After spending just a moment longer at the Chink, to Ascertain that Kane yet Breathed and was making a Full Recovery, I hastily returned to the Gathering inside, making a Shew of buttoning my Trews.
Evidently, sounds of Kane’s Struggle had penetrated to the Assembly, for much Consternation was abrew. Majors Pynchon and Gookin stood poised to burst in upon Kane. But just then the bedroom door opened, and a weary Kane emerged, half supporting his stun’d Female Accomplice.
Kane held up one hand in a Gesture of Reassurance. “All is well. I contended with the spirit of our enemy, and altho’ he escaped me, I won the knowledge of his location, leaving him all unwitting of the theft, and, consequently, complacent of his own security. Philip is ensconced in the miry depths of a certain swamp at the foot of Mount Hope. We will set out under cover of darkness to bring the rogue down. But till then, let us all rest and prepare. I myself am sore fatigued.”
Master Arnold conducted Kane to his own Bed. A General Exultancy reigned, albeit tinged with Sobriety at the Assault yet to come, as men slap’d each other upon their Backs and assured one another that at long last the Days of Terror were at an end.
Never prior to this Fateful Night had I ever considered myself to be one of the Sinners assailed by Paul in his Second Letter to the Romans. A Preacher’s son, ever alert to maintaining Public Probity and a Cleanly Conscience, I had so long trodden the Path of Righteousness that by now such behavior was Second Nature to me, even as my Rectitude earned me Cuffings and Taunts from my Rowdy Errant Peers. Yet assuredly my actions of but a scant hour pass’t had caused me to Plummet into the ranks of those Sinners castigated by the Apostle, for Paul numbers among such Fiends as murderers, gossips, slanderers and inventors of evil, those who are “disobedient to their parents.”
And so I had been.
But now, as I rode Unseeing thro’ the Stifling August Night, bundled beneath the very Cloak of my Hero as the Mighty Steed lent to Kane carried us north to Tripp’s Ferry, in Pursuit of the Greatest Villain and Conqueror these Arcadian Shores of the English Zion had yet known, I could not by any Dint of Conscience Regret my sins. For had I obeyed my Father’s commands to remain behind in Newport, I would have missed all that Violent Glory that was to come, and thereafter Reviled my Overpunctiliousness for all Eternity.
At least such were my sanguine Feelings as I clutched the taut-muscled midriff of Solomon Kane whilst we gallop’d to our Destiny. Hang the Consequences till the Morrow! Tonight I was my own Man!
Kane had not Stirred from his Needful Sleep until well past eleven of the clock that eve, and the assembled Soldiers, Farmers, and Tradesmen had grown restless as Hens before a Storm, despite busying themselves with the preparations of their Weaponry and the Stoking of their Guts. But when the Grim Cavalier finally emerged with his Surly Magnificence Restored, and commanded, “Let us be off!” all Impatience and Incertitude vanish’t, and a Lusty Huzzah spontaneously shook the very Rafters of the Arnold homestead.
As the men marshaled outside in the starlit Yard amidst the snorting Horses, Father approached me.
“Cotton, I have arranged for Faith and Charity to attend thee while we elders finish this dangerous and sordid matter. Thee need not go to bed at all on such a momentous night, for I know thy curiosity as to our success would certainly keep the awake. But I do trust that thee will make the most of thy time with the Arnold girls, perhaps by regaling ’em with some of thy lessons in natural history. Share with ’em the exciting news of the fossil record of God’s abortive creations, those uncouth beasts which Noah spurned, and which perished afterwards in the Flood.”
At any other time the Enticing Prospect of being alone with the Arnold Daughters would have commanded my whole attention. But tonight I was not to be Fobbed off so easily. Yet I made no Objection to my Father, but merely nodded mutely. Insofar as I kept Silent, so I chopped my logic, I could not be afterwards deemed a Liar.
As soon as Father exited, I made my same Privy-Desirous Excuse to the Arnolds, and was outside amidst the restlessly tromping Troop.
Spotting Kane, I acted unhesitantly. Racing to the side of his Horse, I thrust up my hand.
“Take me with you!” I whispered in a husky fashion.
Wordlessly Kane complied, hauling me off the ground with One-Handed ease. As I swung up into the saddle, he adjusted his long Mantle to Enshroud me, and the Deed was Done, with no one the Wiser.
