Jacob Jennings
Jack Knapp
Jacob Jennings
A Novel of the Texas Frontier
By Jack L Knapp
By the Author:
The Wizards Series
Combat Wizard
Wizard at Work
Talent
Veil of Time
Siberian Wizard
Magic
Angel (A Wizards Short Story)
The Darwin’s World Series
Darwin’s World
The Trek
Home
The Return
Defending Eden
The New Frontiers Series
The Ship
NFI: New Frontiers, Inc
NEO: Near Earth Objects
BEMs: Bug Eyed Monsters
MARS: The Martian Autonomous Republic of Sol
Pirates
Terra
Hybrids (forthcoming)
American Southwest Series
Jacob Jennings: A Novel of the Texas Frontier
Edward Jennings
Edward Jennings: War and Recovery
Edward Jennings: Cattleman
The Territory: A Novel of the American West
Humorous Fantasy
The Wizard’s Apprentice
COPYRIGHT
Jacob Jennings
A Novel of the Texas Frontier
Copyright © 2020 by Jack L Knapp
Cover Photo, Print Edition, by Jack L Knapp
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.
Disclaimer: The persons and events in this novel should be considered fictional, in that some are products of the author’s imagination, while others are his interpretation of actual historical persons or events.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter One
I had no idea that when the three dusty, tired-looking riders rode up to Uncle Horace’s farmhouse that summer of 1828 my life was about to change again.
“Welcome, Harry!” Uncle Horace said. “I was afraid my letter would get to your place in Alexandria while you were off in Texas! Light and set!”
That was more words than I’d heard from Uncle Horace in the past two months, ever since the rains came and the river overflowed. That’s how I knew that the visitors were important.
I looked on curiously, never having seen them before, but Uncle Horace clearly knew them well.
I suddenly remembered that my pa had mentioned a brother named Harold. I’d never met him and the one time I’d asked, Pa had hesitated before answering. “We don’t see much of Harry, Jake. Your ma doesn’t like having him around. He associates with bad companions, for one, and he drinks more’n he ought to. I figured it was easier to not ruffle her feathers.”
That brief explanation and the look on his face had made me curious enough to ask my cousin Pete during our fishing trip east to the Red River. “He’s the family black sheep, Jakey! Every family has one, seems like, and he’s ours!”
That led to a friendly tussle and I’d thought to ask my pa what Pete had meant after I got home, but I never got the chance. Two days later, before we returned from that fishing trip, a tornado tore its way through our farm. The house was ripped apart down to the foundation and when I got back, I found my Uncle Horace waiting to tell me that I was an orphan.
It took a few minutes before it hit me, that I was alone in the world. No family, and me still a kid! Where would I live? Would anybody give me a job?
I’d seen orphans a time or two and felt sorry for them, ragged and homeless as they were. They sure-enough had a hard life. Did they live by begging?
But then Uncle Horace continued, so I knowed I wouldn’t starve.
“You’ll be going with us, Jake. My brothers and me talked about it and decided that the best thing to do was to just join Hiram’s property to mine. I reckon it’ll be yours one day, when you’re old enough.”
Not that it was ever going to be worth much, far as I could tell. Seemed like the river flooded every two years or so, and soggy fields won’t grow much of anything except crawdads. They’re good for catfish bait, but not much else.
But thinking about what had happened back then didn’t take long, and I found myself wondering: could this really be my Uncle Harry?
But I didn’t have to wonder long. “These must be my nephews Matthew and Mark!” said Uncle Horace. “I haven’t seen you two since you were tots! Say howdy to your cousin Jake, boys!”
I took a closer look at them while they sized me up. Uncle Harry had a patch of white in his hair and wrinkles around his eyes, while Matthew and Mark looked to be twins, grown men who wouldn’t be interested in a 14-year-old poor-relation. I left them to their talk and climbed my favorite tree to look out across the empty fields and think.
After dark, when the catching-up was done, Uncle Harry called me in. I had been leaning against the corral, admiring their horses and wishing I had one for my own. Not that that was likely to happen, poor as we were. I looked around for Uncle Horace, but I reckon he was off with my aunt figuring out how to feed his guests.
Things had been mighty slim lately. The rabbits and such we caught by trapping helped feed us, and Pete and me ran trot lines too. Uncle Horace sold the catfish we caught and used the money to buy flour and beans.
Then I remembered that he still had some cured bacon and two hams left from the butchering last fall. Maybe that was where he was, in the smokehouse.
Uncle Harry interrupted my wool-gathering. “You’ll bunk in the barn tonight with my boys, Jake,” he said. “Tomorrow, we’ll see about a horse for you. Can you ride? Not just farm plugs, but really ride? Spend all day in the saddle?”
“I’ve ridden the wheel-horse while we were snaking logs out of the woods,” I confessed, “but nothing like you’re talking about. I’m really going with you? And I’m to have a horse of my own?”
“You are, Son. Horace took you in after Hi was killed and ‘twas a good thing he did, but he can’t keep you now. He’s got problems enough just feeding his own family and next year is likely to be worse. We brought a little money for him, enough for him to pay off his debts and buy supplies during the winter, but things are still going to be tight. You’ll be better off with us.”
“I knowed he was having trouble,” I agreed. “Last year and the year before that, I would have been out in the fields by now picking peas and beans or plowing up potato rows. But since the river washed out the crops, Pete and me have been trapping and fishing just to keep the family fed.”
“Trapping,” Uncle Harry was clearly not impressed by what we’d done. “‘Coons and possums, Boy, judging by supper. Can you shoot?”
“No, sir; I never learned. But I’d prefer you call me Jake, Uncle Harry. I’ve been doing a man’s work since Uncle Horace took me in.”
He grinned at me and my cousins chuckled. “Feisty, you are! Wal, your daddy Hi was the same way! He’d fight a feller at the drop of a hat, and often enough it was the other feller’s hat he dropped! We’ll get along, young Jake!”
I helped my cousins lay out quilts on the hay for our beds and we were soon asleep. But not for long; Uncle Harry shook us awake before daybreak.
During the night, someone had brought a half-broke mustang in and turned it into the small corral out back. I didn’t know it then, but Uncle Harry dealt in Mexican mustangs; all he’d needed to do was pass on to his partner in Alexandria that he needed one with spirit and lots of bottom.
I helped with saddling the ones they’d ridden the day before, but avoided that mean-looking, wall-eyed bronc, wondering how I was going to keep up when they left.
My cousins noticed my expression. “You’ll ride my horse, Jake,” said Mark. “I’ll get acquainted with this critter, and by the time we get to the Sabine he’ll know who’s boss!”
I was plumb relieved to hear that! But we didn’t go there right away. Uncle Harry had a nice place just outside of Alexandria and that’s where we spent the next few days, with me busy learning to ride and shoot.
He gave me a smoothbore musket and a brace of pistols that took the new percussion caps; they’d belonged to my cousin Matt before he got new weapons to replace them. Uncle Horace owned a musket and a shotgun and I’d shot both, but powder was in short supply.
Just as well, far as I was concerned; that musket had bruised my shoulder black-and-blue the one time I’d shot it and the shotgun had knocked me on my butt. But that had been back when I was still a boy of less than ten years. I reckoned that I could shoot a man’s weapon now.
Turned out I was right. While Uncle Harry met with people he did business with, my cousins taught me how to shoot. My new musket and pistol, but also a double-barreled shotgun and Matt’s new rifle, the first one I’d seen.
