The King's Commission (39 page)

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Authors: Dewey Lambdin

BOOK: The King's Commission
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“This is the circle of the world between the sky and the underworld. The four principal directions, and where they meet, right here now. Everyone of Indian blood knows here is where he must live if he wants to be good, following the laws laid down by the Great Perfect Spirits.”
He reached out and put a hand inside Alan's shirt.
“Hold on, my good fellow!” Alan snapped, unused like any Englishman at being pawed at. But McGilliveray took hold of his small
juju
bag strung about his neck and weighed it thoughtfully.
“How odd. I had expected to find a cross,” McGilliveray said
with a wary expression. He let go of the bag so that Alan could tuck it back into his shirt. “The white man's cross is off-center. There is no sense of being centered, and the directions lead off to nothing, which is why all white men, all Christians are so unhappy, and want to have dominion. I saw the old roods, the Celtic crosses of your people in the long ago, which had circles around the center, but the directions go beyond the circle. They must have been close to the truth in those days, but even so, they never really knew peace.”
“We could have had a fish, you know. What would you make of that, I wonder?” Alan groused, still resenting the manhandling.
“Then it would be a great fish that swims the world's oceans and never knows rest,” McGilliveray intoned. “If one cannot find peace, then one will try to run everything to one's own satisfaction in the search for peace. How much better are my people, who live so close and snug to each other, in a great family. We know want, but we share equally, not like you who store up food and wealth from each other and let other men of your kind starve or beg. If our clan or town is rich in food, we all eat well. If there is little, we all starve together, and pray that we have lived well, so that the Great Spirits and the perfect spirits of the deer people, bear people and fish people may come to our hunters and help us by giving us their lives. If a man was starving back in your London, and he came to your door, would you send out a slice of your roast beef to him? I do not think you would, sir. To you, all is property and goods. You are a Christian yourself?”
“Church of England, and damned proud of it, sir.”
“So many of your people say that, but they do not really believe in their crucified son of God, not in their hearts. And which God do you serve with your little bag?” McGilliveray asked with the smugly superior tone of anyone who thinks he is more righteous than the next.
“It's a good luck charm, from a young lady of my acquaintance,” Alan had to admit sheepishly. “One of her servants made it … to keep me safe from drowning, and such.”
“Not even representative of any god, then. How sad. What is in it, do you know?”
“No, I don't. And what's in yours?” Alan asked.
“My personal medicine.”
“Then please be so good as to leave mine alone in future,” Alan spat.
McGilliveray glared and trotted toward the head of the column.
“Bet the Wesley brothers would
love
you,” Alan muttered to himself once McGilliveray had gotten far enough off, thinking how absurd it was to be discussing theology with a Cambridge man in breech-clout and scarifications with his bare arse waving about in the breeze.
 
