The Lost Kingdom

by Matthew J. Kirby

  I looked anew at the forest beneath us, the great passages of oak, chestnut, and hickory, punctuated here and there with tall spruce and fir. I wondered what might be lurking beneath their canopy, hidden from our view. And I realized that while we could not see what was down there, what was down there could certainly see us. Beast or man. Possibly even follow us. That reminded me of what I’d seen in the streets back in Philadelphia.

  “Father, I should have told you something earlier.”

  “What is that, son?”

  “As we launched the de Terzi, I saw two men running in the streets.”

  “Oh?”

  “And before that, I felt as if we were being followed to the warehouse.”

  “I see.” My father nodded to himself. “The French have been too aware of this expedition from the beginning. I shall speak with Mr. Colden about it.”

  We watched the landscape pass beneath us for another hour or more, until we entered a wide valley. Mr. Colden and Mr. Faries began to give orders from the helm. Phineas brought the sails down by their mechanical chains and pulleys, the aeroship slowed, and then Mr. Colden called for our descent. Air vibrated the deck boards beneath my feet as it rushed into the empty spheres, and we began to lose altitude.

  I looked over the side, at the ground rising up to meet us. A creek flowed through the valley, and near its shore a small village hunkered down among several cultivated fields. I saw a few small cabins, and a few larger, longer buildings, from which tiny ant-people scurried. They all came out into the open and froze, no doubt looking up at us as we fell from the sky.

  Mr. Faries steered us toward an opening in the middle of the village, and before long it was possible to make out the features and faces of the people waiting on the ground. There were Englishmen among them, but mostly they were Indian. Men, women, and children. I had never seen so many gathered in one place. Some of the men held weapons, wooden clubs and spears. A few had muskets and long rifles. I swallowed, remembering my father’s warning.

  We could hear their excited shouts, in a language foreign to my ear, and when it became clear where we would land, they all collected there, eyes wide and mouths agape. Mr. Faries took us down until we almost touched the ground, and then we dropped our anchor, against which the de Terzi bobbed and swayed in the breeze. Most of the Society, including my father, then went below deck.

  I looked over the side at the Indians, feeling the weight of a great many eyes on me. I offered them all a vague and nervous smile and waved at no one in particular. A moment later, my father and the others came back up on deck, adjusting their coats and their wigs. Mr. Colden pulled out a rope ladder, tossed it over the side, and took a deep breath.

  “We are expected, gentlemen, but nevertheless, let us hope we find the reception we seek.” And he climbed over the side.

  Phineas followed him, wigless, with a broad grin.

  My father went next. “I’ll be waiting for you at the bottom, Billy.” That meant it was my turn.

  My heart beat against the cage of my chest as I hoisted myself up and over the rail. The ground was a lot farther down than I thought it would be, and I gripped the rope ladder so tightly my hands hurt. It seemed to dodge and weave away from my feet, but I held my breath and wriggled my way down it until I touched a toe to solid earth, surprised that it already felt odd to stand upon a floor that wasn’t in motion. Once I had recovered my bearings, I looked up at the crowd surrounding us.

  The Indians stared at us and at the de Terzi. Some of the men wore leather leggings, and some went bare-chested. Others wore woolen trousers and cotton shirts, much like mine. The women wore skirts and cotton shirts ornamented with beads, their raven hair in braids. Some of the men, too, had braids, but others had shaved most of their hair, ornamenting what was left on top with porcupine quills and feathers. Some had gold rings in their ears and even their noses. I had to keep myself from staring back at them.

  “Well, well!” came a loud bellow. The crowd parted, and a man with red hair and a red beard passed through it. He was very large, both tall and broad, but walked with an ease that belied his size. “Mr. Franklin warned us about the manner of your arrival!”

  The captain of our expedition stepped forward. “I am Cadwallader Colden. Are you George Croghan?”

  “The very same.” Beneath his beard, he had ruddy, leathered skin.

  Mr. Colden extended his hand. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Mr. Croghan.”

