A Ripple In Time [A Historical Novel of Survival]

by Zugg, Victor

  “Where do we find him?” Dorothy asked.

  Francois stood up again. “This time of day, if he’s in town, probably the O’Brady tavern down the street.”

  “Thank you Francois,” Mason said. He winked at Karen as he and Dorothy left.

  “Why was he surprised by our desire to buy some land?” Mason asked, as they walked.

  “Originally parcels of land were given away, granted by the lord proprietors through a cumbersome process. To encourage settlement. If I remember correctly, the proprietors lost control over the colony in 1719. The crown took provisional control in May 1721. At this point, the easiest way to acquire land would be to find someone who is willing to sell. We would need to have a bill of sale written up, pay the money, and have it recorded.”

  They entered the tavern down the street and found all the tables full of men, mostly from the ships in the harbor. They were all eating and drinking. Mostly the latter. One table stood out in particular because it was occupied by four tough-looking men all dressed slightly better than anyone else in the place.

  While Dorothy waited by the door, Mason approached the table. “Would any of you gentlemen be John Bayly?”

  One of the men, dressed in a long buckskin shirt with fringe at the bottom and matching buckskin pants, paused the spoon on its way to his mouth. He was probably in his late thirties, thin and wiry. “What can I do for you sir?”

  “I’m interested in acquiring some land in this area,” Mason said. “I thought you might know of some available for purchase.”

  “I might,” Bayly said. “What’s your name?”

  “Stephen Mason. Friends call me Mason.”

  “What kind of land did you have in mind?”

  “Something on the river with enough land to do some farming.”

  “Rice?”

  “And food crops.”

  “I might know of a place. The owner lost her family to the Yemassee.” Bayly thought for a moment. “Where can I reach you?”

  “I’ll be on the sloop tied up at the last dock or anchored in the harbor. If the ship’s not there, I’ll be back in a few days.”

  “Fair enough,” Bayly said, as he stood and extended his hand. “I’ll be in touch.”

  The two men shook and Mason and Dorothy departed.

  “Should we hang around or return to the camp and pick up the others?” Dorothy asked, as they walked.

  “I think we should hang for a couple of days,” Mason said.

  ◆◆◆

  The crew spent the rest of that day and the next two days around the ship. The harbor master paid a visit on the second day to determine their intentions. He advised that as long as there was empty space at the other docks Mason could keep the sloop tied up. It wasn’t causing any harm. The crew spent the time outfitting themselves and the sloop. Everyone ended up with period clothing. The ship ended up with sleeping hammocks.

  Having concluded his trading, Mato was anxious to return to his village, but he agreed to wait.

  Drinking water was the biggest problem. The local water was brackish and probably contained all manner of parasites. There were several wells in town and Mason found one willing to supply all that Mason wanted for a price. The owner also allowed Mason to set up a cooking pot for boiling the water. After the water cooled it was placed in earthen jugs. The crew was able to process and store plenty of water.

  Mason ensured everyone had a chance to spend time in town to get acclimated. The rank odors were tough at first, especially for Mildred and Lana, but eventually no one noticed, or, at least, didn’t complain. Everyone was also able to take advantage of the one and only bath house in town. The two bit price included warm water and soap.

  On the evening of the third day, Mason and Karen sat on the deck in the bow with their backs against the gunwale. The nine other survivors and one brave had already gone below or into the aft cabin. Mato and the other brave stood the first watch at the wheel.

  Overcast skies blocked the stars and blanketed everything in total darkness. Eventually all was quiet except for laughter in the distance from the nearest tavern.

  Enjoying the relative quiet and the breeze, Mason relaxed with his eyes closed. After a few minutes he felt Karen stir beside him and felt her hand on his leg. He opened his eyes, but couldn’t see much except the vague outline of Karen’s head.

  “Are you awake?” she whispered.

  “Yes.”