I tried my best to hit the targets they’d set up, but I couldn’t help flinching. Every time I jerked the trigger, the sights drifted away from the target so that the bullet kicked up dirt three feet to the right!
I could tell right off that my cousins were thinking I was never going to amount to much, and maybe they were right.
But after every miss, I refused to rub my sore shoulder like I wanted. Instead, I pulled the ramrod out of its thimbles and swabbed out the barrel, then poured in a full powder charge. They watched me and understood. Reducing the powder charge would have caused the guns to kick less, but I knowed how disappointed they already were in me and refused.
Even though every time I shot, it felt like I was stabbing my sore shoulder with a knife.
Between all the shooting we did in the morning and riding cross-country for long stretches in the afternoon, I was so sore when we turned in at night that I wondered if I would be able to sleep. But I always did, and woke up the next morning stiff and sore to do it all over again.
Except for shooting Matt’s rifle; that only happened once.
It was a pretty thing, all curly maple in the stock and with a perfectly-browned and oiled barrel and lock. I would have shot it again because it didn’t kick nearly as hard, but he claimed I wouldn’t need to shoot a rifle during the trips we would be making. I would be armed with pistols and a musket, so if I could learn to shoot them that was all that was needful. I think he just liked to keep that rifle for himself. Jealous, the way I figured it.
I also met Uncle Harry’s two slaves. They would go on the next trip with us. “Jake, Pa and Matt and me will be out ahead, scouting for trouble,” Mark explained. “You’ll follow half a mile or so behind us.
“You’ll be in charge of our string of mules, but mind that you listen to Tom and his boy Isom. When they tell you something needs doing, you do it, and with no back talk, understand? Tom’s family has been part of our family for years and his wife Maudie raised Matt and me!
“He knows as much about the trips we make as we do, nearly. Isom’s still learning but he already knows a lot more than you, so you listen to him too.”
I said I would, and thought nothing of it at the time. They weren’t the first colored folks I’d seen, and Pa would have taken his belt to me if I had ever treated a grownup one disrespectful. He might have called them by name, but to me they were all ‘Uncle’ or ‘Aunt’ unless they were really old. After that, I could say ‘Grandfather’ or ‘Grandmother’ and nobody thought nothing of it.
“Something else you should know,” Matt said. “As soon as we cross the Sabine, we’ll be in Texas. Being as it’s part of Mexico, owning slaves ain’t allowed over there, but don’t you worry. They’ll stick by us because like I said, they’re part of the family. You understand what I’m saying? You’re green as a magnolia leaf, but they’ve already been on more’n a dozen trips with us. And every time that we crossed the Sabine, they knowed just as we did that every man’s hand was against us. We won’t be safe until we reach friends in San Augustine, and maybe not then.”
“I understand, Mark,” I said. “What will the mules be packing?”
“Usual cargo,” Mark said. “Coffee, whiskey, and tobacco for the most part. We can buy it cheaper on this side of the river and sell it for more over in Texas, what the Mexican government calls smuggling.
“Their customs officers collect a tax on them when they come in by port, which makes them more expensive. Uncle Henry is in the same business as us, except he anchors his barkentine out by Campeche Island and lands his cargoes after dark.
“Part of your job if we run into trouble is to take care of Tom and Isom. Any number of planters across that river came from Louisiana or another place where slavery is still legal, and if they could get their hands on ours we might never see them again. I would purely hate to tell Aunt Maudie that you let them take her family!
“You understand? If a stranger should come around and show interest in Tom or Isom, well, that’s why we’re teaching you to shoot. We expect you to, if you’re up to it. Killing a man, I mean.”
“I’ll do what’s needful,” I said shortly. “I’m to do what you said before, shoot first, and if I have any questions ask them afterwards?”
“That’s it, Jake,” Mark said grimly. “Don’t try to scare him, don’t try to just wound him. Shoot to kill, and reload as fast as you can after you shoot ‘cause there’s likely to be more than one.
He relaxed a little after that and went on. “It probably won’t happen, because we know the trails and like I said, we’ll be out in front scouting, but a body never knows. And not just slavers, Jake; Mexicans will hang us if they catch us, and the Indians…wal, don’t let ‘em take you alive. Save one of the pistols for yourself.
“Tom and Isom, they know. They’ll run for it if the Indians catch us and generally they don’t have all that much to fear from the Tonks, seeing as they’re black. But being as you’re white, Indians will either kill you or turn you over to their women for torture. Do what you have to, but don’t let them take you alive!”
Lots to think about. I sure hoped we didn’t run into any wild Indians over there in Texas!
***
That first trip went off without a hitch, so I figured Mark knowed what he was talking about.
Eight days after leaving Alexandria, we slipped into San Augustine and met Uncle Harry’s Texian partners, Antonio Leal and Philip Nolan. Nolan had property there, including the corrals where he kept the wild mustangs that had been rounded up by Mister Leal and his employees.
We swapped our mules and their cargoes for a herd of mustangs and some money. Uncle Harry carried that on the way back and scouted out ahead, while Mark and Matt helped me and the slaves with the mustangs.
We were all tired by the time we got back to Alexandria and turned them into Uncle Harry’s corrals. They would remain there until sold, which likely wouldn’t take more than a day or two, but other people would handle that. My cousins and me would take a day off to rest, and after that they had promised to take me hunting and maybe a few other places they knowed about too.
As soon as money from the sale of the horses started to come in, Uncle Harry started buying:
Whiskey from Arkansas and Tennessee, French brandy that had been smuggled into New Orleans, coffee from Africa, dried bales of leaf tobacco from Alabama and the Carolinas, and anything else he thought would turn a profit after we’d smuggled it into Mexican Texas, keeping in mind that everything had to be transported on mules.
Muskets, rifles, and lead bars for making bullets turned a healthy profit, but because of their weight and length they came by sea.
***
Unlike farming, which was a year to year thing, smuggling paid very well so Uncle Harry was a rich and respected man in Alexandria.
I met many of his friends and acquaintances who stopped by, including a man named James Bowie. “You watch out for him, Jake,” said Matt. “Pa and him were in business years ago, along with a Frenchman named Jean Lafitte, and a dirty business it was.
“Lafitte was a pirate before he joined up with Andy Jackson at the Battle of New Orleans. He got a pardon after that, him and his right-hand man Dominique You. He’s turned respectable, You has, but Lafitte…wal, that rascal’s still a pirate if he ain’t been hung yet! As for Bowie, he’d kill you as soon as look at you!
“That knife he always carries? He’s famous for it. He won’t talk about what he’s done, but I hear tell he’s gutted a dozen men with it! One of ‘em had stuck a sword in his chest and it was still hanging out when Bowie knifed him!”
I filed that information away, because Mister Bowie seemed nothing like the dangerous character Matt said he was. But just to be on the safe side, I was always as polite to him as he was to me and my uncle and cousins.
***
Weather permitting, we made two or three trips every summer after Uncle Harry took me in.
I learned a lot during that time, got used to riding long hours at night, and enjoyed being part of my uncle’s family. If there was a single issue that bothered me, it was that the better families wouldn’t allow me to associate with their daughters. Turned out that respect among men didn’t carry over to families!
Matt and Mark found other outlets, and as I grew older, so did I.
