Ghost Fire

by Wilbur Smith

  Gilyard surveyed the cove from behind a fallen log. There were pickets on the landing stage, and doubtless more in the guardhouse.

  “You and your Indian friend will wait here,” he told Theo. “I will take my men to the fort to scout it out. General Abercromby will want a full report of their strength.”

  Theo nodded. He felt again the ache of not being trusted, but he knew he would have done the same in Gilyard’s shoes. A scouting expedition was no time to discover a man’s loyalties.

  Gilyard was watching him. For once, his supreme confidence was afflicted with doubt.

  “I would be considered remiss in my duty if I left two strangers—including an Indian from an enemy tribe—unsupervised while operating deep in French territory.”

  Theo gave a nod. He should have expected this.

  “But I do not wish to waste good rangers guarding you here, when they could be with me scouting out the French.” Gilyard hesitated. “I do not understand your past, Mr. Courtney, but I am rarely wrong about men. If you give me your word that you and the Abenaki will not try to escape, or betray us to the French, you may stay here without a guard.”

  It was a generous concession and Theo was grateful. “Thank you, sir.”

  “We will be back at dawn tomorrow.” Gilyard handed Theo a pistol. “I will give you this in case of trouble, though I do not expect you to use it.” He gave another keen-eyed stare. “If I am wrong, you will find that it is not only the Indians who can scalp a man.”

  “You may rely on my honor.”

  •••

  The day passed slowly after the rangers had gone. Theo and Moses stayed hidden in a thicket with the company’s packs and baggage. They listened to bird calls and practiced imitating them. Theo tried to teach Moses chess, using pebbles scratched with symbols, but his heart was not in it. He could not be at ease, knowing there were Frenchmen only a few hundred yards away. The memory of what Bichot and Malsum had done to Mgeso was too raw. He burned for revenge.

  At last, impatience overtook him. He jumped up.

  Moses saw the intent on his face. “You promised the captain you would not go anywhere,” he said.

  “I promised not to betray him,” Theo retorted. “And I am only going for a look.”

  They crept down to a place where they could spy out the landing stage. Theo watched the sloop carefully. There was little activity on board: he guessed they would wait until the following morning to unload the cargo.

  “See how the crew put on felt slippers every time they go below,” he observed to Moses.

  “Why is that?”

  “They are afraid of striking sparks. I will wager you a golden guinea the ship is packed to the gunwales with powder for the garrison.”

  He caught Moses’s eye. “Gilyard was sent to scout out the enemy’s strength. It would be useful intelligence to know what is on that ship.”

  “It would,” Moses agreed. He saw the look in Theo’s eyes, a blood lust he had seen many times in warriors preparing for battle. “And we are only going to scout?”

  Theo shrugged. “Gilyard will not be back until morning.”

  “If he does not find out, he cannot be angry,” said the Abenaki.

  •••

  They made their preparations and took up watch. Theo had removed the jacket and shirt the rangers had given him and was wearing only a loincloth and leggings. He had squeezed blueberry juice to make war paint, and Moses had shaved the stubble from his scalp with his knife. Once again, Theo had transformed himself into an Abenaki.

  He and Moses crawled forward on their bellies to the edge of the clearing around the cove. They did not make a sound. Peering through the long grass, Theo observed the harbor with the concentration of a hunter. As well as the sloop at anchor, a dozen battoes and canoes were drawn up on the shore or moored to the landing stage. Men came and went along the road from the fort. Every two hours, one set of sentries returned to the guardhouse and was relieved by another. Theo watched and counted, until he was confident there were no more than eight men in total.

  A stone jutted into his hip. He hadn’t noticed it when he lay down, but the longer he lay there the more he felt it. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the pain.

  Toward evening, the sloop lowered one of her boats and sent it ashore. A man in a lieutenant’s uniform sat in the stern: the commander, no doubt. A dozen men accompanied him. From the size of the vessel, Theo guessed there could hardly be anyone left aboard. The crew disappeared up the track, perhaps to enjoy a good evening’s hospitality in the fort.

