The Nor'Wester

by David Starr

“A dinnae ken!” I’m hit with a sudden touch of desperation. “We can’t go back home, and if we don’t get work soon we’ll starve.”

  “Well, me young Highlanders,” says Tinker, “I’ll make you this offer. I’m on me way to Liverpool, ten days south of here. If you help me sell me wares along the way I’ll feed you and give you a blanket. I’m a poor man and it ain’t much but it’s the best I can do. And who knows? Sometimes opportunities come along when you least expect them. What do you say?”

  I look anxiously at Libby, and when she nods in approval, I shake the old man’s hand happily. “In that case I say thank ye very much!”

  Tinker sounds pleased. “Angus and Marie Drummond. It seems we’re now partners! You’d best get some sleep. We’ll be leaving at first light, and morning has a habit of sneaking up on you before you’re ready for it.”

  It’s wonderful to have a companion, and the days that follow are a blur. We help Tinker sell pots and sharpen the knives, scissors and scythes that housewives and farmers bring to the cart. In return we’re fed and sheltered; we even earn a few pennies of our own. I like Tinker. He’s kind and patient and, for the first time since our parents died, I feel safe.

  The journey south is uneventful until a day’s travel out of Liverpool when a sudden violent storm forces us off the road and into the shelter of a copse of trees. “I’d planned on travelling for a few hours yet,” Tinker says, “but we’d best stop here. It looks like we’re going to be in for some nasty weather. Set up the canvas, find us some dry wood and I’ll make a fire for tea.”

  As we make camp, thunder cracks in the sky above and large raindrops splash onto our heads. More than just the bad weather weighs on me. “I’m worried, Tinker,” I confide. “A dinnae ken what we’re going to do next.”

  “Don’t worry, lad,” Tinker replies with a confidence I don’t share. “I’ve a feeling something unexpected will happen to you soon.”

  Chapter 4

  The sharp tang of salt water fills my nose as we reach the edge of the city. “That’s the Irish Sea you smell. Liverpool’s one of the largest ports in England; you’ll see strange things here from all over the world. Mind you keep your wits about you, though,” Tinker warns. “There are plenty here who’d cut your purse or even your throat if they had the chance. People will do all sorts of bad things for a guinea or two.”

  Libby squeezes the small bag of coins hidden in her jacket and looks around fearfully, seeing robbers and murderers in every corner. She’s not told Tinker about the money and has ordered me to do the same.

  Tinker seems not to notice her discomfort as we travel along the docks until we meet a large, tin-roofed warehouse. “I have to meet me business associate here on the docks,” he says, walking to the open door. “Go for a stroll. I’m sure you’ll find more interesting things on the waterfront than an old peddler replenishing his stock of pots and pans. But don’t forget to keep your eyes open. Like I said, the docks ain’t the safest place in Liverpool.”

  Dangerous or not, the waterfront is a remarkable place. The docks are lined with ships, a forest of masts in front of dozens of wooden and brick warehouses. Crates of all sizes litter the piers, and everywhere we look, men of all shapes and colours busily load and unload cargo from ships. One ship in particular catches my attention, and I shudder as massive rolls of cotton cloth disappear into its belly. I saw far too many of those rolls in the mill.

  We also see people on the docks who are most definitely not sailors. Men, women and children my age, and younger, lounge against piles of cargo. They seem full of nervous expectation, and when I see the posters stuck onto the walls and pilings I thank my mother that over my father’s objections she’d taught Libby and me to read in the long, wet Highland winters.

  “Come to New York,” “Boston” and “Halifax,” the advertisements say, and though I’ve never heard of these places before, the words fill every fibre of my body with exhilaration. Wherever these cities are, they must be very far away from Glasgow and Sir Cecil Hamilton.

  I see a boy a few years younger than myself sitting on a crate. “Where are ye going?” I ask, my voice trembling.

  “Boston,” the boy replies with a Highland lilt. He gestures at the Leopard, a small three-masted ship berthed at the end of the wharf. “Ma says in America there’s land and food fer everybody and that we’re gonna be rich.”

