Yale Templeton’s mother clutched her breast. Richard Hakluyt rushed to her side to keep her from falling, then helped ease her onto her throne.
“But what,” she pleaded, “are their demands, exactly? How much tribute do they want? I see no figure mentioned. And why have they not provided a specific ‘date of expiry’?”
Richard Hakluyt bowed his head in embarrassment. “I did pass the entier night asking my selfe those very same questions. Unhappily, I canst offer no answers. The very silence of the documents on these matters leads me to wonder whether the Savages responsible for the dastardly deede have any thought of releasing him once they have their handes on the ransom.”
Shocking words. But as much as fear and despair gripped her heart, Yale Templeton’s mother had that remarkable capacity, as the most beloved of monarchs do, to compose herself in times of crisis.
“Then we must act without delay,” she ordered. “Notify Henry Hudson.”
Richard Hakluyt smiled and bowed. “Verily, I did anticipate Your Majestie in this regarde. I have alreadie apprised him of the neede to mount his expedition posthaste.”
And Yale Templeton’s mother breathed a royal sigh of relief.
LXII
Henry Hudson was, quite understandably, stunned when he received instructions to prepare to sail at once. He had barely acquired one-quarter of the materials needed to build a replica of the Half Moon. In fact, according to the schedule he had drafted—a schedule, incidentally, which the queen herself had approved—he was not to begin construction of the frame for another six weeks. And of the more than thirty potential crew members he had interviewed, not a single one had possessed the skills needed to man a sixteenth-century sailing vessel.
However, once he had time to reflect on the challenge he now faced, his attitude gybed 180 degrees (to use English nautical parlance). In his guise as Sebastian Higgs, twenty-first-century computer systems analyst from Bournemouth, he was well aware that solo voyages across the open seas were now commonplace. He even knew a stockbroker who had participated in a trans-oceanic race. “We have all the technology we need to virtually eliminate risk,” he reassured himself. Indeed, as a computer systems analyst, he had access to the most advanced software dealing with weather forecasting and the monitoring of ocean currents. It would be possible for him to navigate the Atlantic alone.
But then a thought occurred to him. If he were simply to imitate the marine exploits of other men of his day, that would hardly serve the purpose of restoring his reputation fully and for all time. No, to gain the vindication he truly deserved, he would have to limit himself to equipment available during the Elizabethan Age. He would carry no radio on his journey, no radar, no computers. Nothing at all except an astrolabe. And the boat would have to be spare as well. A small craft, without even a cabin. Just large enough to hold salt cod and hard tack for a single person. (Although he decided to allow himself one anachronistic indulgence. He would bring along some limes to help ward off scurvy.)
His spirits renewed, he sent word to Richard Hakluyt the younger that he would set sail for Canada at dawn three days hence. “Withal it would be a great honour,” he wrote, “if you and Her Majesty would come to the docks at Southampton to bid me Godspeed.”
LXIII
Civilized man, seeking a foothold in the wilderness, begins by destroying the forests. He must have room for his cornfields, and for his village. Thus the moose, dependent on the forest for subsistence, retreats before the advancing axmen, with their guns and dogs—leaving civilized man to study the moose through the medium of a specimen stuffed by some upholsterer, perhaps, and displayed in a museum. As a result a large measure of mystery has always surrounded the moose …
SAMUEL MERRILL, THE MOOSE BOOK
How to solve the mystery surrounding the Great White Moose? How, in particular, to interpret the forces that have led him to wander for so many disquieting years across the distant reaches of Northern Ontario only to bring him back at this moment to the Chapleau Crown Game Preserve, “the largest wildlife refuge in the world.” I have previously alluded to his “Manifest Destiny.” But what does that mean, exactly? Far too often humans use the term merely as a convenient (and none too subtle) justification for nakedly self-serving actions. Perhaps if we could penetrate the deeper meaning of communication between moose, we would find that they articulate a similar concept. Perhaps we would find that at times they also invoke it to excuse behaviour that is, on its face, inexcusable. But not the Great White Moose. Most assuredly not the Great White Moose.
