Harry didn’t press further, pulling a long draft from the flask before dropping immediately to sleep. Even the bickering firemen were quiet in the boiler room. Cow Tom was the last awake, sure his mind would get the best of him. He hadn’t time in the packed day to figure out much of anything, including how to handle Bella. But next he knew, the firemen were yelling, blaming each other for letting the fires burn too low, rushing in and then out again to carry more wood to the boiler room.
Morning.
The night wasn’t long enough. Cow Tom dreamed of Amy, a too-familiar and unsettling recurrence, the dream in which he returned home to find his wife disappeared, without a trace, leaving him in an empty cabin surrounded by a pack of wolves. It always took him a moment to shake off the aftereffects of that dream, and the impossibility of Amy gone. He squeezed his eyes tight, reorienting himself to the realities of the world and not the trickster images echoing in his head.
“Morning.”
Bella was at the ready, up for some time by the looks of it. Her flour-sack dress hung overlarge on her small frame, but she secured her swirl-scarf around her head in a tight back knot that made her look more in charge of herself than yesterday. She’d found a straw broom somewhere, and held it suspended in front of her with both hands, as if a dance partner.
Harry snored softly.
“Morning, Bella,” he said. “Passable sleep?”
He would have liked to hear his own name come from her mouth, to measure the sound and tone today against what he remembered. When he was Tom. When she was Ma’dear. But she hadn’t once called him in his name since she’d come on the boat.
She came closer, her voice barely a whisper, whether out of deference for the sleeping Harry or a natural reticence, he couldn’t tell. “I brought back sofki,” she said.
He was wide-awake now. She was trying to look after him, gone early to the galley. He hadn’t bothered to take off anything but his cotton jacket last night, balled under his head as a pillow while he slept, and he stood, clothed, and stretched his cramped muscles, at her level now.
“Three portions,” she said, the pride obvious.
Cow Tom fought the suddenness of his disappointment. She was looking after Harry too, not just him.
“Thank you, Bella,” he said. She had taken the bark from one of the smallest and flattest logs in their alcove and used it as a tray to bring back three large mounds. Cow Tom helped himself to one, stuffing the food in with his fingers until gone. “No one gave you trouble?”
She laughed, a bit smug. “In the galley this morning, in the waiting line, I said I was with you and Harry Island,” she said. “There was no trouble.” She paused. “The woman serving, Ilza, she sends her regards.”
Chapter 17
BELLA WORRIED OVER their small corner of the boat, caretaker to the two young men who came to an older woman’s rescue. She tidied up their quarters with a presumption that surprised Cow Tom, shaking out and airing blankets and oft-worn bits of their clothing in sore need of washing, humming the while.
As if come to unspoken agreement, Cow Tom knew he daren’t broach the endearment of Ma’dear with Bella again. He only left the overheated alcove when he had to. Between himself and Harry, one or the other of them was in constant demand, whether as liaison with the Negroes or between the Creeks and the military. He’d been called to service half a dozen times before midday.
In the afternoon, Schoolboy poked his head into the anteroom, and with a measure of visible distaste, came into the alcove of stacked wood.
“I was told where to find you,” he said. His face quickly went from pale to a rosy pink, and he pulled off his jacket. “Hot in here.” He looked around at the disarray, despite Bella’s best attempts at cleaning. “Not pleasant. Not pleasant at all. Most dangerous part of a ship, you know.”
The man interested Cow Tom, his unconventional turn of mind, his unexpected craftiness not grounded in either domination or weakness. In less than a full day, Cow Tom had formed a better connection with Schoolboy than any other authority on the ship.
“We get by, Lieutenant Sloan,” said Cow Tom.
Schoolboy eyed Bella, standing frozen in a corner, refusing eye contact, but didn’t remark one way or the other on her presence. Harry was absent, having been fetched not long before by one of the crew to help move some Creeks farther away from the wheelhouse.
“Let’s us step outside for fresh air,” Schoolboy said.
Cow Tom grabbed his jacket and followed him up the stairs, wondering about the purpose of this visit. The bracing wind felt good after the stuffiness of the alcove, but a sudden gust whipped through his jacket as if he stood bare-chested. He drew his jacket tighter.
