Into what limbo? To what awful death?
The green and beautiful shores took on a horror with their blank, unyielding, unspeaking faces. We looked, and our eyes told us nothing, for we could not see beyond the leaves, beyond the vines.
My eyes sought the stream where lay the old hulk where once I'd taken shelter.
What brought that vessel to its end? Where were its crew? Where its cargo? To what mysterious end had it come at last, in this lonely place?
How lonely? How many eyes might peer from behind that screen of branches? How many might lie in wait for our coming ashore?
The fluyt was alone. No help would be forthcoming if grief came to our side.
There was no warship to come, no signal could bring help. Whatever might be done we must do.
'Blue,' I said at last, 'let's go south to the other sound. They might be awaiting us there.'
'Aye,' he said gloomily, and I loved him for his sadness.
All aboard were strangely silent No voice was raised in ribaldry or song, no loud hails were given out. Men walked quietly, understanding my worry and my doubt.
We edged again past Roanoke Island and into the larger sound. We saw no sail, no masthead beyond the trees. Two large rivers opened into the sound. Cautiously, we ventured into the nearest. Scarcely had we entered the mouth of this river that flowed from the west than another appeared, flowing down from the north. We held to the center of the river, taking soundings as we moved, and passed the point where the two rivers joined. We had gone past it only a short distance when suddenly, Blue, who was aloft, shouted.
'Cap'n? There's a wreck on the starb'rd beam! Burned ship, two points abaft the beam!'
I ran to the rail. It was there, lying on the western side of a small inlet or rivermouth. The current was not strong, yet there were mudbanks on either side.
'I'll go ashore,' I told Blue, 'and do you stay with the ship. Drop the anchor and wait, but keep a sharp lookout.'
John Tilly came with me, and six good men, armed with musket and cutlass.
As the boat drew nearer we could see the ship's bow was firmly wedged into the mudbank. Either she had come in under some sail, driving hard on the mud, or else there had been a good deal of a pile-up after she struck.
Only the hulk remained, burned near to the waterline with the charred butt of a mast overside and some broken spars about Tilly pointed. 'She was under fire, Captain. See the hole?'
There was a hole in the hull, right at the waterline, and I could see the top of another just below the water's edge. She had been hard hit, probably aflame before she struck.
'They drove her in a-purpose,' Luke said suddenly. 'They were wishful of getting ashore, I'm thinkin'.'
Suddenly, I had a rush of hope. We edged in close and made fast to the hull, then Tilly, Luke, and I climbed over the wreckage to the shore. There had been a hard rain, and what tracks had been left, if any, had been washed away.
Slowly, we wandered about. Nothing ... no single sign of anything that might have lived beyond the wreck, beyond the fire. Yet, the fact remained. Somebody could have made it ashore. There had been a daring lot aboard. For fearlessness in the face of danger, for ingenuity at survival, for skill in hand-to-hand combat, I could have wished Abigail in no better hands than those who sailed with her ... if they had lived long enough to help.
'Go back to the boat, Tilly,' I said. 'We have come too late.'
'It was your ship then?'
'Aye, and a fine lot of men aboard, and the girl who was to be my wife, and her father, a good man, a fine man. All gone.'
'They might still live, Barnabas.'
It was the only time he'd ever used my given name, and I looked up at him, seeing the sympathy in the man.
Luke had started back to the wreck. Now he called out, 'Cap'n ... look!'
I turned at his outstretched arm and pointing finger.
They stood there, a small and haggard band, on the edge of the forest. Some were still within the trees, but Jeremy Ring was there, and Sakim, and Black Tom Watkins, and--
She came from the forest and walked through the small group and stood there, staring toward me, a shabby, soiled, woebegone little figure.
Abigail ...
Chapter 15
Her face was burned by the sun, her nose was peeling, she was scratched and torn, and her dress was in tatters. She stood quietly looking at me, surrounded by her ragged, half-naked band ... all armed.
'I knew you'd come,' she said simply. 'I told them you'd come.'
I went to her then across the sand, and took her in my arms, and so we stood for several minutes while the others filed past us, not looking, not speaking.
How many there were or who they were I did not know until later. At that moment I could think only of Abigail. Yet one question I did ask, and feared for the answer.
'Your father?'
'He is dead. He was killed in the attack. He told me to run her aground, to get away, and to wait for you. He told me that you'd come. He had great faith in you, Barnabas.'
'I should have been here before, but so much has happened.'
'Was it so very bad ... in Newgate?'
'Nothing. Nothing to this, to what you have been through.'
We turned then and walked to the boat, hand in hand.
For the first time I looked around. Pim was there, a wicked scar across his face now, and Sakim, looking no different than I saw him last, only a little thinner.
And there, too, was Jublain, the companion of my first venture from the fens.
'We shall go aboard now,' I said.
Hours later, when Abigail had bathed and changed to fresh clothing we found aboard (for there was much loot in the hold), the story was told.
Their voyage had been smooth, easy. They had crossed the Atlantic in sixty-five days, making their first landfall far to the north, and seeing no other sails until close in to the coast of Raleigh's land when they saw topm'sts over the horizon that soon disappeared.
Knowing that if I did join them it might be many weeks, they had looked about for a location for a trading post, aware that such was my intent. They found several, one of them on a creek just a little farther along the river from where we were now anchored.
It was a few square miles of solid earth among the swamps that lay all about, with thick forests of cypress, bays, and myrtles, laden with Spanish moss and tropical vines. It was a place with a good breeze down the river, easy of access by boat or canoe.
They had run some lines off to a couple of huge old cypresses, and going ashore, had begun felling logs and clearing land.
They had been so occupied when Nick Bardle and his men appeared. They had left the Jolly Jack anchored out of sight in a small bay, and had slipped through winding waterways to the river above the ship, crossing the river at night and concealing themselves under overhanging cypresses. Just before daylight they pushed off and drifted down upon the silent ship.
Unknown to Bardle, Jublain and seven others had slept ashore to be prepared for an early start, trimming logs for the fort they were to build. When the attack began they had already gone into the woods to select trees for felling.
With only an instant's warning, Tempany cut his lines and attempted to get away downstream, hoisting canvas, and trying to deflect his guns to bring them to bear on the boats. Yet this Bardle had expected, and suddenly the Jolly Jack appeared in the rivermouth, cutting off any retreat. A broadside toppled the mainm'st and holed the ship in three places. With water rushing in, no chance of escape, with her father badly wounded, Abigail had herself ordered the ship run aground.
