The Sot-Weed Factor (51 page)

"I had thought the Governor's note were sufficient persuasion," he said, "but here is logic keen enough to sway the most adamant of Jesuits! Produce the Journal, an it please you!"

Though he had anticipated some sort of threat, Ebenezer was so shaken by this move that he could not even gasp.

Father Smith stared round-eyed at the knife and licked his lips. "I shan't be the first to perish in the service of the Society."

Even to Ebenezer this remark sounded more experimental than defiant. Burlingame smiled. " 'Twas a coward indeed that feared a clean stroke of the dirk! E'en Father FitzMaurice had a harder lot, to say naught of Catherine on her wheel or Lawrence on his griddle: what would it avail me to let you join their company? I'd be no nearer the Journal than I am."

"Then 'tis some torture you have in mind?" Father Smith murmured. "We Christians are no strangers there, either."

"Most especially the Holy Roman Church," Burlingame said cynically, "that hath authored such delights as never Saracen could devise!" Not taking his eyes from the priest, he proceeded to describe, perhaps for Ebenezer's benefit, various persuasions resorted to by the agents of the Inquisition: the strappado, the
aselli,
the
escalera,
the
potro,
the
tablillas,
the rack, the Iron Maiden, the hot brick, the Gehenna, and others. The Laureate was impressed enough by this recital, though it made him feel no easier about the business at hand. Father Smith sat stonily throughout.

"Yet these are all refinements for the connoisseur," Burlingame declared. "Who inflicts them savors his victim's pain as an end, not as a means, and I've nor taste nor time for such a game." Still thumbing the knife blade he left the table -- whereat the priest gave a start despite himself -- and bolted the cabin door. "I have observed among the Caribbean pirates that they may make a man eat his own two ears for sport, or fornicate his daughter with a shortsword; but when 'tis certain information that they seek, they have recourse to a simpler and wondrous quick expedient." He advanced toward the table, knife in hand. "Since thou'rt a priest, the loss should cause you no regrets; what shall unbind your tongue, sir, is the manner of the losing. 'Tis a blow to lose a treasure in one fell stroke, but how harder to be robbed of't jewel by jewel! Must I say more?"

" 'Sblood, Henry!" Ebenezer cried, jumping to his feet. "I cannot think you mean to do't!"

"Henry,
is't?" the priest said thickly. "Thou'rt impostors after all!"

Burlingame frowned at Ebenezer. "I mean to do't, and you shall aid me. Hold him fast till I find rope to bind him!"

Although the priest showed no inclination to resist, Ebenezer could not bring himself to participate in the business. He stood about uncertainly.

"Now that I know you for an agent of John Coode," Father Smith declared, "I am prepared to suffer any pain. You shall not have the Journal from my hands."

When Burlingame growled and advanced another step, the priest snatched a letter-opener from under his papers and retreated to a farther wall, where, instead of assuming a posture of defense, he placed the point of his weapon against his heart. "Stand fast!" he cried, when Burlingame approached. "Another step and I will end my life!"

Burlingame halted. " 'Tis merely bluff."

"Hither, then, and give't the lie!"

"And do you believe your God excuses holy suicide?"

"I know not what He excuses," said the priest. " 'Tis the Church I serve, and I know well they can justify my act."

After a pause Burlingame shrugged, smiled, and replaced the
poignard
in his belt.
"Pourquoi est-ce que je tuerais un homme si loyal
à
la cause sainte?"

The priest's expression changed from defiance to incredulousness. "What did you say?"

"J'ai dit, vous avez d
é
montr
é
votre fid
é
lit
é
, et aussi votre sagesse: je ne me confie pas
à
Nicholson plus que vous. Allans, le Journal!"

This tactic mystified Ebenezer no less than Father Smith. "I cannot follow your French, Henry!" he complained. But instead of translating, Burlingame turned upon him with the
poignard
and backed him against the wall.

"You will understand anon, fool!" Henry cried, and to the still-bewildered priest he ordered,
"Fouillez cet homme pour les armes, et puts apportez le Journal!"

