“And you have any notion where they have gone?” asked Syn.
“His wife told me tha t her husband was attracted by the reports of
good trading up the Hudson River, and there is certainly business to be
done not only with the Indians, but also with the French. In which case,
the place to make inquiry would be Albany. I take it that you know the
man, and perhaps wish to get in touch with him?”
“I was at Oxford with him,” replied Syn. “Even there he had a way of
getting into scrapes. But sometimes the cleverest rascal goes too far.
Since the lady with him is my legal wife, you will own that I have the
strongest motive for getting in touch with him. And he will find that my
touch will not be gentle.”
“Perhaps I can help you,” went on the Governor. “for my cousin,
Colonel Clinton, is in command of the military in Albany. Between you, I
think this scoundrel could be brought to book.”
Three days later, Doctor Syn took leave of the Governor, and armed
with a letter of introduction to the Colonel, set sail with Mipps for
New York, from whence they could proceed to Albany.
The captain of the vessel, who had been told by the Governor of the
blowing up of the dreaded Sulphur Pit, never tired of questioning Doctor
Syn and Mipps about Black Satan.
On reaching New York, the captain was commissioned to carry a cargo
to Albany, so Syn and Mipps remained aboard and traveled with him up the
broad Hudson.
On arrival Syn took lodgings at the best inn, and then deposited the
bulk of their treasure in the vaults of an English Banking House. He
then presented his letter of introduction to Colonel Clinton, from whom
he learned that Nicholas had set out by canoe to trade with the Indian
tribes. He had taken Imogene and the boy, as well as an Indian
interpreter and guide. The Colonel advised Syn to await them in Albany,
assuring him that, short of any disaster overtaking them, the party
would return to the town on completion of business.
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For weeks they waited patiently, during which time Doctor Syn, by
preaching from the principal pulpits of the town, gained respect and
popularity. At last a letter came from the Governor of South Carolina,
which determined their stay at Albany, for the news it brought was
disquieting. After the usual courtesies to himself and servant, and
inquiries and kind messages to the Colonel, the letter went on to st ate
that besides Syn and Mipps, who had so luckily escaped from the pirate
ship in time, there had been one other survivor from the explosion.
I should be glad, my good Doctor, for any information you have have
concerning him, for my task is difficult in knowing how to deal with
him. From my description, I think you will not fail to remember him. He
is a mulatto. As ugly as a looking devil as ever I clapped eyes upon.
Thin to emaciation, with skin like cracked parchment. High cheek -bones
and the most brilliant black eyes, which seem to shoot out the blackest
hatred. His hair is deathly white. He understands no English, but we
have been able to gather something of his story through the help of one
of my slaves, a West Indies boy, who talks to him in the Cuban dialect.
This has been the more difficult because our mulatto is dumb. He lost
the power of speech from the shock of the explosion. He arrived here in
the most deplorable condition, half-starved and with bleeding feet,
having walked along the coast. I have lodged him in the goal, where my
own surgeon is attending him, in the hope of recovering his speech. Then
I could be the better judge of his integrity, for since you and your
faithful servant have recounted so many details of the Sulphur Pit, I
shall see if he is lying, should his story not agree with yours. In
which case my judgment will be the harsher, whereas, I now feel inclined
to think that he has been punished enough for his piracy.
Both Syn and Mipps remembered the mulatto well, as a mutinous dog
who had on many occasions threatened the discipline which they had
imposed upon the pirates.
“But even if his tongue does wag again,” said Mipps, “by the old
man’s letter, he won’t be believed, sir.”
“We must take no chances of that,” return ed Syn. “For if this mulatto
becomes too convincing, he may well upset our story, and we must not
forget that he knows me as Syn the parson who turned pirate. I am
therefore determined that Syn shall disappear. We will let people think
that I have died. I shall tell my friends here that I have had a solemn
call to preach the Gospel to the Redskins. When I do not return, they
will no doubt give me a martyr’s crown. Meantime, we will go on
searching for my enemy, who I believe does not intend returning to
Albany. I rather think his instinct tell him that I am already on his
track. In three days’ time we shall be after him again. Are you willing
to risk your scalp amongst the Indians?”
“It’s your scalp. You bought it, sir,,” said Mipps. “In three days?
Then I’d best be purchasing a canoe, a barrel of rum, and eatables.”
“And I’ll make inquiry for a reliable guide,” said Syn.
Providing themselves with clothes more suitable for their journey,
they packed their seachests with such properties as they wished to
leave behind them, and deposited them in the same bank that was hoarding
their treasure. Syn then drew up an agreement with the banker that their
property should be handed over to one or both of them on personal
demand, but if neither of them came back within the year, the banker was
to sell jewelry and all, to the best advantage, and to send the value to
Solomon Syn, New Romney, England. Having
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thus provided against emergency, Doctor Syn took leave of his many
friends in Albany, and set a northern course up the Hudson.
The Indian, who went by the high-sounding name of “Mountain Cat”,
proved himself at once to be efficient, very strong, but also very
silent. Knowing that the pastor’s object was to locate Nicholas and his
party, he went to work in his own way, seeming unperturbed at what Syn
and Mipps considered a gigantic and puzzling task. When Syn suggested
they might hail such craft as passed them, and ask if the party they
followed had been seen by them, he shook his head. He had his own
method, and it was curious. He would frequently head for the bank, and
that at places where his companions could see neither camp nor
habitation, disappear into the forest, but to return after an interval
and point once more with decision up -river. Syn let him go his own way,
but Mipps became cynical.
“Funny way of going on, I calls it,” he said when this method had
gone on for some days and nights. “Where the devil does old Puss -cat get
his information from? I never hears nothing but twittering of birds and
squawks of wild beasts?”
“He’s no doubt in touch with Indian tribes,” said Syn. “They’re a
silent race, and shy at showing themselves.”
“Unsociable, I calls it,” replied Mipps.
On one occasion the method changed, for instead of pointing up-river
he unpacked the canoe, hoisted it upon his shoulder, and signing them to
carry the provisions, set off through the woods. This was the prelude to
an incessant toil. Days and nights were spent in avoiding the worst
swamps, threading a way through what seemed impenetrable undergrowth, on
some occasions, scaling precipitous rocks in order to reach some other
river,
where the canoe could be refloated till its way was barred by thunderous