A Ripple In Time [A Historical Novel of Survival]

by Zugg, Victor

  The watchman to Mason’s right gave him a shove on the shoulder.

  Mason turned and walked out.

  ◆◆◆

  At the sloop, Mason found John Bayly standing on deck talking to John, Jeremy, and Karen. Mason was hoping to get out of Nathan’s breeches but that would have to wait.

  Everyone turned to Mason as he stepped aboard.

  “Everything okay?” Karen asked.

  Mason nodded and turned to Bayly. “Mister Bayly, has anyone offered you something to drink?”

  “I just arrived a few moments ago,” Bayly said.

  “I believe we have some ale on board and some biscuits from town,” Mason said. He ushered Bayly to step under a canvas tarp erected in front of the aft cabin to block the sun. Mason motioned to a wood bench for Bayly. Mason sat on a stool as did John and Jeremy.

  Karen disappeared into the cabin.

  Bayly took out a handkerchief and mopped the sweat from his forehead. “It’s a hot one.” He lifted his eyes to the tarp cover. “This helps.”

  “It does,” Mason agreed.

  Karen returned with mugs and a platter of biscuits obtained just that morning from a shop near the harbor.

  Bayly took the mug offered, one of the biscuits, and promptly took a gulp of the ale. He sat the mug on the bench beside him and took a bite of the biscuit. He held it up and paused his chewing to smile.

  Mason smiled as he raised his mug and took a drink. At the realization that his mug contained water, he glanced at Karen.

  She smiled.

  “About that farm land,” Bayly said, “I do know of a parcel owned by a widower. She lost her husband and both sons to the Catawba during the war.”

  Mason gazed over Bayly’s shoulder at Mato and two of his braves talking to Tito in the bow.

  “How many acres?” Jeremy asked.

  “Only a thousand, some marsh, but there’s still plenty for vegetables.”

  “And the owner wants to sell?” Mason asked.

  “She does. Paid her a visit yesterday on my way in.”

  “What is included?” John asked.

  “The fields, a modest house, fifty slaves and their quarters,” Bayly said. “Along with ten horses, two cows, chickens, and sundry items of equipment.

  “Slaves?” Karen asked.

  “Of course,” Bayly said. He took another gulp of the ale.

  Karen didn’t comment.

  “Seven miles up the Ashley,” Bayly said. “West bank. Close but not too close.”

  Mason nodded. “We’d like to see it.”

  “Easiest way would be by boat,” Bayly said. He glanced around the sloop’s deck. “This will make it up that far. Or we can paddle. Canoe would be fastest.”

  They made arrangements to meet at the town’s west gate early the next morning. They would hike to the peninsula’s west side and take canoes from there.

  While they finished their ale and biscuits, Bayly talked about the Indian war.

  “Hard to imagine it’s been two years,” Bayly said. “There was some fierce fighting on the outskirts. They almost made it to the walls. The Catawba were especially murderous. Bloodthirsty.” He glanced over his shoulder at Mato but didn’t comment further.

  “I guess all of that has ceased,” Jeremy said.

  “Mostly. Still get some skirmishes from time to time. Most tribes have come to see the advantages of trade.”

  They chatted a while longer until finally Bayly drained the mug, sat it on the bench beside him, and stood. “First thing in the morning,” he said, as he extended his hand to Mason.

  Mason stood and shook. “First thing.”

  ◆◆◆

  Mason, Dorothy, Jeremy, and Tito met Bayly at the west gate a half hour after sunrise. Mason wore his town clothes minus the blood stain on the knee thanks to Karen.

  Bayly carried a flintlock and a pouch presumably containing paper cartridges.

  They exited the gate, crossed the bridge over the moat, and followed a rough gravel path to a wide, well-worn trail. This would be the King’s Highway that Dorothy mentioned. It would ultimately be transformed into an actual road from Charles Town to Boston by order of the King of England. It was already used as a major postal route in the north.