"What hath possessed you?" the poet demanded. Coming on the heels of all his other doubts about Burlingame, this new turn of events was particularly discomforting.

"Who are you?" asked the priest. "And what credentials can you show?"

"Parlons une langue plus douce,"
smiled Burlingame.
"Je n'ai pas d'ordres
é
crits de Baltimore, et je n'en veux pas. Vous admettrez qu'il ne soil pas la source seule de l'autorit
é
? Quant
à
mes lettres de cr
é
ance, je les porte toujours sur ma personne."
He unbuttoned his shirt and displayed the letters
MC
carved into the skin of his chest.
"Celles-ci ne sont peu connues
à
Thomas Smith?"

"Monsieur Casteene!" exclaimed Father Smith.
"Vous et
ê
s Monsieur Casteene?"

"Ainsi que vous et
ê
s Jesuit
é
,"
Henry said,
"et je peux faire plus que Baltimore ne r
ê
ve pour d
é
barrasser ce lieu de protestants anglais. V
í
vent James et Louis, et apportez-moi le sacr
é
Journal!"
. . .

"Oui, Monsieur, tout de suite! Si j'avais connu qui vous et
ê
s --"

"Mes soup
ç
ons n'ont pas
é
t
é
plus petits que les v
ô
tres, mais ils sont disparus. Cet
é
pouvantail-ci para
î
t
ê
tre loyal
à
Baltimore, mais il n'est pas catholique: s'il fait de la peine, je le tuerai. . ."

"Oui, Monsieur!"
said the delighted priest.
"Mais oui, j'apporterai le Journal tout de suite!"
He ran to unlock an iron-bound chest in one corner of the cabin.

"What in the name of Heav'n doth this mean?" cried Ebenezer, in an anguish of doubt.

"What it means," said his companion, "is that I am not this
Henry
you took me for, nor yet the Timothy Mitchell I am called. I am Monsieur Casteene!"

"Who?"

"Your fame hath not spread to London, sir," the priest laughed from the corner. He fetched a sheaf of manuscript from the chest and turned scornfully to the Laureate. "Monsieur Casteene is known throughout the length and breadth of the provinces as the Grand Enemy of the English. He hath been Governor of Canada, and fought both Andros and Nicholson in New York."

"Until my enemies gained favor with King Louis and undid me," the other said bitterly.

"Monsieur Casteene then fled to the Indians," Smith went on. "He lives among them, and hath taken to wife an Indian woman --"

"Two
Indian women, Father Smith: 'tis a sin God will forgive, in return for the massacre of Schenectady."

"I had heard you were on Colonel Hermann's manor in Cecil County," said the priest. "Is't possible Colonel Hermann too is more than just Lord Baltimore's man?"

"With faith all things are possible; at least he denied my presence, and disclaimed any knowledge of the Naked Indians."

"Then thou'rt traitors, the pair of you!" cried Ebenezer. "Thou'rt a traitor," he said specifically to his companion, "and I took you to be my dear friend Burlingame! How much doth this discrepancy explain!"

The man with the knife laughed a brief, derisive laugh and held out his hand to Father Smith for the Journal.
"Permettez-moi regarder ce livre merveilleux pour lequel j'ai risqu
é
ma vie."

The priest gave it to him eagerly, whereupon, without hesitation, Burlingame struck him such a blow upon the back of his neck that he fell senseless to the floor.

"I had not thought him such a fool. Find rope to bind him with, Eben, and we shall see what have we here ere we retire."

Further Passages from Captain John Smith's

Secret Historie of the Voiage Up the Bay

of Chesapeake:
Dorchester Discovered, and

How the Captain First Set Foot Upon It

"Come, bind him up,"
Burlingame repeated, spreading the Journal open on the table. "Already he hath commenced to stir." But seeing that Ebenezer was still too disorganized to act, he fetched some rope himself and bound the priest's hands and feet. "At least help me lift him into a chair!"

Reviving, Father Smith winced and blinked, and then stared sullenly at the Journal. He found his voice before the poet did.

"Who are you, then -- John Coode?"

