Not being a particularly religious man, Wyatt wasnt sure if the pastor had been expecting him to say Amen at that point, but hed made do with a solemn nod, which had evidently sufficed.
Whats his name?
For a moment, Wyatt thought the girl had directed her question at him, but when he turned he saw that it was the boy who was being addressed. There was an awkward silence.
His names Tam, Wyatt said, thinking: He can kill a man with an axe, but hes lost his tongue to a preachers daughter?
At the mention of his name the dog pricked up his ears.
And thats Matthew, Wyatt added.
Does he bite? the girl asked nervously.
No, Wyatt said. Leastways, Tam doesnt. Cant say as I can speak for his master.
Wyatts reply drew a bark of laughter from De Witt.
The girl giggled as she held her hand out to the dog. To her delight, Tam rose to his feet and licked at her outstretched fingers. With his interrogator distracted, the boy caught Wyatts eye. For the second time he looked awkward and unsure. Shifting in his saddle, he stared off over Wyatts right shoulder, to where Tewanias was standing.
The war paint was gone. While the effect was not as fearsome, there was no disguising the Mohawk chiefs striking features, his calm repose and the strength of his gaze.
Curious as to the boys obsession with the stern-faced warrior, Wyatt said, If you want to say goodbye, its O:nen ki wahi.
Interesting-looking fellow, De Witt mused, breaking into Wyatts thoughts. Hes Mohawk, yes?
Wyatt hid his surprise. Most civilians took one look at an Indian and thought heathen savage. For a preacher to show such equanimity, no matter how enlightened, was unusual.
Yes, Wyatt said.
O:nen ki wahi, Tewanias, the boy called softly.
There was no response. It was as though the Indian had not heard or had chosen not to acknowledge the words. Several seconds went by. Wyatt saw the expectancy on the boys face give way to confusion and then to disappointment. The slim shoulders drooped. It was at that point that the warriors expression changed. It was, Wyatt thought, like watching someone awaken from a trance.
When the Mohawk raised his head the pastors daughter was first to react, letting out a sharp gasp and shrinking back against her mothers skirts, her play with the dog forgotten. Moving with cat-like grace, Tewanias lifted his musket and strode directly towards her.
The pastor tensed.
No, Wyatt said quickly. Itll be all right.
Paying no heed to the reaction hed provoked, Tewanias halted beside the boys horse. Wordlessly, he reached up with his free hand and removed from around his neck a rawhide thong from which was suspended a small piece of carved yellow bone. He held it out. Finally, he spoke.
O:nen ki wahi, Mat-huwa.
Take it, Wyatt instructed. He realized hed been holding his breath, though he wasnt sure why.
The boy accepted the offering, turning it over in his hands, examining it closely. He turned to Wyatt. How do I say
Niá:wen, Wyatt said. There was dried blood, he noticed, and what looked like a matted clump of hair and tissue adhering to the edge of the war club that was strapped across the Mohawks back; residue from the attack on the horseman at the Archers farm. He wondered if the pastor or his wife had noticed. Hopefully not; the club face wasnt in their direct line of sight.
Niá:wen, Tewanias, the boy said, slipping the thong over his head and around his neck. He held the piece of bone in his hand and stared at it once more, slowly massaging its smooth surface with the ball of his thumb.
Anowara. It was the Indian who spoke.
It means turtle, Wyatt said. Tewanias is a war chief of the Turtle clan. Thats his totem.
Well, bless my soul, De Witt murmured softly as the Mohawk stepped back.
Amen to that, Reverend, Wyatt thought.
With Tewanias by his side, he looked about him. The preparations for departure were almost complete. Tents had been struck and fires doused. The stolen horses had been formed into a line and troops were checking their packs, settling into ranks, readying themselves for the march. Those Loyalists whod chosen to remain behind were saying their final goodbyes, hugging and clasping the hands of those about to embark.
Had Wyatt not known differently, the scene might have suggested that some festivity had been taking place and that guests were preparing to wend their way home after a picnic or a barn-raising, instead of stealing away from a homeland that no longer saw them as legitimate citizens. Though, as hed walked the grounds, hed seen that there were many who were in tears at the thought of abandoning all that was familiar in exchange for an arduous journey towards an uncertain future.
