knew what might develop with the weather. 'And the Vestal?' I said. 'Do you think she sank?'
'I do, but Hans--he's a fo'c'sle hand--said he saw them get a boat or two free of her. So we'd best keep a sharp lookout.'
'Aye.' We could see the beach for a good stretch in either direction, but there were woods behind us. Yet I fancied myself in the woods and feared naught but an Indian.
'If they get her afloat again,' Diana said, 'what will you do?'
'Turn inland,' I said. 'It is a far piece to where my home lies and almost as far to Shooting Creek, but we'll be for it.
'John?' I spoke suddenly, remembering. 'There's an island in a bay not far from here where a man named Claiborne has a station. He does a bit of trade, has a pinnace or two. You might sell him some of your cargo if all is not spoiled or trade for furs. He's a good man. Cantankerous but good.'
'Aye. I know the name.'
Several of the crew were already at work on the hull; others were already manning the pumps. Leaving Diana to get together what clothes she could, for Tilly had told her to take whatever she found that was useful, I went to the pumps. Any kind of physical work was always a pleasure. I was strong and enjoyed using my strength, and the pumps were a simple matter that left one time to think.
For hours we pumped, and the water flowed from the hull in a steady stream. By nightfall we had lowered the level considerably, and one of the holes in the hull had been repaired. Other men, while not busy at the pumps, went about repairing damage to lines and rigging that had been incurred during the brief fight.
We had lost four men: two had fallen over the side, and two had been struck down on deck. How many the Vestal lost we had no idea. Our sudden broadside as they came up to use their grappling irons had been totally unexpected.
The day remained quiet and the sea calm. The sunlight was bright, not too warm, and the work went forward swiftly. In the late afternoon I went ashore and gathered fuel for the night, taking the time to scout around while doing so. The long stretch of beach and shore was empty, nor could I see any smoke or sign of life to the shoreward.
None knew better than I that while thousands of square miles of land went unoccupied and unused except by the casual hunter, Indian war parties were constantly coming and going through the country. If we escaped a visit, we would be fortunate indeed.
Over the campfire we sat together. John Tilly spoke of floating his ship on the morrow, then asked of our plans.
'I am ashore,' I said, 'and it is my world. I think we will go inland from here.'
'It is a long way.' Tilly glanced at Diana. 'Are you prepared for such a walk?'
'Where he goes, I shall go.' She smiled. 'I have walked much, Captain. At Cape Ann there were no horses nor carriages.'
'There will be savages. You understand that?'
'I do.'
Henry had come up close to the fire. I had seen but little of him these past days aboard ship, for he had stayed much by himself, leaving Diana and me to talk when we could. It was a thoughtfulness I appreciated.
He spoke now. 'And if you wish, I shall go with you.'
'We wish it, Henry,' I said. 'You will like my mountain country.'
He shrugged. 'I have no home now. There is no use returning across the sea, for much would have changed, and I have changed, also. If you will have my company, I will come with you.'
'There is one thing that yet must be done, John. As you did for my father, so I would have you do for us.'
He raised a quizzical eyebrow. 'Marry you? Aye, I will do it, lad, and be glad. She's a fine lass.'
Tom Carboy had also come up to the fire, leaving behind the work on the ship to drink a bowl of broth. 'If the lass will have me, I would be glad to stand in her father's place, to give her away.'
She looked up at him very seriously. 'Tom, had I no father of my own, I'd be glad to claim you for mine. Would you stand for him?'
The old sailor looked around, suddenly shy. 'I would, miss, I would indeed.'
'Tomorrow, then?' Tilly suggested. 'At the nooning, to give all a chance to make ready.'
I went for a walk along the shore. Was this the right way for me? Something inside me said it was so, yet I did not know. I had small experience with women and knew little of their ways except what I had observed when Lila and my mother were about, to say nothing of Noelle, young though she was, and the wives of Kane O'Hara and some others whom I'd seen. Yet being a husband could be no more difficult than some other things I'd done.
The shore was quiet, with only the rustle of the surf along the sand and the mewing of the gulls. I sat on a driftwood log and watched the water roll in and saw the moon rise over the sea.
She would be well received amongst us, and Temperance, Yance's wife, was her old friend. It was a good thing, a very good thing.
The sky was cloudless. It would be a good day on the morrow, a good day. We would launch the Abigail again, with luck, and Diana and I would be married.
There was a faint sound in the sand behind me, and I came swiftly to my feet, taking two quick steps forward before turning, a hand on a pistol.
Three Indians stood there in the moonlight, their hands by their sides. Each carried a spear, each a bow and quiver of arrows slung over a shoulder.
The nearest one, a broad man with a deep chest, spoke. The tongue was familiar.
'You are Catawba?' I asked in his tongue.
Immediately they were excited, and all began to talk until the first man lifted a hand for silence. 'You speak our words. How is this that you, a white man, speak to us in our tongue?'
'I have a friend,' I said, 'who was the friend of my father before I was born. His name was Wa-ga-su. Many Catawba have fought beside us.'
'Wa-ga-su strong man, great warrior. I know.'
'You are far from home,' I said. 'What can I do for you?'
'Eat,' he said. 'We are much hungry.'
'Come,' I said, 'and walk beside me that they will know you for a friend.'
Surely fortune was with me, for now we should have company on our long trek to Shooting Creek, for our way was also the way of the Catawba.
Chapter XX
The way of our return to the home of my people must be devious, for the Catawba had enemies, as did we. Yet I was told by the Catawba there had been no raids since the death of my father, that the Seneca bided their time. 'They will come,' he said, 'for they will wish to know if the sons are as strong as the father.'
'Let them rest beside their fires, in the lodges they have built,' I said. 'We wish to kill no more of them.'
The Catawba added sticks to the small fire. 'The old men know that times change, and they would be content with peace, but what of the young men who wish to test themselves? How better than against the sons of Barnabas?'
In the morning we would float the Abigail, and the Catawba would help. They were six strong young men, for although but three had come to the fire, three others had remained behind until it was known how they would be received. Had they known I was a son of Barnabas, they would all have come at once, for had not the Catawba always been the friend of the white man? And did not the sons of Barnabas know this?
'Many white men do not know the Catawba are friendly, and to them all Indians look alike, so be careful whom you approach.'
The Catawba smiled cheerfully. 'So we came to one man alone. If one man is unfriendly, he is easier to kill than many.'
They looked at Diana. 'She is your woman?'
'Tomorrow she becomes my woman. You have come in time.'
'What do they say?' Diana asked.
My smile was wide when I told her the question and my answer. She flushed. 'You have not asked me!'
