Those lessons ended for me when I was ten and Papa sent me to the grammar school, impressing on me that I was a very lucky boy. With some schooling I might be apprenticed to a surveyor or a lawyer. He bitterly regretted that he hadn’t been able to do as much for Cade and Sam, but he was training them to be blacksmiths.
Everyone told me how lucky I was, but no one warned me about the long hours when I would hardly dare to stir for fear of punishment, nor about the floggings that drew blood. Mama was always fair, even as a teacher, but the masters at the school were bullies, and the big boys followed their example. Small as I was, I was a perfect target for them. Over and over I begged to be allowed to stay at home, but Papa was determined that I would go to school and get an education, which I would appreciate when I was older. Well, that was Papa’s view. All I knew was that school certainly wasn’t one of the things I might miss in Canada.
“Did you like school?” I asked Mr. Butler.
“I didn’t go to school until I was sixteen,” he answered, “and then only for a few months in the winter.”
“But you can read and write,” I said.
“I could read and write before I went to school,” he answered. “My father taught me and my brothers.”
On the fifth day of our journey, we entered a deep gorge, which Mr. Butler told me had been the site of the Battle of Oriskany.
“Tell me about it,” I urged.
“It was a bloody battle,” he said. “I heard about it from a man who survived it. From the top of this gorge, a band of Loyalists and Indians opened fire on a column of rebel soldiers marching to Fort Stanwix. Then they charged the rebels and fought fiercely hand to hand. By the end of the day hundreds of men from both sides lay dead or wounded in the gorge.”
To Mr. Butler it was all still very vivid, but to me it seemed no more real than the game of lead soldiers I’d played with Paul Stoneburner.
We were getting close to Oriskany, the last village on the western frontier, beyond which lay the lands of the Oneidas. Just outside the village we saw a line of wagons drawn up. Mr. Butler spoke to the driver of the last wagon in the line, a rough-looking man. “Can you tell us what’s delaying the wagons?”
“Militiamen are searching for two wanted men,” he answered gruffly. “I had hoped to be miles beyond Oriskany before nightfall, but not if this goes on much longer.”
“That’s a pity, sir.” Mr. Butler’s manner matched his fine clothes. “I hope we’ll be allowed to pass.”
The driver shrugged. We were no concern of his.
“We’ll ride boldly past the militiamen and pray that they don’t stop us,” Mr. Butler muttered to me.
I was dumb with fear. All along I’d known that we might come face to face with militiamen searching for us, but now the moment had really arrived.
When we reached the first wagon in the line, Mr. Butler, cool as you please, slowed the horse and looked around, curious but apparently unconcerned. That first wagon drew my eyes like a magnet. It belonged to a large family, not unlike my own. The wagon had been torn apart, and their belongings were strewn all over the road. Knowing that we were the cause of their rough treatment made me feel very guilty.
The militiamen noticed us and one called out sternly, “Halt!” Mr. Butler calmly brought the horse to a stop.
“Your name, sir!” It was an order not a question.
“Hector MacGregor and my son James.”
“From what place, sir?”
“Albany.”
“Where are you bound, sir?” The militiaman’s tone was softer now.
“Oriskany, to look for land.” Mr. Butler’s answer puzzled me until I realized that we were too close to Oriskany to say that we were on our way to visit relatives. The militiamen would ask who they were. What could Mr. Butler tell them without endangering the Mackenzies?
“You have no wagon,” the militiaman said, “no furniture, no baggage.”
I held my breath. How would Mr. Butler explain that?
“We haven’t come to settle now,” he said. “If I find suitable land, I’ll go back to Albany and put my affairs in order there. Then I’ll bring my belongings up the Mohawk by boat.”
“You may proceed, sir.” The militiamen stepped out of the way. Mr. Butler nodded politely and pressed the horse forward.
After passing through the village, we soon reached the open road. Mr. Cameron had told us that the Mackenzie farm lay a mile west of Oriskany. We weren’t far from our goal when right out of the blue I had a terrifying thought.
