Fire Along the Sky
Page 205
If he had an answer it was lost in the shouting that rose suddenly from the shore.
“What's that?” Mr. Whistler went to the porthole and squinted out. “Holy Mother, what's happened?”
Hannah heard it then, the sound of men shouting, loud enough to be heard over the creaking of the ship and the wind. The sound of plans gone awry, of disaster.
Luke went to look, and then he came back to Hannah. He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Listen to me now, sister. Are you listening?”
Hannah nodded.
“When I give the signal, this ship will sail immediately, with or without me. In that case Jim Booke will have command until Runs-from-Bears comes on board. If you must sail without me, then do not look back. Do you understand?”
There were many questions she wanted to ask, but only one thing she could think to say.
“We will not leave you behind.”
“You will, if I say so,” said her brother, his gaze hard and his grip on her shoulder unrelenting. “I promise you I will do everything in my power to stay alive. Will you be satisfied with that?”
“What choice do I have?”
“None,” said Luke. “None at all.”
From the portholes they could see everything that was happening on the dock: the officers swarming, the shouting, the guards running back and forth. Blue-Jay and Daniel stood near each other in the line of prisoners, their faces turned toward the gates.
“Did he say Jim Booke?” asked Mr. Whistler of Tim Munro, a fisherman out of Burlington who wore the uniform of a first lieutenant. “Did I hear him right, Jim Booke?”
“You did.”
“Damn me,” murmured Mr. Whistler in reverential tones. “But that Bonner has got balls the size of muskmelons. To dress Jim Booke up like a redcoat and parade him in front of the whole garrison.”
“And money like Croesus, to outfit us all and the ship, and pay us, every man jack of us, a whole month's pay for a few days' work. To tell you the truth, I would have done it for nothing, if he asked me. Anything to bloody the nose of a lobsterback.”
With one part of her mind Hannah heard all this, but the rest of her, the biggest part of her, could not look away from the scene in front of the garrison. She should turn away now and see to her patients, talk to her aunt, make sure that all was ready for the men. But she could not make herself move, and thought she never could, until she knew Jennet to be safe. If she looked hard enough, she told herself, if she concentrated, she could make Jennet appear.
“What the hell is going on down there?” asked Mr. Whistler. “Looks like trouble.”
It was trouble, of the worst kind. Another one of Luke's men came in to share the news, a sailmaker out of Plattsburgh who could hardly speak for agitation.
“Slow down, Hitchens,” said Munro. “Are you telling us the commander's murdered and all the paymasters with him?”
“One of the paymasters ain't dead yet, but aye, that's the gist of it. And somebody's took two months' pay for a thousand men, sailors and shipbuilders and common soldiers—”
“Did you hear anything about Jennet Huntar? Did you hear that name at all?”
Hitchens sucked in his lower lip and pushed it out again. “Never heard that name mentioned, no.”
“And the priest?” Hannah asked, insistent. “Have you heard them talk about the priest?”
He was not a quick-witted man, this Hitchens, but he was pleased to be able to give a better answer. “Aye, there was talk of a priest, he's gone missing, too, and feared murdered.”
Hannah lost her balance and reached out to catch herself, stumbled and almost fell but for Mr. Whistler, who caught her arm.
“Steady now,” he said. “Steady. Look, they're sending the boys on board. It's got nothing to do with us, whatever happened to their blood money, and you can't regret the loss of that damn Caudebec, can you? We'll be off, wait and see, every last one of us, before the hour is out. Mrs. Huntar will be hiding nearby, never fear.”
Hannah turned her head and saw that Many-Doves, who said nothing, who saw everything, understood what Hannah had not—could not—put into words.
The priest was gone, and Jennet with him.
Luke's plan was an elegant one, so simple that it could follow its course without him. The ship would weigh anchor some miles downriver, where two dozen Kahnyen'kehàka waited with canoes and rafts to ferry the prisoners to shore. The same men would serve as guides, and with their help the prisoners would disappear into the woods and eventually over the border. The men too sick to travel would be taken to a hunting camp a few miles inland where they would be hidden and looked after until they were well.
Many-Doves named the women who would be there to look after the injured men. They were all known to Hannah, women she could trust with the men she had fought to save. After so many weeks of worry for strangers, she was free of them.
Hannah's brother and cousin would be back in New-York before midnight, and home again in a few days' time. The ship would not be missed, because it had never belonged to the Royal Navy to begin with. Stripped of its purloined colors and standards it would be scuttled. The truth wouldn't be known until the real transport came in a week's time, and by then there would be no trace of the Fair Winds, the men who had sailed her, or the prisoners.
All of whom were belowdecks. Their manacles had been struck off before the garrison was out of sight, and by the time they left this ship they would be new men, well clothed, with weapons and ammunition, food and water, everything they needed to make their way back home. She need not worry for them anymore.
