The Privateersman

“Why, there’s nothing like making sure in this world; and although you look a very peaceable, good-looking sort of personage, notwithstanding your Indian set-out, still I’ve known just as amiable people as you, in appearance, very mischievous at times. Now come in, and let us hear what you have to say for yourself. Jeykell, get some more wood.”

One man went out to obey her orders; the other sat by the fire with his musket between his knees. I sat down by the fire, at the request of the woman, who had seated herself by the side of the man, and then, on her repeating her question, I gave her a narrative of my adventures, from the time that I left Rio.

“Well,” says she, “we seldom hear stories like them; it’s all the world like a book; and pray what’s that thing (pointing to the diamond in its case) you have hanging to your neck there? You have left that out in your history.”

“That’s a charm given me by my Indian wife, to preserve me from disasters from wild animals; no panther, wolf, or bear will ever attack me.”

“Well,” said she, “if so be it has that power, all I can say is, it’s not a bad charm to wear in these parts, for there are animals enough in the woods in summer, and round the house all night in winter; but I don’t believe a bit in the charm, and that’s the truth; however, if it does no good, it can’t do no harm, so you may keep it on, and welcome.”

“May I ask how far it is to James Town?” said I. “What, going to James Town already? I suppose you expect to be there to-night?”

“Not exactly, my good woman,” replied I. “I must trespass upon your kindness to give me something to eat, for I am hungry.”

“Good woman! Bah! And pray how dare you call me good woman? Call me mistress, if you want anything.”

“I beg your pardon,” said I. “Well, then, mistress; will you give me something to eat?”

“Yes, I will. James, fetch the meal-cake and a bit of salt pork, and give him to eat, while I call the cows from the bush.”

The mistress, as I shall in future call her, then put down her musket and left the cabin. During her absence I entered into conversation with the man called James, for the other had gone out. To my inquiry how far it was to James Town, he replied that he really did not know; that he was sent out a convict, and sold for ten years to the husband of the mistress, who had died two years ago; that this man had a small vessel, in which he went to James Town by water, and that he had returned with him in his vessel; that the distance by water he considered about one hundred and fifty miles, but by land it was not half that distance; that he did not know the way, nor did he believe that there was any road as yet made to James Town, as this plantation was quite by itself, and a long way from any other. He understood that the nearest plantation was twenty miles off, and he knew there was no road to it, as no one ever went or came except by water.

“But,” said I, “are not the settlers at war with the Indian tribes that surround them?”

“Yes; and have been now for three or four years; and the Indians have done great mischief to the plantations, and killed a great many people, but the settlers have punished them severely.”

“Then how is it that this plantation, which is so solitary, has not been attacked?”

“Because the mistress’s husband was a great friend of the Indians, and, it is said, used to bring them cargoes of muskets and ammunition from James Town, contrary to all law and regulation. But if he was friendly with them, the mistress is not; for she has quarrelled with the principal chief, and I should not be surprised if we were attacked some day, and all scalped.”

“And what does the mistress say to that?”

“Oh, she don’t care; she’d fight a hundred Indians, or white men either. I never saw such a creature—she’s afraid of nothing.”

“Who is the other man I saw here?”

“Oh, he’s another like myself. There were three of us, but one was drowned by falling overboard from the sloop.”

“Well, but my good fellow, how shall I get to James Town?”

“I’m sure I can’t tell; but my idea is that you will never get there unless mistress chooses.”

“Why, surely she won’t detain me by force?”

“Won’t she?—you don’t know her. Why she’d stop an army,” replied the man. “I don’t think that she will let you go—I don’t know; but that’s my opinion. She wants another hand.”

“What, do you mean to say that she’ll make me work?”

“I mean to say that, according to the laws of the settlement, she has a right to detain you. Any person found roving here, who cannot give a satisfactory account of himself, may be detained till something is heard about him; for he may be a runaway convict, or a runaway apprentice, which is much the same, after all. Now, she may say that your account of yourself is not satisfactory, and therefore she detained you; and if you won’t work, she won’t give you to eat; so there you are.”

“Well, we will see if she is able.”

“Able! If you mean strong enough, why she’d take you up with one hand; and she is as resolute and severe as she is strong. I had rather have to deal with three men, and that’s the truth.”

“What’s the truth, James?” cried the mistress, coming in at the door. “Let’s hear the truth from your lips, it will be something new.”

“I said that I was sent here for finding a pocket-book, mistress; that’s all.”