  Shadows lengthened in the long summer evening. The stone digging into Theo’s hip was almost unbearable. He was about to move, when the guardhouse door opened. One of the sentries came out and scanned the area.

  Theo went still. He flexed his muscles one at a time, like the Abenaki did when stalking game.

  Moses, lying beside him, rolled his eyes to warn him to be quiet.

  The Frenchman lit a pipe and wandered across the clearing. He did not seem concerned. But he was coming closer to Theo and Moses.

  Theo lifted himself up on his hands and knees to relieve the pain in his thigh. Surely the sentry would not have seen anything.

  But dusk had heightened the Frenchman’s hearing. He heard the rustle in the grass. He halted, staring at the place where Theo was hiding.

  Theo held his breath, one hand on the pistol Gilyard had given him and the other on his knife. He prayed the guard would go back inside. The sound he had made could have been a breath of wind, or a bird or an animal. Surely the guard would not investigate.

  The Frenchman unshouldered his musket and walked warily toward Theo. In the silent evening, Theo could not cock the pistol for fear of confirming his presence. And if he fired, it would bring every Frenchman in the fort down on him. There would be no chance of escape—for him, or for Gilyard’s company.

  The footsteps approached. He listened for the telltale sounds that would reveal he had been seen. He braced himself to leap at the man with his knife and hoped he could close the distance before the man fired.

  The footsteps stopped.

  “Qui va?” barked the guard. But not in Theo’s direction. A second set of footsteps had entered the clearing away to his right.

  “Ami, ami,” said a voice. It was Moses. Theo risked a glance. While the guard was distracted, the Abenaki had walked into the clearing as if he had nothing to hide. He smiled at the guard and raised his palms in peace.

  Theo took his chance. He crawled to his left, then stood and strode out through the grass. To the astonished guard, it was as if he had appeared from thin air. He jerked his musket between Theo and Moses and shouted something to the guardhouse.

  Theo’s heart raced. Now was the time to find out how truly convincing he could be as an Abenaki.

  A red-faced sergeant emerged from the guardhouse and lumbered up the slope to join them. He stared at the two arrivals. He saw two Abenaki Indians.

  “I found them hiding in the forest,” the sentry explained.

  Theo put his hands on his hips. “No,” he said in French. “We let you see us. If we were English, you would be dead already.”

  The private looked to his sergeant for instructions. The sergeant shrugged. “Do they know the watchword?”

  “Of course not,” said Theo. “We have just come. Our sachem sent us ahead to tell you our war band is approaching.”

  The sergeant considered it. Theo could see he was not convinced.

  “We march all day. Very thirsty.” Theo cupped his hands and mimed drinking. “You have brandy?”

  It was almost dark. The sloop on the lake was little more than a shadow.

  “Take them to the fort,” the sergeant decided. “They can tell their story to the commandant.”

  Theo nodded, but behind his smile his mind raced. If he went inside the fort, there might be other Indians who would see through his disguise. If they did, he would never get out alive. He could not let himself be taken the
re.

  He raised his pistol. The private’s musket jerked toward him, but Theo reversed the grip to show it to the sergeant.

  “I trade you for brandy,” he said. “Worth money.”

  “This is an English pistol,” said the sergeant. “Where did you get it?”

  Theo drew a finger around the top of his scalp and mimed slicing it off. “English officer.” He made the drinking gesture again. “Please. Very thirsty.”

  Greed got the better of the sergeant. The pistol was a handsome weapon, with silver chasing and a pleasing balance. He could get a good price for it in Québec. There were not many opportunities to make a profit on this godforsaken frontier.

  “If you give me your knife as well, we have a bargain.”

  Theo, Moses and the private followed the sergeant to the guardhouse. Theo walked slowly, noting every detail. He knew there were eight guards. Two were on the landing stage, and one was on the roof of the guardhouse. Allowing for the sergeant and the private, that left three inside the guardhouse.