“Pa,” I gasped, “which wagon is the family Bible in?”
Mr. Butler pulled the horse up sharply and turned to look at me. “Your own, I think. Why?”
I gazed at him in horror. “All our names and the dates of our births are written clearly on the first page. What if Papa is still behind us? Will he see the line of wagons in time? Will he realize they’re being searched? Will he remember the Bible?”
“Calmly now,” Mr. Butler answered. “Your father may have passed Oriskany before the search began. If he hasn’t reached Oriskany yet, we’ll be in time to warn him.”
“How?” I was frantic. “If we go back along the road, the militiamen will become suspicious.”
Mr. Butler dismounted and beckoned to me. When I was on the ground, he led the horse into a field, which sloped down to the bank of the Mohawk. “The towpath,” he said, pointing to the narrow beaten path along the water’s edge.
“What a blockhead I am,” I exclaimed, wondering why I hadn’t thought of it myself. The towpath in Schenectady was a favourite haunt of mine, and I knew it followed the Mohawk a long way. When the wind wasn’t strong enough to propel the boats, horses were sometimes used to pull them upstream.
The thought of Papa in such danger drove all fears for myself right out of my head, and I began to scheme. I’d walk back along the towpath, skirting the village. Even if the militiamen saw me, they’d never recognize me at that distance. Once past the line of wagons, I’d climb back to the road, find a hiding place, and wait for Papa.
“I’ll go back to warn Papa,” I said eagerly.
Mr. Butler hesitated. “No, I’d better go. You take the horse on to the Mackenzie farm.”
“Please let me go,” I pleaded. “You’re the one the militiamen are looking for. Remember Mrs. Stoneburner said they told her two men — not two men and a boy.”
He thought for a moment. “You’re right, but…”
I didn’t let him finish. As I ran towards the towpath, he called, “Where will you wait for your father? I must know where to find you if he’s already at the Mackenzies’.”
Without stopping, I called back, “There was a milestone on the road, just before we reached the line of wagons. I’ll hide in the bushes behind it.”
“Very well then,” Mr. Butler answered. “Godspeed, Ned.”
When I reached the towpath, I turned eastward. There was one bad moment just outside the village. I saw a small group of people walking towards me, but all they did was greet me politely and go on their way.
Once I was sure I was east of the line of wagons, I climbed back to the road. The first thing I had to do was find out whether Papa’s wagon had joined the line. Keeping close to the bushes, I walked back a short distance along the road.
There were just two wagons in the line now, the second one that of the surly man we’d talked to earlier. Papa hadn’t arrived yet. I sped back to the milestone and crawled into a clump of bushes. From my hiding place I could see the road, but no one could see me.
The woods grew shadowy, though the sun still shone on the road beyond the trees. Oddly enough, I wasn’t frightened now. My only thought was to warn Papa in time.
Chapter Seven
Farewell, James MacGregor
Suddenly the quiet of my cramped hiding place was shattered by the snapping of a twig. Then I heard a high-pitched yelp — and a furry body crashed into the bushes on top of me. Not a wolf, not a bear, but Goliath, and from above cam
e Sam’s unmistakable voice.
“Ned! What in the world … where is Mr. Butler?”
“Where’s Mama?” I demanded, picking myself up and climbing out of the bushes. “Why are you here?”
Goliath danced in a circle around us, barking shrilly, leaping first at Sam and then at me. Sam grabbed him and cuffed him hard. “Enough of that hullabaloo,” he said sternly. Goliath looked at him reproachfully, then put his paws on my shoulders and set to licking my face.
Sam shook his head in disgust and answered me. “I’m here for the same reason as you, I guess. Did Mr. Butler send you to warn Papa that the militiamen are searching the wagons?”
I nodded, a little disappointed that I wasn’t the hero of the day after all. The others had remembered the Bible too.
“Where’s Mama?” I repeated.
“Safe at the Mackenzie cabin by now. We got past the militiamen without a hitch. They didn’t even question Mr. Cameron’s story. Once we were out of sight of the search party, Mr. Cameron sent me back along the towpath to warn Papa.”
