There was a shout, then running feet, and I was the first to reach them, running, sword drawn, expecting to find Indians or Bardle men.
Jublain was only an instant behind me, and Watkins came from the woods further along the shore.
'Look out for his tail,' I warned. Where had I heard that? 'He'll use it to knock you into the water or break your legs.'
The big beast stood, half out of the water, staring at us with gleaming reddish eyes, his jaws opening and closing. The smell of blood and death drew him, yet our increasing numbers must have brought some thread of caution into his brain, for he stared at us, his eyes going from one to the other until I thought he might charge.
At my feet was a broken, rotting chunk of wood, and picking it up, I dashed it against his head. My shot was good, and it struck hard. He snorted and made an angry dash of no more than two feet, then retreated slowly, reluctantly, into the water.
'What is it, Abby?' I asked.
'There's a man ... he's not dead, I believe.'
I walked past to where her finger pointed, and Jublain, sword still in hand, came to stand beside me.
The wounded man was an Indian, and of a type I had not seen before. He was a big man, well made, but from the marks upon his body he had been wounded, then tortured, and had somehow escaped.
'Get four men,' I said, 'and have them bring a litter. We'll take him to the fort.'
'A savage? Inside our fort?' Jublain protested. 'If he lives he'll betray us.'
'Nonetheless, we'll try to save him. He escaped them somehow; he's come a long distance. If a man in such condition can do so much, he deserves to live.'
Chapter 17
That the Indian had lost much blood was apparent, for he had been shot with an arrow in the back of the head, the stone arrowhead almost burying itself in the bone behind one ear.
From the looks of his skull he had been struck with a club. His black hair was matted with blood. There were many minor wounds and burns.
When he was bathed and cleaned and his wounds treated as well we might, I spoke to him, in the few words of the Eno tongue that I had learned, and he grunted something in reply, from which I gathered that he understood.
Then, touching my chest, I said, 'Barnabas,' very slowly. Indicating Lila, who stood over him, I said, 'Lila.'
Then I pointed to him. 'You?'
'Wa-ga-su,' he said.
He was wary as a trapped animal, but he was not cringing.
'Abigail and Lila,' I said. 'Be very careful. We are strangers, and to him every stranger is a possible enemy. He does not know why he is here, or why we try to make him well. He may think that we make him well only to torture him again.'
'What kind of Indian is he?' Lila asked. 'He seems to understand you.'
'Aye ... a word or two. Perhaps we can learn from him about the country to the west, for I do not think him an Indian of this area. I think he is from far away, for his stature is different, and even his facial structure, and he is of larger frame than the Eno that I have seen.'
For three days, then, I saw him but rarely, for my work was great and the time of the season was short. Our gardens were growing, and there was hope in me that we would make a good crop. For I was worried about winter.
Of furs we had but few, for most of the skins were needed in the preparation of clothing for the winter. Yet we had the skins of several foxes and some small dark animals of the weasel type that were called mink.
On the fifth day after the discovery of the savage, I went to the room where he was kept and cared for. Jublain had come with me, and suddenly the Indian began to speak in broken Spanish. It was a language Jublain well knew, having been a prisoner among them at one time.
'He is a Catawba ... whatever that is, from the west.' Jublain paused, listening. 'From the edge of the mountains.'
'Ah!' I exclaimed, with pleasure. This was what I had wished for. 'Ask him about the mountains.'
'He asks about you. How, he wonders, do you speak some words of his tongue?'
'Tell him I was once a friend of an Eno named Potaka.'
The Catawba looked at me several times as Jublain explained how Potaka and I had become friends, and how we had traded there.
'Tell him we are his friends and we would like to be friends of his people. Tell him that when he is well enough we shall, if he wishes, help him to return to his people.'
Several times I sat with him then, each time learning a few words or phrases that I might use in speaking his language. Yet I am afraid he learned my language more swiftly than I learned his. There came a day when I took him with me and showed him about the small fort.
Wa-ga-su looked at everything, but he was especially impressed with the cannon.
'Big voice!' he exclaimed suddenly.
'Aye,' I showed him one of the balls, but he was not so impressed as I had expected.
'Too big for man,' he said, 'throw away too much!'
Of course, he was right. I explained to him that the gun was for use against stockades or ships, and when he seemed to question the presence of the gun inside the fort I told him ships might come of men who were not friendly to us.
'Wa-ga-su,' I said, 'someday I shall go to live in the mountains.'
'Is good,' he said. 'I show you.'
He drew lines in the dust to show me where his country lay, and the rivers that bordered it. He showed me as well the trading paths leading cross the country that were used by all Indians. Little by little, each of us learned more of the language of the other, and he warned me that his enemies would be searching for him, and even now might be lurking in the woods around us.
'What enemies come after you?'
'Tuscarora ... they are many. Great fighters.'
'You are safe here, Wa-ga-su. And when you are well, we will take you to your people or put you far upon the way.'
Little by little I got the story of his escape. They had captured him while hunting, had tortured him for three days, making each day worse. Then they had tied him to a stake for burning. Using his two feet he had edged a burning brand around, working with the still unburned end, and tilting it, got it to fall against the rawhide that held his ankles. His legs free, he had somehow gotten free his hands, sprang through the flames at the back, and run into the woods.
They had immediately followed, but he eluded them. Then, wounded, sick, exhausted, he had fallen down near the edge of the swamp, where, smelling blood, the alligator had come for him.
With the coming of night the great gates to our fort were closed and barred. The smaller gate which opened on the river side was also barred. Two sentries walked the walls at night, and a system of signals was arranged with those men who remained aboard the fluyt, where a watch was also kept.
Nothing in my nature permitted me to trust to fortune, for it was my belief that good luck came to those who work hard and plan well. So far we had remained free from trouble with Indians. Hopefully, it would remain so.
Each night a different man was officer of the watch, a duty I divided with Jublain, Pirnmerton Burke, and Sakim. On this night, Pim was on duty, and he awakened me at a few minutes past midnight.
'Barnabas? Can you come?'
'What is it?' As ever, I was immediately awake.
'I don't know. But you'd better come.'
He disappeared soundlessly. I got up and began quickly dressing.
'What is it, Barnabas?' Abigail was awake.
'I don't know. But I fear it is trouble, for Pim is not easily alarmed.'
Taking up my pistols, buckling on my sword, and then taking a musket, I slipped out into the night. Behind me
