neck.
Choking, Jake grabbed his Segallas from his pocket and pounded the brute’s temple with it. Somehow, the trapper realized that he was being show leniency and let go; Jake rose shakily to his feet, coughing as he caught his breath.
“ Your anger would be much better directed toward the British, my friend,” Jake told him in French. “I’m an American patriot.”
“ So?” The man answered in English.
“ I want to make a deal for your coat. I need to travel south,” said Jake. “And I’d prefer not to stand out with all these British soldiers about.”
“ I hate the damned British,” said the man.
“ As do I.”
“ They’ve cheated me of my meat. I was not even paid. All I have left is my canoe.”
“ Perhaps, if we were traveling in the same direction,” said Jake, sensing the possibility of an arrangement, “we could establish a coalition to our mutual benefit. How much was the meat worth?”
“ I don’t need your money,” said the trapper.
But those are the words one speaks only as a precursor to true deal-making. For a sum of three guineas and ten shillings, the trapper agreed to give him new clothes and take him south on the river and then the lake, all the way to American lines. Besides the coins, his motivation seemed to be some modicum of revenge against the soldiers.
Their negotiations concluded, the man’s manner changed. Softened was not quite the word, but the conclusion of the bargain initiated something akin to friendship. Men who live in the woods have a certain code of business that differs greatly from that followed in the city. It is not merely a matter of honor, but of fellowship, to conclude a deal with someone as if more than money or fur skins were at stake.
The trapper called himself Leal le Cougar, or the Cougar. Jake realized only gradually that le couguar was not a nickname but rather an acknowledgement of blood lines. For Leal was not fully French but part Indian, a descendant of the Black Minqua who had once populated the north-central stretches of the province of New York. These Indians — called the Eire or cat nation by fellow Iroquoian speakers — had been devastated by war with the Five Nations prior to the arrival of whites in the province. Those who had not been killed or adopted by the victorious tribes were scattered widely, ghostly remnants of a once-proud and thriving people.
His canoe and gear had been stowed a short distance away, along the bank of a creek that led to the river. Leal gave Jake a short woolen jacket and smock made of white kersey, along with some leggings that fell over his shoes; he lacked only the addition of a toque to appear quite a Wildman. This was soon supplied, and together they put the dugout canoe into the water and set off.
They pulled onto a small bed of sand along the shoreline to spend the night. After helping gather wood for a fire, Jake felt compelled to apologize for the way in which they’d met. He admired the man’s courage and decision to help him; he was impressed by his strength and knowledge of the woods.
Leal nodded but said nothing.
Dinner consisted of green berries, some hard bread, and fish they caught in a small pool near the stream bed. Capturing the fish was not an easy task. The two men worked as a team, Jake armed with a large rock and Leal leaning over with a long, arrow like spear or harpoon, ready to pounce as soon as Jake let the rock fly. In theory, the blow was to stun the fish, making them easier to stab; the reality was that the splash and subsequent shock wave made them difficult to see and alerted others to stay clear. They managed to get only two before the light failed.
Leal insisted that his companion have the larger, though the adjective exaggerates its size. Jake compensated by taking less bread. He was famished, and it took all his willpower to eat the fish slowly, lest Leal offer him his own.
When they were done, Leal took out a pipe and a small bit of rope tobacco obviously obtained in trade from a soldier. Ordinarily, Jake did not smoke, but it would have been ill-mannered to refuse; he took a very short breath and even then fell to coughing.
The half-breed smiled, and took back the long, smooth pipe. “I bought this from a Dutchman,” he said in English before falling silent again.
They were quiet a long time before Leal spoke again.
My mother’s mother was Erie, but I have some Delaware blood as well, two grandfathers back. The Delaware at the fathers of all in these lands, the ancient people. But there is no longer any respect for the grandfather tribe.
“ Do you see the stars above? The children have gone there. They go after dancing the bear dance. On the fifth night of the winter ceremony, the old men sing their song and wish for the same deliverance. Someday, I too will sing.”
Leal fell silent again, smoking. Jake, greatly fatigued, leaned down to the sand and began nodding off to sleep. The fire was warm on his face, and the woods behind him sheltered him from the wind.
He woke to find a heavy blanket thrown over him. Leal was sitting silently by the canoe. The sun had been up for at least an hour.
“ We must leave,” said the trapper. “We are not far from St. Jean, and it would be better to pass early.”
Jake nodded and took his station in front of the canoe. His stomach was empty, and though the hollow sensation sharpened his senses, still he would have liked at least a biscuit to soften the gnawing.
With every stroke of the paddles, the river widened; they were approaching the start of the lake. The shoreline to their right began to open, and all at once, as if part of a staged pageant, the settlement appeared. There were hundreds of soldiers and workers here, a veritable armada being fitted out for the pending invasion of New York.
It was as if the Royal Navy had taken up its great Atlantic fleet, miniaturized it by two-thirds, and set it down at the tip of Lake Champlain. The Inflexible, a ship capable of carrying twenty guns, sat at the head of the line, tugging and pulling in the running water. Behind her, men worked feverishly to outfit and arm a much newer craft, the Royal George. She would be dwarfed in the Atlantic, but here her twelve-pound iron cannon would batter anything the Americans could put against her.
The squadron included three ships that last year had belonged to the Americans — the Washington, the Lee, and the New Jersey. Directly in front of the fort — the sloping words were much less impressive than the navy, if that was any consolation — was a square, odd-looking ketch called Thunderer, a floating artillery battery designed to help break the walls of Ticonderoga.
Jake amused himself by considering how quickly the ship would find the bottom with the assistance of a well-placed explosive charge. But he gave no real thought to undertaking sabotage; he had a more important job downstream.
They were paddling through an armed camp, the river choked with redcoats. The great confusion of the traffic served them well; they passed the fort without once being challenged, if one excepts the crude curses of a British sailor in a skiff who felt they’d cut him off.
A small patrol in a whaleboat rigged with a sail pulled alongside a few miles south. Leal answered their hail in Mahican first, and then a bit of Iroquois, before going to English and explaining, very haltingly, that they were headed south to Crown Point, sent by Burgoyne to serve as guides. Jake had his pocket pistol steadied on his knee under the hunting shirt, but it wasn’t necessary; and entire regiment of patriots could pass here if only they uttered the magic word “Burgoyne.”
Their easy passage and his speedy progress did not console Jake, who realized now that the intelligence he was returning with for Flanagan and Schuyler would bring little comfort. The Americans needed months and perhaps years to adequately prepare for such an invasion force. And even if it were met successfully, Howe’s attack from Manhattan would threaten disaster.
The message had to be stopped. The war would be lost otherwise.
Jake spent the entire afternoon studying the roadway along the lake, trying to will his nemesis to appear — but even as strong a will as Jake’s could not work miracles. Though Leal assured him that the highway was the only reliable road to Hubbardton, he began to fear Herstraw had found some other way south.