But to return to my narrative: The stride of the Great White Moose is deliberate now and his course unwavering. He appears more at peace than at any time since the traumatic occasion of his resurrection. A result, you might think, of the fact that he has entered the legally protected shelter of a wildlife refuge. But personal experience long ago taught him that not even the most expansive of sanctuaries can provide security from Americans with their guns. In any case there seems little reason to believe that what has propelled him forward in recent weeks is a determination to secure his personal safety. Not when you consider that the path he is following leads directly to the cave of Slinger the Trapper. Why a moose with a very conspicuous instinct for self-preservation would risk confronting a man who has spent the better part of his more than seventy-five years on Earth circumventing attempts by Canadian authorities to preserve the northern forest as a safe haven for wildlife defies easy analysis. For the moment, his “Manifest Destiny” must remain obscure.
LXIV
It had been some years since Yale Templeton’s mother had stepped outside the little Tudor cottage and a much longer time since she had ventured beyond the town limits of Saffron Walden. Of course, in her imagination, she travelled widely and frequently. Why, wasn’t it was only days ago that she had been to Tilbury to give an inspiring speech to the troops massed in wait for the despicable Armada? How she had revelled in Philip’s humiliation! Just next week she would be going to Burghley House, ostensibly to consult with the Lord High Treasurer, but in reality to see his spectacular new gardens. Later there would be nostalgic trips to Hatfield House and Hampton Court. And she was already looking forward to the Christmas festivities at Whitehall Palace. Yes, her opportunities to relax amidst the splendours of Windsor Castle were increasingly few.
And so, when Richard Hakluyt the younger arrived at her door with a horse-drawn carriage to transport her to Southampton, her equilibrium (not, perhaps, the best term to describe her state of being) was unshaken. He had gone to the trouble to paint the royal coat of arms on the door, devoting particular attention to her motto, “Semper Eadem.” Alas, while he had a talent for calligraphy, he was quite hopeless at representational art. Although the golden lion he produced could at least pass for a cat of some sort, his golden dragon looked like a beleaguered, elongated chicken. In the end he decided to cover his handiwork with a black cloth, “soe,” as he told Her Majesty, “the Spaniardes and Portingales may not followe us to Henry Hudson and thereby gaine knowledge of his secrete mission.” For the same reason he advised that they travel to Southampton alone, just the two of them. The presence of her usual attendants would only arouse suspicion.
On the journey south Yale Templeton’s mother kept the curtains in the carriage drawn, again in the interests of security. From time to time, however, she peeked outside, and what she saw filled her with a mixture of pride and confusion. Pride because the neatly kept fields and hedges of the countryside, the bustling shops of the towns, and the dignified grandeur of city churches reminded her of the estimable character of the realm over which she was privileged to rule. Confusion because there was so much she did not recall ever having seen before. Carriages that moved without the aid of horses. Building facades with colourful images that danced and told stories. Even machines flying through the heavens. But then, why be surprised? she scolded herself. Here was just further evidence of the native ingenuity of the English people, her people.
When they arrived in Southampton, Richard Hakluyt misread the directions Henry Hudson had given him and they ended up at the Ocean Village Marina. Members of the Royal Southampton Yacht Club found it rather quaint to see an elderly woman of decidedly diminutive stature and wearing a crown descend from a horse-drawn carriage and negotiate her way among the slips, helped along by a middle-aged man who looked, quipped one observer, as if he were auditioning for the part of Sir Nicholas in Love’s Labour’s Lost.
