a few years ago with the sea captain, Jenkins. You may recall a guarda costa slashed off his ear, and almost forced Walpole into war against us. No, when we do move, we must be ready—and ruthless. Until then we must lull them into apathy. And now, forgive me, but my daughter is so distressed by that accident I fear an illness, which could delay our sailing."
When he knocked, Erinne sat beside a shuttered window but rose listlessly as he went to her. "What ails you, my dear?" he asked gently. "Surely your fright is past? After all, Juan wasn't even scratched."
"Father." She faced him, her eyes almost staring. "I saw him!"
"Him?"
"My John—John Royston!" Her voice rose hysterically.
"Impossible!" He was disturbed. Had shock brought hallucinations?
"No! It was he who saved Juan. He was riding away just as I ran out. He turned and waved. Oh, Father, he's alive, alive!"
"Girl!" He gripped her arm, yet forced himself to speak calmly. "My dear, you're overwrought. If your lover were here, I would have been told, for ever}' Englishman who steps ashore is reported to the governor at once. No, you imagine merely what you long for to happen."
"No! No! Do you think I don't know his face? Perhaps he uses another name—anything—but by our Holy Mother I swear he's John!"
He stiffened. "His appearance! Quick, describe him!"
There was silence, both of them remembering the time when she, already racked by her mother's sudden death, had to confess to him that she carried a nameless child; remembering how in his fury he had forbidden her ever again to mention her seducer to him.
And now!
"Tall and slim," she whispered at last. "With red-gold hair and hazel eyes like Juan's, and a smile that—"
"Enough!" Frozen faced, he hurried back to the governor. "Excellence, you have the report on the Englishman, Anstruther. I wish to see it again."
His hand shook as he took the paper Don Francisco handed him. Yes! Tall; red-brown hair; yellow-brown eyes, aged about 30. . . .
He strode into the patio. Great God! That night outside the opera, Anstruther's hair must have been powdered or he had wom a wig. Upon reading Latham's report originally, there had been no need to
pay especial attention, since the Englishman's identity was fully known.
A strangled curse escaped him. So this had been Anstruther's revenge for his refusal to fight him! "Cur! Bastard!" he raged, then laughed with terrible bitterness. Yes, but Erinne's bastard!
He burst in upon his startled host again, demanding to know if Davis had yet sailed. Clerks and slaves went scurrying. The report came quickly. The sloop had crossed the bar before sunset and was now probably twenty miles on its course.
Calm at last, Brian made his decision. He'd not be a fool and go himself among the English to kill the dog—personal vengeance mustn't endanger the fate of nations. Besides, why offer him an honorable death when he could be dealt with as a spy against Spain?
"Mazzique!" he cried aloud. "Aye, and Indians!"
Davis was out at sea before he found one of his slaves missing.
"Rot his black soul!" he bellowed, realizing the Negro had taken advantage of the Spanish fiat that any English slave reaching St. Augustine would be declared free. "Turn about! I'll flog him to ribbons. Thinks the Dons won't hand him back, hey? I'll show him!"
But the southwest wind was freshening and, though he blustered and cursed, he was too good a seaman to turn back into what was becoming a gale. During the night, in fact, he was driven off coune to the east; but next day, by clever tacking, he regained sight of land and ran at last into the sound south of Jekyll Island. Protected now he turned north through the inland way.
Off the Altamaha's main mouth he bore down on a piragua manned by white fishermen, who answered his hails in a strange tongue. "Salz-burgers," he opined. "They're a long way from the Savannah, eh?"
But Ram had noticed their dress. Besides, their answers hadn't been in German. "Ecod, they're Highland Scots! Heave to, Captain."
A rope was thrown and one of the strangers climbed hesitantly aboard. A broad, stocky man with a bristling red beard and unkempt hair, he wore only a breacan feile—the belted plaid that was both a sleeveless shirt and a kilt.
"Spamneac?" he queried, hand on dirk.
"British," Davis answered.
"Och, Sassenachr relieved, the man called to his fellows, who
broke into grins. "She iss fra Inverness," he explained laboriously. "She iss here now." "I heard they might come," Ram said. "I'd best go with them." "As ye will," Davis said testily. "But I trust ye'll first settle for yer passage and my trouble helping ye sell the stock."
