Falcon 1 - The Lure of the Falcon

by The Lure of the Falcon (v1. 0) (lit)

  It was the urge to find out what the hunting was like on the other side of the Atlantic that had taken him to Silas Deane, ostensibly to bring him urgent news concerning his business interests. But he had quickly regretted his curiosity because there was a whole world of difference between the methods he employed to hunt deer, moose, bear and golden eagle in the vast forests of the New World and the refinements of the chase as practised in France and England.

  'All that galloping about, thirty or forty horsemen on the tail of one wretched animal,' he told Gilles scornfully, 'it's well enough for ladies but not for grown men. With us, you'll see what it means to sweat blood for days on end over a trail faint enough to flummox an Iroquois medicine man and end up coming to grips with a beast three times as big as yourself.'

  Simple as earth, tall as a tree and built on the same lines, Tim Thocker had the reactions of his kind. Hating the confined life on board, he looked for amusement and all but caused a mutiny by handing out an unofficial rum ration of his own, notched up one success by helping to retrieve a gun which had broken loose and was in danger of ramming the forward bulkhead and another by his handling of one of the three cows which the Chevalier de Ternay had taken on board. He had also developed a strong liking for the young secretary who could speak his language and, more importantly, showed a marvellous willingness to listen to highly-coloured descriptions of America.

  With him, the taciturn Tim talked with a will and by the end of the voyage the young Breton could have believed that he had lived all his life among the cod fishermen of Nantucket, the Quakers of Providence or within one of the tribes of Indians that peopled the interior. He learned too that rum was a man's best friend when it came to crossing frozen rivers and that it was a matter of pride to be able to swallow a respectable quantity without loss of dignity. Consequently, it was with a good deal of regret that Gilles parted from his companion, who was obliged to go on and deliver his letters, on their arrival in Newport. But Tim reassured him.

  'Just time enough to say hallo to my father, hand over Mr Deane's letters and take a look at what the red coats are up to round New York, and I'll be back. I'd like us to fight side by side.'

  With that, Tim settled himself in the canoe he had borrowed from a cousin and set out to propel himself across Narragansett Bay by the power of his own arms, as energetically as if he had not just endured seventy days' privation at sea, and Gilles went to move into his new quarters.

  Next morning, he began his day as he had got into the habit of doing. At sunrise, he left the tent which he shared with a Sergeant Weinberg, a native of Heidelberg with whom he was on the simplest of terms, since neither understood a word of the other's language. Having assured himself that the weather was perfect and the slight mist hovering over the sea promised a hot day, he made his way quickly down to Atton Bay to bathe.

  In this land where everything was new to him, the sea was the one element that he really knew and he always felt as he plunged in as if he were coming home. Because of this, he swam for a good hour every morning, then walked up to a small spring to wash the salt off and allowed himself a few minutes lying in the sun before he got dressed. With this exercise, his body had not only recovered from the ravages of the crossing but had acquired a vigour and a fine biscuit colour which gave him something of the look of the woodsman, Tim. What was more, the swimming helped him to forget about a certain snowy night beneath the walls of Vannes and the delightful proximity of a feminine form. During his stay in Brest he had had no leisure to pursue his studies in those agreeable arts but once on board ship the subject had become one of consuming interest for women were the staple topic of all the men, soldiers and seamen alike, who were setting out on an adventure which none of them expected to include a life of celibacy. Throughout the seventy days at sea, Gilles had listened to nothing but talk of love and his companions' eagerness to make the acquaintance of American women.

  In the event, not only were the General's orders extremely strict, there was to be no trouble with the local inhabitants (hence no question of seducing their women folk), but furthermore, the pretty anabaptists of Newport seemed to regard the French as so many limbs of Satan whom it behoved them to keep at a distance. As for the whores who usually accompanied any campaigning army, there were none and there had, of course, been no room for camp followers on board. The French camp was therefore condemned to a most unwonted chastity, with the men's discontent held in check by the fear of corporal punishment. Gilles, for his part, sought relief in dreams and in intensive physical activity.

  Leaving his uniform by the spring, he ran to the overhanging rock which served him as a diving platform and his head clove the smooth waters of the bay without so much as a splash. He swam on for a few minutes towards a bushy islet and then, turning on his back, let the current carry him, trying to make his mind a blank. He did not feel like breaking records this morning. The water was wonderfully cool and limpid. There was not a sound beyond the crying of the gulls and the gentle swish of the waves on the shore, and Gilles had a great sense of wellbeing. He was the first man in the world and this magical country was the realm which should make him strong enough to rival its greatness.

  He was just thinking that it could be good to carve himself a place in the sun here and bring Judith back to live and love here, when something caught his eye and instinct told him that all was not well. Rolling over swiftly, he was just in time to see the stern of a canoe unlike any he had seen by the Newport landing stages disappearing into the long grass by the spring. It was small and painted bright red, with a big black and white eye just below the curved prow.

  Tim's tales came quickly to his mind. The hunter had given him long descriptions of the Indians' light boats, made of birch bark and often painted in bright colours. But, according to Tim, the nearest tribes of Indians to Rhode Island lived in the Hudson Valley and northern Connecticut. They were mostly Iroquois in the pay of the English and deeply hostile to the Rebels.