I had no wish to get married anyway. Girls either married by 16 or were thought of as old maids. Men, not so much. Just as well, far as I was concerned. The few young women I met knowed lots of stuff I’d never heard of and as soon as they found out how dumb I was, they tended to smirk at me. If they’d have been boys—well, men my age—I’d have shown them a thing or two, because I was no slouch with my fists.
But being as they were girls, it was easier just to not be around them.
***
There was increasing tension across the Sabine, starting around 1830. By 1831 and on into 1832, the troubles that had started down in Mexico had spread to Texas.
An insurrection was brewing down there, and a new name was being spoken of, Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna. A coming man, folks said.
There were disagreements between Mexican government officials and the American settlers who favored Santa Anna, as well as between Mexican authorities and the illegal settlers that had crossed to take up land without permission. Unlike Steven Austin’s Old Three Hundred, many just crossed the Sabine River, picked a likely spot out in the woods, and started clearing land. Others didn’t bother doing even that much; they set up tents along the trails and started trading. More’n one little town had started that way, according to Matt.
We talked now and then about doing the same thing, my cousins and me. Smuggling was growing more dangerous all the time, and nowadays it didn’t pay as well as before. Uncle Harry was ready to quit too, but he wasn’t sure what he would do afterwards. He owned property in Arkansas as well as Louisiana and mentioned one day that he might take up land speculating, maybe with Jim Bowie and his brother Rezin.
But he would need more money if he intended to go into that business in a big way.
One, maybe two more smuggling trips might be enough.
***
I didn’t much care for the ferryman’s attitude when we crossed the Sabine, but when I mentioned it to Uncle Harry he dismissed it.
“Times are tough and I reckon he’s having money trouble, what with not many wanting to cross nowadays. But we’ll keep our eyes peeled and you remember what I told you, don’t be too slow to shoot and take care of Tom and Isom. If it comes down to you and them or the mules, wal, cache the cargo if you have time and find a thicket to hide in. Mules ain’t cheap but family is dear, and a man can always buy more mules.”
I nodded, and we headed west.
I paid close attention to the trail, which unlike our earlier trips hadn’t seen much traffic since the last rain. Between that and how that ferryman had acted, I was nervous.
Not afraid, because my cousins hat taught me that while a man might be concerned now and then, he wasn’t never afraid. So I wasn’t, but I was concerned enough that I checked the priming on my pistols and that old musket.
I heard Tom murmuring to Isom after he saw me doing that, but I was too far ahead to hear what they were saying. I figured that they were as concerned as I was.
When I heard that first gunshot up ahead of us, I pulled up and held my hand up to signal Tom and Isom to halt the mules. We waited for half a minute, then there was another shot. It was followed by a dozen loud booms and a lot of yelling.
The first two shots had cracked the way my family’s rifles did; the others were dull booms that sounded like muskets. It concerned me—I wasn’t afraid, I was concerned—but I knew what I had to do, so I got to it.
“Tom, you and Isom lead the mules over by that thicket. Don’t take the time to unpack, just unfasten the girths and dump the saddles where they might not be spotted. As soon as you’ve done that, turn the mules loose and the two of you head back to that swamp we passed a few minutes ago. The edges are thick with reeds, so if you can make it to that hummock out in the middle you ought to be safe.”
“What about you, Marse Jake?” asked Tom anxiously.
“I’m going to wait a few minutes right here to see if Uncle Harry or my cousins got away. They might be wounded, and if they are they’ll need help.”
“Marse Jake, all that yelling; it sounded Spanish to me,” Isom said.
“Me too, Isom,” I admitted, “but my uncle and the boys, they’re family. You are too, comes to that, and it might be that all I can do for you is slow up whoever it was that ambushed my uncle.
“But in case I don’t make it…well, Tom, you take care of yourself and Isom. Just you two, don’t concern yourself about me or the rest of us. The horses…you can’t let them whinny if they scent another horse, so be ready to pinch their nostrils closed. Turn them loose if you have to.
“You two take care of yourselves and I’ll be along directly.” I would have cussed at letting my mouth run away like that if I hadn’t been trying to be quiet!
A little bit later, I found a big magnolia to hide behind and waited. An hour passed, as long a time as I ever spent and as concerned as I ever want to be. But finally, the forest woke up and gradually started to sound normal, with birdsongs and rustlings from small critters. And after a bit longer, off in the distance where the gunshots had sounded, a squirrel chattered.
When I heard that, I knowed that whatever had happened was over. So I gave up waiting and headed back along the way we’d come, keeping a lookout for the hummock where I expected to find Tom and Isom.
Chapter Two
We spent a warm night out in the swamp, waving away mosquitoes because we were too concerned about making noise to swat them. Way off in the distance, I heard alligators grunting. I reckoned that they weren’t as concerned as us. But nothing important happened that night, despite us spooking at every close-by rustle of the reeds when a coon or some other critter passed by.
We were all hungry next morning but there were blackberries in every clearing, ripe and as long and thick as the end of my thumb. We ate as many as we thought safe, knowing that too many will give a man the runs. There were also more frogs in that swamp than a body could ever catch, so I knowed that we wouldn’t starve.
Isom knew how to capture them by splitting the small end of a cane pole back to the first joint, then carefully carving a kind of spike behind the sharpened points so the frog couldn’t wiggle his way off. It worked on a cottonmouth too, but I left that one to Tom and Isom to eat. I was a mite hungry, but not that hungry!
When I was sure we were alone, I gave Tom permission to build a fire while I kept watch to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. A body can’t be too careful, Uncle Harry had said, but I wondered. Maybe he hadn’t been careful enough.
After Tom got the fire going, they cooked what they’d caught while I headed afoot back to where I’d last seen my uncle and my cousins. Took me the best part of two hours, because I was being careful, but I homed on buzzards circling in the sky and found my uncle and my cousins.
The Mexicans had hung their dead bodies from a tree limb as a warning to others.
Uncle Harry had been shot several times, including one that had taken off part of his skull. Matt had also been shot and either lanced or knifed in the body, while Mark had died from having his throat cut after he’d been shot. I cut them down and was trying to figure what to do with the bodies when Tom and Isom slipped out of the woods.
“You keep watch, Marse Jake. We’ll take care of your uncle and his boys.
“There ain’t no reason to go back to where we was; we swung by where we’d left the packs on the way here and they were gone, the mules too. I reckon the Mexicans found them, which might be why they didn’t come looking for us.”
My throat was tight, so I just nodded my gratitude to Tom and went off to the far side of the clearing to do what he’d said.
I watched the leaves and Spanish moss hang sad from the trees while they scraped out shallow graves by the side of the trail. It was more than I could have done working by myself and after they were finished, we mounted up and headed south down a deer trail. I didn’t feel like talking and I reckon they didn’t either. They’d known Uncle Harry and my cousins a lot longer than I had, depended on them just like I had and like we had depended on each other during the trips.
A part of their lives had ended when my uncle was killed, just like part of mine had.
There had still been a little bit of being a kid in me up to yesterday, a sense of adventure and more than a little bravado because we were outwitting the Mexican authorities. Now, whatever was left of that was back there in that lonely clearing where Tom and Isom had buried my folks.
A lot of responsibility had landed on my shoulders, so I done a lot of thinking while I rode along. I scanned the trail and the woods, but I also watched my horse’s ears. I knowed that he would spot trouble before I would.
I didn’t have a lot of choices, and the ones I had weren’t worth thinking about. I glanced back a time or two at Tom and Isom, wondering if they were as worried as I was, but if they were they didn’t show it so I didn’t either.