“So you served General Jesup,” Schoolboy said to Cow Tom.
Cow Tom nodded.
“I admit to fascination with you African Creek and African Seminole linguisters, in the middle of action, not fish nor fowl. You’ve more influence than people grant. Those I’ve met are mostly clever fellows.”
Cow Tom nodded again, not sure where Schoolboy tried to lead him, prepared to wait him out.
“What were your impressions of our great General Jesup?” Schoolboy asked.
“The general seemed made for war,” he said carefully.
“Surprising, really. I knew Thomas before he became quartermaster general. Before he was a military officer. Before his assignments clearing Creeks from Alabama or Seminoles from Florida. Those days, he contented himself moving supplies from one place to another, not fighting Indians. Was a time he found sussing out food and water and horses and shelter for an army man the highest calling. He turned out quite the ruthless man in war. No telling yet whether he’ll be a humane man in peace.”
Cow Tom hadn’t heard anyone call the general by his first name, ever, let alone speculate about his beginnings. He’d been around military men enough to know that a lieutenant speaking thus of a general might well lead to future problems.
“You worked with the general too?” asked Cow Tom.
“Worked for,” said Schoolboy. “Years past. But I’d still rather find a blanket for some poor, starving woman on a cold night than hunt her down in the swamps.”
Cow Tom wasn’t sure if Schoolboy admired the general or was disappointed in him, but the conversation had taken an odd turn. There was no way he could allow himself to be dragged into talking badly about one white man to another. No good could come of that.
“Those blankets all went for good,” Cow Tom said, switching tracks. “Nights at sea come fast and cold.” Schoolboy seemed relaxed, in a sharing mood, so he pressed further. “How many days more before port?”
“Captain lost a little time along the Florida coast, but should dock at Mobile Point in two days. Monday latest.”
The lieutenant pulled from his jacket a pipe and tobacco pouch, and stuffed the bowl. It took a few tries to get the tobacco lit, but he finally managed to draw smoke down the stem, inhaling deep and long before exhaling. The sweet aroma drifted on the air, and Cow Tom closed his eyes, imagining the taste.
“You smoke?” asked Schoolboy.
“When I can,” said Cow Tom. Schoolboy wouldn’t offer his pipe to another man, most especially not a slave, but the peculiarity of the exchange made Cow Tom more bold than normal. “Always carry my pipe, just in case.”
Schoolboy retrieved his pouch again, and Cow Tom produced his poorer version of the lieutenant’s pipe, fashioned from a corncob. Schoolboy tapped a smaller amount into the bowl, and Cow Tom drew strong, savoring the flavor deep in his chest. They stood smoking their pipes for a while in silence, Cow Tom waiting for Schoolboy to declare his intent. He didn’t.
“I’m hoping to find my people,” Cow Tom said.
“Who do you belong to?”
Cow Tom let the reference slide without challenge. “My people” meant Amy and his daughters.
/> “Chief Yargee holds my papers. Upper Creek, in Alabama, along the Alabama River. He sent me to Florida as linguister along with six of his Creek warriors. I’ve not been back in over a year, or heard word of my woman or children.”
“There’s a holding camp at Mobile Point. Thousands of Creeks waiting, gathered since spring. Chances are, your chief is among them.”
Cow Tom had seen enough holding camps in Florida to fear the worst. If Amy and the girls were there, they’d been since spring, and it was already October. “What of the Negroes?” he asked. “Did they separate us or keep with the tribes?”
“Together, most likely, but certain things happen in the field to cause a modification in procedure.” He looked pointedly to Cow Tom to see if his words were understood.
Cow Tom hadn’t spent the last year in the general’s employ to be cowed by fancy English words, particularly the same phrase he’d heard the general use many a time. “Modification in procedure” mostly meant locals or military gone rogue. “My prayer is for my woman’s well-being,” he said.
Schoolboy nodded. He looked directly at Cow Tom, didn’t hide his favorable assessment, as if the interpreter had passed a test. “A military man in charge can make a difference.”