  Croghan eyed Mr. Colden’s hand for a brief moment before clasping it. “Likewise.”

  I noticed a young man standing just behind and to the side of Croghan. He was older than me by several years and wore a brown coat over a scarlet waistcoat. His skin and features were those of an Englishman, but a broad sweep of Indian paint encircled his face, and pendants of brass and plaited wire hung from his pierced ears. And he wore what looked to be a woman’s locket around his neck.

  Mr. Colden gestured back toward us with an open palm. “With me are some of the other members of the Philosophical Society. May I present to you Mr. Kinnersley, Mr. Godfrey, Mr. Faries, and Dr. Bond.” The Society members all nodded at the mention of their names. “Mr. Bartram and his son Billy.”

  “Bartram?”

  “Yes,” my father said.

  “John Bartram?”

  “Yes,” my father said. “You know me?”

  “I know of you,” Croghan said. He smiled, a seismic act that lifted his beard and formed a corona of lines in the skin around his eyes. “John Bartram, Flower Hunter.”

  “And hunter of incognitum and bear-wolves,” my father said. “But plants are indeed of special interest to me.”

  Croghan nodded. “Welcome to Aughwick, gentlemen. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to my trading post. Then you can tell me all about that” — he pointed at the de Terzi — “and why you’ve brought it here.”

  He ordered two of his men to stand guard at the aeroship. Then he turned and led us back the way he’d come, through the parted throng, a corridor of eyes and gazes I could not meet. I worried about leaving Jane alone on the ship, in the middle of an Indian town. But I told myself that Mr. Kinnersley’s cabin was locked and that she would be safe. We passed through the settlement, near the buildings I’d seen from the air. Croghan indicated them with a nod of his head.

  “We call them the Six Nations, and the French call them the Iroquois. But to themselves, they are the Kanonsionni, the people of the longhouse. Those are longhouses.”

  The buildings he pointed to were large, perhaps twenty feet tall and wide, and more than fifty feet long. Wide strips of bark plated the roof and the walls, and smoke rose from several openings down its length.

  “They house several families,” Croghan continued. “A matriarch and the families of all her daughters.”

  “We are aware of the customs of the Six Nations,” Mr. Colden said. “In fact, some years ago I wrote their history in two volumes. Of course, then they were the Five Nations.”

  Croghan chuckled. “You wrote their history, did you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You did.”

  “You take issue with that?”

  Croghan shrugged. “Would you read a history of England written by a Frenchman?”

  Mr. Colden’s face turned a little red. “That depends on the Frenchman.”

  Croghan chuckled again. “Maybe.”

  I noticed the young man with the painted face following us. We came to the edge of the town, and a short distance beyond we arrived at a group of cabins and large storehouses. Men armed with muskets milled around before them, standing a loose guard.

  “If things keep on their present course,” Croghan said, “I’m going to have to build a stockade or even a fort to protect my home from the French and their Indian allies.”

  “That touches the subject of our visit,” Mr. Colden said.

  “I suspected it might.” Croghan led us to the door of the largest cabin and opened it. “Please, come
into my home, gentlemen.”

  We entered a room with a long, rough table. Croghan had us all sit, and the young man with the painted face set out cups and poured beer for the Society members. When he had served everyone, he sat in a chair against the wall near the door.

  Mr. Colden cleared his throat. “This matter is quite sensitive.” He glanced toward the young man.

  “Ah,” Croghan said. “This is Andrew. He acts as my interpreter and is one of my closest associates. You may speak freely in front of him.”

  “Very well,” Mr. Colden said. And he proceeded to explain the de Terzi’s origins and the purpose of our expedition to find the people of Prince Madoc. Croghan listened with a grave expression, rubbing his beard, exchanging glances now and then with Andrew. When Mr. Colden had finished, Croghan remained silent for several minutes before speaking.

  “Let me deal plainly with you. You propose to use this flying machine to find the people of Madoc, make them allies to the English crown, and then use that alliance to either frighten or drive the French out of the Ohio Country.”