  The guardhouse was built of thick logs, two stories high. There were no windows, only narrow loopholes for muskets. The upper level was larger, overhanging the ground floor by a couple of feet to create a porch around the building. Once they were under it, they would be invisible to the guard on the roof.

  The sergeant was about to open the door. The private stood to one side. Theo nodded to Moses.

  The sergeant had taken Theo’s knife, but not Moses’s. With a single fluid motion, the Abenaki whipped it from his belt and drew it across the sergeant’s neck. The sergeant tried to scream, but the air rushed out through the gash in his throat and he made no sound.

  At the same moment, Theo grabbed the bayonet from the private’s belt and rammed it through his eye. He dropped to the ground without a murmur.

  But the sergeant was still flailing in his death throes. He broke free from Moses’s grip and toppled against the door. It crashed open under his weight.

  The guardhouse was a single room with an earth floor. Bunks lined the wall; a ladder led to the upper story. In the warm yellow lamplight, three men sat around a table playing cards. They had been drinking—brandy vapors filled the room, and an empty bottle stood on the table.

  The three men stared at the body of their sergeant as it collapsed through the doorway, blood pooling around it, and the two Indians behind him. They lunged for their weapons.

  Alcohol slowed their reactions. By the time they moved, Theo and Moses were in the room. One man went down with a bayonet in his belly, another clutching his throat where Moses had carved it wide open.

  The third was harder to dispatch. The table was between him and the door, and he had a fraction more time. He grabbed his musket from a hook on the wall and swung it around. Theo’s world seemed to pause as the Frenchman’s finger tightened on the trigger. He stared down the black muzzle.

  But the gun was not loaded. Using it as a club, the Frenchman knocked the bayonet out of Theo’s hand. Theo sprang at him and tried to wrestle away the gun. His opponent was strong and wiry. Locked together, the two men stumbled across the room, knocking over the stools and the table. Glasses smashed.

  Suddenly the man’s grip loosened. A drop of blood appeared on his shirt, spreading in a broad circle around the tip of Moses’s knife that was protruding from between his ribs.

  The noise of the fight had carried to the man on the roof. A head appeared through the hole in the ceiling that led to the upper story. “Qu’est-ce qui se passe?”

  Perhaps the soldier had assumed his comrades were having a drunken brawl over cards. Perhaps it had happened before. Whatever the case, he didn’t have his gun ready.

  Theo grabbed Gilyard’s pistol that the sergeant had dropped, and fired. The explosion was deafening in the cramped room. The Frenchman toppled through the hatch and landed hard on the floor. If the bullet hadn’t killed him, the fall would have broken his back. He lay with his neck askew as the sound of the shot echoed.

  “That was unwise, Siumo,” said Moses. “The other guards will have heard.”

  Theo nodded. In the still night, the sound might even have carried to the fort. With luck, the garrison would think it nothing more than a musket discharged accidentally, or a soldier taking a pot shot at some game.

  But Theo had learned never to trust to luck. And there were still the two men down by the landing stage. As his ears recovered from the pistol discharge, he heard urgent voices outside.

  A figure appeared at the door, a young man with a wispy beard staring in horror at the carnage. Unlike the other soldiers, he was expecting trouble. He saw his companions strewn around the room, the broken furniture and two blood-smeared Indians standing over them. He followed his instincts.

  He ran.

  Theo swore and gave pursuit. Moses was faster. He pulled his knife from the dead man’s ribs, and whipped it hard after the fleeing soldier. It struck the man between the shoulder blades. He collapsed with a cry.

  There was one left. Out in the darkness Theo heard footsteps running up the track to the fort. He seized the musket from the fallen soldier. It was loaded, but the priming had spilled, and Theo wasted precious seconds adding more powder to the pan. He put the gun to his shoulder.

  It was too late. The night had swallowed the fleeing guard. Theo could barely see him against the trees. Moses put his hand on the barrel.

  “It will take him time to reach the fort and raise the alarm. One shot may have been an accident. If they hear another, they will come at once.”