While the captain totted up his exorbitant charges. Ram explained his wishes to the Highlander who, understanding, nodded agreeably. After paying. Ram went into the piragua and as the sloop drew ahead waved after it, sardonically sure that Davis' ire was because he hadn't known of the Scots' arrival in time to report it at St. Augustine.
The piragua turned upriver, its sturdy crew roaring with laughter at anything strange they saw; a snapping alligator, a leaping sturgeon, a flapping crane. But their collective English was so small that all Ram could learn was they had arrived at Tybee Roads two weeks before in "Dunbarr's" ship.
Some miles upstream, a raw settlement stood on a left bank bluff. There the fishermen went ashore among a crowd of men, most of whom wore the Highland dress. Of the few in more conventional garb was one about Ram's own age, who upon learning his name, hurried forward. "Hugh Mackay, sir, late lieutenant of Harrison's Foot." "Harrison's?" Ram gaped. "Servant, indeed, sir! I was with it when it was Howe's, later Hertford's, in the Flanders wars." Then, grinning at the other's incredulous look, he explained about Dick. He was delighted when Mackay said that when he had joined Harrison's in 1719, "Poor Dick," had already become a regimental legend.
Apologizing for not being able to offer better hospitality, Mackay led him to a tent. "Captain McPherson's Rangers are to lay outguard for us till we can defend ourselves better," he explained. Upon learning that Ram had just come from St. Augustine, he asked: "What stirs there? Are we like to be attacked soon?"
"Not by Spaniards, though they might send some Indians raiding. What of Mr. Oglethorpe? Surely he's due back by now."
"Overdue. He left the Thames with two ships before we did, but he had to await a naval escort at Portsmouth. He hadn't come in to the Savannah when we left, so Captain Dunbar waits for him there with our wives and bairns." Mackay frowned. "Will ye advise us, sir?
Idlers at Tybee told so many tales of Indians and Spaniards, some of us are unsure we should bring our families down here."
"Build a fort of refuge and they'll be safe enough," Ram declared. "The Dons will complain you've brought our settlements a hundred miles nearer them, but they've not troops enough to attack, unless they're reinforced from the Havana."
Among the other settlers he met were three different John Mackintoshes: John Mor —the Senior—of the clan's Borlum branch; John Bain —the Fair—and John of Lynvulgie. Others were M'Bains, Cuth-berts and Baillies, and all belonged to the great Clan Chatten confederation which, as Aeneas Mackintosh had previously told him, had suffered so grievously in The Fifteen. Each had brought Gaelic-speaking servants, and when all arrived from Tybee there would be almost a hundred fighting men, besides women and children.
They had named their settlement New Inverness, and the whole district New Darien, after the luckless Scottish attempt, almost forty years before, to colonize Spanish-claimed Darien on the Panama Isthmus.
All now sought Ram's advice as to house building, the site of the fort—for which they had brought light cannon—how to hunt game, and much more. Impressed by their energy, he promised them the gift of a bull and some cows.
Then McPherson arrived with his men and the news that Oglethorpe was at Tybee. So Ram borrowed a ranger's horse and rode the lonely trail to Shoreacres, which was no longer a frontier post but far in the north of the colony.
/> Lucinda's greeting was so strangely nervous that at first he feared she was involved in some domestic broil. But all seemed normal, save that Rob was showing an unusual industry in improving his acres.
Ram had little time to speculate upon this phenomenon, as he had to write a detailed report for Oglethorpe, together with plans of Fort San Marco and St. Augustine, and of what he had seen at New Inverness.
It was late, therefore, when he could get to bed. But Lucinda was awake and soon came into his arms with a rare ardor. Later, as they lay close, she said shyly that she was going to have a child.
At last! In his excitement he could hardly speak and could only
caress her adored body and dream of the future. The barrier of coldness between them had melted and now, begod, he swore, he'd cherish her as never before, give way to her every whim. His true wife at last!
Dawn came before he fell asleep, but soon he was up again, for Peg-Leg's piragua awaited him.
"I'll be back the instant I can," he promised Lucinda, "I'll curse every hour I'm parted from you. But James needs my help. God be wi' ye, dearest!" Dewy-eyed, she kissed him, and as the piragua dropped downstream he felt he had never been so happy.