By and by, I straightened up and tried to look like I knew where we were going. Boys can shuck worries, but a man faces up to his responsibilities. He’s allowed to worry, I reckon—I certainly did—but I didn’t show it, any more than Uncle Harry would have.
The thought came on, all surprising. Had Uncle Harry ever worried like I was doing? And never allowed it to show, so that I wouldn’t have to worry?
I missed him already, my cousins too.
There would be no forgetting what those Mexican soldiers had done to their bodies. I felt like cussing and had thoughts of someday doing to them what they’d done to my family, but it was only idle thoughts trying to chase bad memories away.
Underneath was the knowing that they did what they did because we did what we did, and there was an end to it.
***
Later that afternoon, I heard turkeys gobbling up ahead.
A rifle might be accurate enough to fetch a turkey, but an old smoothbore musket? Half a dozen shot would do reliably what a ball wouldn’t, so I drew the ball from my musket and reloaded with shot. That done, I checked the cap to make sure it hadn’t shifted while I worked. Hungry as we were, it wouldn’t do to be careless!
Finally, as ready as I was ever going to get, I snuck up closer to the turkeys. Seemed like these had never been hunted before; they weren’t nearly as spooky as the ones over in Louisiana! I shot a big old gobbler and he barely kicked after he fell out of that nesting tree.
Isom drew the entrails while I reloaded with powder and ball, and he carried the turkey when we rode on south looking for a place to hide. A mile further on, I spotted the entrance to a thicket that looked about as good as any. Tom started a fire while Isom headed for a nearby creek and cut several canes that were thick enough to hold the meat while it cooked.
Even without salt, that turkey tasted far better than what we’d eaten the night before, and hungry as we were we ate him down to the bone.
While we relaxed after supper, I shared my thinking with Tom and Isom.
“We’d have been asking for trouble if we’d gone on to San Augustine. No telling where those soldiers went; they might have loaded the packs on our mules and sold them to the same people we figured to sell to, but they also might have split up and only sent one or two in. The rest could still be out there patrolling.”
Tom nodded understanding, so I went on.
“Even if we got there, we wouldn’t find friends. Leal and Nolan were Uncle Harry’s business partners, but they’re not ours because we don’t have anything to trade. For that matter, they might be dead by now because buying smuggled cargoes is likely just as illegal as bringing them in.
“Heading back east is out too. I expect we got caught because the ferryman warned that detachment to watch for us, maybe by sending a rider. Slow as the mules were, he would have had plenty of time to reach them and let them know we were coming.
“As for going north, I have no idea what’s up that way but I’ve heard that the Indians aren’t friendly. That leaves south, all the way to Galveston. Uncle Henry needs to know what happened to his brother and nephews. Another thing, he’s captain of his own ship so he might have a job for me, or at least be able to tell me where to start looking. What do you think?”
“What about us, Marse Jake?” asked Tom softly.
“I got a duty to care for you,” I admitted, “You’ve been like family, but being honest, I ain’t sure I can even take care of myself. All I can promise is that I’ll do my best. We’re in Texas and slavery’s against the law here, just like it is in the rest of Mexico, meaning that you’re free to go your own way and take your chances if that’s your choice. Galveston is a pretty big place from what I hear. You could get jobs there and I think you’d be safe.
“Tom, I don’t know if it will help, but as soon as we get somewhere that I can find paper and pen I’ll write out a statement that you bought freedom for yourself and your family. Over here, probably no one will question it. Shucks, you might not ever be asked to show it. But if you head back to Louisiana, I just don’t know what would happen.”
“It’s a big step, Marse Jake. Marse Harry offered to free us, all of us, years ago, but a paper don’t stop a man with a gun from putting a rope on us and selling us all over again. What if we was to go on to Galveston with you? You write out that paper for me when we get there and do what you can for Isom, but I can’t just up and leave the rest of my family back in Louisiana.
“Would you let me have the horses after we get to Galveston? I reckon that if I ride after dark and lay up during the day, I can reach Alexandria in a week or two. After that, I’ll collect up my wife and the children and try to join up with you in Galveston.”
“You’re welcome to them, Tom,” I said, and I felt half of my load fall right off. “I’ve got a few dollars put aside and you can have those too. I only wish I could do more. If you want to wait around until the next time Uncle Henry is in port, I’ll ask him if he can do more than I can to help you.”
“No, I don’t think I can wait,” he said. “No telling what might happen to my family when folks find out that your uncle and his boys are dead. If you’re willing to give me one of your pistols, that might help after I get back there.”
“I’ll do that right now,” I said. “You know how to shoot?”
Isom snickered and Tom just winked, so I took that as a yes.
Over in Louisiana it wasn’t acceptable, and if they had found out some of Uncle Harry’s neighbors would have fallen down and had a foaming fit! But he hadn’t paid a whole lot of attention to what others thought, and I made up my mind right then that his way of thinking was good enough for me.
***
Two days later, we reached a big river.
We hid back in the woods and talked it over. “It’s flowing south and we’re on the eastern bank,” I said, “so it can’t be the Sabine. It might be the Neches, but if it is and we follow it south, we might run into the Sabine again. We’d be worse off if that was to happen than we are now. Whichever one it is, the farther south we go, the bigger it’s going to get. I wonder if we could make a raft?”
“Not one big enough to hold the horses, Marse Jake,” Tom said. “If we had an axe or a saw…”
“But we don’t, Tom,” I said. “We might have to abandon the horses and go the rest of the way on foot.” I could tell he didn’t like that idea, counting on the horses as he was, but while we might be able to cross by holding on to a floating log, the horses would drown if we tried to take them with us.
“Maybe not,” said Isom, pointing upstream. “Look at that boat way up yonder. Or maybe it’s a raft, I can’t rightly tell from here. But see if you can make out the man holding on to the tiller.”
I did, and from what I could see, he was as black as Tom or Isom. “Freedman, you think?” I asked.
“I’d bet on it,” said Tom, “either that, or he’s a runaway from Louisiana.
“People cut logs and tie ‘em together back there, then float them downriver to market. I’ve never been on one, but I’ve heard tell how it’s done and I’ve seen ‘em on the Red River east of Alexandria.
“I can try to hail him, if that’s okay with you.”
I said yes, so he did. “Howdy, the boat!” he yelled.
The man holding on to the steering pole jumped and looked around. I wondered if he had been half asleep. But he woke up, and Tom hollered that we had run into trouble up north and needed help.
There was some talk back and forth while that raft drifted closer, but finally the boatman agreed.
“I’ll throw you a rope from the bow,” he called out. “You wrap it around one of those big trees and hang on. Don’t tie it, mind you; I’ve only got the one rope and I don’t want to have to cut part of it away to get loose!”
Isom did as the boatman said, and with his help Tom and me loaded our horses. They’d crossed on ferries a number of times, so while they took some convincing we eventually got it done. Isom let go of the rope and jumped on board as the raft started drifting away.
Me and him took care of the animals while Tom went back to help with the steering. We listened to them talk, but mostly it was the man who owned the raft that did the talking while Tom listened. “There’s a ferry that crosses the river about ten miles south of here and a road that will take you west. First time in this part of the country?” he asked.
Tom said it was and told him we wanted to get to Galveston.
