Dawn on a Distant Shore
Page 42
It was good to run again. Luke set a steady pace, weaving through the shadows. They slipped out of the city, circling north to the river, away from the docks where the watch would be alert and edgy after the fire. By now there would be patrols out looking for them. Time and time again Nathaniel put his hands on the weapons Iona had provided, testing the weight of a borrowed rifle, the worn grip of a well-sharpened knife.
With every indrawn breath of the cool night air he felt himself come more alive, his senses waking from a long, unwilling sleep. He would run all night and all day without complaint, run anywhere that took him toward Elizabeth and away from Montréal.
The spring moon was waning, its light further checked by cloud cover, but Luke never hesitated in his course, not until the smell of river water brought them up short. He signaled for them to wait, and then slipped away through a stand of trees toward the shore. Nathaniel calculated the time by the beat of his own heart. If Iona had managed to find them a decent canoe instead of the clumsy bateaux that filled the river, and if the tides were with them, they could be in Sorel tomorrow. He peered into the darkness for some sign of Luke.
A low whistle and they moved, one by one, down to the riverside.
Luke stood on the bank next to a small boat. Behind him was the shadowy outline of a schooner at anchor in the middle of the river.
"Holy God," breathed Robbie.
"And I thought the best she could do would be a canoe," said Nathaniel.
Hawkeye gave a rough laugh. "I'd like to know how she managed it."
Luke pushed his hair out of his face. "It's the Nancy. She's waiting for you."
"Who does she belong to?" Nathaniel asked, wanting to be away but wary of such unexpected good fortune.
"Horace Pickering is her captain."
All three of them pulled up short. Robbie snorted. "Horace Pickering? The Englishman set tae marry Giselle?"
"That's the one," agreed Luke. "I don't think Somerville's search parties will bother you on the Nancy."
The three men exchanged glances, and then Hawkeye stepped into the skiff and picked up an oar. "We ain't got much choice," he said. "But I wish she had told us what she had in mind."
Their combined weight pushed the little skiff deep into the icy water of the St. Lawrence. Luke sat in the stern, listening to the river with his face turned away, every muscle in him tensed. For all his youth there was a calm about him now, a quiet competence and the sense of a good man in the making. In these few moments of waiting, Nathaniel had time to wonder at it: Iona with a grandson, when there had never been any talk he had heard about her children.
When they had reached the Nancy, Nathaniel shook his hand. "You know where to come looking for us if we can ever be of help."
"You're welcome anytime," added Hawkeye.
The boy looked between them, his expression blank. "I'll remember that."
Robbie's hand closed on his shoulder. "Take care on the road hame, laddie." He had more to say, but two figures had appeared above them on deck, and from upriver came the sound of oars at work, and men's voices. With a nod to Luke they slipped onto the Nancy.
10
The village that the French called Sorel and the British called William Henry turned out to be nothing more than a weary spot at the mouth of the Richelieu, a maze of busy wharves and busier taverns, all stinking of rotting fish, mildewed sails, hot tar, and brewing ale. But the sight of the St. Lawrence was so welcome and such a great relief that Elizabeth could forgive the little town almost anything.
The good news was that Captain Mudge's party had arrived just two days after the ice had broken up and there was a great amount of traffic on the river in both directions, but there was little else to be thankful for. To the captain's displeasure and Elizabeth's despair, the schooner that should have been waiting for them, ready to sail, had instead been hauled out of the river for repairs to her hull. Elizabeth listened with only half an ear to the captain's agent, who told a complicated story of a collision with a whaleboat full of drunken voyageurs; she had already turned her mind to finding another way to Montréal, and that without delay.
In a small place so crowded with sailors and every kind of vessel, she reasoned out loud to Curiosity, this should not be an impossible task. Most certainly they could have found safe passage with one of the Royal Navy vessels--she saw two sloops and a brig--but she could not chance the questions any British officer would ask. Instead she fixed her attention on the Nell, which was unloading a shipment of pitch and turpentine. Elizabeth rejected out of hand the possibility that the Nell might be set to sail in the opposite direction, to Québec: they had had enough bad fortune, and could afford no more. Tomorrow they would be in Montréal, if she had to take up oars herself.
Captain Mudge traced the owner of the Nell to a public house near the docks, only to find that he would not deal with women or Indians, but was willing to spare Grievous Mudge a few minutes. Runs-from-Bears shrugged off this slight and went off in search of whatever news was to be had of their party in Montréal, leaving Elizabeth and Curiosity to wait with the children in a crowded common room that smelled strongly of fermenting yeast and spruce beer. Somewhere in another part of the house the captains were in negotiations, no doubt over generous portions of whisky.
A silver coin got them a table near the hearth. The innkeeper's wife, harried and immune to the miseries that travelers brought to her door, had at least provided a table large enough for them to accommodate the cradleboards. The twins were content to stay strapped and swaddled, as long as they were propped up and could survey the room. There were bowls of steaming beef broth, a loaf of new bread, a dish of baked leeks and onions, and a leg of spring lamb that even Curiosity pronounced well turned. Thus they sat in relative comfort, waiting for word.