Several vessels lay off Tybee, among them the Prince of Wales with the Highlanders' families. Oglethorpe had come in the Symonds and was aboard, though he had made several brief trips up to Savannah for fresh stores for his people and to arrange a hundred other pressing matters. His main difficulty was, he explained, that the captains were afraid of wrecking their big ships if they attempted the uncharted southern sounds without pilots, and pilots, he confessed to Ram, weren't available.
For he was about to establish a town on St. Simon's Island itself. He'd already chosen its name, Frederica, after the Prince of Wales. "Because royalty loves flattery!" he chuckled. "But, Ram, what a relief you're here. I've needed you since we were fifty miles offshore. Hire sloops, brigs, piraguas—anything. I've hundreds of people to get south, and demurrage is eating up the Trust's money that should feed hungry mouths until we can grow a crop."
Upon receiving Ram's report, he decided to forestall Davis by having Sam Everleigh buy up all spare arms and powder in Charles Town. "But discuss none of this with our newcomers," he warned, "for we've a Captain Dempsey aboard, who's emissary from both our Secretary' of State and Geraldino, Spain's minister in London. His mission is to convince the Augustine governor we've no hostile intentions, but he was once himself in the Spanish service and, like Geraldini, he's Irish. You'll find him charming enough, yet 'tis best he doesn't know you understand Spanish or where you've been."
Ram met Dempsey, who was indeed charming, and other newcomers such as the trust's supercargo, Francis Moore, who once had explored in Black Africa; the Reverend John Wesley, raw from Oxford but eager to convert Indians; his brother Charles, appointed Secretary of Indian Affairs; and William Horton, once Under Sheriff
of Herefordshire, who was taking a 500-acre grant near nascent Frederica.
Oglethorpe soon started south with the advance party, and Ram spent several weeks dispatching people and stores after him in whatever light craft he could hire. When at last he was able to return home, Lucinda felt he'd been neglecting her when she needed him most. But she gave him a letter from Oglethorpe which had arrived that morning by a north-bound piragua. It carried the leader's thanks for all Ram had done, and hopes he would soon help still more.
"It's addressed to Major Anstruther," she puzzled. "Is that by error?"
"No, for at last Georgia can appoint her own militia officers, and James feels I should be a major so provincial captains won't take it amiss when I'm put over them."
"Major!" She savored the title. "But why not colonel? I vow I'd dote on being Mrs. Colonel Anstruther."
"That too in time," he smiled. "But, sweet, mustn't you make arrangements? I hear there's a most experienced midwife in Savannah."
"That drunken slut!" she cried, horrified. "She's lost half the mothers she's laid-in. She'll never put hands on me. Nor will any female in America. Oh, husband, there's only one place where your son can be born—Dales view!"
Ram booked passage for her in the Samuel, sailing from Charles Town. She was taking with her several ounces of silk, produced by worms fed on Shoreacres' own mulberry trees. With what the colony had already sent, it would be woven into enough material for a gown which Queen Caroline had graciously promised to accept and wear.
Ram had wanted to return home with her but, the Spanish nego-tions being almost at breaking point, Oglethorpe had begged him to stay. Should war come, he would be needed badly.
So Rob was going in his stead, mainly to recruit married farm hands. The present servants would be out of their indentures by November '37 and would become landowners themselves. And, since the Shoreacres men so outnumbered the women, he must also recruit several single girls. Ram warned him sternly not to anticipate their future Georgia husbands by making them mothers en route.
When the party reached Charles Town in Peg-Leg's piragua, Lu-
cinda was wild with excitement, as were Rob and Margot. Hilary, now Ram's valet, was just happy to be going anvwhere; but Ram himself was depressed that he wouldn't be present at his child's birth.
When they reached their tavern, Lucinda saw a playbill outside it which announced that, for the first time in Carolina's history, a company of players straight from London's Drury Lane Theater was presenting the famous comical piece. The Recruiting Officer, by G. Farquahar, Esq.
"La, 'twas in this very piece I made my greatest success!" she bubbled. "I vow we must see it this very night . . . Oh!"
Her gasp was smothered by gusts of cheers and laughter from the taproom inside, and a baritone voice was singing:
"Over the hills and over the main, To Flanders, Portugal and Spain; The Queen comniands and we'll obey, Over the hills and far away!"