“Yes; but you did not tell him where you found it—at the bottom of a gentleman’s coat-pocket, you know. You can only tell the truth by halves yet, I see.”

Wishing to ascertain how far the man’s suspicions were correct, I said to her:

“I have good friends in James Town: if I were once there I could procure money and anything else to any amount that I required.”

“Well,” says she, “you may have; but I’m afraid that the post don’t go out to-day. One would think, after all your wanderings and difficulties, that you’d be glad to be quiet a little, and remain here; so we’ll talk about James Town some time about next spring.”

“Indeed, mistress, I hope you will not detain me here. I can pay you handsomely, on my arrival at James Town, for your kind treatment and any trouble you may take for me.”

“Pay me! What do I want with money?—there’s no shops here with ribbons, and calicoes, and muslims; and if there were, I’m not a fine madam. Money! Why I’ve no child to leave what I have to—no husband to spend it for me. I have bags and bags of dollars, young man, which my husband heaped up, and they are of as much use to me as they are now to him.”

“I am glad that you are so rich, mistress, and more glad that your money is so little cared for and so little wanted; but if you do not want money, I do very much want to get back to my friends, who think I am dead, and mourn for me.”

“Well, if they have mourned, their sorrow is over by this time, and therefore your staying here will not distress them more. I may as well tell you at once that you shall not go; so make up your mind to be contented, and you’ll fare none the worse for it.”

This was said in so decided a tone, that, bearing in mind what I had heard from the convict servant, I thought it advisable to push the question no further for the present, making up my mind that I would wait a short time, and then make my escape, if she still persisted in detaining me by force; but this I could not venture upon until I was in possession of fire-arms, and I could not obtain them while she had any suspicion. I therefore replied—“Well, since you are determined I shall not go, I have nothing more to say, except that I will wait your pleasure, and, in the mean time, let me make myself as useful as I can, for I don’t want to eat the bread of idleness.”

“You’re a very sensible young man,” replied she; “and now you shall have a shirt to put on, which will improve your appearance a great deal.”

She then went into the inner room, which I presumed was her bed-room, as there were but two rooms in the cabin. As she went out, I could not help wondering at her. On examination, I felt assured that she was more than six feet high, and her shoulders as broad and her arms as nervous as a man’s of that stature. Her chest was very expanded, but bosom she had none. In fact, she was a man in woman’s clothing, and I began to doubt her sex. Her features were not bad, had they been of smaller dimensions, but her nose was too large, although it was straight; her eyes were grand, but they were surmounted with such coarse eyebrows; her mouth was well shaped, and her teeth were good and regular, but it was the mouth of an ogress; her walk was commanding and firm; every action denoted energy and muscle; and certainly, from the conversation I have already made known, her mind was quite as masculine as her body—she was a splendid monster. In a minute she returned, bringing me a good check shirt and a pair of duck trousers, which I thankfully accepted.

“I’ve plenty more for those who please me,” said she, carelessly; “when you’ve put them on, come out to me, and I’ll show you the plantation.”

In a minute or two I joined her, and she led me round the tobacco-fields, then to the maize or Indian corn grounds, pointing out and explaining everything. She also showed me the cows, store pigs, and poultry. Wishing to please her, I asked many questions, and pretended to take an interest in all I saw. This pleased her much, and once or twice she smiled—but such a smile! After an hour’s ramble we returned, and found the two servants very busy, one husking maize, and the other in the shed where the tobacco was dried. I asked some questions of her about the tobacco—how many casks or bales she made a year? She replied that she made it in bales, and sold it by weight.

“It must be heavy carriage from here to James Town?” said I.

“Yes, indeed, if it went that way it never would arrive, I imagine,” replied she; “but I have a sloop in the river below, which carries it round.”

“When is the time it is harvested and fit to be carried round?” inquired I.

“It is now turning fast,” said she; “all that you see hanging in the drying sheds has been already drawn; in three or four weeks it will be housed, and then we begin to pack: in about two months from this the sloop will take it round.”

“But is it not expensive keeping a sloop on purpose, with men to have her in charge?” inquired I, to hear what she would say.

“The sloop lies at anchor, without a soul on board,” said she. “No one ever comes up this river. I believe Captain Smith, who made the settlement, did so once. There is another river, about twenty miles further down, which is occasionally frequented by buccaneers, I am told—indeed, I know it, for my husband had more to do with them than perhaps was good for his soul, but this little river is never visited.”

“Then your servants take her round?”

“Yes; I leave one in charge, and take two with me.”