  They turned south and followed the trail to a landing on the bank of the Ashley River. It consisted of a simple, one-room, three-walled log structure, open to the river. Five canoes were beached in front of the structure. Three of the canoes were dugouts made from the entire tree trunk; two were much lighter made from some kind of tree bark over a wood frame. This was apparently an established location from which to cross the river. Three men, sitting on stools next to the structure, watched as Bayly directed Mason and his group to the two bark canoes. Bayly and Jeremy would paddle in one, and Mason, Dorothy, and Tito would occupy the other.

  As they set out, it became obvious that Tito had never paddled a canoe, but he faked it well. Soon he was in rhythm with Mason, and they were able to keep up with Bayly.

  Mason kept his head on a swivel, sweeping both banks. He was attentive to anything that might constitute a threat, man or beast, but he was also amazed at the unspoiled splendor of the lightly touched vista. They hugged the west bank which was mostly wide expanses of marsh and muck. It wasn’t that different from the condition of the river in modern times. Farther up, as the banks narrowed, it became less marshy in spots. Soon they came upon a field of planted rice. The field paralleled the river for at least two miles and ran inland for another mile or so. Slaves dotted the landscape. They continued on.

  Mason thought of the fifty slaves that came with the plantation he hoped to purchase. No one in his group of survivors would tolerate any kind of forced servitude, but just freeing them came with its own set of complexities. Slavery was basically the law around here, and the locals would be up in arms if they found out fifty of them had been freed. Plus there was the problem of working the fields. Mason couldn’t imagine anyone in his group working that hard. They would have to figure something out because owning slaves was not an option.

  Bayly pointed with his paddle to an open grassy area and a two-story house. A vast field of crops, dotted with workers, ran north of the open field along the river as far as Mason could see.

  Bayly began paddling toward a rough wood dock that extended thirty feet into the river. Mason’s canoe bumped against the dock as Bayly and Jeremy, already out, walked to meet an approaching woman. Mason stepped out and helped Dorothy and Tito up to the wood planks.

  Bayly introduced Wilma Stewart, the owner. Mason could tell she had been quite attractive at one time, but now she carried a weathered appearance with deep creases in her face, probably a combination of hard work, age, worry, and despair. She was very cordial, but she smiled little.

  In a matter-of-fact manner, she proceeded to guide the group around the property pointing out and explaining its various aspects. The property included a total of one thousand acres arranged between the river and a dirt road that fronted the main house. Five hundred acres were cultivated with rice with another ninety acres devoted to food crops. The remaining property included a section of unusable muck along the river, and about two hundred acres of thick forest. She did in fact have a total of fifty slaves. All but five were devoted to the planting, harvesting, and processing of the crops. The other five took care of the house.

  “What kind of yield on the rice?” Dorothy asked.

  “The good years it has run about a thousand pounds per acre,” she said. “This year will be less given the drought. As you can see we will be harvesting soon.” The owner gazed at Dorothy a few moments.

  Mason too could see the wheels turning in Dorothy’s head.

  “If you’re wondering, we average about six thousand dollars on rice and another thousand on the food crops we don’t eat,” Mrs. Stewart said. “It’s a small operation compared to some, but we make do.”

  The owner continued her tour. The slave quarters consisted of five small cabins ab
out a hundred yards from the main house. The main house included a separate kitchen—a small wood structure a few yards from the main house—along with a well near the kitchen for fresh water, and another separate structure that housed the horses and various items of equipment.

  The house itself was frame with ten separate rooms and three fire places. It had been well maintained with no signs of leaking. Of course, given that it hadn’t rained in weeks, Mason couldn’t be sure about the leaking.

  Basically, if the survivors had to remain in this time period, this property was a near perfect solution to their survival needs.

  Mason thanked Mrs. Stewart for the tour, promised to give it serious thought, and make a decision within a day or so. Everyone bid their farewells, and the group returned to the dock.

  At the dock Mason paused before stepping into the canoe. “I wonder if we can get the sloop up this far?”

  Bayly shrugged his shoulders. “Others have gone farther in bigger. You have the wind to your back on the way up and the current with you on the way back. You’ll need some long poles.”

