Chapter 16

“Well well well” Simon laughed, striding forward with his arms on his hips imperiously, “If it isn’t that shite of a lad, Eric!”

Eric looked up and around startled, shocked to see his old tormentor in front of him. “Where’s Eliza?” he spluttered, “Is she safe?”

“What is it to you?” Jonathon interjected, “And why would you care? You’re not sweet on her, are you?” There was a derisive note in his voice as he took strength from his weapons and accomplices and the isolation we found ourselves in.

“Your pa was worried, Jonathon; I had his leave,” Eric stuttered nervously, replying to my brother but eyeing the whole gang moving in on him warily.

The suggestion that Eric might be a suitor, a competitor, seemed to rile up Simon even more. His face reddened with anger and the veins on his neck stood proud. He immediately limbered up and took a big swinging swipe at Eric that spun the poor lad around and dropped him to the ground unconscious. “Tie the bastard up tight,” Simon spat and two of the cohort came forward and dragged Eric away victoriously.

There hadn’t even been a fight. I realized it was over before I’d even realized anything had begun, and I felt the deepest shame for not having anticipated the attack nor stopped it. What was Simon going to do with the Eric that he had such cause to hate? Why had they done that?

The mood around the camp had blackened and now all the men started stretching and holding their weapons. When Eliza took a bowl of water and cloth to tend Eric’s bruises, two of them leaped between them and pushed her away, sending her spinning. I stood up myself, blind with anger, but was pushed back down by more of the men. Jonathon’s eyes widened when he saw them pushing his sister around roughly, but he slowly eased back into his evil distance again. The men, emboldened, started remarking how fine a wife Eliza would make them all.

That afternoon and evening it felt like my family and Eliza were prisoners in our own camp. The gunmen stood around, watching us, expecting us to serve them, while Eric sat trussed up to one side, defenseless.

Jonathon was repeating how I was honor-bound to hang Eric for pursuing Eliza, as elopement was punishable in that way. That was the reason he had been hit and bound, he explained. Not daring to rile the men more, I held my own counsel.

I knew not what to do and Mataoka just shook her head every time I tried to plot with her in our secret Indian language. I was worried and I wanted my family away from them, safe, afar, but although Mataoka sent Eliza away with the kids, she herself stayed by my side, adding to my fears by her vulnerability.

“We lynch him in the morning?” one of the men, pointing towards the bound and trussed Eric, quietly asked Simon. They had forgotten that Mataoka and I were close enough by to overhear them. Simon just stared into the fire, hate in his eyes, and nodded.

“What about the witnesses?” the man went on, meaning me and my wife and children.

“Life in the backcountry can be deadly,” Simon grimaced, grinning at his cleverness.

“And the women?”

“Eliza I wed. Why, you want to wed that squaw?”

“Hah, don’t need to wed her formally, like, just to bed her, do I?” The man glanced around as though about to confide something. “Only there’s this maid down on Rivit’s Farm, like, I have an understanding with, is all,” the man trailed off, perhaps suddenly feeling uncomfortable when he reminded himself of home and his fiancee.

“Yeah, just share her around for all I care; bloody Indians!” Simon whispered. In the silence of the camp their conversation was carrying and many of the men grinned and grunted.

Mataoka and I, who had been listening in intently, braced ourselves, now doubly fearful. What was I to do? Mataoka just squeezed my bicep and shook her head, silently imploring me to wait and do nothing hasty against so many armed men.

As dusk fell, Mataoka got another broth going, which she boiled by putting hot stones into a skin cauldron, and handed out bowls of hot soup carefully. The men accepted it all hungrily, and soon there was much merriment. It now felt again like they weren’t about to rob nor kill us after all, not that evening. Everyone was trying their best to seem to be as English and proper as possible again.

That night, in the middle of the night, I had difficulty sleeping. Eliza was sleeping in our wigwam with us for protection, a selection of the sharpest knifes and my hammers hidden all around us in easy-to-grab places. It amazed me that the ladies and children slept at all; I couldn’t. I lay there, knowing I had to do something. I wasn’t sure what, but I had to kill the lot of them. Violence was so much easier when it was thrust upon me; I had trouble steeling the resolve to attack the men in their sleep. But I know I had to do it. To not do it would be the deaths of all I held dear.

Trembling with fear, and I left the two ladies and our children and carefully, slowly, painstakingly, dug and tugged a gap through the wall at the back and snuck out.

There was a half moon and clear sky and visibility was good, although everything seemed to be shades of gray.

I knew that one of the English men would be on sentry by the fire. No good woodsman would sit by the fire to keep watch as it meant all saw you, whilst you saw almost nothing. Far better to be on the edge of the clearing, resting against a tree trunk, than to sit near the fire. But these were no experienced backcountry men. That almost made them more dangerous.

It all happened so quickly I was quite overwhelmed. A hand came from behind and clasped over my mouth as another squeezed my shoulder. Quietly, in my ear, one of the old men whispered, “Hello, friend.,” in my ear in Indian-speak.

The men had returned to my camp to make sure I was okay. They had probably been watching us eat that evening and everything. I crept away with the one who had accosted me and we found a couple more watching. They whispered to me that there were braves on all sides, all around the camp.

And they were about to pounce when the first sound of someone vomiting came to our ears. The men slowly awoke, each in pain. They rushed around, shouting, staggering, throwing up, clutching their bellies, waving their guns about at each other, trying to face the unseen enemy.

“That witch has poisoned us!” Simon shouted, and they rushed and stumbled towards my own wigwam! My heart was in my throat, scared of what they would do to my wonderful bride. I lunged forward.