He said this last as if it should have special meaning. That meaning was still vague, but whatever Schoolboy wanted would clarify soon enough. It always did with the white man, usually sooner rather than later.
“You’ve seen this camp in Mobile?” Cow Tom asked.
“No, my dealings have been in Florida, but I’m briefed.”
“And the conditions?”
Schoolboy hesitated. “’Twas necessary to move the tribes quick from Alabama, get them under Federal protection. Alabama got to be a place not safe for either Creek or black. The locals didn’t make it easy for Creeks to linger, once they knew the treaty was signed and land soon up for grabs. There were incidents. We knew of the need for camps, but the requirement came much sooner than expected.”
“Is there food? Medicine?”
“I’m told provisions cost dear anywhere near the camp. Bacon twelve to fifteen cents a pound. Corn a dollar a bushel. Fresh beef not had in any quantity.”
“Creeks will hunt, if there’s game.”
“Yes, but they alarmed the citizens, and aren’t permitted to roam the countryside without escort. They’re confined to the camps. That causes a bit of a difficult situation, I understand.”
“So food is scarce,” said Cow Tom.
“Food is a problem, but it is reports of sickness that distress,” said Schoolboy. “Smallpox, influenza, cholera. Others.”
“Can’t they carry them elsewhere?”
“Not yet. The final destination is up the Mississippi to Fort Gibson, in Cherokee territory,” Schoolboy said. “Once there, every major tribe gets their own partition of land. Cherokee, Creek, Osage, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Seminole.”
“Yes, I’ve been there,” said Cow Tom. “I’ve seen the settlement area for Creeks in Indian Territory.” He made great effort, with success, to keep the sharpness from his voice. He could not afford to alienate Schoolboy.
“How is that possible?” asked Schoolboy.
“Ten years ago. Chief Yargee needed an English speaker, and took me as part of a scouting party of Upper and Lower Creeks sent to accept land and sign a treaty to Remove. Soil not so rich as Alabama, but good enough, and reasonable for grazing. Only then did they agree to relocate.”
“We must Remove those at Mobile Point, soon. We can’t assure safety much longer, and conditions worsen by the day. Mobile is the largest camp, but there are others.”
“Why tell me all this?” Cow Tom asked.
“You could be of use to me for the rest of the trip. And I reward those who are helpful.”
“Helpful?”
“Keep peace among the blacks on board. A hungry, desperate man is more dangerous than a hopeful one.”
“Why me? Why not Harry Island or one of the others?” Cow Tom asked.
“I’ve watched you, how they react to you. You’ve been to the storage room. You understand there’s other ways another officer might go about this. I’d rather not put anybody in chains. But if there’s threat we won’t dock in Mobile Point with all heads accounted for, chains it will be.”
Schoolboy stared off into the distance, letting his words sink in.
“I’ll do what I can,” Cow Tom said. He thought of Bella, of the man pursuing her, and wondered if he would follow the ship to Mobile, as Bella hinted. “What of slavers making claims at the other end?”
“If an Alabama slave belongs to them, and there’s proof on Alabama soil, we must turn them over. There’s no other way. If the man at the dock in Tampa Bay presented himself before slaves were on the boat, by all rights we should have examined his papers and decided then and there, but the ship’s captain overstepped, and the military men were lower level, inexperienced.”
The Paragon hit a rough patch of water, and they both grabbed hold of the rail to steady themselves. Schoolboy’s pipe almost went over the side; his knuckles turned white as he gripped, hard, but he kept his face calm and easy, as if without care. The military man neither revealed much nor did he miss much.
“Your call would differ?” Cow Tom asked.
“Mayhaps I would have sent the catcher packing, and declared the black off-limits, owned by a Creek tribe member, and Removed.”
Cow Tom nodded, weighing Schoolboy’s words. The military man had seen his attachment to Bella. Was he talking about her? Hinting at a way around her predicament? What did he know?
“Removed where?” Cow Tom asked. “Who to?”
“To where the claim might be made among the Creeks. Surely a potential owner might step forward.”
“With papers?”