  Gilles' blood froze. The canoe he had seen disappearing must belong to a spy, come to nose out the strength of the French camp or even to a scout paving the way for an attack. It was being said that the great Mohawk chief Thayendanega, wholly won over to the English since his sister married Sir William Johnson the virtual ruler of the Six Nations of the Iroquois from his splendid residence at Mount Johnson, had unearthed the hatchet and gone on the warpath again, far from his camping grounds at Canojoharie in the Hudson Valley. It was said too that Sir Henry Clinton, defending New York against Washington, was concentrating his forces on Long Island, the big, low-lying isle that sheltered the besieged city, preparing for an attack on Rhode Island.

  By connecting all these rumours, Gilles was able to form a very good idea of the possible nature of the suspicious canoe and, swimming partly under water, he reached the place where he had seen it disappear and wormed his way noiselessly through the long grass until he could see the spring.

  What he found there disconcerted him a little. The canoe's owner was, as he had expected, an Indian, but he was only a boy, about twelve years old.

  His copper-coloured body was naked except for a strip of deerskin sewn with coloured beads which went between his legs and was held by a leather thong round his waist, the ends falling like a narrow apron front and back. But his face and chest were painted with strange black and white patterns, making him look very fierce. His hair, which was jet black, was shaved on either side and the remainder hung in a long plait from the top of – his head and was fastened with a red band with a white feather stuck in it.

  But Gilles wasted little time admiring his visitor's picturesque appearance for the boy was at that moment occupied in transferring his own uniform and weapons to the canoe.

  The young man's muscles tensed and he sprang forward, snatching his shirt from the small thief's hands. Taken by surprise, the boy let go. But he was a lad of swift reactions because a second later he had snatched a feathered tomahawk from his belt and was brandishing it in his clenched
fist, his face so contorted with rage under its paint that there was no longer anything childish about it. All the same, Gilles started to laugh.

  'You are too young to handle weapons, my lad! Put down that hatchet. You don't know how to use it.'

  This was instantly and spectacularly contradicted. The young Indian gave a shrill cry and hurled the tomahawk. It hissed like a snake and only the instinct which made Gilles dodge just fractionally enough saved him. A split second later and the weapon would have caught him full in the chest.

  He had scarcely time to be aware of it. Already the Indian boy had followed his tomahawk and flung himself upon him, waving a knife which he must have been carrying hidden under his rudimentary garment.

  This time, Gilles lost his temper. This colourful child was beginning to annoy him and he had no intention of fighting him. To his mind, the only fit treatment for a boy of that age with such instincts was a sound beating but he soon realized that this was not going to be easy to administer, especially in view of the fact that he himself was stark naked and quite unarmed. The Indian boy was clinging to him like a leech.

  Gilles could feel the other's skin against his, smooth and slippery and smelling unpleasantly of fish oil, and a body at once muscular and elusive. It was like fighting with an eel. But agile as the boy was and in spite of his fury and his knife, the contest was an unequal one. Once disarmed, the young savage was soon made helpless, much to his rage. He squirmed and spat ferociously as Gilles' hands pinned him to the ground, like a vanquished snake, and bellowed aloud.

  To quiet him, Gilles had to resort to the same method which had succeeded so well in reducing Judith to silence after her mistaken rescue from the Blavet. One quick blow to the jaw and the Indian boy went limp. His eyes closed and he departed peacefully to dreamland.

  Gilles' first move was to get dressed, keeping one eye on the lad as he did so. Then he explored the canoe. It yielded little enough: a blanket skilfully woven in garish colours, a bag containing some coarse, strong-smelling dark brown meal which he guessed to be the famous pemmican that Tim had told him of, and which the hunter seemed to set great store by, a child's bow, some unused arrows and finally a rope of plaited fibre which Gilles used to truss his prisoner before he could come round and start to struggle again.

  This done, he fastened the little boat securely, taking good care to conceal it among the rocks. Then he threw the boy over his shoulder and made his way up again towards the camp. But, instead of going all the way, he turned off along a path leading into Newport.

  Child or not, his prisoner was an Indian and his very presence there could only mean that there was a tribe or encampment at no great distance. The General must be informed at once, for the news could be important. Headquarters had been established in one of the principal houses in the town and, in spite of the child's weight, Gilles broke into a run as soon as the spire of Trinity Church came in sight, such was his haste to reach his chief.

  The house, which belonged to the Governor's son, John Wanton, stood in Point Street, the broadest of Newport's few thoroughfares. Like most of its neighbours, it was built of white clapboard with a pitched roof and small paned sash windows. It was set against the green of a large orchard full of knotty apple trees and graceful cherries which gave it a countrified air, even though it was the residence of one of the town's chief magistrates.

  This house, just as it was, had been placed at the Chevalier de Ternay's disposal for use as naval headquarters and to house the expedition's exchequer. It also contained the military headquarters, being situated approximately midway between the army camp and the fleet's anchorage.

