the same green color as the bird's feathers had been.' Caleb was still enjoying his thoughts when the canoe made a grinding sound in the mud. With his mind thus distracted he jumped from the canoe to pull it up on shore.
As soon as he landed he felt something move beneath his feet then felt a sharp pain in his leg. A blur went past Caleb's eyes then he saw Kawliga's
tomahawk embedded in the ground in front of the canoe. A headless snake laid writhing and flopping in coils.
'Let's see the bite,' Kawliga said as he lay Caleb flat and using his knife cut the lacings on Caleb's moccasins and then split his trouser's leg. A red whelp was present and one small dot of blood. Not two dots, but one.
Jubal wiped the spot of blood away.
'Not deep, just enough to draw blood and looks like only one fang.'
Kawliga walked back over to where the dead snake lay. A large bulge was around the snake's middle. The Indian slit open the snake and a rat fel to the ground.
'Snake not long eat, broke fang. Snake slow with full bel y. Caleb get sick maybe, not likely die.' Kawliga then walked a few steps to a plant. 'See plant, snake root. You chew root you not die,' he said as he dug up the root. 'You chew.'
'I'm damn glad to know your expert opinion,' Caleb said, trying not to show the pain he was feeling from his throbbing leg and also trying not to gag on the root he chewed.
Jubal broke into a laugh, 'Look here, this canebrake had thirteen rattles. That's the same number of colonies we got. You've done been bit by a colonial rattlesnake Caleb.' Dagan burst out laughing and in spite of his pain, so did Caleb.
Kawliga's prophecy proved true. Caleb lived but his leg did swell and was very sore as the group made their way down the long stretch of wharfs after finally reaching Charlestown.
'Damme,' Dagan said, 'place looks like a floating market.'
Bay Street was lined with wholesale stores and residences that ran parallel to the Cooper River. The river was choked with brigantines, sloops, and schooners from abroad. Tied-up as they were, there was little hope of escaping any enterprising British naval patrol.
From up river, barges, dugouts, and canoes made their way down from the interior full of country produce to be sold to the town folks.
Negro slaves were everywhere. A few Cherokee Indians were also about so no one paid much attention to Kawliga.
'Look!' Caleb tapped Dagan and pointed to a man holding a sign: 'Mary McDowell s most notorious brothel for lewd women – Pinckney Street.'
'What's a brothel?' Jubal asked.
Both Caleb and Dagan turned and stared at the boy. For once, both were speechless. 'Your Pa will tell you about it,' Dagan finally managed to say.
'Why can't you?'
'Well, some things need to be discussed between a father and son.'
'But Pa ain't here.'
'You'll see him soon enough.'
'You just don't want to tell me. Well, I recon I'll just go over to Pinckney Street and find out.'
'Huhmm…' Caleb said, 'Might not be too bad an idea.'
'Shut up Caleb,' Dagan said, then turned to Jubal,
'You ever read the Bible?'
But before he could explain further, Jubal cried out,
'Mr. Frances…Mr. Frances over here.'
Dagan was both relieved and concerned. Relieved he didn't have to explain what a brothel was but concerned about meeting the enemy. He had the letter of introduction but had hoped he wouldn't need it.
Now he was facing Frances Marion, a Colonial colonel.
Marion was a smallish man. He wore a crimson jacket and a battered helmet with a silver crescent and the words 'liberty or death' was on his head. He had a slight limp. Seeing the limp was noticed, Marion said by way of explanation, 'Broke my ankle during the battle of Fort Moultrie.'
'I see,' Dagan said trying to decide how to proceed with this man who could have him thrown in prison, or worse…shot. After a second Dagan decided to be truthful and straightforward. 'Colonel, I'm a British sailor. I'm looking for my nephew who commands a British warship. I have a letter for you from my uncle, Andre, Jubal's father whom I believe you know well.' Without the slightest change in his facial expression and demeanor, Marion said, 'Well, it appears we have
a bit to discuss. Let's move to a place more suitable than the Bay Street wharf. I know of a nice little tavern that puts together a fantastic frogmore stew. Shall we go?' Dagan had no knowledge of what frogmore stew was but felt compel ed to follow the man known as the Swamp Fox as he limped off toward the tavern.
Marion read Andre's letter and listened to Dagan's story. Then he said, 'I'll get you to Beaufort…if I have your word you'll collect your nephew and be off. No spying, no sabotage, just get your kin and get.'
'You have my word,' Dagan replied solemnly.
'We will protect ourselves if we have to but otherwise we'll avoid trouble when we can.'
'Fair enough,' Marion stated, 'Wait here til you hear from my messenger.'
In less than an hour, a man approached Dagan's group as they sat around a table at the tavern where Marion had left them. He was dressed in buckskin britches, a homespun Woolsey shirt and an ill -fitting crimson jacket that bore a silver crescent, the mark of South Carolina 's second regiment.
In a low voice the man spoke, 'You the Britishers?' When Dagan nodded his answer the man said,
'Colonel Marion sent me to guide you to fetch your kin and keep you outta trouble whilst we's about it. Name's Rud.'
'How shall we travel?' Dagan inquired.
'It'd be quicker to take a boat,' the man said, 'But that'd attract more attention to us so's we'll go overland but stay off the main road. The colonel gave me a pass in case we get stopped and questioned. But, he reckons it best we try to avoid any ’sojers' if possible.'
'How long will it take?' Dagan asked as the rest of the group remained silent.
'Pends on if you can keep up,' Rud answered. He had noted Caleb favoring his leg. 'Day, maybe two.' Finishing his tankard of ale, Caleb stood and stepped around the table. 'When can we leave?' he asked.
'Quick as you get your plunder together,' Rud replied, 'There's still enough light left we can make our way outta the city and have a good jump on the morrow.'
Chapter Nine
Someone was screaming. Screams intermingled with cries and loud sobs. As Gabe tried to clear the fog from his brain he could hear the cries. They were muffled but close by, women-the cries were women-
and seemed to be coming beyond the wall where Gabe had been laying. As he reached to touch the back of his head he felt a weight tugging at his arms. He was manacled. A chain went from wrist to wrist, then another was around his waist and still another attached the chains shackling his arms to the one around his waist. The chain around his waist had a tail and was attached to something. It was dark in his prison so Gabe on his knees followed the length of chain to a wall.
About three feet off the hardwood floor he found the chain was attached to a large ring bolt. Not unlike that on a slaver they'd taken as a prize last year.