  His words hit me like a lightning bolt. “Libby, ’tis our chance! Let’s go with them!”

  “A dinnae ken, Duncan,” she replies nervously.

  This is not the response I’d been hoping for. “Why not? Would ye rather stay here with the soldiers chasing us?” I say sharply, not willing to let this opportunity slip by.

  “Let’s talk to Tinker and see what he has to say. Besides, passage isn’t free. We have some money but I’ve no idea if it’s enough.”

  Reluctantly I agree. We’ve wandered a great distance since leaving Tinker, and we take several wrong turns amongst the maze of ships and warehouses before we find our way back. Libby waits outside as I walk into the warehouse. Ahead I see two shadows, one quite large and wearing a hat, the other small and familiar. “Tinker!” I call. “We need to talk to ye.”

  Tinker takes several steps towards me while the other man fades into the darkness. “What is it, lad? We ain’t quite done our business yet.”

  “I have something very important to ask ye about,” I reply, anxious and excited.

  “Wait outside for me by the cart and I’ll join you presently,” says Tinker before I can explain. With no other choice, I rejoin my sister and sit on the cart waiting impatiently as Libby scratches the pony’s ears.

  An old sailor sitting under a blanket against the side of the warehouse catches my eye. “Can thee spare a copper for a wounded veteran of His Majesty’s Navy?” he says to Libby. “Name’s John. I was on the Captain with Admiral Nelson at the battle of Cape St. Vincent. We gave the Spaniards a sound thrashing that day but I didn’t escape unscathed.”

  John lifts the blanket and Libby gasps when we see both his legs have been amputated below his knees. “His Majesty’s Navy has no use for a cripple, even a war hero, and I’ve been here on the docks ever since, begging kind lasses like thyself for a few coppers to buy bread.”

  Libby places a penny into John’s outstretched hand. “Here ye go, ye poor man.”

  “Libby! We need all our money to sail to America!”

  “A penny won’t buy us passage, Duncan, but it will feed this man fer a day or two,” admonishes my sister.

  John places the coin inside his tattered coat. “God bless you, miss. Thy generosity won’t be forgotten. But you, young man, could learn a thing or two about kindness. Someday thine own life might hang in the balance. When it does, I hope you meet people more charitable than thyself.”

  The sailor takes his leave and shuffles away on his stumps. “I bet he’s going to spend that coin on drink,” I mutter.

  Libby is unperturbed. “And so what if he does? It was the least we could do.” Long experience has taught me there’s no point arguing with my sister, so I ignore her. When the peddler finally steps outside the warehouse, I feel as if I’ll burst.

  “So what bee’s gotten into your bonnet?” he asks.

  “There’s a ship on the docks taking people to Boston, and we want to sail on it.”

  “Boston.” Tinker has a faraway look in his eyes. “Do you even know where Boston is, lad?”

  “That way?” I say, pointing to the west.

  “It is but you have to survive crossing the ocean to get there. Many ships leave this port and ain’t never seen again. They just disappear, swallowed up whole by the storms. There are waves a hundred feet high out there, you know. Untold thousands have died on the Atlantic. There ain’t nothing wrong with taking great risks, but know what you’re getting yourself in for.”

  The old man stares at a seagull diving amongst the ships’ masts. “A part of me would like to go as well. I thought about it once but I
was never very brave, and I’m too old for such travels now. Ain’t much use for anything really,” he adds strangely, “not no more.”

  “Do ye have any idea how much it would cost to travel to Boston?” I ask.

  “How much money do you have?” I look at Libby and she reluctantly shows the old man the sack we took from our old place in Glasgow. He peers inside and shakes his head. “Ain’t enough by far. You’ll both need to work for a year or two, but if you save your wages you can be on your way before you know it.”

  “A year?” I cry. “We have to wait a whole year?”

  Tinker casts an eye back into the dark warehouse. “Why don’t I go and talk to my friend about a job for you? They’re always looking for strong backs on the waterfront. What do you think?”

  “Thank ye, Tinker, that would be appreciated,” says Libby.

  “Wait here then,” the peddler instructs. “I’ll have a quick word and I’ll be right back.”