  “Those are the essentials, yes,” Mr. Colden said.

  “Do I really need to point out the problems with this plan?” Croghan said. “Or are you undeserving of your reputation as intelligent men?”

  That seemed to ruffle the members of the Society. They all sat up, and Mr. Kinnersley grunted. Mr. Faries, normally mild, slammed his cup on the table.

  Mr. Colden folded his arms. “There are risks, of course.”

  “Risks?” Croghan said. “I haven’t been to the Ohio Country since last June, when the Frenchman de Langlade led the Ottawa in a massacre at Pickawillany. They killed Chief Memeskia, my friend, because he sided with the English. Do you know how many men I’ve lost to the French and their Indian allies? Not to mention the price on my head. And you’re proposing to travel right through this same territory?”

  “Fly right through this territory,” my father said. “Well above the danger.”

  “How long did it take you to travel from Philadelphia to Aughwick?”

  “A night and a day,” Mr. Colden said.

  “Remarkable.” Croghan shook his head. “Instead of chasing some Welsh legend, you’d be better off letting me use that ship to secure my trade alliances with the Indians. That, gentlemen, is how we’ll win the Ohio. And maybe turn a profit.”

  “I can see Mr. Franklin was wrong to place any faith in you,” Mr. Colden said. “You are certainly deserving of your reputation.”

  That brought Croghan to his feet. “How dare you? You city men have no idea what it’s like out here along the frontier. You sit there, comfortable in your homes and taverns and halls of government, and you think you know what needs to be done. For God’s sake, you think you can actually write a history of the Six Nations!”

  The room was quiet after that for several moments. And then my father leaned forward.

  “I take this to mean you won’t guide us?”

  “Can’t afford to,” Croghan said. “And if you have any sense, you’ll abandon this fool’s errand and leave that ship in the hands of more capable men.”

  “You’ve read the reports,” my father said. “You’ve made some of the reports. You know Madoc’s people are out there.”

  “They may be,” Croghan said. “But I don’t know that finding them will bring any advantage. And I’m not yet desperate enough to put my faith in them.”

  “I know something of faith,” my father said. “And I know much of loss. I am here because I put my faith in this New World. I am here to prevent even greater loss.”

  I didn’t know what my father meant by that. What loss had he suffered? And why hadn’t I heard of it before?

  Croghan stared at him for a moment. And then he smiled. “John Bartram, Flower Hunter. Among these philosophers, you alone may know of what you speak.”

  “Come with us,” my father said.

  “Nay, Flower Hunter. I’ll not go.”

  At that point, Andrew rose from his chair, went to Croghan, and whispered something in his ear. Croghan leaned away and looked him in the eyes. “Are you sure?”

  Andrew nodded.

  Croghan rapped the table with his knuckle, scowling. “Very well. Go.”

  “Thank you,” Andrew said. He left the room.

  Croghan watched him go and then turned to us. “While I oppose this folly of an expedition, it seems that Andrew is willing to accompany you.”

  This took me aback. I turned to my father, who had turned to Mr. Colden.

  “I’m certain he is an able interpreter,” Mr. Colden said. “But —”

  “But nothing,” Croghan said. “He is one of the few men in the world I trust. He knows this land, he knows the customs and languages of her tribes, and he is a capable frontiersman. If you refuse him, you are even more incompetent than I gave you credit for.”

  Mr. Colden worked his lips as if he were about to say something, but nothing came out.

  “You may trust him,” my father said. “But we don’t know him. Who is he?”

  “He is the son of the renowned interpreter Madame Montour and Carondawanna, an Oneida war chief.”

  “He is part Indian?” my father asked.

  “Yes,” Croghan said.

  My father leaned back. “I would advise against this, Cadwallader.”

  Croghan’s voice sharpened. “Why?”

  Mr. Colden said nothing.

  “Cadwallader,” my father said. “We discussed this. No Indian guides. It is too risky.”

  “You don’t trust Indians, Flower Hunter?” Croghan asked.