“Then you’re better off taking the next road that goes south. There are other ferries, so if you just stay on the road you’ll get there if you got money to pay. The Neches and the Sabine both end up at a bay that opens out on to the Gulf,” he said, “but I’ll sell my raft before I get that far south and head back upriver. Time I get home, my boys will have more timbers waiting. Spend a few days with my wife and family, then do it again. Ain’t a bad living if you’re a mind to work, and as long as you stay west of the Sabine you’re safe enough.
“Watch yourself when you get close to the Gulf. The Tonkawas are generally friendly, not that I’d be overly trusting of any, but the Karankawas are cannibals. Ain’t many left nowadays, but a body can’t be too careful.”
Good advice, I figured. I’d heard it often enough from Uncle Harry!
After a while, Tom and Isom took turns relieving the man on the steering oar while he slept. It seemed like he hadn’t had a wink for several days, and maybe he hadn’t. He might have just dozed off now and then and woke up long enough to keep his raft between the banks.
Late that afternoon, he steered close to a point that stuck out into the river. Isom jumped on shore and snubbed the rope around a big oak tree and we took our leave of the raftsman. We waved our thanks as he steered back into the channel and he waved back.
We watered the animals—they hadn’t had a proper drink while we were on the raft—and let them graze for a while. As soon as the boss gelding stopped grazing where he was and went to chasing the others off what they were eating, I figured they’d had enough and we moved on.
An hour or so later, we found a place to camp. Good water, lots of fallen oak branches, and plenty of rank grass for the horses to graze on.
I kept watch with my musket ready, Tom built the fire, and Isom set out traps. Just before dark he brought in a big rabbit and a large bird of some kind. Along with some persimmons we’d gathered along the way, they were enough to satisfy our hunger.
I bit into one that wasn’t quite ripe and as soon as I puckered up, I could see that Tom and Isom were trying to keep still. But after I got control enough to grin at them, they both busted out laughing. Persimmons are mighty tasty when they’re ripe, but a body needs to know how to keep them until they get that way. If you wait for them to ripen on the tree, the possums will have ‘em before you know it. The thing to do is to pick them before they’re ripe enough to interest the possums and put them in the flour barrel until they turn ripe.
Uncle Horace’s wife had taught me that, and a lot more besides!
After the fire was out, I moved out into the darkness and tried to ignore the skeeters. I finally cut a palmetto branch and waved that slowly around my face. In the darkness, moving it around like that was safe enough I figured, and it sure did make life harder for the pesky things!
About midnight I woke up Isom and handed over the musket. I was so tired that I don’t remember going to sleep, but I ‘spect I must have.
Tom shook me awake just before dawn.
Chapter Three
Galveston was raw; there was no other word for it, compared with Alexandria, which had a number of fine buildings and an air of permanence. If Galveston had any such, I couldn’t see them from where we had stopped close to the customs house.
I had given Tom one of my pistols, choosing to keep the other. Now I handed the musket to Isom, along with my bag of shot and the powder horn, and went inside.
The single large room had a table toward the back and several taller tables close to the front where two people were standing, writing. I marveled at how fast they worked, hardly pausing at all. An older man that was sitting at a table in back looked at me, not saying anything at first.
I couldn’t blame him; after weeks on the trail surviving off what we could eat and with no chance to clean up except when we got rained on, I sure didn’t cut a respectable figure.
But I straightened up and walked over.
“Señor?” he asked.
“You speak American, Sir?” I responded. My Spanish had more gaps than a picket-shed’s wall, which might lead to misunderstandings I had no need of.
“English, French, the language of my country, and if necessary a translator of Portuguese can be found. You have business with Mexico?”
I explained as much as I could without lying more than necessary. The upshot was that he wrote out the papers of manumission for me and I signed ‘em. He even put a nice stamp on them, which I couldn’t read but it sure dressed the papers up!
Cost me more than a body would expect, but I reckon that’s how governments make money. Or maybe it was how he made a living; I wondered if he’d knowed exactly how much money I had when he decided what to charge me, because at the end I had almost none.
I turned the papers over to Tom and apologized that I no longer had money to give him, but he allowed that he’d make out. He took the reins and hugged Isom while I turned away to avoid seeing tears in their eyes. If it had been anyone else except these two, I might have thought it unmanly.
But I listened to Tom’s instructions to Isom, and then I worried more. “You help Marse Jake, Son. He’s got more nerve than a body would expect, knowing his age, and I ‘spect he’ll do as much or more than I could to take care of you. I’ll look for you when I get back, although it might take me two or three months. Maudie and your sisters, traveling after dark…well, we’ll make out, but we’ll have to be careful.”
“I’ll be okay, Pa,” Isom said. “You take care of Ma, and when you get back put a notice on that big board in front of the customs house. Marse Jake and me’ll keep an eye out.”
Things got quiet for a bit, then I heard the creak of saddle leather when Tom mounted. I waited a while longer and by the time I turned, he was far enough away that I almost missed seeing him. But Isom was still watching, so I joined him until Tom followed a turn in the road and passed behind a building.
I reckon we made people wonder, me armed with pistol and knife, Isom half a step back of me with the musket, but nobody said anything. Maybe it was because most of the men we saw were armed, some better than us.
I asked around when we got closer to the port, not wanting to tell more than necessary, but we found people who knew of Captain Henry Jennings and the Eureka brigantine. “He’ll get here when he gets here, young man. I know him well, and you resemble him enough to be related!”
I told the man I was, and that being newly-arrived, we were looking for work. He sent us off with a boy, who introduced us to a foreman who put us to work.
I wound up fetching and carrying, mostly planks for siding and floors, while Isom was put to work with the roofing crew.
I ain’t sure which one of us got the worst job. Isom was working up there in the sun, nailing cypress shakes in place while trying not to fall, while I ended up with sore muscles and more splinters from those oak boards than a body would believe. Not only in my hands, at least until I could afford gloves, but in my shoulders.
That evening, I sold the musket. It brought in enough to keep us fed and sheltered until we received our first pay.
We found lodgings that evening in a cheap boarding-house that catered mostly to sailors.
Unskilled workers, which is what we were, generally didn’t stay in places like that, being more permanent. Some lived with family while they learned the trade, while others drank more bad whiskey than they ought to and there was no telling where they spent their nights. They might show up for work the next day or they might not.
Work started at daybreak and except for a short pause for us to eat, lasted until dark.
I thought that after we made a little more money, we might be able to move up in the world. There were better trades that a man could learn, and masters out on the frontier were always looking for hard-working apprentices or temporary helpers. All we’d need to do was save up our money and as soon as Tom got back, work our way out west and find someone who would teach us what we needed to know.
There was also free land to be had for the taking, so folks said, good bottom-land that would grow most anything a body could want. The government would insist on us joining the Catholic Church and learning the Spanish language before they would accept us as citizens, but others had done it. As for the Indians, they could be notional and a body had to keep a close eye on his livestock, especially horses, but again, others knew the way of it and I figured I could learn too.
***
Five weeks later, a man with the look of the sea about him came up to me. “You were asking about Henry Jennings?” he inquired softly. I confessed that I was.
“I can take you to him,” he said.
I yelled up to Isom to come on down and right then and there, we quit that building gang.
The foreman didn’t much like it, but after arguing a while he paid us half a day’s wages and we set off with the seaman. I expected we’d head for the wharf, but instead, he led off on a trail through the scrub near the dunes that protected the interior of the island. He didn’t want to explain at first, but after I mentioned Captain Henry was my uncle he opened up. Turns out he was coxswain of Eureka’s longboat.