  “Then let us be quick.”

  All the guards were accounted for. Theo and Moses pulled on the coats and hats that the dead Frenchmen had left and hurried down to the lake shore.

  Voices drifted across the water. The sloop’s crew had heard the commotion and had gathered at the rail.

  There was no way Theo could approach unseen. He didn’t attempt it. He fetched the lantern from the guardhouse, holding it low so he would be in silhouette. He hoped the borrowed clothes would be enough disguise.

  They launched one of the smaller battoes. Theo took the oars. Moses, facing him, kept his hat pulled low over his face.

  “What are they doing?” Theo murmured. He pulled the oars with strong, confident strokes, but inside he was nervous. Rowing into danger, his back to the enemy, required all his courage and concentration.

  “They have guns, Siumo.”

  “They won’t fire,” Theo said. “That ship is a powder keg. If a piece of wadding fell between the decks, they would be blown to pieces.”

  They came under the lee of the sloop. Theo, trained by the East India Company, shipped his oars with a practiced flourish and brought the boat against the side with barely a sound.

  The sailors above shouted questions, frightened and suspicious. “What has happened? What were those shots?”

  “English soldiers,” Theo answered, in guttural French. “We chased them away. The sergeant sent me to make sure the ship was safe.”

  As he spoke, he had already started climbing the ladder. He could feel the crew’s hostile gaze on him, but he did not look up for fear of revealing himself. He kept talking. “Your captain will be here soon to take command. Meanwhile, load your guns and—”

  Shots interrupted him—a volley of musketry from somewhere on shore. Gunfire flashed among the trees like lightning. The crew looked out in alarm.

  That gave Theo precious seconds. In two quick steps he reached the top of the ladder and vaulted onto the deck.

  He swung an uppercut into the nearest sailor’s face. As the man reeled backward, Theo charged across to the far side of the deck, scattering buckets and coils of rope to make as much noise as possible.

  The crew cornered him against the far rail. Some had muskets, which they would not dare to fire, but others carried cutlasses, and they were ready to use them.

  While the crew were distracted, Moses had gained the deck. Now he let out his war cry, a bloodcurdling whoop that must have carried al
l the way to the fort. The sailors turned in horror.

  Moses threw off the French coat he had worn. He stood on the grating in the middle of the deck in the hostile attitude of an Abenaki warrior. He held the lantern high in the air, casting ghoulish shadows over his face.

  “Put down your weapons,” Theo warned, “or he will drop that lantern into the hold.”

  The crew were hard men, no strangers to violence. They had brawled and fought their way through half the world’s ports. But Moses’s threat left them helpless. There was nothing sailors feared so much as fire, even without the presence of a hundred tons of gunpowder. Watching Moses—naked to the waist, covered with blood and war paint—none of them doubted he was crazy enough to blow up the ship.

  The Frenchmen were mariners, far from home and from the sea. None of them wanted to die in this wilderness.

  They threw down their weapons. Theo found rope and bound their hands, while Moses watched them with the musket. The lamp flickered dangerously on top of the capstan.

  Moses surveyed the ship they had won. “An easy victory this time, but I wonder what the Bastaniak captain will say?”

  •••

  Gilyard was furious. He had been watching the fort all day, carefully monitoring its strength. A little after dusk, they had heard a shot fired from the cove. A few minutes later, a man had come running up the track from the harbor.

  Gilyard did not know what it meant, but he could guess the reason. He cursed himself for having left Courtney and the Indian alone. His company would have to fight their way back—fifty miles through the wilderness. At the very least, he could expect to lose a third of his men.

  Already, the fort was alive with the sounds of soldiers being roused for battle. Gilyard whispered the order to withdraw. Like ghosts, the rangers slipped out of their hiding places and retreated through the forest. Gilyard would have preferred to detour well away from the lake, but his men had left their packs there and they could not march without supplies.

  Moving at a brisk pace, they retraced their steps to the cove. As Gilyard had suspected, Theo and the Indian were gone.