No, he hadn't made it to heaven yet.
"Damn, Uncle Lum, must you hit every hole? You killing this poor man." Well, maybe she wasn't an angel after al, Gabe thought.
"Hush ’yo mouth chile, ’ain't no use you takin' on like Mister Hindley," nanny fussed. "I hope ’yo mama wasn't lookin' down at you ’jus now."
Chapter Four
It had been a quick trip for the Swan traveling south from Nova Scotia to Norfolk. Markham was a new man.
"She's a fine ship, cap'n," a smiling Mr. Davy had said when he'd first boarded Swan. It was hard for Markham to recall the shy, angry little boy who'd been a fellow midshipman on Drakkar. They had both grown and matured under then Captain and now Admiral Anthony.
Markham was happy with al about but still anxious about Gabe. Getting Gabe back would make Markham 's world complete again. Dagan had said Gabe was alive. Markham would never question Dagan. He'd seen too much happen in the past to ever doubt Dagan, but still he worried. Markham was sure no one would ever know but he'd went to Dagan with the idea of ’creating an accident' for Lieutenant Witzenfeld when he had been tormenting Mr. Davy and Gabe back in the early days on Drakkar.
Dagan had put his hand on then midshipman Markham's shoulder that day and quietly by firmly stated, "Mr. Witz's time on this earth is nigh, young sir.
I thank you for your concern but it's time the lieutenant gets a taste of his own medicine. Mind you now this is between us. I tell you so you and young Davy don't go getting yourself in trouble." The next day, Witz went mad and jumped overboard.
"Commodore's signal, sir, repair on board." This broke Markham 's thought. "Very well, Mr. Harrel. Prepare my gig while Mr. Davy gets the dispatch bag. Dagan?"
"Aye, sir."
"Whenever you and Caleb are ready let the bosun know. He has the jol y boat ready with a crew to put you ashore." Dagan could see Markham wanted to say more but the emotion seemed to be building and he was in danger of losing it.
"We'll bring Gabe back, sir," Dagan said to help al eviate the tension.
"You do that Dagan. Keep Caleb in line and away from the women and wine."
"Aye, sir."
"Dagan?"
"Yes sir?'
"How'd you talk Lord Anthony into keeping the damned ape?"
"It took al I could muster," Dagan replied with a grin on his face, "But in truth Silas and the ape has taken to one another so hopeful y everything will be fine til we return."
"Have a safe trip, Dagan, and remind Gabe it's his time to stand a round when he gets back. Now let me be off, Mr. Davy, commodores don't like lieutenants keeping them waiting."
The decision to allow Caleb along proved fruitful immediately. After supping at a tavern Caleb knew to be frequented by Colonials it was made known Dagan needed to go to Petersburg to visit his uncle and let the uncle know about grave family matters.
"Who be this man in Petersburg you want to see?" This question was from a man with long hair and a drooping mustache that seem full of food crumbs and grease. He wore a shapeless hat, a worn tattered coat, a buckskin hunting shirt that was glazed in grease, buckskin leggings and moccasins. He spoke with a twang in his voice.
"His name is Andre," Caleb replied. "Andre Dupree, he raises thoroughbreds outside Petersburg." It had been decided to let Caleb do most of the talking with Dagan only speaking when needed.
At the mention of the name the wiry little man seem to relax. "Name's Frost. Most folks cal me Frosty," he said pointing to his hair. "I been gray since I was just a young he coon. Kinda like nature's way of a joke, I guess. Last name be Frost and an early frost on top ’o the mountain."
"Are you headed to Petersburg?" Caleb asked.
"Well, I got a might ’o freight that needs to go that way soon, I recon. You ain't no redcoat loyalist, is you?"
"Our loyalty is to our family," Dagan replied, speaking for the first time.
"Well, I guess you'll do," Frosty said, "But I'm warning you, it's not an easy trip. There's bound to be British patrols and them fusiliers shoot ’furst and ask questions later. Oncet we inland a bit it gets a tad easier."
"How do you get past the guards with freight," Caleb asked. "I'm sure they search every wagon."
"They's do's, but who said we's gona be in a wagon?
No, we'd be caught for sure. I got myself a string of mules and packs."
"When do we leave?" Caleb asked.
Frosty eyed the two suspiciously, "Well fer now that's fer me to know and yer to be ready when I cal s you.
Then you'll know. What I'd recommend is when yah lays yer head down to sleep, ’has yer things packed case I cal s."
It was just before dawn when Frosty come for Caleb and Dagan. "Stir yerselves if you wana go. Better grab yer coats cause it's a might frosty…he! he! he!" The ole man chuckled at his own joke. The three made a quiet departure from the inn.
"It's dark," Caleb commented as the frost crunched beneath his feet. "What time do you think it is?"
"I recon it's about four," Frosty replied, "But let the clock worry about itself and keep quiet." Frosty led them down a slippery path between several buildings and seemingly lead them in circles. Finally they found
themselves at a tobacco warehouse on the edge of town.
Here four mules were tied up with packs already loaded on their backs.
"I wonder what's in those packs," Caleb thought to himself but knew better than to ask. Then out of nowhere, a cautious voice, "Yer late." Caleb and Dagan could see the gun in the man's hand. It's barrel positioned just so it covered them.
"Well, we's here and we's ready," Frosty replied.
"Them redcoats got patrols everywhere and I had ’ta take an extra turn or two."
"Well be on your way," the man said handing the lead rope to Frosty. A quick handshake and he vanished into the dawn.
The three had traveled about an hour when Dagan could see they were walking along a muddy path just above a river. The animals moved as though they were used to the trail. Frosty had hold of the lead mule's halter rope with his hand patting its nose.
"Al right, boys, lets get under cover for a spel," he said as he led the way to a small shed a few yards inland from the river. As the dawn faded, the sky was cloudy and a light sprinkle had started. "Knew it was gonna rain," Frosty commented. "My rheumatism is acting up a might."
"Have you tried a will ow bark tea?" Caleb asked.
"It's supposed to be good for such agues."
"That a fact," the old man said. "I been nursing my sour mash along and it's done a fair job keeping my aches down."
"Yes, but the will ow bark does more than calm the malady. It will quench the humour that inflames the joint."
"How's come you know so much about rheumatism?" Frosty ask.
"I'm a physician, of course," Caleb responded as full of dignity as he could muster.
"Huh!" Frosty snorted. "I done saddled meself with one man who's ’edumecated and tother that can't rightly speak." Then the old man grinned as a thought entered his head. "What kinda cure ya got fer byils?"
"Byils? What's a byil?" Caleb asked.
"I thought you was a doctor. A byil is a sore. A big sore. I gets ’em on my seat."
"Huh!" Caleb replied, "You mean you get boils, likely from setting on your arse to much. However, the cure is to lance the lesion and drain out the putrefaction.
I will sometimes apply a poultice and a wick."
"Well, I ain't got nairn now," Frosty replied, "But next time I do I'll look you up if you's about."
The rain got harder as the sky darkened and the wind grew. "It's sure to be a gul y washer," Frosty volunteered as he went about taking the packs off the mules. The smell of the wet animals fill ed the small shed.
As the rain picked up, water began to drip through the roof in places, some dripping down the flank of one of the mules, causing it to stamp its foot and swish its tail.