“At least Mama is safe,” I breathed. “All we have to do is warn Papa.”
“Warn Papa,” Sam scoffed. “Papa must be halfway along the towpath by now. I stopped our wagon about a mile back and persuaded him to go the rest of the way on foot. He didn’t want to leave Cade and Elizabeth and the children but he finally had to admit that they’d be safer without him. I was going to wait here in the bushes to give him time to clear the village. If Goliath hadn’t scented you, you’d never have known I was here.”
“What did you do with the Bible?” I asked.
“It’s still in the wagon. What about it?”
“Our names are written in it, you blockhead.”
Sam’s smug look disappeared quickly. “All we thought about was getting Papa out of the wagon in time. He didn’t remember the Bible either.”
“We have to warn Cade,” I broke in, running out to the road. Sam and Goliath were close behind me. Before we’d gone a quarter of a mile, we saw our wagon approaching us. That dratted Goliath set up a din as soon as it stopped, and he wouldn’t let up until Sam boosted him into the wagon beside Elizabeth.
“Ned, what in the world …?” Cade exclaimed, in the very words Sam had used when Goliath pounced on me in the bushes.
“We have to get rid of the Bible,” I gasped.
“Why?” Cade asked.
“Because of our names.”
Without a word, Elizabeth began to rummage in the back of the wagon. Almost at once she turned with the Bible in her outstretched hands, holding it very gingerly as though afraid it might burn her.
“What shall we do with it?” she asked.
“Throw it away,” Sam advised in his hasty way.
“No,” Cade disagreed, “it means too much to Mama. Besides, it contains the only proof of our ages.”
“I’ve got another idea then,” Sam said. “I’ll wrap it in a blanket with some clothes and carry it on my back. If anyone questions me, I’ll say that I’m an orphan looking for a place to apprentice. I don’t think anyone will bother to search my pack. Ned can go with you. He looks too tired to walk all the way to the Mackenzie farm.”
“That’s a stupid idea,” I retorted, stung by his superior tone. “The militiamen have already had a good look at me on the back of Mr. Butler’s horse.”
“Then come with me,” he said unabashed. “We’ll be two orphan brothers looking for work.”
“With you in those tattered breeches and shirt and me in this suit,” I snapped. Although I’d slept in the suit for several nights, it still looked a lot better than Sam’s clothes. “We don’t look much like brothers. I’ll go alone.”
“You’ll go with Sam along the towpath,” Cade said firmly. “Elizabeth, find Ned’s clothes.”
I started to protest, but Cade cut me off. “Let’s have no more argument,” he said, in voice so much like Papa’s that I hastened to obey.
As soon as I stepped out of the itchy black suit, I began to feel better. Even with Cade treating me as though I were no older than Smith, I was glad to be Ned Seaman again. And no matter how much Sam lorded it over me, I was the only one who had remembered the Bible.
By the time I’d finished changing my clothes, Sam had the pack on his back and was urging me to hurry. As I came from behind the wagon still tucking in my shirt, Sarah reached over the side and almost tumbled to the road. “Me too,” she giggled, stretching out her arms. Elizabeth pulled her back and shushed her as Sam and I sped away towards the towpath.
“Do you think the militiamen will stop Cade?” I asked Sam.
“What if they do?” he answered. “Cade will make up a good story to tell them, or Elizabeth will. The only thing that could have given them away was the Bible, and we have that.”
As far as Sam was concerned, the matter was settled, and he wanted to find out what had happened to Mr. Butler and me on our journey from Fort Hunter. Since he was hardly ever interested in anything I had to say, I made the most of this chance. Intent on telling him about our adventures, I didn’t even notice the two militiamen on the towpath until we were almost up to them.
“It’s too late to turn back now,” Sam murmured. “Keep walking and don’t be timid.”
That was easy for Sam to say, but it was all I could do not to take to my heels. Maybe they won’t pay any attention to us, I tried to tell myself, but no such luck. They ordered us to halt and demanded to know our names.