At the evening stop, not half a day's march from the second lake where they would find McGilliveray's tribal towns, Alan took a tour of his men, seeing to it that they were bedded down comfortably and had a hot meal. Some of the Seminolee had put up some birds and nailed them with their insubstantial cane arrows tipped with fish bones or tiny flints. There was
sofkee,
a hominy meal mush, a soup or stew of the birds,
succotash
of sweet corn kernels and beans, and cool clear water to wash it down.
The men had been issued a small measure of rum, liberally mixed with water to have with their meal, and the Seminolee had crowded round to take a taste, though McGilliveray was leery of the practice, and warned all not to share more with them.
“'Ere ya go, Mister Lewrie, sir,” Cony said, dishing up a bowl of
sofkee
with some of the game-bird stew ladled over it. “H'it ain't bad, really. Better eatin'n we got in the Chesapeake, sir. An' I got yer rum ration laid by, so's the Seminolee won't notice.”
“You're a wonder, Cony,” Alan said, sitting down cross-legged on a piece of sailcloth by a crackling small fire with the other officers. McGilliveray was at another fire with the Seminolee, stuffing food into his mouth with one hand and talking with the other. Pipes were going on all sides, though it was a rough blend, Cowell stated.
“Well, no one's turned into mad foaming bears yet from rum,” Cashman said. “Though I wouldn't mind much.”
“One is struck by how much progress we have made,” Cowell said, smiling while perched on a fallen log for a seat. “It has all fallen out pretty much as young Desmond said it would. The Apalachee were friendly, and now so too are the Seminolee, giving us an escort and all.”
“There is that,” Cashman replied, laughing softly. “And the fact that we still have our hair and our livers.”
“If one approaches people in a friendly, open manner, Captain, with something of value that they desire, as a prize for
good behavior, what else could one expect?” Cowell sniffed. In the firelight he looked, in his Indian garb, much like some haggard bridge troll from a nursery story. “We have not given offense, have we?”
“No, but other white men before us have, and they're not the sort to forget easily, or forgive,” Cashman commented between spoonfuls of victuals. “There's still the possibility that someone might be tempted to knock us off for our arms and the goods we carry, and the devil with the rest of the shipment. They have no concept of time, of waiting for things promised when they can get half a loaf now.”
“For your information, these Seminolee are going with us to the Creek town,” Cowell told them. “To get a share of the spoils, yes, and to visit. Indians either fight or feed you if you show up on their door step. Some of them have second wives among the Muskogee. They've sent for their
mikkos
to come parley. And they let Desmond know that his own
mikkos
are pretty much together at the main town ahead of us. It's some game they play, an annual contest of some importance to them.”
“So Parliament's been called to session, and it's Cambridge Fair,” Alan offered for a jest.
“It would appear so, Lieutenant Lewrie,” Cowell replied stiffly, still on the outs with his naval commander. “I shall be glad to get there, put on a decent suit, and get out of these rags. And spend a night under a roof. No matter how exotic and exciting this journey of ours is, I must own to being unused to such discomfort.”
“We did have a roof over our heads last night,” Cashman pointed out. “That was about all, though, I'll grant you.”
The Seminolee had erected a temporary fishing camp, replete with structures they called
chickees
, open platforms raised several feet off the ground and open to the night winds and any flying insects, with a thatched roof to keep off the rain. McGilliveray told them sleeping so high off the ground discouraged snakes that would otherwise crawl into their bedding for warmth, and made the leap too far for fleas. Either way, either the mosquitos or the tiny biting gnats had gotten to them, for they all itched and had broken out in rashes.
“Desmond tells me that as honored guests and ambassadors, we shall probably be quartered in the town house,” Cowell went on. “If the visiting
mikkos
have not already taken it. Their winter meeting hall, I'm told, very solid and snug. Much like an Irish sod house, I think.”
“God pity us,” Cashman said grinning. “All fleas and no whiskey.”
McGilliveray came back from the Seminolee fire circle to join them, and sat down gracefully in a cross-legged position. “If you have finished supper, you might wish to try a short parley with the Seminolee with me, sir. Their Raven is not very influential, but you will do great honor to sit with him and smoke a pipe or two. He's gaining note as a warrior, and as a great man, sure to lead a chiefdom in future.”
“That sounds eminently sensible, thank you, Desmond, I shall.”
Cony and Andrews came in from the dark, carrying large bundles of Spanish moss, which they had harvested from the nearest trees to make a soft mat for bedding, and McGilliveray smiled for the first time that day.
“I wouldn't if I were you, gentlemen. Don't sleep on moss.”
“Why?” Alan asked, having used some the night before to make a pallet.
“There are tiny red bugs that thrive in the moss, like very small lice,” McGilliveray told them. “They can hardly be seen, but they drive people mad from the itching.”
“I was wondering what ‘gentlemen's companions' had gotten to us,” Cashman said, and Cony and Andrews dumped the stuff immediately and began to wipe their arms and chests down.
“Once we get to the town, I can give you some grease to make them leave you, but for tonight, I am afraid you shall have to scratch.” He frowned. “Did you use some last night? I'm sorry, I should have told you. There is so much to know, and so much of it comes naturally to me, that it slipped my mind entirely.”
“We could take a dip and scrub them off. I have some soap,” Alan offered.
“Not at night!” McGilliveray gasped. “The Water-Cougar … !” He paused and pouted at his own reaction. “It's safer to avoid the water after dark. You can't see the snakes until you stumble upon them.”
“What a country,” Alan snapped, exasperated and now itching fit to feel the need to scream. Damme, I started out being terrified of being gutted and scalped, and now I'm more scared of dropping my breeches after dark than I am of these mangy pagans, he thought.
“It is good country, even so,” Cowell said. “Look at these fine meadows, just waiting for herds to graze them. Think of the
crops that could be raised in this rich soil. Forests enough to build fine home-steads.”
“It is a fine country, sir,” McGilliveray echoed. “But, who is to do this farming and cattle-raising? Our people like having wild land around them, land no one uses, except for hunting and fishing. Do not forget that one of our aims is to reach some sort of accommodation with our respective peoples. The lands are just as rich to the east, on the other side of Apalachee Bay.”
“You mean this would revert to Indian land?” Cashman asked.
“There are swamps and rivers running north and south to the east. The new American colony of Georgia to the north,” McGilliveray pointed out. “If my people, and the Seminolee, are to be your barrier to future expansion here in the south by the Rebels, we must determine where the Creek, Seminolee and others can live in peace, with secure borders.”
“Why can't we live together?” Alan asked, trying his hand at politics. “It would be good for your people, would it not?”
“When has it ever been good for Indians to live cheek-to-jowl with Europeans, Lieutenant Lewrie?” McGilliveray asked sadly. “Do you but think back on the history of relations between us since the first colonists. Slaughter, misunderstandings, Indians displaced from their ancestral lands by usurpers. We shall never understand each other. You think in terms of property to buy and sell; my people own everything, and nothing. Our ways are so different. Your people slave to make a living, put up houses to last hundreds of years, while my people do with so little, and all we have is impermanent, taking only what we need. We are clean in our personal habits of bathing each morning, but wear the same single trade-good clothing until they wear out, and have no need for more, just to have something to prove we are wealthy, as you do. I saw your sea chest aboard ship, sir. You carry a lifetime's worth of goods for your comfort. I and any of my people could gather his life's possessions in a single sack, and feel rich.”
“Well …” Alan began but Cashman shushed him with a nudge.
“Perhaps sometime in the distant future, there will be good relations between us, but until then, it would be best if someone could say, here is Indian land this side of this river. No whites but traders and missionaries go there. Here is where Indians do not go. We Creeks and the Seminolee know our borders, to the north where Upper Creek territory starts, and the Upper Creek
know where Cherokee land begins. To the west of here are Chickasaw, Choctaw, Natchez. If white men come among us here, there is nowhere for us to go. If rum comes among us as trade goods, we lose respect for our
mikkos
and mischief comes down with the Thunder Boys. We cannot be with you and stay a people. If you need us, and truly want to live in peace with us, you must realize this. If you want us to take the arms and fight your enemies for you, then you must let us live our own ways on our own lands. To keep our lands and our ways, we need your support and your arms, your soldiers close by.”
“But what about the smaller tribes already here?” Cashman asked.

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