With every indrawn breath of the cool night air he felt himself come more alive, his senses waking from a long, unwilling sleep. He would run all night and all day without complaint, run anywhere that took him toward Elizabeth and away from Montréal.
The spring moon was waning, its light further checked by cloud cover, but Luke never hesitated in his course, not until the smell of river water brought them up short. He signaled for them to wait, and then slipped away through a stand of trees toward the shore. Nathaniel calculated the time by the beat of his own heart. If Iona had managed to find them a decent canoe instead of the clumsy bateaux that filled the river, and if the tides were with them, they could be in Sorel tomorrow. He peered into the darkness for some sign of Luke.
A low whistle and they moved, one by one, down to the riverside.
Luke stood on the bank next to a small boat. Behind him was the shadowy outline of a schooner at anchor in the middle of the river.
"Holy God," breathed Robbie.
"And I thought the best she could do would be a canoe," said Nathaniel.
Hawkeye gave a rough laugh. "I'd like to know how she managed it."
Luke pushed his hair out of his face. "It's the Nancy. She's waiting for you."
"Who does she belong to?" Nathaniel asked, wanting to be away but wary of such unexpected good fortune.
"Horace Pickering is her captain."
All three of them pulled up short. Robbie snorted. "Horace Pickering? The Englishman set tae marry Giselle?"
"That's the one," agreed Luke. "I don't think Somerville's search parties will bother you on the Nancy."
The three men exchanged glances, and then Hawkeye stepped into the skiff and picked up an oar. "We ain't got much choice," he said. "But I wish she had told us what she had in mind."
Their combined weight pushed the little skiff deep into the icy water of the St. Lawrence. Luke sat in the stern, listening to the river with his face turned away, every muscle in him tensed. For all his youth there was a calm about him now, a quiet competence and the sense of a good man in the making. In these few moments of waiting, Nathaniel had time to wonder at it: Iona with a grandson, when there had never been any talk he had heard about her children.
When they had reached the Nancy, Nathaniel shook his hand. "You know where to come looking for us if we can ever be of help."
"You're welcome anytime," added Hawkeye.
The boy looked between them, his expression blank. "I'll remember that."
Robbie's hand closed on his shoulder. "Take care on the road hame, laddie." He had more to say, but two figures had appeared above them on deck, and from upriver came the sound of oars at work, and men's voices. With a nod to Luke they slipped onto the Nancy.
10
The village that the French called Sorel and the British called William Henry turned out to be nothing more than a weary spot at the mouth of the Richelieu, a maze of busy wharves and busier taverns, all stinking of rotting fish, mildewed sails, hot tar, and brewing ale. But the sight of the St. Lawrence was so welcome and such a great relief that Elizabeth could forgive the little town almost anything.
The good news was that Captain Mudge's party had arrived just two days after the ice had broken up and there was a great amount of traffic on the river in both directions, but there was little else to be thankful for. To the captain's displeasure and Elizabeth's despair, the schooner that should have been waiting for them, ready to sail, had instead been hauled out of the river for repairs to her hull. Elizabeth listened with only half an ear to the captain's agent, who told a complicated story of a collision with a whaleboat full of drunken voyageurs; she had already turned her mind to finding another way to Montréal, and that without delay.
In a small place so crowded with sailors and every kind of vessel, she reasoned out loud to Curiosity, this should not be an impossible task. Most certainly they could have found safe passage with one of the Royal Navy vessels--she saw two sloops and a brig--but she could not chance the questions any British officer would ask. Instead she fixed her attention on the Nell, which was unloading a shipment of pitch and turpentine. Elizabeth rejected out of hand the possibility that the Nell might be set to sail in the opposite direction, to Québec: they had had enough bad fortune, and could afford no more. Tomorrow they would be in Montréal, if she had to take up oars herself.
Captain Mudge traced the owner of the Nell to a public house near the docks, only to find that he would not deal with women or Indians, but was willing to spare Grievous Mudge a few minutes. Runs-from-Bears shrugged off this slight and went off in search of whatever news was to be had of their party in Montréal, leaving Elizabeth and Curiosity to wait with the children in a crowded common room that smelled strongly of fermenting yeast and spruce beer. Somewhere in another part of the house the captains were in negotiations, no doubt over generous portions of whisky.
A silver coin got them a table near the hearth. The innkeeper's wife, harried and immune to the miseries that travelers brought to her door, had at least provided a table large enough for them to accommodate the cradleboards. The twins were content to stay strapped and swaddled, as long as they were propped up and could survey the room. There were bowls of steaming beef broth, a loaf of new bread, a dish of baked leeks and onions, and a leg of spring lamb that even Curiosity pronounced well turned. Thus they sat in relative comfort, waiting for word.