“Not all papers are proper, and once in Indian Territory, not all can be tracked. My mission is to deliver Creeks, Seminoles, and blacks to Indian Territory. My orders are clear, and I intend success in performance of my duty. With good fortune, most will survive the journey and start over on new land. But much can happen in the next few weeks. It will take luck and careful thinking to accomplish the goal, and with that aim, I enlist whatever help I can secure, from whatever source. And I am a man who doesn’t forget.”
The day wasn’t as cold as previous ones, and the sun, however feeble, felt good on Cow Tom’s face. It was true, he thought, what Schoolboy said. Cow Tom was the case that proved the point that a hopeful man truly was less dangerous than a desperate one.
“I am here to serve,” said Cow Tom.
Chapter 18
ON THE SECOND evening after Bella came aboard, the hour drew late, and Harry didn’t make it above deck to empty his stomach. After Bella scrubbed up the sick, she pulled at Harry’s jacket.
“Too much shine,” she said, and retreated to her corner, turning her back to them. Even Harry in his sad state was taken aback.
They both drank less in front of her after that, although Cow Tom or Harry still ensured a full flask whenever the firemen turned their backs. But for long hours at a stretch, night as well as day, the men were employed elsewhere on the ship, and Bella spent much of her time alone.
On the third day out of Tampa Bay the temperature dropped, a hazard of October’s changeling weather, and the ship belowdecks swelled with both Creeks and Negroes seeking shelter as rain swept through. There was little to do but endure, try to keep dry and warm, and fight for a fair share of the scant rations handed out each day. Some slept, some talked, some played cards or dice, some couples managed to find not-so-hidden corners for a quick tryst. Those who had tobacco smoked, those who had liquor drank. Another Creek warrior died, with a quick-rising fever and bloody flux that carried him off in record time, and then two more blacks. One woman, limp and malnourished from the time she came aboard, was stricken in the early
morning hours and struggled throughout the long day and night, too ill to care for her child, a small boy, barely crawling. Ilza stepped forward to see after the soon-to-be-orphaned child, and late that evening, once the mother’s body went over the rail, took the boy up and added him to her own. An old, toothless man Cow Tom remembered from shipboard rounds succumbed in an expulsion of blood.
Before the sun rose on the fourth day, Cow Tom felt a nudging at his shoulder, rousing him from a deep, dreamless sleep.
“Mr. Cow Tom.” A small boy shook him. “Please wake up.”
Ilza’s son.
“Tom Too,” Cow Tom said, fully alert now, fearing the worst. “What?”
“Lieutenant Sloan sends for you. Says come to the wheelhouse. You and Mr. Island both.”
“Get him up then,” said Cow Tom, pointing to Harry, on the floor, snoring off either the exhausting night or the flask. Maybe both.
To the boy’s credit, he didn’t shrink from the task, but shook Harry until he awoke.
“What do you think you’re doing . . .” began Harry, but he saw Cow Tom, shoes on and ready, and began his own quick preparations.
“The lieutenant wants us,” Cow Tom said, and Harry righted his cap and followed.
Cow Tom and Harry navigated the ship in the darkness, shadowed by Tom Too. There was busyness everywhere around them, the crew out in force. When they came to the wheelhouse, Schoolboy was deep in conversation with the captain.
“Ah, there you are,” said Schoolboy. “We dock shortly after dawn. Reassure the Creek warriors their families likely await. They should ready themselves to leave the ship in less than one hour. Once we match up families in Mobile Point, we ship out again westward.”
“And the Negroes?” Cow Tom asked. “What of our families?”
“If reports are correct, they should be settled in the camps by town alongside their holders. But the Seminoles’ blacks won’t be matched until New Orleans. Maybe not until Fort Gibson.”
Cow Tom couldn’t calm his belly’s jitters. He might be only an hour away from Amy and his daughters. One final hour. But he also flashed on Bella, whether someone would claim her in Mobile and pack her off to some remote locale, whether her fate was to disappear into the bowels of Alabama, or into the Seminole-designated part of Indian Territory, or some other place he couldn’t guess.