A faint call sounded from up ahead. As the order was taken up by NCOs stationed down the line, a mood of anticipation ran through the column. The civilians began to gather themselves.
Wyatt held out his hand. Take care, Matthew.
Fingering the amulet, it took a second for the boy to respond, but when he did his grip was firm.
We wont be far, Wyatt said. Dont forget that. You might not see us, but well be there.
Stay safe, Lieutenant, De Witt said.
You, too, sir. Wyatt shook the pastors hand, winked at the girl, who had re-emerged from hiding, and tipped his hat to Mrs De Witt. Maam.
De Witt took hold of his daughters waist, helped her feet find the shortened stirrups and, with his wife holding the bridle, lifted her gently on to the mares back.
He addressed Wyatt over his shoulder. Hows your knowledge of the scriptures, Lieutenant? Exodus, Chapter 12, Verse 51: And it came to pass the selfsame day that the Lord did bring the children of Israel out of the land of Egypt by their armies.
Wyatt shook his head apologetically. Sorry, Reverend. Im afraid my knowledge of the good book isnt that good. Though from what I do recall, when the Israelites took their leave they were heading for Canaan not Canada, and it took them forty years. If thats the colonels plan, were going to need a few more supplies.
De Witt grinned. Im not sure how Colonel Johnson would take to being compared to Moses!
Well, if Canada does turn out to be the Promised Land, Reverend, you make sure you put some of that milk and honey aside for Tewanias and me.
I surely will, Lieutenant. Itll be my pleasure.
A fresh call came from up ahead. De Witt checked his daughter was secure, took hold of the bridle from his wife, adjusted the knapsack that rested across his shoulders and, with a final nod to the Ranger, coaxed the horse into motion.
Walk on, Nell, he said.
Wyatt presumed the reverend was talking to the mare. He had a feeling the pastors daughter was called Libby.
As the preacher and his family merged with the rest of the column, the boy summoned his dog and, holding the reins in his right hand and clutching the amulet in his left, he nudged his horse forward to join them. He made no attempt to look back.
The boy shows courage, Tewanias murmured softly as he stared after the preacher and his party.
He does that, Wyatt said.
The Mohawk had spoken in English. Wyatt had long become immune to his friends arbitrary use of language. As well as English, Tewanias was competent in French and the various Iroquois dialects. There never seemed to be a logical reason why he chose to converse in any one of them in particular and Wyatt had come to suspect that Tewanias switched back and forth for no better reason than he enjoyed being contrary.
He does that, Wyatt said.
The Mohawk had spoken in English. Wyatt had long become immune to his friends arbitrary use of language. As well as English, Tewanias was competent in French and the various Iroquois dialects. There never seemed to be a logical reason why he chose to converse in any one of them in particular and Wyatt had come to suspect that Tewanias switched back and forth for no better reason than he enjoyed being contrary.
The two men waited until the remainder of the column was on the move, then made their way to where the rest of the patrol was waiting.
Wyatt immediately registered the grim expression on Donaldsons face.
What is it? he asked.
Scouts have reported back. Seems the local militias woken up. The calls gone out: all members are to collect their weapons and assemble at Johnstown.
Wyatt shook his head dismissively. They wont risk attacking us we outnumber them two to one.
Theyve sent messengers to Albany, Donaldson said.
Reinforcements, Wyatt thought. He swore softly and looked off to where the last of the column was disappearing into the trees. It was almost ninety miles to Champlain, where the vessels of the Provincial Marine were waiting. Ninety miles of near-virgin forest through which the only means of passage was a labyrinth of old military roads cut during the French-Indian wars, and ancient Iroquois trails, none of which had been adequately mapped.
The colonel had led civilians to safety through a wilderness once before, but that last occasion had involved less than two hundred souls, all of them men, most of whom had been used to living off the land. This current exodus included women and children. Adding their number to the invasion force meant there would be almost seven hundred bodies on the move; the majority of them on foot. Wyatt thought about the pastor and his implicit faith in God and of the forces that would be arrayed against them.
Better start praying now, Reverend. Were going to need all the help we can get.