  CHAPTER 22

  “The property is the best we could hope for,” Mason said, as he stood before everyone on the deck of the sloop in the late afternoon. “Size is manageable, and the location is near perfect.”

  “Shouldn’t we discuss this with the rest of our people?” Mildred asked.

  “I agree with that,” Nathan said.

  “I’d like to do just that,” Mason said, “but the word is out that Mrs. Stewart wants to sell. She’s anxious so the price will probably be commensurate with her desire to leave. Plantations in the area will want to scarf up the property. I think we have to move quickly.”

  “What’s the price?” Tom Green asked.

  Mason looked to Dorothy for an answer.

  “We’re just estimating based on my understanding of the economy at this time,” she said. She paused and contemplated the sky for a moment. “The slaves alone are likely worth around seventy-five hundred. The land, probably twelve fifty. The house, I really have no idea, but figure a thousand for the sake of argument. Another three fifty or so for the animals and equipment.”

  “And up to seven thousand for the rice and food crops that will be ready for harvest in a few weeks,” Mason added.

  “That’s seventeen thousand,” Lana said. “We don’t have seventeen thousand.”

  “That’s true, which is another reason we need to act fast,” Mason said. “Other’s in the area might have more buying power than we do. We’ll need to offer most of what we have left up front and make payments over time.”

  “The surveyor told us she plans on moving to New York,” Dorothy said.

  John cleared his throat. “After we’re finished ferrying everyone around, I think we should use the sloop to carry cargo up and down the coast. Periodic stops in New York would be no problem.”

  “Why don’t we just move to New York?” Nathan asked.

  Several nodded in agreement, probably thinking about the amount of work required to run a plantation.

  “There’s nothing stopping anyone from doing anything they want,” Mason said. “But this plantation offers a readymade solution to our long term survival. Yes, it will take some work. But life won’t be easy where ever you go.”

  “Anyone who does decide to leave would always have a place to come back to,” Dorothy said. “I think we should do it.”

  “If she takes the offer,” Jeremy said.

  Mason nodded.

  “What will be the offer?” Mildred asked.

  “We offer fifteen thousand, go to twenty if we have to,” he said. “Five thousand now, the balance in yearly payments from the crop proceeds until the balance is paid. That would leave us about thirteen hundred for incidentals.”

  “We do have one thing in our favor,” Dorothy said.

  Everyone raised their eyes to Dorothy.

  “Not many people have five thousand in silver on hand.”

  ◆◆◆

  The next morning, Mason, Dorothy, Jeremy, and Tito returned to the plantation with Bayly.

  Mrs. Stewart invited them to join her on the portico covered porch facing the river.

  One of the house maids served hot tea from a silver tea service poured into small, elegant, porcelain cups with saucers. They were more of a bowl really since the cups didn’t have handles.

  “I like to take tea here on the porch before the heat is up,” Mrs. Stewart said. She took a sip and then lowered the cup and saucer to her knee. She looked at Mason expectantly.

  “First of all,” Mason said, “We were very sorry to hear about your trouble here during the war.”

  Mrs. Stewart gave a subtle nod. Her lip tightened slightly as she stared with piercing blue eyes.

  “And you have a lovely place here; you’ve obviously worked very hard.”

  Barely perceptible, Mrs. Stewart raised her chin.

  Mason paused. Rather than making an offer that might be completely offensive, he decided to take a different approach. “Can I ask what kind of price you had in mind?”

  Mrs. Stewart took another sip of tea and placed the cup and saucer on a small side table. “I think twenty thousand dollars would be a very fair price.”

  “We were thinking more along the lines of fifteen thousand,” Mason countered.

  “You have that in silver?” She glanced at Bayly.

  “Five thousand in silver, half the proceeds from the crops each year until the balance is paid. We can deliver the payments to you in New York.”