“We don’t tie up at the wharf until after we’ve unloaded most of our cargo in Campeche, which is where we’re going. Ain’t much, just a place where longboats can come in and find people to carry things to the sheds, but it suits us. The sheds ain’t much either, but the cargoes won’t be there long. Always buyers waiting, y’ see; the fishermen let them know when a ship is heading in with stuff the captain doesn’t want to declare. Ten years ago, it was Jean Lafitte’s base for his pirate raids and it ain’t changed a whole lot since.
“The people that own the wharf charge more than Captain Henry’s willing to pay, plus there’s the customs duties that the Mexican agent collects on legal cargoes. By the time Eureka comes to anchor in the bay, she’ll be riding light, meaning no customs duties to speak of. The captain will make sure that there’s just enough. That way, the customs agent can collect enough to pay for his time and send a little on to keep his bosses down in Mexico City from asking questions. They know what we do and we know they know, but if people don’t go bragging about things they ought to keep quiet about nobody stirs up trouble.
“We’ll stick around for another week or two, just long enough for the crew to get a run ashore. Campeche and Galveston are both sailor-friendly, with people happy to take his money and show him a good time. We’ll start loading cargo for New Orleans later this week, then head out. I reckon it’s a good thing for you boys that I heard you were asking about us!”
***
Uncle Henry was shorter and stouter than Uncle Harry, who had been whipsaw-lean, but otherwise resembled him.
He also didn’t take much convincing that I was family after he got a good look at me, although he was curious about Isom until I explained.
His mouth got grim, lips thin and jaw clenched tight, when I told him how Uncle Harry and my cousins had died. “Harry knew the risks,” he finally admitted. “I had a letter a while back and he mentioned quitting the business, but I’m not surprised that it caught up to him before he did. He was always a gambler, my brother. As for your father, I was sorry to hear that he’d died so young. Storm, was it?”
“A tornado, folks said,” I explained. “I didn’t see it because I was away on a fishing trip. Uncle Horace took me in after that.”
“A sad business. I might be your only relation now, except for Harry’s family. Horace got into some trouble, something to do with selling land that wasn’t exactly what he claimed from what I heard. The sheriff mentioned that in a letter and said that somebody set fire to his house. He claimed to know who’d done it, but hadn’t caught the man yet. And he might not; lots of folks one jump ahead of a Louisiana hanging show up here in Texas under a new name.
“I’m sorry to tell you that I can’t offer you money to live on. I carry just enough on board to pay my hands when we reach port; everything else is done through my agents on shore. What I can do is sign you both on. If you’re willing to work, that is, and if you’re not, well, the bos’n has his ways. I don’t pay more attention to what he does and how he does it than is right and proper.
“Just so you know what you’re letting yourself in for, sailing can be dangerous anywhere and the Gulf is as bad as any. There are hurricanes and pirates to look out for, and that’s not mentioning the simple falls and ruptures that plague the hands. Some can’t learn the trade and some get tired of the work and go ashore, so we’re always looking to take on likely young men.”
I glanced at Isom and he nodded.
“We’ll sign, Uncle, and thank you.” Uncle Henry nodded, then led us back to his cabin and signed us in on his muster book, with a last instruction before he turned us over to the bos’n.
“Let that be the last time you refer to me on this ship as ‘Uncle’. I’m addressed as Captain Jennings when I send for you, and you’ll keep your place until I do.”
Isom whispered to me as we followed the seaman forward to where the bos’n was working. “Marse Jake, how am I going to let my pa know what happened to us?”
“From what that other man said, Captain Jennings sails back and forth between New Orleans and Galveston. I’ll try to post a letter to Uncle Harry’s wife when we get to New Orleans.
“She’ll want to know what happened to her husband and their sons, but I won’t mention your father or you. I’ll just ask her to let the rest of my relatives know that me and a friend had signed on to Uncle Henry’s ship Eureka. Your pa will hear and figure it out, and next time we get the chance we’ll look for a message on that board outside the customs house. If there’s nothing there, we’ll leave a message ourselves.”
Isom was quiet for a while, then whispered “I never heard you say that before, that I was your friend I mean. I never had a white friend before.”
That was a lot to think about, but maybe we were. I’d trusted him and Tom and they’d trusted me, to the point that I felt no unease falling asleep at night, knowing they were keeping watch. I didn’t have their experience, but if they ever doubted me I’d seen no sign of it. And hadn’t we shared the same hardships? Gone hungry together, shared our food when we had it? Huddled under the same trees to keep from getting soaked?
Friends? Close enough, I figured.
***
Closer than I was to my new messmates for a certainty!
They had made it clear that I was the lowest of the low, a landsman and waister unfit to climb among the bewildering tangle of lines that led up the thick masts.
“Not ropes, you sorry excuse for a lubber!” the able seaman that had charge of my working party had told me, and I’d believed him. He’d also made it clear that I would never be allowed to climb the ratlines that led dizzyingly to the heights where real sailors worked.
Isom had been assigned to a different mess; they slung their hammocks over on the port side, and while some would work the square-rigged mainmast with me and my messmates, most would work the gaff-rigged sails on the mizzen mast aft.
Sailors insisted that they spoke American, but I had my doubts.
I had time as I crawled exhausted into my hammock at the end of my watch to wonder if Isom was as tired as I was, but then sleep claimed me.
Chapter Four
“See that you coat them well, Young Jake, shrouds and ratlines both!” advised Sam Sanford.
I nodded tiredly and dipped the swab into the bucket of hot tar, ensuring that it was well-covered with the smelly stuff. Inevitably, some of the sticky tar wound up on my clothing and on me. I wiped the swab on the upright shrouds, then the ratlines between, pressing hard and then smoothing the new coat so that when the sail-handlers heading aloft put their hands and feet on the lines, they wouldn’t slip.
I’d already coated the wooden battens that served the same purpose lower down before moving up. Being allowed to climb higher in the shrouds than my head was a sign that I was gaining confidence, not that I took much pride in that. Far above me, there were more shrouds from the mast-tops that led to the upper masts, connected by ratlines just like the ones I was working on now. That was where the real sailors worked!
Was this how novice sailors gained confidence, by working on the lower stays for a few days as I was doing? Then climbing to the next level during each daylight watch?
Maybe. For now, I was content with my status as ‘waister’, a lowly landsman who labored in the ship’s waist.
Swabbing a fresh coating of tar on lines was one of the easiest jobs on the ship. The rest of the work was hard, but required little thinking. Manning the capstan when the anchor was hoisted, hauling on halyards to align the yards when the wind shifted, re-balancing cargo in the holds as supplies were used up; in each case, the chief requirement was brute strength and endurance.
I’d thought myself inured to hard labor when I joined Eureka’s company. Had I not loaded and unloaded packs from mules, wrestled the stubborn beasts to make them stand still while being saddled? All that I had done, and more? Yet I had found during that first week that I was sore in places I didn’t know I had! And tired, which soon became a constant state of affairs.
Sleep was something to be caught whenever possible, because the cry of “All hands on deck!” could come at any time and the penalty for not responding fast enough was being turned out without warning from your hammock.
I grew irritable, and I confess, savagely mean. I was easily provoked during that period before I became accustomed to life on board a ship.
My messmates understood, and most avoided me when possible. Others there were who thought to try my readiness to defend myself, and I conducted myself very well in the brief exchanges.
