“And yes, it is likely there will be many slaves bought and sold up there.”
Seeing Emmy’s interest increase with this response, Whitefall went on. “In response to what you haven’t asked yet…the answer is a resounding no...we don’t send troops to accompany citizens, especially those that are not subjects of her majesty, into the wilds on ‘recovery expeditions,’ as you referred to it.”
Undeterred, Emmy leaned forward, “Captain, I can compensate the crown quite well for its efforts and expense.”
Whitefall handed his commanding officer’s letter back to Emmy.
“Madame, I am so sorry you were misguided by my commanding officer’s ambiguous response to your recent query. Unfortunately, he is not here now... detained with all of the senior officers in Esquimalt.”
He smiled to himself at some secret.
“Confidential business I cannot discuss, I’m afraid. I have only one company to keep the peace up here, in any case.”
Emmy persisted, trying another tack. “Captain, I have been told that the Northerners likely will be trading slaves at this potlatch.”
The mention of the Northerners turned Whitefall, but he recovered, countering, “If the Northerners truly were to be sighted up here, of course it would be our obligation to make every effort to bring them to justice, Madame. But I do not have the authority to put my troops or the good people depending on this fort at risk based on rumors.”
He stood, walked past her, and opened the door.
“I’m sorry for your losses and the disappointment my response provokes, Madame. But that’s life, is it not? You can wait for Colonel Pardeen to return, if you like. But I doubt he will countermand this decision.”
He smiled confidently, certain he had made his point. “Please make your passage way back home safely.”
Emmy stood, embarrassed by his dismissal.
She addressed Whitefall’s mention of “confidential matters.”
“Captain, the rumors betray your government’s intentions to occupy San Juan Island, which is American territory. You may meet your match, knowing the resolve of your counterpart, Captain Pickett.”
She looked at the image of Victoria on the wall.
“That said, I say to you as I said to him, and with all due respect to you … and to your queen, I will find a way to get to the Tsimshian potlatch. With or without the military’s help. Thank you in advance for not interfering with what I intend to accomplish. It’s my son, not yours.”
Emmy turned and departed, leaving the Brit captain with the same stunned expression she provoked from Pickett.
Returning to the inn, she re-read Pickett’s letter of introduction to a potential guide, a native named MaNuita’sta. As hesitant as she was to invoke the help of an unknown aborigine, she gave the letter to the innkeeper to be forwarded.
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
The Red Pelican was a simple establishment, with rudimentary accommodations on the landing above the dining area.
The tavern filled with a rowdy lot by the early evening, and the noise from the customers usually continued well into the night. Emmy and Sarah took most of their meals in their tiny quarters, awaiting the return of the commander in the following week.
Emmy had asked the innkeeper, Edward Edween, a mousy, nosey, but proper enough cockney Brit, to query locals for any news of Northerner raiding parties and captives.
The next day she told Edween to spread the word that a reward would be given for good information leading to Jacob’s return. She also conveyed an interest in hiring able men should she need assistance to travel to the Tsimshian winter camp upriver.
On the fourth evening, Edween notified Emmy he had heard some rumors that might be of interest. He suggested she speak directly with the source, a trapper named Rene Marté, who occasionally passed through the region and had come into town to meet the Pietrevos with some trading items.
Initially encouraged, Emmy noticed that Edween seemed hesitant.
“You have concerns, Mr. Edween?”
The innkeeper nodded, “Yes, ma’am, I do. These are rough men, and there are stories that Marté hangs with all sorts. And doesn’t confine his trade to furs. No, ma’am. That’s all I know for sure, but I believe it.”
He said that Marté had heard about Emmy’s quest and sent word that he would visit the Pelican that evening.
Emmy and Sarah took dinner in the tavern main room that night and, as the pub filled with village locals—a filthy, surly lot—waited for the appearance of Marté.
She noted that Sarah was fascinated with the characters and struck up a conversation with a black robe named Tomas DeSetre, S.J., who had just come from working with the Haida on the Queen Charlottes.
The priest, a Frenchman from Nance with a soft voice and sad, weary eyes, spoke of the great skill and elegant craftsmanship of the Haida people and did not believe any of the aborigines with whom he had lived could ever be responsible for heinous crimes.
“Still, they can be childlike and, as such, quite vengeful in perceived wrongs,” he noted.
He gave Emmy and Sarah a blessing and told them he believed that God would watch over them, even in the most extreme of circumstances.
“And may God and the Virgin keep you free from sin, especially near the moment of your death,” he said.
Emmy was not pleased with this.
“Father DeSetre, I don’t need blessings for which I haven’t asked.”
Embarrassed, DeSetre apologized quietly and turned back to his meal.
Sarah also introduced herself to a man at another table, a ragtag also dressed in a black robe, who introduced himself as Marano Levi, a converted Jew preaching for the Jesus he had found in his world travels.
He told her he had lived in the region for three years and was convinced that the Haida were one of the lost tribes of Israel.