Beneath my Woolly Concealment, bereft of any Actual Sense of the passing Terrain, I mentally rehearsed our Progress northward thro’ Middle Town and Port’s Mouth, along the sizable island whereof Newport occupied the Southern Portion. Our Terminus would be Tripp’s Ferry, the Connexion to Mount Hope and Bristol on the Mainland. How I would avoid Father there, I could not say, and simply Entrusted my Survival as a member of the War Party to Luck and to Kane’s Patronage.
After nearly an hour’s hard Riding, we made the Slip wherefrom the Ferry wontedly departed. A messenger had been dispatched while Kane yet slumbered, and the Ferrymen awaited us, eager to do their part to end the Depradations of the Wampanoags and their kindred. The flickering light of Cressets and Torches filtered thro’ the Weave of Kane’s cloak, and I anticipated being Caught out upon perhaps some necessary Dismounting. But Kane simply trotted us onboard the rocking Ferry, taking up a Station at the Prow, and after another ten or so Horsemen followed, we poled off, leaving the rest of our party ashore until the craft returned.
I could hear the Oarlocks Engaged as we reached deeper Waters, and the Chaunts of the Laboring Scullers as they drew us across the half-mile of salty channel. The devilish August heat had hardly Abated with the fall of night, and the Closeness of my Little Tent made my eyes droop. But what Chanced next pulled me out of my drowse as surely as a Fisherman yanks a Cod from its Wat’ry Parlor.
“Mr. Rane,” Major Pynchon said in a trembling voice, “what make you of those fast-moving clouds?”
When we had left Newport the begemmed nocturnal Skies had been clear as Ice. But obviously not so now.
“I like them not, major. They recall to me the boiling storm- heads which I saw accrue when an Ethiope sorcerer of my acquaintance named N’Longa sought to dishearten his foes by magical means. Plainly these stormheads too are of supernatural origin.”
A voice I did not recognize said, “I was with Captains Henchman and Prentice as we marched from Boston to Dedham last year to succor the garrison there, and we were overtaken by an eclipse of the moon. We all saw then strange portents on the moon’s darkened face. A bloody scalp, an Indian bow. If the Tawnies can brand their evil upon Luna’s very brow, what chance have we against ’em?”
“Nerve yourself to greater confidence, soldier!” Kane demanded. “Have ye forgotten you ride with God on your side?”
Some Instinct caused me to slip out of the Saddle then, to free Kane for easier Maneuvering. And ’twas well I did. For, as the Clouds clustering overhead began to Rumble and Spit, discharging crackling Lightnings as well, we were attacked!
“Watch yourselves!” yelled Kane, before Anyone else had taken Cognizance of the Assault upon us.
An enormous dripping Tendril as of some Unknown Leviathan of the Deeps, sucker’d over and round as a Hogshead Barrell, Hoary with Barnicles and Seawrack, burst from the water, arc’d thro’ the air, and slapped down athwart the Deck, narrowly missing men and horses, who had scuttled away from its descent, thanks to Kane’s warning. Horses scream’d, men curst, and a volley of Shots crack’d the night. But mere Musketballs seemed to have no effect upon the Creature, and the Awe-some Limb rose skyward again for another Plunge.
Kane was unhorsed now, and standing full beneath the shadow of the Kraken’s Appendage. He flourished aloft his Cat-headed Stave, which Instrument commenced to Fulgurate in the manner I had earlier witnessed.
“Back to Hell with ye, demon! Back to the infernal depths!”
Pride in Kane’s Staunch Demeanor and Apprehension that he would not Prevail against this Monster warred in my Juvenile Breast. Then all
was decided, as a Lance of Cold Flame jabbed outward from Stave to Tendril. A smell as of one of our traditional Clam Bakes multiplied an hundredfold filled the air, the Monst’rous Limb flailed about in obvious Pain before sliding away beneath the Turbid Waters, and silence descended upon the scene. At the same time the Unnatural Clouds began to Dissipate, and the Stars once more Smiled down on us.
Recovering with Admirable Alacrity, Major Pynchon soon had the Rowers back at work and order restored. In some further minutes the mainland beckoned us from no large distance. I came up to Kane, and was instantly heartened by his Praise.
“You did well to give me my liberty at the crucial moment, lad, and you did not quail before the hideous unknown. I do not believe anyone will raise any objections to your continued presence tonight.”
“Thank you, Sir. I was inspired by your own noble bearing.”