  Impatient and upset, I sit on the back of the cart, waiting for the old man to reappear. Suddenly I notice a piece of paper sticking out from underneath Tinker’s large whetstone. Out of curiosity I lift the stone to see what it says, and as I read, my guts churn and my head feels as if it’s spinning like a top.

  “Libby.” My tone is quiet but my sister recognizes the terror in my voice and she hurries over. Hand shaking, I hold up the paper. It’s a poster. A poster with the date, my name and a very recognizable drawing of my face.

  “Wanted for Attempted Murder,” it reads. “Sixteen-year-old Duncan Scott, Recently of Glasgow. Five-guinea reward if alive, three guineas dead. The fugitive is believed to have entered England in April 1806, likely in the company of his sister Elizabeth Scott.”

  Chapter 5

  “How could he have known about —” My sentence is cut short when Libby clamps her hand tightly over my mouth and pulls me behind a stack of crates. Eyes bright with fright, she points to the warehouse.

  Tinker and a large man in an English army uniform emerge from the depths, with the soldier holding a copy of the wanted poster. “The boy told me his name was Angus, Major,” Tinker says, “but that’s definitely ’im.”

  Tinker clears his throat and holds out his hand expectantly. “The reward? Five guineas if captured alive, it said. I saw the poster in Carlisle a week ago, could have slit both their throats while they slept to collect the easy three, but I didn’t. I’m kind, I am.”

  The major drops a gold coin into the peddler’s hand. “You are a very compassionate man, indeed,” he says in a tone that indicates otherwise. “There’s one guinea now. You’ll get the rest when my men have the boy in irons. Where is he?”

  “Out here somewhere.” Tinker scans the waterfront. “I told ’im to wait by the cart. Went for a walk probably. They don’t suspect a thing — think I’m their friend.”

  A dozen armed soldiers march out of the warehouse and stand in the entryway, waiting for orders. “We’ll find him,” the major says. “That scum nearly killed a nobleman! He’ll soon have his neck stretched for it.”

  Libby takes my hand, and the two of us creep slowly away from the crate and, after making sure we aren’t seen, we turn and sprint down the dock. “How could Tinker do this to us?” I ask, my stomach heaving.

  “Fer the money,” Libby replies bitterly. “Now let’s find that ship.”

  “But we don’t have enough money! We need to pay for passage, remember?”

  “And ye believe Tinker after what he tried to do?” says Libby as we speed towards the Leopard. “He’d have said anything to stop us from leaving so he could collect the reward.”

  My hopes soar. Libby’s right. We could have more than enough money for passage. With a bit of luck we’ll soon be on the ocean, free and far away from Cecil Hamilton, the soldiers and Tinker’s treachery.

  We round the corner to the Leopard’s berth and the world comes crashing down around me. The Leopard has sailed. The ship is only one hundred yards out of port, but it may as well have been in America already.

  A loud commotion rises behind us. “In the name of King George, get out of our way!” cries a soldier. Both of us panic. Then I see that another ship, the Sylph, is tied up alongside the dock, only a short distance away. The gangplank is extended and unguarded, like an arm beckoning us aboard.

  Libby sees it as well. “Duncan! Get on that ship and hide! I’ll wait here and distract them! It’s not me they’re after, and if yer caught ye’ll die!”

  “Libby! Come with me! The soldiers are almost here!”

  “Are ye mad? If I do, they’ll climb on board, tear this ship apart and find the both of us.” Libby grabs my hand and drags me to the gangplank. “No matter what happens, stay hidden until they go. I’ll be fine. They’ll probably just ask some questions, then let me go. I’ll get ye when it’s safe. Just don’t move until I come. Promise me ye won’t.”

  “I can’t leave ye!” The thought of being taken from my only family is like a dagger in my heart.

  But Libby is insistent. “Get on that ship this instant, Duncan!”

  “They must be down here!” a soldier yells. “We ’ave ’em now!”

  I reluctantly step onto the gangplank. “I love ye, Libby.”

  She thrusts the bag of coins into my hands. “I love ye too, Duncan. Just promise me ye’ll stay hidden no matter what.”

