more beside my fire, I began working to smooth down my bow and shape it to my thinking. It was a slow, painstaking task, but it helped to keep me warm, and a bow I must have if I was to live.

  Later, again with sword in hand, I went to my fish-trap. It was there ... a part of it. Something, possibly an alligator, had destroyed it to get at the fish it had undoubtedly held.

  I swore bitterly, then taking what fragments might be used, I went back to the hulk to do the job once more. It was almost dusk when I replanted the trap and returned to my shelter to resume work on the bow, flattening the inner side, rounding the outer. I felt near to starving.

  That night I built my fire larger and slept fitfully, awakening to add fuel to the flames, sometimes to peer out into the darkness. My fire was well hidden and I had small fear it would be seen from the mainland.

  At daybreak I went to my fish trap and it held three fine, large fish!

  Rolling them in clay at the river's edge, I carried them back to camp and buried them in coals at the fire's edge. Later, when I could wait no longer, I ate them ... all three, and they were delicious.

  During the night the rain ceased so I kept my fire still smaller. Then I rigged a couple of deadfalls, took another fish from my trap, and ate some more scurvy grass.

  My next move must be to the mainland, to escape from my island prison. Twice I went out to the highest place on the island and stood among the trees looking down river. I saw nothing, no movement, no sail.

  On the fourth day I completed my bow and several arrows, and on the fifth day I found a huge, old dead tree clinging to some brush at the island's edge. If I could straddle that, shove off and hit that point yonder ...

  On the sixth day, with two smoked fish inside my shirt for rations, I shoved off, and in less than a half an hour was afoot in the mainland woods.

  My safest bet was to go to Potaka, yet I had no more faith in his protection than had Rufisco, so I struck out overland, for the coast.

  And on the morning of the seventh day, I killed a deer.

  Chapter 15

  Crouching in the low brush that crowned the sand hills where I waited, I studied the shore line with infinite patience. Already my eyes had scanned the sound, and no sail showed itself against the blue water, nor the blue sky beyond, nor close in against the sand.

  From time to time I had seen the tracks of Indians, but I had seen neither man, woman, nor child. I had eaten well of my venison, and had some still with me. There were well-used trails here and there but I avoided them, keeping to smaller trails or to the woods themselves.

  Travel was slower, yet it served me well, for I was learning more about the trees, the life of the forest, and what it was that lay before me.

  I must assume I would be some time ashore. If the Tiger had escaped, it might com
e back ... and might not. If it had been taken by the Jolly Jack, I would be unlikely to see any of my friends again. The thought of Abigail in the hands of Nick Bardle was intolerable.

  The Jack would return. Perhaps the Tiger also. These sounds were relatively secure against the worst of the storms. Undoubtedly all these waters could be frightening in stormy weather. But the banks interposed a wall between a ship and the sea, and there were numerous inlets and river mouths that offered shelter.

  Bardle was a cold fish ... a careful man. He would see the advantages of the sounds. In the meantime, I must live, and if possible accumulate more furs.

  With deadfall traps I snared a few animals: several mink, an otter, four beaver, and with an arrow I killed a fox.

  That night the traps I set brought me another fox, a mink, and a rabbit. I skinned out the first two, ate the third, and at daybreak was working my way through the sandhills toward one hill, taller than most, from which I hoped to have a view of the sound.

  Coming through the brush, I stumbled upon a path, a well-used path, and my first glance brought me up standing. There in the path, clear-cut and sharp, was a heel print! No moccasin, but a small boot, perfectly-shaped and not worn.

  Astonished, I glanced right and left, saw nothing, and began a study of the trail.

  The wearer of the small boot had come along the trail from between the sandhills, and not longer ago than last night or the afternoon before. She had been accompanied by at least two men.

  She?

  It was a small print, a very small boot, and it must be a woman's. Yet I knew of no woman, not an Indian, in this part of the world but ...

  Abigail!

  Smoke ... I smelled smoke. A moment later I glimpsed their camp. There were three men and Abigail.

  She sat across the fire from me and I was proud of her. No downcast face, no sloping shoulders, no look of defeat. She held her head up. "You will be hung in chains," she was saying, and her manner was assured. "You do not realize what you have done."

  Darkling was there, he was one of them, and he was a hard man. "You're a simple fool," he said roughly. "Who is to know what happens here? You're ours, to do with as we choose. We'll have Tempany himself before dark. Not a prisoner mind you, but dead. We've no time for prisoners ... unless they are young and pretty.