Louis L'Amour (14 page)

“Not even white slaves?”

Was I mistaken, or was there a subtle change in his manner? “I doubt if there are any such,” he replied.

“When a man begins to deal in human beings,” I commented, “it would seem to me color would be a minor consideration.”

“You want three outfits, then?” He stood up and closed his book with a snap. “Come, Charles, we must be off.”

He paused. “The one suit I could deliver tomorrow if it is acceptable.”

“It would be a favor,” I said.

He lingered as Charles left. “Slavery, of whatever color, is not a topic much discussed here. I would suggest avoiding it … if you will permit.”

“Of course. I am a stranger, and I do not know
what it is that concerns your citizens. In any event, I shall be here but a few days … if I can find what I want.”

“The name is Jayne.” He hesitated. “Augustus Jayne. If you have need of me, please call.”

When he was gone, I sat down near the window. Jayne might know something and might not, yet if he did not know, I believe he suspected.

The idea of seeking books to open a school was unusual enough and harmless seeming enough to enable them to pigeonhole me as a mere eccentric. Yet in all the loot taken from vessels of all countries, there must have been books, for many ship's officers carried them, and many brought along whole libraries when going to the colonies. Also, I suspected they were the least marketable of items.

The search might allow me admittance to many places otherwise closed to a stranger, even into homes on some of the outlying plantations.

Yet two days later I had learned nothing. Henry came and went, and several times I saw him with neatly dressed black men, most of them very black indeed, several with bloodshot eyes. They were maroons, down from the hills. They carried themselves proudly and went their own way, having little to do with either whites or the other blacks.

My clothes arrived, and I dressed, then stared at myself in the mirror. Accustomed as I was to the wearing of buckskin leggings and hunting coat, all fringed to let the rain off easier, I was startled to see what a fine spectacle I had become. Pleased yet displeased by the result.

A doublet of forest green, the sleeves slashed to show the linen shirt beneath, knee breeches of a somewhat deeper green that met high boots of Spanish leather. The collar of the doublet was covered with a band of rich lace of white. As I was staring at myself and wondering whether to admire or laugh, Captain Tilly knocked at the door, then entered. He paused a minute, looking me over carefully. “You look quite the
young gentleman, Kin. You are a strikingly handsome man, and that can be an advantage at times.”

“Thank you, captain. I like myself better in buckskins, but if this is the style, then I shall wear it, and if any laugh, they shall answer for it.”

“Aye, you being your father's son, I suspected as much, so I brought this.” He lifted the sword case he had by his side. “It is a good blade, one your father left aboard ship, and I rousted it from an old chest for you. Wear it in good health.”

The blade was a good one and came easily from its sheath. I stretched it, moved it, tried the balance. “Aye! A handsome blade, although it has been years since I used one.”

“You have fenced?”

“With father, as I said, and Jeremy as well, with Kane O'Hara and with Sakim. They were reputed good, so I expect I have been well taught.”

“Be careful! There are fine swordsmen here and deadly fighters, although they favor the cutlass and the cut and slash method rather than parry and thrust.”

A thought came to me. “My father had an old friend, one who chose not to stay in the mountains.”

“Jublain? Aye, a fine man and a fighter. I wonder now what has become of him. He went back to England, then to the Low Countries, I believe. He was never one to stay still, but a rover always. I heard somewhere that he'd gone out east, to the Moslem lands.”

We talked long, and then he returned to the
Abigail
, and I bedded down for the night, but I did not sleep. After a bit I got up, moved by some strange restlessness, and went again to my window. My room was in darkness, the street but dimly lit by reflected light, and a man stood on the corner across from the hotel. As I stood beside the window, I could see him but dimly, for he was in deep shadow. He stood there a moment, then crossed the street, going away. At once I knew him. Only one man was so large yet moved so easily.

Max Bauer!

Max Bauer here! Had he followed me? Or was it mere coincidence?