  He felt her hand make its way up his leg to the buttoned crotch flap of his breeches. Mason was a little surprised at her direct approach since they had never been intimate.

  Mason started to say something, but she quickly shushed him and continued manipulating the two buttons on the flap. He felt himself start to strain against the thin linen.

  With the flap completely open, she pressed her hand against his hardness for a few seconds and then pulled his underwear down exposing the shaft. She massaged a few seconds until it was at its full glory.

  Mason heard the rustling of clothing, saw the outline of Karen’s form rise up, and felt her settle herself on top of him straddling his hips. She guided his member inside and began to gyrate against him.

  Mason began to move his hips in rhythm, enjoying the sensation and the closeness.

  Karen increased the rhythm and intensity as she pressed against him.

  Mason could see her chin up and head back in silhouette against the sky. He kept pace with her rhythm until he heard her hold her breath and felt her tense. The sensation was suddenly more than he could endure. He tensed with her as he exploded forth.

  Karen went limp in a cascade of aftershocks until finally she buried her head in the crux of Mason’s neck and shoulder.

  After a few moments the shudders stopped and Karen’s body relaxed.

  He gently lifted her chin and kissed her deeply. After a few long moments their lips separated and Mason felt her staring into his eyes. He felt her muscles tighten as she started to rise up.

  Something he couldn’t quite place made him suddenly grasp her waist with both hands to prevent her from rising. He held her weight.

  She settled back down. “What?” she whispered.

  “Not sure,” he whispered back. Then he heard a scuff and a barely audible thump on the deck only a few feet from where Mason and Karen sat.

  Karen apparently heard it too because she tensed.

  Neither of them moved a muscle or made any sound.

  At the sound of another scuff, Mason raised his chin and peered over Karen’s shoulder. Against the slightly lighter background of the clouded sky he saw the outline of three men, the last of whom was just stepping over the gunwale. Any movement on Mason or Karen’s part would give away their nearly invisible position in the darkness, so they were forced to maintain their union.

  Mason peered at the wheel where Mato and the other brave had been but saw nothing in the darkness. Mato should have heard the men just as he had. Mason could not imagine why there had been no response. Perhaps the two natives had stepped inside the aft cabin or perhaps they had gone down the ladder for some reason. Perhaps they were aware of his and Karen’s dalliance and had left to give them privacy. Whatever the reason there was no response to the invasion.

  Mason thought of his buckskin pouch and the Glock within. He remembered hanging it in the aft cabin hours earlier while he helped tend to some chore. His separation from the pouch left him completely unarmed. The men who had just boarded the ship and were quietly making their way toward the cabin had to be armed, certainly with knives and quite probably with pistols as well. They were still after the silver. Mason’s desire to purchase land had apparently brought out the rats.

  As the men tiptoed toward the aft cabin, Mason lifted Karen by the waist and quietly set her to the side on her knees. He buttoned the flap on his breeches and as quietly as possible rolled to crouch. He paused for a moment to listen and then rose. He kept his torso as low as possible so as not to silhouette against the sky over the gunwale. The only thin
gs Mason had going for him was concealment and surprise. The men would hopefully not expect anyone from the bow. Of course that all changed when Mason’s foot bumped against a wooden bucket on his fourth step. The noise was slight, but apparently enough to give away his position.

  All three of the men’s nearly imperceptible dark hulks came to an immediate stop.

  Mason froze. He couldn’t see any details in the dark, but he imagined all three of their heads turned toward him. For a few moments nothing happened. But then he caught a glimpse of movement off toward the starboard side of the ship.

  Instinctively, without directions from anyone, they were spreading out.