Burlingame laughed. "Only Tim Mitchell, as I said at the outset, and a loyal friend of Baltimore, if not King Louis and the Pope. Thou'rt a stiff neck poorer for your lack of faith, my friend." To Ebenezer, whose turbulent features betrayed his lingering doubts, he explained further that rumors had been rife in Maryland since 1692 of the legendary Monsieur Casteene's presence near the Pennsylvania border. Colonel Augustine Hermann of Bohemia Manor in Cecil County had denied the presence of both Casteene and the so-called Stabbernowles, or "Naked Indians" of the north, but so great was the fear of general massacre at the hands of the French and the Indians -- especially in the light of Maryland and Virginia's persistent refusal to aid the beleaguered Governor Fletcher of New York and the mutual distrust among all the provincial governments -- that the rumors still persisted, and the most bizarre details of the Casteene legend, such as that of the scarified monogram on his chest, were widely believed. "I scratched those letters with my dirk this evening in Oxford," he concluded, displaying them again in the candlelight. "See how fresh they are? 'Twas a card I'd not have played in the light of day!"

Ebenezer sat weakly in a chair. "B'm'faith, how you alarmed me! I know you not from one hour to the next!"

"Nor should you try. Pour out a round of this admirable wine and reflect on what I told you at the inn some hours ago." He clapped the priest on the shoulder. " 'Tis an ungrateful guest that binds his host to a chair for the night, but there's naught for't. Besides, 'tis for that cause wherefore you'd die, and not by half so sore a martyrdom as gelding --
n'est-ce pas?"
He laughed at the priest's expression of disgust, and when the wine was poured, the guests commenced to read together the
verso
(which was in fact the original
recto)
of their prize:

Having receiv'd such cordiall use
[so this fragment of the Historie began]
at the hand of those Salvages at Accomack & those at the River of Wighcocomoco, we set out againe for the maine. . .

"That is the town of Hicktopeake he refers to," Ebenezer volunteered, though in truth he was entertaining such a mixture of feelings towards his former tutor that he spoke only out of a sort of shyness. "The Laughing King of whom I told you. The other Indians I know naught of."

"There are two rivers called
Wicomico
in Maryland," Burlingame said thoughtfully. "One near St. Mary's County on the Western Shore and one below Dorchester County. Methinks 'tis the later he intends, if he coasted up the Bay from Accomac."

. . .but for want of fresh water, in two daies had perforce to seeke out land, that we might replenishe our supplie. We found some Isles, all uninhabited & many in number, falling with a high land upon the maine.

"Haply 'twas the Calvert cliffs he chanced on," Ebenezer suggested, recalling his Island of the Seven Cities. "Let's read on."

Upon waving and going ashoar, we chanc'd on a pond of fresh water, but w
^ch
was surpassing warme. Howbeit, we were so verie thirstie, that maugre my counsell to the contrarie, to witt, that the water was doubtlesse fowle, naught w
^d
doe but my companie must fille there barricoes withal, & drinke therefrom, till that there verie gutts did slushe about. This they learn'd to regrett, but of that, more anon.

From Wighcocomoco to this place, all the coast is but low broken Isles of Moras, a myle or two in breadth, & tenne or twelve in length, & foule and stinking by reason of the stagnant waters therein. Add to w
^ch
, the aire is beclowded with vile meskitoes, that sucke at a mans bloud, as though they had never eate before. It is forsooth no countrie, for any save the Salvage. . .

"That picture doth apply to one place only," laughed Burlingame, who had read the passage aloud. "Do you know it, Father?"

And the priest, his historical curiosity aroused despite his circumstances, nodded stiffly: "The Dorset marches."

"Aye," Burlingame confirmed. "The Hooper Islands, Bloodsworth Island, and South Marsh. There is a morsel for your epic, Ebenezer: the first white man to set foot on Dorset County."

Ebenezer made perfunctory acknowledgment, but pointed out that as yet the Captain had not gone ashore and perhaps would pass the county by. He showed less petulance in his reply to the priest, who professed great interest in the document and chagrin at having been thitherto unaware of its existence, and for his sake read the remainder of it aloud.

