the breed, you and I, the breed who venture always toward what lies out there--westward, onward, everward.'
We were silent then, riding the deck as it tipped and slanted. She was a good ship, even as she had been in my father's time, and she bore a good name.
'I wonder if I shall ever see her again?'
'Who, lad?'
'My mother. She went to England, you know, so that Noelle would not grow up in the forest among wild men. My father sorely missed her.'
'Aye, he did that. But she was wise, lad, wiser than all, and you'll be proud of the lass when you see her. A fine lady she is, although but a girl yet, and Brian! What a gentleman! They tell me at the Inns of Court that he has a rare way with words.'
'It is the Welsh in him. When did they not?'
'And Jeremy, lad? And Lila? Fare they well?'
'How else? Athough it be months since I have seen them. When I go south again, I shall go calling. Jeremy is a fine woodsman now and an owner of wide lands, and Lila serves no longer but is mistress of her own estate.'
'What of the lass below there?' Tilly asked. 'She has eyes for you, lad.'
I felt wary and uncomfortable. 'It may be. We have talked a bit.'
'She's a fine lass, a brave, tall girl. You'd be wise to take her, lad, if that is the way you both feel. I deem there's been trouble behind you?'
'She comes from Cape Ann ... on the coast of what they are calling New England. They thought her a witch there, and she was twice taken by slavers, the last time through sheer vengeance, dropping down of a sudden, knocking her father about and carrying her off. It was Pittingel. He wished me to see her with him, for to kill is not enough. He wanted me to suffer in my mind as well.'
'And now?'
'To her father again if he lives. What else will come we shall talk of then, but if I take her home with me, it is a far travel for a lass, far through woods and the places where savages are.'
'She'll stand to it. There's a likely craft, lad, and one to sail any sea. You can see it in the clear eyes of her and the way she carries her head. Give me always a woman with pride, and pride of being a woman. She's such a one.'
We talked then of ships and the sea and of the old ways of men upon the water, of how men measured the altitude of a star by the span of a wrist or a hand outstretched before them and how they guided themselves by the flight of birds, the fish they saw, and the way water curls around an island or a cape and shows itself as a special current in the sea. 'Ferns will fly far out to sea and rest upon the water when they wish, but the herring gulls never get more than seventy-five or eighty miles from land, and at eventide they fly toward shore to roost. When you see them winging all one way toward evening, there's land there, son, land. It has saved many a seafaring man, knowing that. Men steered by the flight of birds and found their way by the stars for these thousand years or more.'
At last I went to my bunk, but once stretched upon it, I lay long awake. Was Diana indeed the girl for me? Or was I, too, to have that westward feeling?
Jubal Sackett had it. Where was he? How far westward had he gone? Did he live yet, that brother of mine? Or did his body lie in the rich black earth beneath the trees out there near the great river of which he spoke?
We Sacketts wandered far upon the face of the world. Was there something in us truly that moved us ever westward? Did we fulfill some strange destiny? Some drive decreed by God, the wind or the tides that move across the world? Why Jubal, of us all? Why not Brian, who had gone again east? Yet I knew within me that Brian's way was westward, too. Knew? Was it the gift of which our father had spoken? The gift of second sight we sometimes had?
My father lay buried in the hills that he sought, but he died bravely there and no doubt rested well. The red men who killed him knew where his body lay, and sometimes they came there and left gifts of meat upon the grave, offerings to a brave man gone, a man who fought well and died well.
Where, in its time, would my body lie?
Westward, a voice told me, off to the westward.
So be it. Only that I lived well and strongly before that time came and left my sons to walk the trails my foot would never tread. For it is given that no man can do it all, that each must carry the future forward a few years and then pass the message on to him who follows.
There must be fine strong boys and goodly women to do what remained to be done, and Diana? Who else to be the mother of them? And the woman to walk beside me on the hills where the rhododendron grew?
Soon.
The dark shore lay off there, somewhere beyond the black wings of night; it lay there, that long white beach upon which I played as a boy. And somewhere, not far from here, was that place of which I had heard, that place upon the open sea where may lie the gates to another world. My father in his time had seen them, or was it a trick of the sun upon the sea? A mirage, perhaps? Who could know. For now we sailed off the Carolina coast. Bermuda lay off to the northeast.
When my eyes opened again, there was a shaft of sunlight falling across the deck, a shaft of sunlight that moved slowly and easily with a gentle roll of the ship. The storm had gone.
Rising from my bed, I looked out--a fair day and a fine breeze blowing.
John Tilly was on the quarterdeck when I went out to get a smell of the wind. He seemed preoccupied, so I asked no questions. Several times he glanced aloft as if expecting some signal from the lookout at the masthead.
A cabin boy came up the ladder to the quarterdeck. 'The lady, maister,' he said, 'she asks if you would break fast wi' her?'
'I will be along at once.' I turned to Tilly. 'Captain? Will you join us?'
He threw me a quick, impatient glance. 'No, eat without me. I shall be busy here.'
Diana was at the table when I came into the cabin, and I had never seen her look more lovely. John Tilly had gone into his stores and found some captured clothing taken in one of the constant sea battles. Attacked by pirates, they had proved too stiff a foe and had taken the pirate ship as prize.
There was sunlight through the stern light, and we sat long over our food, talking of many things. The cabin boy served us chocolate, the drink from Mexico of which we had heard much. Yet even as we talked, I was disturbed by Tilly's manner. Usually the most gracious of men, he had been abrupt and obviously worried.
The weather was fine. Did he sense a change? And the lookout aloft? What would he--
An enemy ship? Pirates?
Joseph Pittingel had ships, several of them. And we had evidence enough of his hatred. Had that lookout seen something? Or had John Tilly himself?
When our meal was finished, I got up. 'Diana, change into something--anything--I do not think our troubles are over.'
She wasted no time asking for explanations. Too often in emergencies had I seen people who took the time to ask 'Why' not live long enough to receive an answer.
As for myself, I went to my chest and took my two pistols and charged them anew. Then I laid out my sword and thrust a knife into my waistband. What was happening I knew not, but it was best to be prepared, to stand ready for whatever.
Off to the westward would be the Virginia or Maryland coast, how far I did not know and had best learn. Ours was a good vessel, manned by sturdy men, but the best vessel and the best men can meet their match.
When I appeared on deck, the lookout was talking to Captain Tilly. Avoiding them, I walked to the rail and looked all about. I was perfectly aware that the distance one can see from a ship's deck was limited indeed, not nearly so far as one would believe. At fifteen feet above the water I could see perhaps four and a half miles, and the lookout from the topmast could see no more than ten.
John Tilly left the lookout to return aloft and walked across the deck to me. He noted the arms. 'You do well to go armed,' he said quietly. 'I believe we shall have trouble.'
'The lookout has seen a ship?'