  Mason had lost the element of surprise and, unarmed, he stood little chance against the three men. Only one move came to mind. He bent lower, felt for the bucket, and flung it hard to his right toward the dock side of the boat. At the same time he dashed to his left in full gallop toward the man on the starboard side. He hoped the noise would distract the other two men and get Mato’s attention. A second later he drove his shoulder into what turned out to be a man’s midsection and dug with his feet like he did in football training many years earlier. His momentum and the power of his legs carried the man until his back crashed into the cabin bulkhead in a cacophony of grunts, gasps, and finally a loud thump. The man was much lighter than Mason expected, thin and wiry, but solid.

  Mason’s greatest fear was that the man held a knife, so he immediately pinned both of the man’s arms against the cabin. With all his might he brought his knee up hard into the left side of the man’s rib cage. A snap told him he had connected with at least one rib.

  The man winced in a long exhale and went mostly limp.

  Keeping the man’s arms penned until the last moment, Mason suddenly took a step back as he grabbed the back of the man’s head with both hands. In one smooth motion he pulled the man’s torso down as he brought his knee up crashing into his face. Mason heard a crunch and felt the man go completely limp as a knife clanged to the deck.

  A sudden light from below deck, from the only candle lantern on board, threw the shadows of arms and legs against the aft cabin bulkhead as people, probably Mato and his brave, scrambled up the ladder.

  With his eyes at last able to penetrate the darkness, he saw two men scurry over the gunwale and run down the dock. He turned back to the unconscious man lying at his feet. A dark blotch of blood was smeared across the man’s face, likely from a broken nose.

  Mato and one brave, both armed with muskets, appeared at Mason’s side. Mato reached down and picked up the knife. He bent lower to check the man’s breathing.

  Mason stepped to the port side and scanned the empty dock.

  “Are you hurt?” Karen asked, as she hurried to Mason’s side.

  “I’m okay,” he said, as he put a hand on her shoulder.

  “I think they’re getting more determined to get that silver,” she said.

  Mason nodded in the dim light and turned around at the sound of people coming on deck.

  “What happened?” Jeremy asked.

  “Marauders,” Mason said. “The second attempt.”

  “Will they be back?” Lisa asked.

  “Not tonight.”

  Soon everyone was up, walking about the deck, and mumbling amongst themselves.

  “Look,” Mason said in a slightly raised voice, as he addressed everyone. “I think we should go back to bed. The excitement is over for tonight.”

  “What about him?” Nathan asked, as he motioned to the still unconscious man.

  Mason walked over and knelt. The man was breathing, and his nose had stopped bleeding. But he was still very much unconscious.

  Mason had no interest in trying to explain what happened to the authorities. The Night Watch was notoriously suspicious, according to Francois, and they tended to lock everyone up while they investigated. Mason did not feel like spending time in some dank, suffocating, flea infested lockup. “We need to get this guy off the boat.”

  Mason bent over, placed the man’s right arm over his shoulder, and motioned for Nathan to do the same.

  Nathan bent down and took the man’s other arm.

  Together they carried him to the gunwale as his lifeless feet dragged over the deck.

  Jeremy went over the gunwale first and helped transfer the man to the dock. “Where to?” he whispered.

  “The foot of the dock,” Mason said, as he glanced around the pitch dark.

  Only a few flickers of light were visible through the opening in the wall and down the street farther in town.

  They carried the man the length of the dock and deposited him at the wall. They left him reclined back against the bricks with his head cocked to one side. Just another drunk among many.

  Mason took another look around before ushering Nathan and Jeremy back down the dock toward the sloop.

  CHAPTER 21

  The next morning, Mason rose early from his hammock in the aft cabin and immediately made his way on deck and over to the gunwale. His heart sank as he peered in the distance through the early dawn light at the man still reclined against the wall. He turned at the sound of cloth rustling and greeted Karen by putting his arm around her waist.

  She peered down the dock. “That’s not good.”

  Mason twisted his lips as he slowly shook his head and exhaled. “There’ll be questions if he’s dead.”

  Movement brought his attention back to the foot of the dock. He saw two men stop and kneel down next to the man. He hoped to see them pick the man up, which is what he would expect if he were alive and needed medical attention. Instead, they both just stood up and scanned the area. One of the men locked eyes with Mason. Shit.