Fear had robbed me of speech, but Sam’s reply came as quick as a flash. “John Hicks, sir, and my brother Joseph.” The false name he’d given the merchant at the tavern — and then he went right into his story about two orphans looking for work.
“Orphans you may be,” one of the militiamen retorted sharply, “but I wonder if you are thieves as well. Hand me your pack.”
“I’m an honest lad,” Sam protested, undaunted. “There’s nothing in my pack that doesn’t belong to me.”
Before Sam could get the pack off his back, one of the militiamen seized him and began to tug at it — so hard that Sam winced. Then the two men put the pack on the ground and spread open the blanket.
“Nothing here except their clothes and this Bible,” one of them said. Holding the book by the spine, he shook it hard as though expecting something important to fall out from between the pages. Then without a word he dropped the Bible on the pile of clothes. I couldn’t believe it. He’d looked right at the page where Papa had written all our names.
“You may go on,” we were told, and Sam stooped to roll up his pack.
“Come along, Joseph,” he said to me sharply.
As soon as we were out of earshot of the militiamen, the questions I’d been holding back exploded. “Didn’t they see our names? Why did they let us go?”
“They saw our names all right,” Sam answered, still a little tense.
“Why didn’t they arrest us then?” I asked, bewildered. “Do you think they’ve stopped searching for the Seamans?”
“Of course not. They’re still looking for the Seamans.” Sam was teasing me now.
Suddenly the light dawned. “They can’t read,” I exclaimed.
Sam laughed. “It took you long enough to figure that out, and you’re the one who’s been to school.”
Now that the danger was past, I could laugh about it too, but soon I began to fret again. How long would Cade be held up? It was already dusk. He’d never find his way to the Mackenzie farm in the dark.
Once clear of the village, we turned off the towpath and climbed back to the road. Mr. Cameron had told us that there were three or four other cabins near the Mackenzies’. We’d recognize it by the two tall oaks that stood like sentinels on either side of the lane that led from the road to the cabin, which was set well back among the trees. The Mackenzies had been there for less than a year and hadn’t been able to clear much of their land yet.
Just as we passed between the two oaks, we heard the rumble of wagon wheels and scram
bled out of sight, but not for long. It was our own wagon. Cade pulled the horses to a stop when he saw us.
“I told the militiamen that we were on our way to join our father who is a fur trader out west, and they let us pass,” he called in triumph. “We’re safe. That was a good day’s work, Ned. It would have been a different story if they’d seen the Bible.”
Much he knows, I thought to myself, as Sam and I climbed into the wagon. Then we all turned to statues as a form stepped out from behind a tree, but it was only Mr. Butler.
“Drive right down behind the cabin,” he said to Cade as Sam pulled him into the wagon.
“Did Papa get here safely?” I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
“We all got here safely,” he replied quickly, putting his arm around my shoulders.
Moments later the wagon was drawn up in a grove of trees behind the cabin, right beside Mr. Cameron’s. “Go in through the back window,” Mr. Butler told us, “just in case there’s someone watching.”
As I waited my turn, I murmured, “Farewell, James MacGregor.”
“And farewell to your Pa,” Mr. Butler chuckled as he boosted me up to the window.
Chapter Eight
Plots and Shots
“Thank God you’re all safe,” I heard Papa whisper as he scooped up Sarah and Smith, who were just ahead of me.
As I scrambled over the windowsill, I was conscious of eyes peering at me from every corner of the room. Dimly lit by candles, the cabin was like a crowded cave. The door was closed, the curtains were drawn, and a breathless hush hung over the room.
For a moment I stood bewildered. Then the cabin came to life. There seemed to me to be dozens of children, and I wasn’t far wrong. It turned out that the Mackenzies had eight too. In the gloom one face was clear to me — Mama’s — and I went to her quickly and hugged her hard. When I lifted my head, I saw that Sam had found a place on the floor, with his back against the wall.
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