"Being thus refresh'd, despite my warnings, in moving over to other Isles, we incounter'd the winde & waters so much increas'd with thunder, lightning, & raine, that for all my souldiers & my selfe reef'd & belay'd the sayles & lines, our mast & sayle went by the board. Such mightie waves overrack'd us in that smalle barge, that with great persuasions I induc'd our Gentlemen to occupie them selves with freeing out the water, in their halts, for that else we had fownder'd & sunke. We anchor'd, being not neare any place that promis'd safe harbour, and there we sat a miserable two daies, while the gusts did blowe, with little to nourish our selves withal, save the vile water in the barricoes.

"This same water, the w
^ch
my men had taken against my warning, prov'd to be foule indeed, for that upon slaking therewith there thirst, all the companie did growe wondrous grip'd of there bowells, and loose of there bladders,
&
took a weakness of there reins, so that they still had need of making water, & of voiding their severall bummes. Little my men did all the day long, & the night, while that we rode thus at anchor, but besmirch them selves. At length, the wether being warm, if squallie, I did order one & all to divest them selves of there breeches, the w
^ch
were beshitt past rescue, and cast them to the fishes. This they all did, but with much compleynt, most markedlie from my rivall Burlingame, who looses no opening to sowe the seedes of discontent & faction."

"Thank Heav'n he is still among the party!" Burlingame exclaimed. "I feared old John had done him in after Accomac."

" 'Tis no light matter to choose betwixt the two," Ebenezer remarked. "Captain Smith is undeniably resourceful, and no leader can indulge factiousness save at his peril."

"True enough for you," Burlingame replied curtly. "He's not your ancestor. For me there is no problem in the choice."

"We've no certain knowledge he is
your
ancestor, either," the poet said. "When all's said and done, 'tis a marvelous slender chance, is't not?"

This observation so plainly injured Burlingame that Ebenezer at once regretted making it, and apologized.

"No matter." Burlingame waved him away. "Read on."

"Being left then, with there bummes expos'd, I did command, that they set them selves over the gunwales, inasmuch as the Bay of Chesapeake was of greate size, and c
^d
accommodate them better then our barge. Yet this new command did little ease our plight, for that albeit they dropp'd there matter to the fishes, the aire round about was no lesse foul'd by there joynt labours. Naught c
^d
our D
^r
of Physick do to improve them, and I did wish heartilie to be on shoar, where with the sapp of the sweet-gumme tree & sundrie other herbes, w
^ch
grewe a-plentie in the woods thereabouts, I c
^d
have brew'd a decoction, that had bound the lot of them costive for a fortnight. Forsooth, things did worsen yet, for that the sillie men w
^d
not restrayne there thirst, but still return'd and drank farther of the water, whereon there fluxes & gripes did intensifie apace. Onely two of our number shew'd no sign of the maladie, namelie my selfe, that had not deign'd to drinke of the barricoes, but had instead made my selfe to chewe upon raw fishes, and friend Burlingame, that had drunke enough for three, but that must needs have had a grand hold on his reins, for that he never did besmirch him selfe throughout those foule two daies.

"When the storme at length overblewe us, and the wether again shew'd faire, I did with all haste order, that the sayle be repair'd, and this the companie did with right good will, using of there shirts for clouts. They were most readie to abandon the maine, and sayle for some shoar, albeit they were now naked as Father Adam, so as to put food & cleanlie water into there bellies, and pass off there fluxes at last. For the extremitie of gusts, thunder, rayne, storms, & ill wether, we did call those Straites, wherein we had for so long layn,
Limbo,
but I think, with all the farting and ill businesse that did pass there, we had better call'd them
Purgatorio.

"After a surpassing clumsie daye of sayling, making smalle headway, for the crewe must continuallie hang there bummies abeame, we fell with a prettie convenient river on the East, called Cuskarawaok. . ."

"That is a word from the Nanticoke tongue," Father Smith interrupted. "In old times it was applied to that same river we call the Nanticoke today."