  Mrs. Stewart glanced at Bayly. She stood, stepped to the edge of the porch, and stared out at the river for a full minute. She finally turned around and stared at Mason. “I like you Mr. Mason. You’re different from most.” She turned back to the river. “Seventeen five. Five thousand at signing, first payment immediately after this harvest. I’ll even throw in the furniture.”

  Mason stood up. “You have a deal.”

  She turned her head to Bayly. “Can you have Arthur draw up the agreement? All the particulars about the property are on record.”

  “Yes Ma’am,” Bayly said, as he stood.

  Mason and Mrs. Stewart shook hands.

  “How much time do you need?” Mrs. Stewart asked.

  “As soon as the agreement is ready,” Mason said.

  “We’ll meet back here in a week then.”

  “Perfect.” Mason said.

  They all sat and continued to discuss the details. Bayly would be paid one hundred dollars, fifty from Mrs. Stewart and fifty from Mason. All fees associated with the sale, for recording and such, would be split. Mrs. Stewart introduced Mason, Dorothy, Jeremy, and Tito to Sylvester, an older gentleman, the head slave, and the main point of contact between Mrs. Stewart and the field hands.

  “By the way,” Bayly said looking at Mason, “I need a name for the agreement and the deed. I presume you will be the buyer.”

  Mason smoothed his beard with one hand while he thought. “Let me confer with my associates,” he finally said, and led Dorothy, Jeremy, and Tito to the far end of the porch.

  “I’m fine with your name on the deed,” Dorothy said.

  “Ditto,” Jeremy agreed.

  “With the sloop to operate, I’m not sure how much time I’ll be spending at the property.” Mason thought for a moment. “A husband and wife would be nice,” he said, as he turned his attention to Jeremy.

  “What?” Jeremy asked.

  “How about Mister and Misses Jeremy Jackson?”

  “Who’s the misses?” Tito asked.

  “We all see how much time you spend with Lisa,” Mason said.

  “She’s married,” Jeremy objected.

  “Not for another three hundred years,” Dorothy countered.

  Jeremy opened his mouth to object, but Mason had already turned back to Bayly and Mrs. Stewart.

  “Jeremy and Lisa Jackson,” Mason said. “Mister and Misses.”

  “Who’s going to tell Lisa?” Jeremy whis
pered to Dorothy loud enough for Mason to hear.

  ◆◆◆

  Lisa agreed as soon as Jeremy posed the question. That was the easy part. The hard part was actually getting them married. Since neither Jeremy nor Lisa was a member of a church, none of the several churches in town, or meeting places as they were called, would agree to conduct a service. Even if they had agreed, most of the churches performed services recognized only by that particular church. Only the English Church, the official church of the colony, could perform an official wedding. St. Philips, the English Church, had apparently been badly damaged during a hurricane some years earlier, and a new church had been under construction ever since. It still hadn’t been completed. The church’s commissary, the rector, was not inclined to go out of his way for anyone, especially a non-member, until his church was fully restored. To make matters worse, no wedding could be performed until a license was granted, and only the governor could grant a license. Since the governor, a James Moore, didn’t know the parties to be married, he wasn’t inclined to expedite the process.

  Mason finally employed Arthur Sills to arrange the marriage. He was one of only two barristers in town and the fellow who would be handling the sale of Mrs. Stewart’s property. With the license finally secured, Jeremy and Lisa were married on board the sloop by a local small denominational minister found at one of the taverns. Mister Sills assured everyone that the marriage would be official enough.

  The next day, eight days after the verbal agreement, Mason and the survivors maneuvered the sloop up the Ashley with Bayly and Arthur Sills aboard. They anchored as near the Stewart plantation dock as possible. All was finally coming together nicely until Mrs. Stewart saw Mato and his braves on the deck of the sloop.

  “I’ll not sell my property to anyone associated with those heathens,” Mrs. Stewart said, as she stood on the dock facing Mason, Jeremy, Lisa, Bayly, and Arthur Sills.

  “I can assure you Mrs. Stewart, Mato was not involved with the war,” Mason said. “He’s my friend, and we’ve had several discussions about his situation.”