After they had wandered about the docks for maybe twenty minutes, Richard Hakluyt realized his error and they set off in the direction of Town Quay. To the great satisfaction of Her Majesty, they passed signs along the way inviting travellers to the “Tudor Merchant’s Hall” and the “Tudor House Museum.” She was mystified by a series of flags announcing the “Odeon Multiplex Cinema.” But what really arrested her attention was a large billboard that read, “While in Southampton, be sure to visit the Queen Elizabeth 2.” A few minutes later, as they neared Ocean Terminal, they passed another sign, which read:
QUEEN ELIZABETH 2
Hours of Viewing: 10 a.m. to 4 p.m.
Apparently their efforts to keep her trip a secret had failed. Not that the signs were entirely clear. Why the Queen Elizabeth? And why was the numeral 2 appended? Still, there obviously had been a breach of security. Which meant that the Spaniardes and Portingales were in all likelihood now aware that some major marine enterprise was in the offing. Why else would Her Majesty be making an unannounced trip to Southampton?
Richard Hakluyt suggested that, under the circumstances, it would be better to wait until sundown before continuing on to Town Quay. True, that would make it somewhat more difficult to find their way. But at least they would be able to operate under cover of darkness, away from the gaze of spies. As a result it was not until almost ten that they finally located Henry Hudson. He was sitting in a deck chair at the very far end of the outermost dock in the Town Quay Marina, where he had moored his sailboat “to avoid attracting attention.”
The craft was a clinker-built dinghy constructed of sturdy spruce, eighteen feet long, with a single sail. It was stocked to the gunwales with salt cod, hard tack, limes, and barrels of water, enough to last a careful man for more than two months. On the stern, Henry Hudson had stencilled “Discovery.” Richard Hakluyt was dismayed when he saw the boat. Whether or not it was seaworthy—and he had serious doubts—it hardly seemed capable of a trans-Atlantic crossing. But Yale Templeton’s mother was enchanted. Of course, what she saw—what she imagined she saw—was not a dinghy but a stout-hulled bark, sixty-five feet in length. Her evident delight caused Henry Hudson to beam and Richard Hakluyt to keep his misgivings to himself.
The three of them spoke at length about the coming voyage. Henry Hudson thought that he would be able to reach Canada in five or perhaps six weeks, “assuming the winds are favourable.” Of course, there would be the additional time required to determine the whereabouts of Y. and deal with his native captors. Her Majesty expressed concern that the Savages would become impatient, “having to wait such a lengthy time for their tribute.” But Richard Hakluyt observed, reasonably enough, that the request for ransom had arrived for Mrs. Templeton (“whosoever that personage may be”) only days earlier. “And Y. must surely have given the Savages cause to understand that ocean crossings must needes be of long duration.”
Yale Templeton’s mother had brought some of her most valuable pieces of jewellery, including several necklaces (“gifts from my loving father”) and a “priceless golden tiara,” to serve as a ransom. “But should the Savages turn treacherous”—by which she meant, should they accept the tribute yet refuse to release their hostage—“then you must take whatever steps are required to bring your mission to its desired conclusion.” Henry Hudson pledged to Her Majesty that he would find a way to save the noble Y. “even should it cost me my own life.”
In an effort to move the conversation in a more hopeful direction, Richard Hakluyt spoke of the “wondrous opportunitie” that the journey to Canada offered. “Forsooth,” he said to Henry Hudson, “thou shalbe witness to the dawning of a new age in the historie of our faire Common weale.” England, he prophesied—and here he was merely repeating what he had already told Her Majestie on numerous occasions—was about to come into possession of a great empire, rich beyond the lands of the hated Spanish.
Henry Hudson heartily concurred. “I am confident, Your Majesty, that I will not only be able to secure the release of Y. but help him take possession of that vast northern territory which promises to stand in the fullness of time as the brightest jewel in the crown of our glorious nation.”
And then Yale Templeton’s mother said what was surely the most astonishing thing of all the many astonishing things she had said since taking up residence at the Tudor cottage in Saffron Walden. She said: “I will go with you.”
Henry Hudson and Richard Hakluyt the younger fell silent. They looked at each other in consternation. Surely Her Majesty was jesting. But no, she stumbled her way through the darkness back to the carriage, where she retrieved her small bag of personal belongings.