He had disappeared now, going away into the street below, yet I was sure he knew I was here. He might even know what room I was in.

And life was cheap here. No need to attempt murder himself, for it could be bought here for a few shillings or even a gallon of rum.

Every second, every minute, I must be on guard. I must be aware and ready.

And I was ready.

D
awn found me awake and, soon after, breakfasting in my room. There was much thinking to be done. Henry would be out, and I had great confidence in his chances of gaining information, for there were no secrets from the servants and slaves. Yet I could not depend upon him alone.

Augustus Jayne, the tailor, was another possibility for tailors often visit homes, and there is little that escapes their eyes. Did he know something? Or was it merely my imagination? Certainly if a trade in white women existed, it was very much undercover, even here in this pirate port.

Looking out upon the street, I tried to find any possible lurker, anyone who might be placed there to watch for me, but saw no one who seemed to be lingering there.

Charles, the slave of Jayne. He would go most places Jayne would go, and if they traveled into the back country, he would eat with the servants of whomever they visited and would hear most of the backstairs gossip. Henry could talk to Charles.

One thing I had already noticed. The maroons, although few of them were about, were regarded with awe and respect by the other blacks. Perhaps because of some innate quality, perhaps because they had escaped, taken to the hills, and had set up their own world there.

The streets, when I emerged upon them, were crowded with bronzed and bearded seamen, some
roughly clad as from the ships recently arrived, others bedecked in priceless gems and silks from the Far East. In the drinking shops they slammed handfuls of gold coins upon the table and called for rum. Often enough they were served in cups of gold or silver, sometimes set with gems, and aside from rum, easily the most popular of drinks, one might find wines from all the world there and the best of food.

They were a hardy, brutal lot, ready to use the knife or the fist, and stabbings were routine. If a dance were in progress, the music was not stopped for a killing; they simply danced around the body until that set was over. These were men who lived in the shadow of death, whether by gunshot, blade, or the gallows, a roistering lot of every nationality and race under the sun, mingling with no thought of anything but rum and women.

Moving among them, I gradually got the feel of the crowd. The women were there, also of every nationality, but mulattoes and quadroons predominated.

Suddenly I glimpsed Henry. He was standing alone near a stall that sold basketry, looking very handsome in his neat black coat and his white shirt. A girl moved through the crowd toward him, saying something, but he waved her aside. She left with an angry glance and a flounce. He waited, and I did, with the crowd moving past me.

A slim black man moved through the crowd toward Henry, but when he came near to him, he did not stop or seem to notice but walked on past, turning up an alley near the basketry stall. After a moment Henry followed.

At that moment something plucked my sleeve. It was Charles. So concentrated had I been on Henry's movements that I had not seen him approach.

“Captain? I am Charles, from Augustus Jayne. He has need of you for a fitting.”

A fitting—now? I doubted it, yet I went along, following behind him to the door of his shop. It was a very strong door of oak set with iron straps and bolts.
Charles tapped; the door opened, and we entered. A huge black man was guarding the door.

Jayne was waiting for me, tape measure in his hand. As Charles usually did the measuring, this also surprised me.

As he started measuring, he talked softly. “Your name sounded a bell in my ears. I was sure I had heard it before this.

“Sackett? I said, it is an unusual name, and then I recalled a letter I had long since from England but one of a series of letters I review from time to time because of the information they contain, much of which can be profitable.” He stepped back, glancing at me from the corners of his eyes. “Information is a commodity, you know, often calling for better pay than goods.”

“If you have information,” I said, “I will pay.”

“Oh, no! I was not suggesting … far from it. Only that you would know that sometimes a tailor is not only a tailor. I have a friend in London who is interested in information and is often very helpful to me. It was in a letter from him that I found the name … Barnabas Sackett.”

“My father.”

“Ah? I suspected as much. My friend is Peter Tallis.”

“My father spoke of him.”