Kane returned me no Smile, but simply said, “If I exhibit no fear, young Cotton, it is only because all such emotions have been burnt from me by unfathomable hardships and privations. Anyone witnessing the horrors I have seen—assuming those hypothetical witnesses survived—would exhibit the same stoicism. I have no choice any longer in what I do, and this paucity of options represents a missing civilized luxury the lack of which I sometimes sorely regret. But such is my lot, and I am mainly content.”
Leaving me to ponder this Chill Assessment of his Own Damaged Soul, Kane moved off to help with the docking. Soon we were on dry land.
Two Worthy and Vigorous men now separated themselves from the Mass of welcomers, introducing themselves as Captain Church of Plymouth and Captain Williams of Scituate. They delivered an Account of their forces, which included a Contingent of Praying Indians. These Friendly Salvages stood in a Cabal a ways off from us White Men, and I instantly mistrusted their Obsequious yet oddly Threatening Mien. In their adopted Civilized Garb, the Uppish barbarians seemed both Traitors to their own Race and Unreliant Allies, neither Fish nor Fowle, a Pack of Trained Apes or Dancing Bears.
“Mr. Kane,” said Williams, “thanks to your veritable intelligence, we have been able to encircle the bog and ensure that Philip and any of his remaining myrmidons remain cloistered within. We await your subsequent direction.”
Kane uttered then the chilling Words we had all been anticipating, but which nonetheless still Pricked our Courage. “There is naught for it but to enter the horse-repelling swamp afoot, in pairs. The separation of our forces will allow us to beat every bush most thoroughly. But the treacherous conditions underfoot, which the Indians know intimately, will confound and undo many of the teams. We can only pray that whoever of us meets Metacomet will be up to subduing him. Let us but agree to raise a commotion upon sighting our prize, and I will immediately hasten to aid whichever brave Ajax first grapples with the villain.”
“Shall we wait until daybreak?” asked Captain Church.
“By no means. As soon as the rest of our party is ferried o’er, we strike.”
Father arrived with the third Boatload of men, and I shall not recount the Bitter Upbraidings I thereupon received. I made humble yet cogent Response, employing all the finer Logic with which my mentors at Harvard had imbued me, citing the duty of every citizen, however Juvenile, to protect our Commonwealth. When mere Females could exhibit such Courage as to ward off their Vile Attackers with a scuttle of live Coals, could a strapping Youth such as myself do any less? Suffice it to say that not only did my words soothe and convince, but Kane’s account of my Behavior under the Kraken’s Buffets earned me Grudging Praise (once Father’s Apoplexy abated), and also at last the Miraculous Privilege of Penetrating the Very Marsh itself, and in no other role than that of Patroclus to Kane’s Achilles, to continue Kane’s Grecian Simile.
In the end, Father seemed actually Prideful of my new Station in the Scheme of Things. He laid a hand on Kane’s shoulder, signaling his assent to my new status, and earnestly bade the Puritan keep me safe by his Side, asserting that no other Warrior could offer his Cherished Son more Protection than Kane. Kane returned a simple, “That I will endeavor to do,” and then we moved out.
The hour was now nearly Three in the Morning, and already hints of Aurora’s debut were discernible. We welcomed even this negligible Lessening of darkness as an Aid to our Progress.
I carried no Weapon, but my Utility amidst the Thickets soon became apparent. Being Lighter and some’at more Nimble than my Protector, I served as Scout, probing ahead with a long stout Stick and testing the Hummocks and Tussocks that would serve us as Stepping Stones into the Depths of the Bog. This Service freed Kane to concentrate his Hunter’s Senses on both repelling any Attack and Ferreting out any Hidden Salvages.
Not wishing to advertize our Presence too far in advance, we carried no Light, nor did any of the other Teams. Moving thro’ the Sepulchral Gloom and Heat, with its Squelching Muck, Slithering Serpents, Apparitional Trees, and Hordes of Disturbed Insects, some of which made known their Appetite for Human Flesh, I felt like Dante Essaying some Lesser Circle of Hell, with Kane my Militant Virgil.
Now passed an Indeterminate Period of Time, an interval wherein my Sensible Universe narrowed to my own harsh Slogging, labored Breathing, and tensioned Nerves. However, I drew Courage and Stamina from Kane’s unfaltering Harrowing of our Swampy Environs. Rapier in one hand and Pistol in t’other, he stalked behind me like an Avenging Angel in Judges or Zechariah, and I felt utterly safe within his Sphere of Protection.