“Your Majesty,” Henry Hudson remarked discreetly on her return, “do you think this wise?” He knew that, at a mere six stone, she was not likely to make a serious dent in his provisions. Still, her presence would almost certainly prove a distraction.
“I must most strongly proteste,” said Richard Hakluyt, who now for the first time found the courage to risk offending her. “What you propose is farre, farre too dangerous. Be mindful, Your Majestie. You have responsibilities to your subjectes here, in our beloved England.”
But while she graciously refrained from reproving him for his boldness, she allowed as she would hear no objections. “If, as you say, sir, England is about to enter a brilliant new age, and if the dawning of this age is to occur in Canada, then Canada is where I rightfully belong.”
Her Majesty had spoken. There would be no more discussion. She spent the better part of the night writing letters to Lord Burghley and her other councillors, providing instructions for administration of the realm in her absence. Richard Hakluyt the younger had no choice but to promise that he would deliver the letters and do his best to see that her directions were carried out.
So it was that the following morning at dawn, Henry Hudson helped Yale Templeton’s mother into the Discovery and the two of them set sail. By late afternoon they were far out to sea.
LXV
Yale Templeton would have been astonished had he heard his mother declare that she belonged in Canada. He would have been even more astonished if someone had told him that, at that moment, she was sitting on top of a crate of salt cod in a wooden dinghy somewhere off the southern coast of England. Sitting on top of a crate of salt cod in a wooden dinghy somewhere off the southern coast of England because she had joined an expedition to rescue him from “Savages.” But then, as it happens, his own life was about to take quite an unexpected turn.
After delivering his fifth lecture of the term in History 393 (to an audience of fewer than 120 students, approximately half the total still enrolled in the course), he stopped by the History department office. In his mailbox he found a manila envelope addressed to “Professor Templeton, the Abraham Lincoln Distinguished Professor of the American Civil War.” Enclosed was a letter written in a scrawling hand on a sheet of lined paper stained with splotches of whiskey. It read:
Professor,
On my trip to Hawk Junction last week, I happened to come across an old copy of the Globe and Mail, and what did I find on the back page of the Education Supplement? Why, an article saying that you had been appointed the first Abraham Lincoln Distinguished Professor of the American Civil War! I could hardly believe my eyes. Abraham Lincoln Distinguished Professor. Now I have to admit, when you up and disappeared on me a few years back, I was mightily confused. I figured probably you’d just been pulling my leg about being a Lincoln expert. Probably you weren’t even a real professor at all. The fact is
, after so many years of living in the woods, I understand animals a lot better than I do people. I see now, though, that we probably just got our signals crossed about where to meet. So this must be the Good Lord’s way of correcting our mistake. The article says, “Several months ago Professor Templeton became embroiled in controversy after he reportedly gave a lecture in which he claimed that President Abraham Lincoln had faked his own assassination so that he could come to Canada and live openly as a transvestite. That allegation is now widely believed to have been circulated by a disgruntled student.” So I reckon you already have been doing your best to tell people the truth about Lincoln. Only I guess no one is willing to listen. What you need is the evidence. You need the legal briefs Lincoln left to my grandfather. So this is what I propose. I’ll remain in my camp in the woods outside Hawk Junction for the next couple of weeks. Whenever it’s convenient you come up here and check into the hotel. I’ll look for you every day about noon. When we connect up, I’ll take you out to my cave and you can examine the briefs. After that we’ll figure out a way for getting them down to Toronto.
I’m closing in on eighty now. I don’t know how many more years I have left to me. It’s a great comfort to think that I will be able to carry out my grandfather’s last wishes. The fact is, Professor, until I saw the article in the newspaper, I’d all but given up hope that the world would ever learn about the real Abraham Lincoln. Now I’m filled with joy. I’m very much looking forward to meeting up with you again.
With respect,
Lincoln's Briefs Page 30