  “No, Mr. Croghan, I do not.”

  “Without a guide, I promise, you won’t make it,” Croghan said. “There’s a reason Franklin sent you to persuade me.”

  “He’s right, John,” Mr. Colden finally said.

  Next to me, I could feel a nervous bouncing in my father’s leg beneath the table. “I strongly oppose this,” he said. “What if we take this Indian into our confidence, and he betrays us to the French?”

  Croghan’s expression acquired a subtle menace. “You judge my friend harshly with very little knowledge of him.”

  “It is nothing personal,” my father said. “It is all Indians. As a race, they are irredeemable.”

  “Is that so?” Croghan asked.

  “I know what lies in their hearts,” my father said. “Let me tell you about …”

  His words fell off as an Indian woman entered the cabin. She was tall and she was beautiful. She carried an infant girl in her arms. Croghan rose from the table and met them by the door. He took the child into his own arms and kissed her forehead.

  “My wife, Catherine Takarihoga,” he said. “And my daughter, Catherine Adonwentishon.” He held up the little girl with obvious pride.

  My father’s expression had fallen, his face red.

  Croghan’s wife nodded to us. “Sirs, we welcome you to Aughwick. I hope you will be staying with us.”

  “No —” Mr. Colden coughed to clear some hoarseness from his throat. “No, ma’am. Though your offer is most gracious.”

  Croghan whispered something to his wife and kissed her cheek before returning the baby to her arms. She bade us farewell and left the cabin, a wake of silent tension behind her.

  Croghan resumed his chair. “I believe you were about to say something, Flower Hunter. Something about what lies in Indian hearts.”

  I was nervous. We were there at Croghan’s mercy, with his armed men and a village of Indians between us and the de Terzi. And my father had clearly angered the Trader King and insulted his wife and daughter. I felt something for my father then that I never had before.

  Shame.

  “I have nothing to say,” my father said.

  “In that case, you will leave this place,” Croghan said. “And I can assure you that Andrew will not be going with you, after all.”

  The other members of the Society had been silent until then but now spoke up, affirming that they did n
ot hold to my father’s views. They wanted Andrew to come and valued what he might contribute to the expedition. My father said nothing more, staring darkly at the table. After much pleading and assurances, Croghan finally held up his hands.

  “Enough. It is Andrew’s decision to make. Go to your vessel now and wait for one hour. If Andrew does not come before then, you will depart this place without him, for I will not have you linger here.”

  “Very well,” Mr. Colden said. To the rest of us he ordered, “Come.”

  I left Croghan with my cheeks burning. We hurried from the trading post and through the village until we reached the aeroship. Croghan’s guards watched us as one by one we climbed the rope ladder to the deck. For the next half hour, we all milled about silently. My father stood off by himself at the bow, and I had no desire to be with him, nor to appear aligned with him. As the end of the hour drew near, he turned around and spoke.

  “I said nothing that you have not all said and thought yourselves, and you know that to be true.”

  No one responded, either to agree or deny.

  “You assume much,” Mr. Godfrey said.

  “We all have our beliefs about the Indian, John,” Mr. Colden said. “You must temper yours with charity and Christian love. They are as equally capable of nobility as they are savagery. In my books, I compare them to the heroes of ancient Rome, and in some respects find them superior to the —”

  “Do not lecture me, Cadwallader,” my father said. “I cannot abide such words coming from the mouth of a man who owns slaves.”

  “That is different,” Mr. Colden said.

  “Whatever our thoughts on the Indian may be,” Mr. Kinnersley said, “we must restrain them now, for here he comes.”

  We all looked over the side and saw Andrew approaching us, a pack and a rifle over his shoulder, with Croghan at his side. At our distance, it seemed that they were arguing. Croghan gestured and pointed, while Andrew remained stoic and walked with a measured gait.

  Mr. Colden looked at my father and then threw the rope ladder over the side. “Come up!” he called. “You are most welcome aboard!”

  “Cadwallader,” my father said. “He has a gun.”