Every now and then a distant Shot would resound, and I would pray that one less Salvage befouled the Earth, and also that our own men Fared Unharmed. But as time passed and no Hulloo summoned us to confront the Chief Object of our Search, I began to despair that our Fiendish Quarry would escape us once again.
In our unyielding Progress, Kane and I reached finally a largish expanse of solid ground, a little Islet sequester’d in the heart of the Swamp. Its O’ergrown Marge concealed its Interior from our eyes, and we penetrated cautiously.
But all our Deft Secrecy availed naught, for King Philip awaited us in full Cognizance of our advance, standing with Solemn Gravity upon a patch of clear Ground.
A grey Dawn now nearly nigh allowed me a good picture of the Formidable Warrior. Tall as Kane, the fearsome Metacomet wore his pursuit-tatter’d buckskins and robe as if they were Ermine or Sable. His painted face, all majestic angles, seemed hewn from our own New England granite or a block of lignum vitae. Strands of Wampom bedizened his brawny chest, across which he confidently cradled his Musket, Indian fashion. A Rude Tom-a-Hawk, its Shaft carven with Pagan Glyphs, Feathers depending from its Butt, hung from his waist.
Ignoring me utterly, Philip spoke first, his Manly voice resonant with Suppressed Rage, Black Despair, and a most curious Forlorn Indifference to his own Fate. Of Fear I heard no syllable, but yet much of Intelligence and Refinement. Let me confess now that, by the end of his Speech, I had gained new Respect for our Opponent.
“What cheer, fellow Mage. After our spirit battle, we come face to face at last. Your reputation for independence and courage has reached me across the wide waters, yet I find you now entered into the service of these small men, who are all too timid and inept to confront me themselves. I see a proud lion yoked to a plough.”
Kane responded soberly. “The choice of mission is my own, Metacomet. No man commands me. As ever, I respond to the sheer injustice of the situation.”
King Philip spat upon the soggy soil. “Injustice! Where were you then when my people were enslaved and humiliated, when they were taken and imprisoned under false charges, when my brothers were executed and my sisters molested, when our lands were stolen from us? Is it only the sufferings of white men that can elicit your outrage?”
Kane seemed Stung by this Jab. “I have fought on behalf of all races and tribes, Metacomet, the sons of Ham as well as the sons of Shem. But by the time I learned of this war, your side was clearly in the wrong, having overstepped all bounds of civilized combat. Enlisting wicked allies, you turned your back
on all courts and treaties—”
Philip’s face contorted with anger. “Instruments of the conquerors, prejudiced against our kind from the start! And I piss on your ridiculous rules of war! Only victory matters.”
Seemingly reconciled to the Futility of any further Argument, Kane assumed a more Agressive Footing. “Let us have at it then, King. Each cause will find embodiment in its champion, and victory will go to him who strikes hardest. And should it be within my powers to subdue you without dealing a mortal blow, I am pledged to do so, having given troth to your netop, Roger Williams.”
“You must do what you deem honorable, as shall I. But I pray you, let us abandon our firearms, and allow our human muscles to hold sway.”
King Philip nobly suited Deeds to Words then, and tossed aside his musket. Kane followed suit with his brace of Pistols and also his Papier. Into his hand came the Cat-Headed Stave, its weird Radiance now matched by the cousin’d Glow from the Tom-a-Hawk.
Then Kane and Philip closed upon one another.
I watched Enrapt as the well-matched Fighters circled each other warily. But I was not prepared for what eventuated when their Weapons clashed.
An enormous Report like a barrage of Thunder issued from the smash of Fetiche against Hatchet. Jags of harsh Lightning shot skyward, illuminating the Scene as brightly as Noon. Neither man seemed disconcerted by the titanic Repercussions of their Contest, but, quite to the contrary, became e’en more fully Embroil’d in a Fantastic Dance of Death, darting around and about, each seeking a way thro’ t’other’s Defenses.
Once more my Heart was Socketed firmly in my Windpipe, as I observed my Worshipful Idol strive so Manfully, amidst the St. Elmo’s Coruscations. From the Fringes, I watched this Eldritch Display with mute Fascination, unable to assign Dominance to either Combatant. But this much I knew: the Contest would not long go uninterrupted, for surely every Interested Participant within Leagues must be hastening to this very spot, drawn by the Tumult. If Kane would indeed settle Philip’s Hash, it must be soon.
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