A Breath of Snow and Ashes - Diana Gabaldon [559]
Today, a boat was coming, out of the fading dark.
One of the watch hailed it, and an answering “halloo” came up, in tones of such agitation that I sat up abruptly, groping for my stays.
Today, there would be news.
The messenger was already in the Governor’s cabin, and one of the Marines barred my way—but the door was open, and the man’s voice clearly audible.
“Ashe’s done it, sir, he’s moving against the fort!”
“Well, God damn him for a treasonous dog!”
There was a sound of footsteps, and the Marine stepped hastily out of the way, just in time to avoid the Governor, who came popping out of his cabin like a jack out of the box, still attired in a billowing nightshirt and minus his wig. He seized the ladder and scampered up it like a monkey, affording me an unwanted view from below of his chubby bare buttocks. The Marine caught my eye and quickly averted his own gaze.
“What are they doing? Do you see them?”
“Not yet.” The messenger, a middle-aged man in the dress of a farmer, had followed the Governor up the ladder; their voices floated down from the rail.
“Colonel Ashe ordered all the ships in Wilmington Harbor to take on troops yesterday and float them down to Brunswick. They were mustering just outside the town this morning; I heard the roll calls whilst I was doing the morning milking—nigh onto five hundred men, they must have. When I saw that, sir, I slipped away down to the shore and found a boat. Thought you ought to know, Your Excellence.” The man’s voice had lost its agitation now, and taken on a rather self-righteous tone.
“Oh, yes? And what do you expect me to do about it?” The Governor sounded distinctly cranky.
“How should I know?” said the messenger, replying in like vein. “I ain’t the Governor, now, am I?”
The Governor’s response to this was drowned out by the striking of the ship’s bell. As it died away, he strode past the companionway, and looking down, saw me below.
“Oh, Mrs. Fraser. Will you fetch me some tea from the galley?”
I hadn’t much choice, though I would have preferred to stay and eavesdrop. The galley fire had been banked for the night in its small iron pot, and the cook was still abed. By the time I had poked up the fire, boiled water, brewed a pot of tea, and assembled a tray with teapot, cup, saucer, milk, and toast, butter, biscuits, and jam, the Governor’s informant had gone; I saw his boat heading for the shore, a dark arrowhead against the slowly brightening surface of the sea.
I paused for a moment on deck and rested my tea tray on the rail, looking inland. It was just light now, and Fort Johnston was visible, a blocky log building that stood exposed on top of a low rise, surrounded by a cluster of houses and outbuildings. There was a fair amount of activity around it; men were coming and going like a trail of ants. Nothing that looked like an imminent invasion, though. Either the commander, Captain Collet, had decided to evacuate—or Ashe’s men had not yet begun their march from Brunswick.
Had John Ashe received my message? If he had . . . would he have acted? It wouldn’t have been a popular thing to do; I couldn’t blame him if he had decided that he simply couldn’t afford to be seen aiding a man widely suspected of being a Loyalist—let alone one accused of such a hideous crime.
He might have, though. With the Governor marooned at sea, the Council disbanded, and the court system evaporated, there was no effective law in the colony now—save for the militias. If Ashe chose to storm the Wilmington jail and remove Jamie, he would have faced precious little opposition.
And if he had . . . if Jamie were free, he would be looking for me. And surely he would hear quickly where I was. If John Ashe came to Brunswick and Jamie were free, he would surely come with Ashe’s men. I looked toward shore, seeking movement, but saw only a boy driving a cow desultorily along the road to Brunswick. But the shadows of the night were still cold around my feet; it was barely dawn.
I took a deep breath, and noticed the aromatic scent of the tea, mixed with the