3
December 1812
It was just after eight oclock in the evening when Captain Maynard Curtiss of the 11th Regiment of Infantry emerged on to a darkened Church Street. As the door to the club closed softly behind him, he buttoned up his greatcoat, adjusted his hat and awarded himself a wide grin of satisfaction. He had just spent the last hour with a very attractive and, it had to be said, rather energetic young lady by the name of Jessica, and he was feeling not only replete but somewhat over-awed by the dexterity of his own performance.
Admittedly, Jessie was a whore and thus her enthusiasm and the praise shed lavished upon him for the pleasure hed provided during their riotous coupling might have had more to do with the fact that she was being paid for her time rather than it being a true reflection of her clients expertise between the sheets. But that knowledge in no way detracted from the captains sense of well-being as he made his way down the quiet moonlit street.
To counteract the cold breeze that was coming in off the river, he turned up his coat collar. Increasing his stride, he headed for the alleyway and the shortcut between Church Street and Court Street that would lead him to his eventual destination, the South Ferry terminal. There was a hint of rain in the air and he had no desire to be caught out in the wet.
The alley was empty and the tread of the captains footsteps seemed to echo in the darkness. A few people had been out on the main streets, wrapped up against the cold as theyd hurried off to hearth and home. In this less salubrious part of the town, the citizens most liable to be abroad were either drinkers or parlour-house punters like the captain. Given the distinct nip in the air, even these hardy souls preferred to remain indoors, in the warmth, indulging in their chosen pastime. The only others willing to brave the cold were the prospective passengers heading for the last ferry to Greenbush before the service shut down for the night.
Curtiss had travelled not more than fifty paces when he realized that he might have company. It wasnt any particular sound that had alerted him to the possibility. More a feeling in his bones, a sense that someone was watching.
He paused and stole a quick glance over his shoulder. A stooped figure, clearly the worse for wear, a knapsack across its back, was weaving unsteadily down the alleyway towards him, left hand outstretched, using the wall as guidance. There was a brief silvery glint as a beam of moonlight glanced off an object held in the figures right hand. Curtiss felt a flash of fear until he saw that the reflection had come not from a blade but from a glass bottle. As he watched, the figure lifted the bottle to its lips and took a hefty swig from the contents, almost overbalancing in the process, despite the fact that one hand was still braced against the brickwork.
Grimacing with distaste at such a pathetic display of drunkenness, the captain turned and continued on his way, keen to return to the comfort of his billet, there to enjoy one last tot of whiskey and to bask in the warm memory of his recent exertions before he finally retired for the night.
Another thirty paces and it occurred to Curtiss that, whoever the drunk was, his footsteps were inaudible. This struck Curtiss as unusual, given the noise his own boots were making as they scuffed their way through the dirt and the occasional puddle. Not unduly concerned, more curious than suspicious, he turned again, half-expecting to see a comatose form sprawled face down in the dirt several yards behind him.
It wasnt the sight of the figure looming two feet away from him that caused the captain to take a quick step back so much as the knowledge that the man had managed to cover the distance between them not only in a matter of seconds but in total silence as well.
There were no street lamps in the alleyway. That convenience had yet to penetrate Albanys narrow dockside lanes. What illumination there was came from the candlelight that spilled weakly from gaps in a few badly fitting shutters and the pale moon that hung, suspended like a pearl, high above the surrounding chimney pots.
As he stared at the shadowy form before him, Curtiss had a fleeting impression of a dark-haired individual as tall as himself. The captains startled gaze flickered across what he could see of the mans features, to the dark eyes set in a hard face and the two ragged scars that ran in parallel furrows across the upper curve of the mans left cheekbone.
Curtiss never saw the blow that struck him and thus had no chance of defending himself. One second he was standing in the alley, the next he was coming to his senses, face down in the dirt, feeling as if hed just been run over by a coach and four several times.
He raised his head cautiously, and then wished he hadnt as a sharp bolt of pain lanced through his jaw and speared its way into the backs of his eyeballs. Letting out a groan, he winced and sank down again. Confused by his situation, he lay still for several seconds until the nausea had subsided and then tried again. This time, he made it as far as his knees. He reached up and felt along the side of his head. His hand came away damp and sticky and he stared blankly at the stain on the tips of his fingers. He realized, with some apprehension, that he was staring at his own blood, as black as pitch in the moonlight.