A boy who lives with male cousins learns early how to wrestle, and yes, to fight.
Sam Sanford was my teacher, and strict he was but not overly so.
From learning the names of the standing and running rigging to the location of lines which I had to be able to lay hands on in pitch blackness, to learning of how shrouds supported the masts by connecting to the ship’s framing timbers; from knowing how the rudder-lines were rove through pulleys belowdecks and brought up to the wheel, even to reading the compass card in the binnacle; these things he taught me, and more. He was unsparing in praise when I did well and harsh with criticism when I forgot.
I rarely saw Isom, which, according to Sam, was by design. “You must learn to work with your messmates, lad. They must be able to depend on you at all times and in all weathers, and if we sight pirates, well...you’ll not be allowed to shirk that duty either!
“The great guns, such as they are,” he chuckled, “are fit for wiping away boarders, but of little use else. You’ll be called on to help when the time comes, and that smartly, but ‘tis easier to handle canister than solid shot.” He’d gone on to explain that canister was a tin of musket balls that broke apart during firing, spraying the balls shotgun-like across a pirate’s deck. The balls were deadly at close range, worthless beyond a hundred yards.
But the greatest danger Eureka would face during the voyage to New Orleans, when all hands might be called out at any time, was not from pirates but from weather.
Late summer in the Gulf was prime hurricane season.
***
Sam, being an able-seaman, often had duties more important than serving as sea-daddy to a raw landsman.
When he was otherwise engaged, I found myself often in the company of Jean-Louis Lafitte, who was about my age. Not so tall as my own 6 foot of height nor as strong as I had become, he was cat-quick and well educated, which I envied.
He was guarded about his forebears, revealing little, yet willingly did he share much other knowledge with me. He helped me improve my writing, something I sorely needed, and later he was outgoing when teaching me to speak French and Spanish.
“When we reach New Orleans, Jake,” he said, “you’ll be glad you can speak properly!
“The men might be soldiers from Spain or Mexico so you’ll need to know Spanish if you’re to stay out of trouble, but it’s the women who’ll appreciate a polite command of French! Otherwise, you’ll find yourself restricted to the company of doxies along the waterfront that I’d not wish on my worst enemy!”
So it was that on any given watch, we might spend our time conversing solely in French or Spanish while others sat around in idleness, telling yarns or doing scrimshaw when not needed to work the sails or yards.
Later, Jean-Louis asked permission of the master’s mate to begin instructing me in the use of the sword.
That’s when I discovered just how quick he was, for I could never touch him. He seemed utterly confident, even bored, when a riposte took my bated-blade out of position, leaving me open to the touch of his bare weapon.
I, the novice, must use a sword with a covered tip; he, the expert, disdained such. And there was more. “Your pistol is fine for one shot, Jake, but you’ll have no opportunity to reload in a fight. When that day comes, you’ll know the true value of a blade!”
“Did your father teach you, Jean-Louis?” I asked.
“I hardly knew him,” he said softly. “He was often away, leaving me in the care of my aunt and her friend Dominique You. From the time when I was barely able to hold an epée in my hand until he went off to fight the British, he taught me. A master not only of blades Dominique was, but of cannon too. He’s retired now, or so I was told.
“You’ll not see many landsmen wearing a sword openly nowadays, Jake, but don’t be fooled. The bravos swagger about with knives patterned on that of James Bowie, but the really dangerous men are armed with pistol and sword-cane.”
“I met Jim Bowie once,” I recalled. “He’s as nice a fellow as you’d ever want to meet. A little stocky of build, quiet, and very good manners, nothing like what you might expect from his reputation. He and my uncle Harry did business together, which is how I came to meet him.
“We brought Texas mustangs from San Augustine across the Sabine to Alexandria, and Jim or his brother Rezin bought them from us. They then sold them to buyers in Mississippi and Alabama. He was engaged to a girl from Alexandria when I met him, but I heard that she died.”
“I believe he worked with…a close relative at one time,” said Jean-Louis cautiously, “but that was several years ago.”
After that, he changed the subject and refused to say more about his early life.
***
From time to time, I saw Captain Jennings.
I’m sure he knew what I was about, but I was too busy most of the time to concern myself with his doings. If he wanted me, he would send for me.
I saw nothing of New Orleans when we anchored in the river, other than what was visible from Eureka’s deck. I had no money, so was not disappointed in not being allowed to go ashore. There would be other opportunities. I did manage to write a letter to my aunt, and when he heard what I was about the captain paid to send it.
Meanwhile, I was kept busy on board, obeying the orders of William Moore, captain of the mainmast.
He seemed pleasant enough during the first few days, but then went ashore and remained there for two days. When he came back, his attitude had changed. My uncle had strict rules about alcohol on board, especially for the hands, but perhaps the rule was different for petty officers. Moore was often either drunk or recovering from the excesses of drink.
Then it was that I learned why his nickname among the crew was “Bully”, for in one of his rages he came at me.
The footwork I’d learned from Jean-Louis kept me from serious injury, yet I was unable to avoid many of his punches. I might have suffered a serious beating had the master’s mate not seen what was happening and spoken harshly to Moore. Thereafter, I avoided the man and the mate made sure that Moore was watched closely.
Yet he continued to drink, and except for his cronies, other members of the crew showed the marks of his fists.
Two weeks later, we worked our way down the channel at first light and caught the morning ebb tide, which carried us out to the Gulf.
I went aloft for the first time while Eureka was underway, only to the lowest yard I confess, but I was no longer among the lowest on board, a mere landsman and waister. I was becoming a sailor.
“One hand for the ship, lad, one hand for yerself! Ye may think me over-cautious, but ‘tis a lesson never to be forgotten! One day, when yer hands are bloody and ye’re handing a frozen topsail and yer mates are depending on you to take in a reef, all while the main truck is drawing circles above yer head, ‘twill save yer life.” Old Mario, who’d gone to sea while yet a child, nodded his head and glared at me with his single eye.
I made up my mind to remember his words and practice them whenever I was aloft.
Would I one day do as he’d suggested, join the topmen? Become one of the elite among real sailors, true masters of their craft who thought nothing of going aloft in a gale?
For now, the weather was mild and I soon learned to enjoy the view from high above the deck.
Two weeks later, my heart nearly beating its way out of my chest, I slid down the backstay as real sailors do.
Frightened of falling I was, but more fearful of the mockery that would come if I persisted in my lubberly ways! Jean-Louis was there to steady me when I landed, with a smile and a nod. Perhaps he had been equally—concerned—at one time, and as I had done, faced his fears as a man must and gone on to do what was needed.
***
I was part of the watch on deck when I heard the hail from the crow’s nest.
“Deck, thar! Sail ho, two points abaft the larboard bow!”
The sails were drawing well, the breeze steady but not particularly strong from the southeast, and my uncle had been talking to the steersman when he heard the call. Now he walked forward until he was halfway between the foremast and mainmast, then called to the lookout.
“What do you make of her?” he yelled, hands cupped to either side of his mouth that the man aloft might better hear.
“She’s Spanish, judging by her rig, and hull-down. I can make out two masts, both full-rigged!”
The master’s mate had come up to join my uncle Henry.
“Captain?” he asked. “A pirate, you think?”
“Aye,” my uncle said, but he didn’t seem worried. “We’ll keep an eye on her, but if the breeze holds I expect we’re safe enough. I had intended to wait off the channel and go in on the morning tide, but that may change if that fellow comes closer.