Amid applause, the singer shouted: "There, friends, you've a sample of what you'll hear tonight when ye come to see me portray the immortal Sergeant Kite! . . . Landlord, I spy a gent yonder who's asking ye to refill the glasses, if you please!"
Chuckling, Ram turned to Lucinda—and was instantly sobered. Her hand was over her mouth and her eyes were staring.
"My dear!" Fearing she might faint, he slid an arm around her.
She forced a wan smile. "A mere twinge. I'd best go up to rest," she murmured faintly. "Call the landlord, do."
As he helped her within, the unseen Sergeant Kite shouted: "You, sir, sitting with the seafaring gent. Ah, thought I knew ye! Come to me arms, old comrade . . . 'Sblood, Michael, Michael Wall, come back!" Simultaneously two men burst from the taproom, almost knocking Lucinda down in their hurry to gain the street.
"Stap me, what made him flee?" the actor was complaining. "Damme, once he was glad enough to beg a mug of porter from me in Dublin. Ah, gents, there's a city! I was the idol of the pit and the ladies' delight. And what was he? A Trinity student, he said."
The perspiring host appeared. "Major, Madam, forgive me. We're
run off our feet, what with the Samuel's saihng due and these players drawing half the plantation gentry to town. This way, I beg."
But even after an excellent meal Lucinda remained low-spirited, though she insisted she was in no pain. "I was a devastating Sylvia, so I'm desolated I can't see what the poor creature here will make of it," she told Ram wanly. "But go yourself, and tell me of it."
Since her indisposition had come on just as the unseen Kite was speaking, he wondered if she had recognized his voice and feared a meeting, lest he deny she had played Sylvia, which was billed as the leading part. And there was the matter of the man the actor had called Michael Wall of Dublin, who was probably really John Savage. Yes, best see the play, and the player.
When he went below, the actor had gone, but the landlord explained: "Bless ye. Major, he's here every day, drumming up trade. The play was to end last week, but 'til the Samuel sails they still perform."
The Dock Street Th
eatre was far from full, but Ram thought the comedy most amusing, since it brought back memories of recruiting days with Father. How easily Dick would have filled his quota of grenadiers if aided by so accomplished a liar as Kite! And Sylvia was ravishing when she dressed as a lad and wanted to 'list. Yet he pictured Lucinda rather as Rose, the country wench.
Afterward, he went to the green room, where the players were doffing their costumes, and found his quarry.
"Mr. Legge?" he bowed, having read the name on the playbill. "Ramillies Anstruther, sir, of Shoreacres Plantation in Georgia."
The ruddy-faced Kite regarded him coolly. "Servant, sir."
"Would you sup with me, sir? Egad, your fine portrayal took me back to my father's recruiting in the late Queen's day."
Legge's pale eyes brightened. "Charmed, 'pon honor." He took off his dark wig, exposing a bald head fringed with white hair. He wiped paint from his face with a greasy towel, revealing yellow-gray skin. The gusty grenadier was changing into a watery-eyed old man. He replaced the red coat with a shabby green one.
"Anstruther," he ruminated. "Any kin of the Nabob? Ged, sir, there was a beau! Saw him stand trial at the Old Bailey, and later he wedded—" He broke off, staring. " 'Sblood, you are the Nabob!" And, now cautious, "What d'ye desire of me?"
Ram lowered his voice. "I hear, sir, that Michael Wall found it inconvenient to admit he knew you."
The player bridled. "Damme, when Royalty's been proud to consider Dan Legge among his friends, must I suffer an Irish bogtrotter to ignore my hand? Er, I take it he's no dear friend of yours?"
"No," Ram agreed softly, "no. Now if you've still a mind to sup?"
Not until they were in a private room and drinking choice claret, did he mention the Irishman again.
Legge scowled. "Lookee, sir, the rogue's nothing to me. But I'm not the man to do anyone harm—not without sound reason."
"Would ten guineas be sound reason?"
The other's eyes gleamed. "What d'ye want to know?"
"His real work in Dublin."
"Never admitted it, but I'm sharp. 'Listing men for the French or Spanish, I'll swear."
Ram; being the tale of one Ramillies Anstruther, 1704-55 .. Page 42