  “I will,” I vow, speeding up the gangplank. I’d never been on a ship before, and I scan the vessel quickly, looking frantically for a safe place to hide.

  I try several hatches but discover they’re locked. What to do? Then I see a small boat sitting on the deck, covered in canvas. In desperation I lift the tarp, crawl into the bow, and bury myself under a pile of musty-smelling sails.

  “There’s the girl!” a soldier cries as the sound of boots quickens along the wooden dock. “You! Missy! Where’s your brother?”

  “On that ship,” Libby says defiantly as my heart sinks. Has my own sister betrayed me too?

  “Damnation! He’s ’alf a mile out to sea!” Then in a flash I understand what my sister was thinking. We may not have been able to sail on the Leopard, but the ship can still help us as a decoy. I feel the faintest flicker of hope. We may just get out of this after all.

  “Shall we get the Navy?” a soldier asks.

  “Don’t be daft. The Royal Navy won’t mobilize for a mere boy, no matter who he beat ’alf to death!”

  “So you think your brother has escaped justice do you, young lady?” Even through the canvas, I recognize the voice of the major who gave Tinker the gold.

  “Defending yer family is not a crime, Sir,” Libby says, trying her best to be brave.

  “It is when the man he attacks is a friend of the King. Search the other vessel,” the major orders. “This could be some sort of a trick.”

  Several sets of boots clamber up the gangplank. “Waste of time, this,” a soldier mutters. “The brat’s a league out to sea, laughing at us. A bit of a coward though, don’t you think? To abandon his sister like that? What sort of villain could he be?”

  “A terrible coward,” agrees the other. “You’re probably right. He’s on the other ship, no doubt, but you know the army same as me; do as you’re told or else. Let’s ’ave a quick look and get this over with.”

  “You there!” a voice cries. “What are you doing on my ship?”

  “Searching for a wanted criminal. What’s it to you?”

  “I’m the captain of this vessel,” comes the curt reply. “People boarding my ship need my permission, even soldiers of the realm.”

  “Sorry, Sir,” the chastened soldier says, deferring to rank. “Orders. We’re looking for a terrible criminal who fled the King’s justice.”

  “King’s justice? The wretch probably stole a carrot from some duke’s kitchen.”

  “Oh no, Sir! I ain’t sure exactly what he’s done but there’s a five-guinea reward on his head. Murdered a lord or something by the sounds of it.”

  The captain re
lents. “In that case be quick about it. We sail on the next tide and you two don’t look like the type who’d fancy a trip across the Atlantic this time of year.”

  I hear the men rattling hatches and checking doors. “Everything’s locked up tight,” one says. “Let’s just ’ave a look in that small boat over there so we can tell the major we did our jobs proper.”

  The soldiers approach, boots thumping on the deck of the ship, and I will myself to stay as still as possible as they near, stopping mere inches from my head. I hear the canvas cover pulled open, hold my breath and freeze. One movement, one slight cough and I’m done for. I wait for what seems to be an eternity. Then I hear the boots walk away.

  “He ain’t aboard, Sir,” one of the soldiers reports as the men walk down the gangplank. “The brat must be on the other ship — just like the girl said.”

  “I told ye,” Libby says. “Now ye can let me go and be on yer way.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so, lass,” the major replies. “You’re coming with us.”

  “But I haven’t done anything wrong!”

  Hidden safely in the lifeboat I fight the rising horror in my chest. This is not part of the plan at all! The soldier was right: I am a coward! The urge to jump out of the little boat and save Libby almost overwhelms me until I remember my promise. Don’t move until I come to get ye.

  “Wanted or not, you can explain things to Colonel Phillips yourself, young lady,” the major says. “He’ll be most displeased with this turn of events and will want to hear about it from you personally. Someone has to pay for your brother’s crimes, and it seems that person is you.”

  Chapter 6

  I wake with a start. I don’t remember falling asleep and for one brief second don’t even know where I am. Slowly I peel back the canvas covering and squint in the bright sunlight — to receive the shock of my life. My sister, the soldiers that took her and the entire port of Liverpool have vanished.