An owl flew by on slow, prowling wings. "Big one," Fitch said.
"Yes, it was." I hesitated. "Why did you come, Fitch?"
He looked around at me, and seemed a little embarrassed. "I did na wish to go home wi' empty hands," he said, "for I made big talk of what I'd do when away upon the sea. Back yon in the village, I had dreamed dreams of going to battle and winning a princess, maybe, or a lot of gold.
"Well, I've been four years gone and nothing to show for it but scars and the memories of bad times.
"Bad times were never in the dreams. Oh, I kenned enough to know there's many a slip, but I had high hopes, and they laughed at me for big expectations.
"Maybe it come of a-settin' in the chapel listening to the sermon, and thinkin' more on that chap buried in the stone box beside the altar. They had his figure carved in stone atop it, although I knew little enough about him who was buried there. He'd built the church himself, there at Acaster Malbis ... that was our village ... back in 1306 or some such time. He came of a Norman family who'd come with William the Conqueror, and they had lands from him.
"The name of the first one was Sir Hugh de Malebisse, which somehow became Malbys or Malbis, and they do say that when he came over he had little but a name and a sword, although there may be no truth in that.
"But I'd set there thinking of what he won with a sword, and it seemed to me that what one could do another might. Captain Sackett, I talked big. I can't go home with empty hands."
"Why should you?" I said. "There will be land here for all, and once located, we shall scout each his piece, and all adjoining they'll be."
"I'd like that. Will there be a stream on it? And trees?"
"Aye. We'll see to it."
Turning away, I added, "Keep a sharp eye and a listening ear or you'll not make it. The savages don't even need to see the color of your hair to want it."
There was a good smell of food in the air, pleasing because it was of the country. The cooks had boiled venison and wild turkey together, which all relished.
Seated, Abby and I ate and talked of our son to be ... or daughter. And with our food we drank the water of the Roanokes, as fresh and clear as water could be.
We talked of our home in the blue mountains, the home that was to be, and they were fine, bold dreams we had.
Wa-ga-su came suddenly from the darkness and spoke softly to me, and I did not move, but reached out with my swordcase and touched Jeremy upon the shoulder. He glanced from me to Wa-ga-su and got up slowly, walking to the pot for another helping, then back to us.
"Three canoes," Wa-ga-su said, "twenty, thirty men. They are on warpath."
"Jeremy," I said, "as quietly as can be, send Slater, Magill, and Black Tom Watkins to the boats to join Fitch, and do the rest move one by one to the shadows and to the fallen trees near the boats. Leave the fires burning."
"What is it, Barnabas?" Abby asked.
'There will be a fight. Get to the boats, you and Lila."
No sound disturbed the quiet night. Men walked away and darkness remained. The men looked to their muskets. As for myself, I put three pistols in my belt and carried a musket also.
The night was still. Somewhere a nightbird called.
They came with a rush.
They came with savage yells, intending to strike terror to our hearts, and had they found us unawares or sleeping, the yells and the sudden attack might have done so. Nor was the attack so well planned as I thought them usually to be.
They had seen our fires, and without closer inspection, decided we must be gathered around them. They must have waited some time.
When they finally charged toward the firelight, spears and tomahawks poised to strike, they came upon emptiness. One warrior, quick to perceive, had turned sharply back when Slater shot him.
It was taken as a signal, and all of us fired. And in an instant they were gone ... vanished.
Three bodies lay upon the earth, two obviously dead, the third only wounded. Yet he lay still.
I could see his eyes. They were open and alert, although he had been hit hard.
We reloaded our guns. The night was so still I could hear the rustling water among the reeds at the shore. Pim was beside me and I whispered to him, telling him to get the boats afloat and all aboard.
He slipped away. There was still the faint smell of powder smoke mingled with the dampness of mud, wet foliage, and the smoke from our now dying fires. Behind me I heard faint movements, and Glasco came up to my side. "I don't like it," he muttered. "It was too easy."
"You're right. We're going to pull out. I'd rather row all night than lose a single man."
From down the shore we heard a splintering crash, then another, and then a third.
Then all was silent again.
At the last moment, with all aboard, I waited ... listening. There were faint, whispering movements, then silence. Overhead there were stars.
My hands touched the rough bulwark, and in utter silence we moved away. So silently that I heard but once the sound of a paddle.
"Will they follow?" I asked Wa-ga-su.
"No canoe," he replied.
"But they must have canoes."
"No canoe," he replied, and I detected a smug satisfaction in his tone. "I fix."
The oars dipped deep, and we moved off into the night. Abby was close beside me.
I put my hand over hers and she leaned her head against my shoulder.
"Tired?" I asked her.
"Yes ..."
"You've a right to be tired. We'll find a good place and rest."
"No, it's all right, Barnabas. I'll be all right." She paused a moment. "There is so little time before winter comes."
It was in all our thoughts. We were alone in an unknown land, with danger all about, and no hope of rescue if aught went wrong. We had cut all ties, but we floated together in the vast interior of this green strange land.
We were moving toward the mountains where it would be cold during the winter, and we had meat to kill, fuel to gather, shelters to build. Our only security lay in ourselves, in what we were, and what we would become. But had I chosen from thousands those who were with me, I could not have chosen better.
Leaving the bow, I went back to take the place of Tim Glasco at an oar, and after a half hour I shifted across the boat to give Kane O'Hara some rest. When I returned to the bow, Abby was asleep, as was Lila. I moved alongside Wa-ga-su.
"Tell me about the river," I suggested.
"There are villages," he replied. "One of them we will see tomorrow or the day after."
"Are the Catawbas a strong people?" I asked.
He shook his head somberly. "We are strong, but we have lost many men in war with the Iroquois, and we have been driven from our country in the north. The Iroquois fight everybody, kill everybody. Very savage, those people."
He spoke English well enough, after his months with us, and I spoke a good deal of his language.
"Then the Cherokee attacked us and we were driven to the place we live now. We will go no further. We will fight them again and again, but we will not leave."
"Are all of your people here?"
"No ... some are still in the north, but they will come."
"Wa-ga-su, we have told you how many are the English. Soon they will come here.
Many will come. Some will return, some will die, but more will come. We would be friends to your people. Think on this, and say what you think to your people."
"You wish me to say it is good for Catawba to join with the Queen's men?"
"I cannot advise you, Wa-ga-su. Much harm may come from it. What is right for us is not always right for you, and those of us who come are hungry for land-"
"There is enough for all."
"That may be. I do not know if there is ever enough. And there will be trouble with the English and the French and the Spanish even as there was trouble with the Iroquois."