“He would, of course. Peter Tallis is a man of many parts and of much knowledge. He has, I believe, friends such as I in most of the ports of the world. We write letters to him and advise him as to conditions.

“You see, although the name sounded in my memory, I did not place the reason. Then it came to me. A friend to Peter Tallis is a friend to me. Or I am a friend to him.”

“So?”

“I measure you in case of spies, and let me tell you, my friend, in Port Royal there are spies everywhere. You spoke of white slaves. I suspect you did not want one for yourself, knowing what I do of your father.”

“You are right. I seek a certain girl who might have been sold as a slave, a kidnapped girl taken from what is called New England.”

“There were several such, as well as some from New Amsterdam, from Carolina and Virginia.”

“This girl was from the Cape Ann area. It would have been a year ago. More, I think. She would have been sold by—”

“Ssh! No names, please!”

“Very pretty, and—”

“Of course. Aren't they all?”

“A girl, I have heard, of independent mind and not one to scream about her lost honor unless she could gain something by screaming. From hearsay, a very courageous, somewhat unmoral young lady who did not take to the life in New England nor the strict ways of the elders. She was stolen away, but I am not altogether sure she would have objected very much.”

“Ah, yes. You make it much easier, Master Sackett, much easier! For there are not many such. Most of them sink … or die of fever or of something … despair, probably.”

“Not this one.”

“You would save her?”

“I doubt that is the word. I would talk to her. I will do what she wishes in that respect, but I seek to put an end to this business.”

“A knight errant? No white charger?”

“None. An attempt was made on a girl I … well, a girl whom I know.”

“Does Captain Tilly know why you are here?”

“He does. And Samuel Maverick, of Shawmut, and the Reverend Blaxton.”

“Maverick I know. He does business with us. A very shrewd, competent man. All right. Your credentials are good. I have heard of such a person. A very handsome, shrewd, and healthy young woman and not a slave.”

“Not a slave?”

Jayne smiled smugly. “Not at all! In fact, she is
mistress of one of our fairest plantations! A woman with a will … and as they say, where there's a will, there's a way, and she found it.”

He completed his measurements, then suggested a glass of wine, and I joined him. Seated comfortably, his plump vest thrust forth importantly, he told the tale with some relish.

“Ah, yes! I like enterprise! It is what will keep our world alive when the old world has gone to seed! Enterprise! A good English trait! And our lady … oh, yes! I do not hesitate to call her that, for if she did not deserve the name when she arrived, she certainly does now!

“What a woman! She was sold to one of our landed gentlemen, not an elderly man by any means but a lonely one. His wife had been a cold, unresponsive, greedy woman, and when she died, many of us breathed a sigh of relief for him. But he was not a man who liked living alone, and on that great estate back of the north shore, he was much alone. His house was a great old mansion, splendid place, for the man had taste.

“It was what led him to Adele.”

“Adele?” I knew not the name and felt a sudden disappointment. “This cannot be she whom I—”

“Wait. There cannot be two such. As for the name, who cares about a name? Most of the population of Port Royal are using names not their own. One chooses a name if one wills, perhaps one more suited to the personality. After all, only a few inherit great names. The rest must make them for ourselves, and trust her. She will.”

He paused, lighting a long cigar. I had seen them but rarely. He refilled my glass. The wine was white, of delicate flavor, and I, who drink not often, found it to my taste.

“When such slaves are sold, they are usually sold on order from the customer. They have the sale made, and they seek out the merchandise, subject to approval
of the buyer. In this case the buyer died—a duel, I believe—so he was left with the merchandise.”

“ ‘He'?”

“Only that, I say no more. The result was that he held a quiet little auction, a secluded placc, only a few trustworthy and possible customers.

“The wench was bold. She appeared before them, and she looked over the lot and saw our man—her man—and looked right into his eyes. ‘You,' she said. ‘I want it to be you.'

“There was some bidding, of course, for she was a likely lass, but several had heard what she said and had lost interest. Our man bought her.