"I'faith, then!" Burlingame laughed. " 'Tis precious little ground he gained for all those evil days!" He explained to Ebenezer that the Nanticoke River, which marks the boundary between Dorchester and Somerset Counties, empties into Tangier Sound conjointly with the Wicomico, from where, the record seemed to imply, Smith had departed several days previously.

"All that made the day attractive to me
[Ebenezer read on],
for it were otherwise malodourous enow, was, that Burlingames bowells did seem to commence troubling him, for that he did still wander hither to yon in the barge, his face shewing ever more discomfort, and crost & recrost his leggs, and his want of composure was a tastie thing to watch. When that he s
^hd
finallie let flie, I guess'd it w
^d
prove a spectacle in sooth, by reason of his greate corpulencie, and the lengthie space he had held fast his reins. . ."

"Cruel man," said Burlingame, "to savor so the wretch's plight! And thou'rt reading with the same ungentle relish, Eben!"

"Beg pardon." Ebenezer smiled. " 'Tis that the wonder of't stirs my interest as I read. I fancy he is about to land on Dorset."

And in a tone somewhat less partial he continued:

"We made straightwaye for shoar, but c
^d
by no means land, seeing a great bodie of Salvages appear from the woods, making everie signe of hostilitie. Whenas they sawe what manner of men we were, not having seen the like before, they ran as amaz'd from place to place, divers got into the tops of trees, and they were not sparing of there arrowes, nor the greatest passion they c
^d
expresse of there anger. Long they shot, we still ryding at Anchor without there reatch making all the signes of friendship we c
^d
. But this was a hard matter, inasmuch as for everie cheerie wave of the band I signall'd them, some souldier or Gentlemen in my companie must needs let goe a fart, w
^ch
the Salvages did take as an affront, and threwe more arrowes.

"Next day they return'd, all unarm'd, and with everie one a basket, and danc'd in a ring, to drawe us on shoar: but seeing there was naught in them save villainie, we discharg'd a volley of muskets charg'd with pistoll shot, whereat they all lay tumbling on the grownd, creeping some one way, some another, into a greate cluster of reedes hard by, where there companies lay in Ambuscado. We waited, and it seeming they had left the place, we way'd & approach'd the shoar, for that all were eager to quitt for a time our barge. My thought was, to land as quietlie as possible, catch what food & fresh water we might, & then to flie to some more cordiall place. For that reason I did command, that whereas none among my crewe c
^d
leave off his bumme-shotts, the w
^ch
w
^d
surelie give notice of our coming, then everie man, that felt the need on him, must thrust his buttockes by the board, so far as to the water, and thus immers'd, do what he w
^d
. But the first to attempt this, one Anas Todkill a souldier, had no sooner wet his hammes, then he was stung athwart the tayle by a greate Sea-Nettle, a sort of white jellie-fish w
^ch
doth occur in number in these waters, raysing upon his buttockes a red welt, and causing him payne. Whereafter, it was onely by dint of much intreatie, that I got any other man to do the same. As for Burlingame, the imminence of his coming defecation shew'd over all his face, and he durst not even speake, lest he expload; but the business of the Sea-Nettle did give him such a fright, he wrestl'd with him selfe, to hold on but a minute more, when that we s
^hd
be ashoar.

"The prowe of our barge striking land (the w
^ch
was but reedes & mudd), I flung our anchor as far inland as I c
^d
, and we did make readie to disembark. As was my wont, I stepp'd up on the spritt, and w
^d
have leapt ashoar, for that I still reserve the privilege of stepping first on everie newfound grownd, and this place was to be no exception. But Burlingame, in his passion to get off the vessell, to the end of jettisoning his filthie cargoe, did rudelie push me aside, for all I was his Captain and erst his Saviour, and assum'd the place ahead. I was on the instant wroth, at his impertinencie, and w
^d
have layd hands on him, but that at the same moment a troup of Salvages leapt from some scrubbie growth near by, and snatch'd up the anchor pendant, purposing thereby to pull us high & drie, and capture us & our vessell as well. With this turn of affaires, I was content that Burlingame s
^hd
remayne in the van, to afford the rest of us the protection of his fatt carcase."