  “That’s not good,” Karen said.

  “We need a story, something plausible and as close to the truth as possible.” He followed Karen’s gaze down to his knee. The blood stain stood prominent on the beige of his breeches leg.

  ◆◆◆

  The man staring at Mason had intelligent, very penetrating eyes. He wore an olive green coat, black waist coat, a white puffy shirt, and a white cravat to match. A three-point, black hat hung on a peg behind him. He also wore a stern expression on his face. He struck Mason as a serious man in search of the truth.

  Mason contemplated his own state of dress which included his rumpled, linen coat and Nathan’s relatively baggy breeches.

  He stood within the red-brick, single story Watch House, adjacent to the half-moon battery overlooking the Cooper River. The building was visible from all the docks and housed three partitioned sections that Mason had noted on his way inside. The largest section included cots that could accommodate, he estimated, up to thirty men. There were about half that many in the room; some were in various states of repose and some idled away with menial chores. A much smaller section was designated a holding area for those detained during the night. There were no bars; it was just a stall sort of affair with a straw-covered brick floor. At the time of Mason’s entry into the building, the holding area was devoid of any prisoners. And the third area, also small, served as an office for the provost marshal and the commissioner of the Town Watch. The building’s entire interior was dim—even during the day with the door and two small windows open. It was also damp, musky, and smelled of body odor and urine. It was not a pleasant place, but Mason figured now was not the time to express any kind of judgment. He thus wore the best non-confrontational expression he could muster.

  The two watchmen who had summoned him were each to Mason’s side as he stood before the provost marshal seated behind a small wooden desk.

  Mason imagined himself with his hands and feet shackled, sitting in the straw of the putrid holding area among pirates, derelicts, and runaway slaves. He further imagined himself disheveled, thread bare, and emaciated from lack of food. The marshal’s deep, middle aged voice brought him out of his reverie.

  “As I said, my name is Sanford Tennison. I’m the provost marshal for the Carolina Colony. My watchmen tell me you,
or someone on your ship, may have witnessed a crime.”

  Mason, trying to remain as subdued as possible, raised both eyebrows. “A crime?”

  “A man was found dead not forty feet from your ship. Your ship, and the people on it, is the closest occupied vessel to the scene of the crime.”

  Where they found him wasn’t the scene of the crime, Mason thought to himself. “I saw the man against the wall at about the same time your watchmen came along.”

  Tennison, elbow resting on the desk, with his chin cupped in the palm of one hand, didn’t change expressions or even blink. His dark brown eyes bore into Mason looking for a hint of untruthfulness.

  Mason’s statement was plausible and the truth, although minus everything that had happened during the night. His blood stained breeches popped into his mind’s eye.

  “My watchmen passed by that spot in the early evening,” Tennison said. “The man wasn’t there.”

  “Must have happened later in the night,” Mason said.

  Tennison lifted his chin from his hand and gave an almost imperceptible nod. “So you didn’t see or hear anything during the night.”

  “Everyone aboard were in their hammocks shortly after dark. No one saw anything and I can vouch for everyone on board.”

  Tennison nodded. “And who exactly are you?”

  “Stephen Mason. I’m here with a group of settlers in search of property we can farm.”

  Tennison nodded again and stared.

  Mason was just starting to feel uncomfortable, more uncomfortable than before, when the man finally looked away.

  “Okay Mister Mason, that will be all for now. You can go.” He nodded to the two watchmen.

  One of them motioned to the door with his chin.

  Mason turned to leave.

  “One other thing,” Tennison said.

  Mason stopped and faced the marshal.

  “You didn’t ask how the man died. That’s curious to me.”

  Mason thought for a moment as he gazed into the marshal’s eyes. “How did he die?”

  Tennison stared at Mason for several moments and then jerked his chin in the direction of the door.