  By the time that Gilles arrived there with his burden, which had regained consciousness some time previously and was doing its best to wriggle free, he had acquired an escort of half a dozen urchins who trailed after him in mingled awe and admiration, making him a present of their comments. Then, just as he was pushing open the gate, he was joined by two horsemen, covered in dust, who came down the road from the north and reined in beside him. One addressed him sharply.

  'Hey! You there! Are you mad, capturing an Indian child? Don't you know you're likely to bring the whole tribe down on the town? Let him go at once! Who are you, anyway?' Gilles made no movement to obey but stood frowning at him. The man had spoken French, and without the trace of an accent, but his uniform was strange to him. He had on a plain black coat relieved with white facings, white waistcoat and white breeches. The cockade adorning the tricorn, grey with dust, which sat on his curled white wig was black likewise.

  'I might ask the same of you,' he retorted taking an instant dislike to the high-pitched voice. It belonged to a tall, loose-limbed young man with delicate features and a white skin adorned with a good many freckles. A high, receding forehead and extravagantly arched brows gave to his face an expression of perpetual astonishment and faint disgust. 'You speak French but you do not belong to M. de Rochambeau's army, for I do not know you.'

  'True. I belong to the army of the United States. I am—' Before he could reveal his identity, another person had arrived on the scene and was hurrying to embrace him.

  'Gilbert, old fellow! Here you are at last!' the Vicomte de Noailles exclaimed joyously. 'We were beginning to wonder if you had forgotten us, by God! Where are you from?'

  'From General Washington's camp, of course. And it's I who should rather be asking you that question. Do you know that you are a month behind your time? What have you been doing at sea all this time?'

  'What you'd have been doing if you had to move a convoy of sea slugs loaded up to the gunwales! It's well for you to accuse us of dawdling, with your little corvette with hardly anyone but yourself aboard. But you are here, and that's the main thing. But now tell me why you are giving this young man the rough edge of your tongue, and without even troubling to dismount?'

  'Why?' the other cried angrily. 'Can you not see that he has dared to lay hands on a young Indian, for a slave, presumably – or a souvenir. The poor child must belong to these Narragansett Indians who are so peaceful and so—'

  He was beside himself with rage and Gilles gazed at him in horror. Gilbert! Noailles had called him Gilbert! Could this ill-tempered young man possibly be—

  The Vicomte, who had been following the progress of his thoughts as reflected in his face with unholy amusement, now burst out laughing.

  'Oh yes, my poor friend! This is your great hero, your precious La Fayette, who is honouring you with his displeasure. It can't be helped! As for you, Marquis, you ought to show a little more kindness to your loyal admirer. Here's a lad who has run away from college and crossed the ocean to be near you and you are almost insulting to him. Permit me to present to you our General's secretary, Gilles Goëlo, a Breton and a man of letters, wit and the sword.'

  La Fayette smiled slightly but his eyes lost none of their coldness.

  'I thank you for your good wishes, sir, but what the devil possessed you to steal this child away from those good Narragansetts—'

  'Pardon me, my lord Marquis,' a drawling voice broke in, 'but this kid was never a Narragansett. He's a Seneca, of the Wolf clan, and I guess I'm not far wrong in thinking he's a young brother to Chief Sagoyewatha, a good friend to the English and the same they've been calling Red Jacket, ever since they gave him one of their red coats.'

  Tim Thocker, an impressive figure in his grey deerskin garments and with his raccoon cap on his head, emerged like some sylvan deity in a melodrama from behind the horses, his long carbine over his shoulder and a brace of wild geese in one hand. As usual, no one had seen or heard him coming.

  He beamed benevolently on La Fayette and then, handing his geese unconcernedly to Noailles, who took them automatically, took the Indian boy from Gilles and set him on his feet, directing a second, and much warmer smile, upon his friend as he did so.

  'A fine capture, my boy,' was his comment. 'It would be interesting to know where you found him, and what he was doing on Rhode Island. It's a long way from his big
brother's cooking fires.'

  'I found him down at Atton Bay,' Gilles answered, 'and I was just taking him to the General so that he could see what he could get out of him.'

  'Seeing that the General doesn't speak Iroquois or any other of these damned Redskins' confounded lingos, I'd be very much surprised.'

  'Well, what about you?'

  'Oh, I can speak them all.'

  'Very well, then,' said La Fayette, his temper still more strained by the set-down he had received. 'Suppose you see what you can do. In any case,' he turned back to Gilles, 'this business of Indians can wait, for I must speak urgently to the Comte de Rochambeau and to the Chevalier de Ternay. The army has wasted too much time here already. It must go forward, damme, forward! The King did not send troops to have them sit down on the seashore and do nothing.'

  Once again, Noailles broke into laughter.

  'We all of us agree with you there! Only tell us where you mean to take us in such a hurry?'

  La Fayette regarded his brother-in-law sternly and with a slightly pitying expression.

  'Why, to New York, of course! Have you not heard that Clinton is holding the city? I can't understand why you have not gone there already. Take me to the General immediately.'

  Followed by his aide-de-camp, the Marquis de La Fayette, major-general in the United States Army, swept into the Wanton house, giving the seamen on guard duty barely time to present arms.