“What's that?” Mr. Whistler went to the porthole and squinted out. “Holy Mother, what's happened?”
Hannah heard it then, the sound of men shouting, loud enough to be heard over the creaking of the ship and the wind. The sound of plans gone awry, of disaster.
Luke went to look, and then he came back to Hannah. He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Listen to me now, sister. Are you listening?”
Hannah nodded.
“When I give the signal, this ship will sail immediately, with or without me. In that case Jim Booke will have command until Runs-from-Bears comes on board. If you must sail without me, then do not look back. Do you understand?”
There were many questions she wanted to ask, but only one thing she could think to say.
“We will not leave you behind.”
“You will, if I say so,” said her brother, his gaze hard and his grip on her shoulder unrelenting. “I promise you I will do everything in my power to stay alive. Will you be satisfied with that?”
“What choice do I have?”
“None,” said Luke. “None at all.”
From the portholes they could see everything that was happening on the dock: the officers swarming, the shouting, the guards running back and forth. Blue-Jay and Daniel stood near each other in the line of prisoners, their faces turned toward the gates.
“Did he say Jim Booke?” asked Mr. Whistler of Tim Munro, a fisherman out of Burlington who wore the uniform of a first lieutenant. “Did I hear him right, Jim Booke?”
“You did.”
“Damn me,” murmured Mr. Whistler in reverential tones. “But that Bonner has got balls the size of muskmelons. To dress Jim Booke up like a redcoat and parade him in front of the whole garrison.”
“And money like Croesus, to outfit us all and the ship, and pay us, every man jack of us, a whole month's pay for a few days' work. To tell you the truth, I would have done it for nothing, if he asked me. Anything to bloody the nose of a lobsterback.”
With one part of her mind Hannah heard all this, but the rest of her, the biggest part of her, could not look away from the scene in front of the garrison. She should turn away now and see to her patients, talk to her aunt, make sure that all was ready for the men. But she could not make herself move, and thought she never could, until she knew Jennet to be safe. If she looked hard enough, she told herself, if she concentrated, she could make Jennet appear.
“What the hell is going on down there?” asked Mr. Whistler. “Looks like trouble.”
It was trouble, of the worst kind. Another one of Luke's men came in to share the news, a sailmaker out of Plattsburgh who could hardly speak for agitation.
“Slow down, Hitchens,” said Munro. “Are you telling us the commander's murdered and all the paymasters with him?”
“One of the paymasters ain't dead yet, but aye, that's the gist of it. And somebody's took two months' pay for a thousand men, sailors and shipbuilders and common soldiers—”
“Did you hear anything about Jennet Huntar? Did you hear that name at all?”
Hitchens sucked in his lower lip and pushed it out again. “Never heard that name mentioned, no.”
“And the priest?” Hannah asked, insistent. “Have you heard them talk about the priest?”
He was not a quick-witted man, this Hitchens, but he was pleased to be able to give a better answer. “Aye, there was talk of a priest, he's gone missing, too, and feared murdered.”
Hannah lost her balance and reached out to catch herself, stumbled and almost fell but for Mr. Whistler, who caught her arm.
“Steady now,” he said. “Steady. Look, they're sending the boys on board. It's got nothing to do with us, whatever happened to their blood money, and you can't regret the loss of that damn Caudebec, can you? We'll be off, wait and see, every last one of us, before the hour is out. Mrs. Huntar will be hiding nearby, never fear.”
Hannah turned her head and saw that Many-Doves, who said nothing, who saw everything, understood what Hannah had not—could not—put into words.
The priest was gone, and Jennet with him.
Luke's plan was an elegant one, so simple that it could follow its course without him. The ship would weigh anchor some miles downriver, where two dozen Kahnyen'kehàka waited with canoes and rafts to ferry the prisoners to shore. The same men would serve as guides, and with their help the prisoners would disappear into the woods and eventually over the border. The men too sick to travel would be taken to a hunting camp a few miles inland where they would be hidden and looked after until they were well.
Many-Doves named the women who would be there to look after the injured men. They were all known to Hannah, women she could trust with the men she had fought to save. After so many weeks of worry for strangers, she was free of them.
Hannah's brother and cousin would be back in New-York before midnight, and home again in a few days' time. The ship would not be missed, because it had never belonged to the Royal Navy to begin with. Stripped of its purloined colors and standards it would be scuttled. The truth wouldn't be known until the real transport came in a week's time, and by then there would be no trace of the Fair Winds, the men who had sailed her, or the prisoners.
All of whom were belowdecks. Their manacles had been struck off before the garrison was out of sight, and by the time they left this ship they would be new men, well clothed, with weapons and ammunition, food and water, everything they needed to make their way back home. She need not worry for them anymore.