“Leave the guns unloaded for now and let the hands rest, but if things change I’ll want you to issue weapons.”
The mate nodded and went about his business.
As it happened, the pirate turned away to the south, giving up any attempt at a chase. But my uncle was not going to take unnecessary chances.
“We’ll anchor in the bay and keep a sharp eye out tonight,” he told the mate. “The gunners will have to sleep at their posts. Load the guns before dark, but do not prime them unless ordered. ‘Tis best to also have crew weapons ready to hand if needed. I don’t anticipate trouble from that fellow, but ‘tis best to not take chances.”
The mate nodded assent.
“Only a few clouds and we’ll have a half-moon tonight,” my uncle continued. “If they send boats during the darkness, we’ll see them.”
After that, the two headed aft, still talking.
Isom came up to me later. “Marse Jake, if anything happens, you’ll let my pa know?”
“I will, but you’ll be fine. How are things otherwise?”
“I like the work,” he said. “Setting and reefing the gaff mainsail is carried out from the deck by halyards, so ‘tis easier than what you do. Our tops’l is also smaller than the main tops’l, so my mess has fewer members.”
I picked up on the comment about numbers. “No problems?” I asked.
He shrugged, but refused to say more, so I knowed he’d had trouble. Some there were who paid more attention to a man’s color than to the quality of his work, but I understood there was no changing them.
After a few more words, he headed back to larboard.
I found a position out of the way, not particularly uncomfortable, but even so I was unable to sleep.
The night passed slowly and I started at every splash from alongside. Eventually the sun came up and revealed that we were alone in the outer bay. So ended my first pirate scare.
The land breeze was foul the next morning, coming directly across the bow, but we were able to tow the ship to a better anchorage. I was assigned to one of the longboat’s starboard oars during this task, and looking around I realized my shipmates were as exhausted as I was. But we concentrated on our tasks, as sailors do.
I managed a few hours of sleep during the next watch, while others shifted cargo in preparation for off-loading, then went ashore as part of the longboat’s crew. I had no desire to sample such entertainments as there were, and anyway I had received only a partial pay from my uncle.
So it was that I was sitting on a hummock of sand, looking out over the bay at nothing in particular, when Isom found me.
“Marse Jake, I’ve heard from my pa,” he said softly.
“I’m glad, Isom. He got your family out of Louisiana?”
“Aye, he did, but he’s had trouble. It’s why he’s not here now to see you. They must go on, and they’ll need my help.
“There was a murder in Natchitoches while my pa was there, of a mulatto freedman who had married a quadroon. Slavers took her and her children west across the Sabine and tried to sell them, but local officials of the Mexican government found out and ordered the men whipped. Because of that and some talk he overheard, Pa thinks it too dangerous for us to stay here.
“Planters are coming to Texas and they’ll need slaves to do the work, so as soon as we can collect up supplies and buy a wagon and mules, we’re heading west.
“We will go beyond the desert, to where cotton law doesn’t hold like it does here in the east. Pa hasn’t decided what we’ll do when we get there; we might cross the Rio Grande at El Paso del Norte, or we might cross farther north and see about settling around the town of Mesilla. He wants to know what your thoughts are, for you’re welcome to come with us. We’ll help you get land of your own out there if that’s your choice.”
But by the time he finished speaking, I knew what I wanted to do.
“I’m staying aboard, Isom. I understand why you have to go, and sorry I am that it has come to this, but my future is with my uncle.
“I won’t forget you, any of you. Thank your pa for me when you see him. None of us can be sure about what the future holds, so we may see each other again.” I held out my hand and we shook, then ended up hugging each other.
Isom nodded when we stepped apart, likely as choked up as me, and turned away. I watched until he vanished among the sheds and for a short time longer, for it occurred to me that with him went the last of my youth.
Chapter Five
“Mark my words, my boy; keep on as you’re going and you’ll go far!”
But I barely heard my uncle’s words, so anxious was I to share the wondrous news with my best friend Jean-Louis.
“I’m to be the new foremast captain! And my uncle says that next time we sail, he’ll start teaching me navigation! I’ll need my own sextant, for he’ll not risk his fine Dollond instrument that he got from Jean Lafitte, who took it from a British captain. But there are others almost as fine to be had in New Orleans!”
“That’s all well and good, Jake, but if you’re to be foremast captain, what of Bully Moore?” Jean-Louis asked. “Has your uncle decided to set him ashore?”
“He didn’t say. Too many incidents of drinking aboard, too much dissatisfaction among the crew because of his bullying ways, and too many foremast hands leaving the ship at New Orleans were what he mentioned.
“I’m for going ashore where I hope to locate replacement sailors, but I’d admire to buy you a glass of brandy while I look around! What say you?”
“I say yes, and thank you! You will make a fine ship’s master one day!”
We took the longboat in with the last of the cargo and beached it near the shed where buyers waited. After seeing to the unloading and storing, which were part of my new responsibilities, we headed for Galveston.
Jean-Louis seemed to be quieter than usual on the way, but I paid little note, such was my mood. Until he put a hand on my sleeve and stopped me, just before we reached the dirt road which was often as far as sailors went into the town, it being the location of grog shops and other places of entertainment.
“Jake, you should watch your back when we return to the ship. Did you mark the look of Smathers and Oakey, who manned the bow oars on our way in? They’ve had their fiddly businesses going on board, buying a few small things and selling when next we arrive at a port, all watched over by Moore. Now that you’re taking his place they’ll be wondering, and likely they’re not alone for Moore had his favorites. ‘Twas his own fault and the captain’s decision, but they’ll blame you. ‘Tis easy enough to cause you to slip when you’re aloft and if it happens during the dark of night, who’s to know but what your death was an accident?”
“You’re right,” I said, “and good advice you’re giving me, my friend! I’ll be careful. I’ll also let them know that so long as they don’t endanger the ship, they can continue their fiddles to their heart’s content!”
As it turned out, the danger was more immediate. We had but stepped into one of the better saloons along the way when Jean-Louis poked my arm. “Moore!” he whispered.
But I had already seen him rising from a table where several other Eureka hands sat. Watched him heading toward us, brushing others away from his path. And just before he got to me, he bellowed, “Take my place, would you, you jumped-up toady?” Before I could respond, I saw the knife in his hand, held low with the blade cutting-edge-up for the gutting stroke.
I pushed Jean-Louis aside, for this was not his affair.
I carried a knife too, as all sailors do, but it was in its sheath on my right hip where I could not reach it in time. I backed up until my hip touched the bar, then placed my hand on top, thinking to vault across if I had time. But my hand fell on the club that the bar-tender used to start the bungs that sealed his beer tuns.
His carelessness in not placing it in its usual place saved my life, for my hand closed naturally around it.
Not a true bung-starter, it was more of a short club; but it was all I had for I’d no time to reach for my knife. I had time for a brief thought only, that he was a knife fighter and I was not. But the bung-starter was not unlike one of the belaying pins that all sailors handle.
So I swung it at his head as hard as I could.
He saw it coming, and to give him his due, he was uncommonly quick as well as uncommonly strong. He turned his head aside, causing me to miss, but he was no longer balanced to stick his knife in my guts.
Which gave me time to set myself for another swing. I made to aim the bung-starter at his knife wrist but he pulled it back before I could, and with his left hand extended to catch my arm or block the next swing he came at me again.