Chapter 1

This tale contains crude humor, early American terms for our dark skinned brethren and hopefully an eye into the conditions, behavior and reasoning of our revolutionary war era forefathers. PS Napoleon was here. Watch for quotes.

The tale of the remittance man is an interesting one—privileged young englishmen who otherwise would be jailed for their crimes were released to their families. These men were sent overseas and given an allowance-known as a remittance-to support themselves with the understanding that they would never be seen in the country of their birth again due to the embarrassment that they caused their families. The remittances were normally distributed monthly and were marginal in amount. Their lifestyles usually consisted of an orgy of debauchery on payday followed by nearly a month of poverty. Their rooming houses knew when the remittances were due and promptly arranged for their monthly payment to keep from being bilked. The reputation of a remittance man was not a good one. Here is a variant on the tale...

Let me introduce myself. Here in the colonies I am named Howard Smithson. I was baptized in 1790 as Duncan Stuart of the royal Scottish Stuart line. I was educated at the University of Edinburgh in philosophy, medicine, Latin and logic. I was brought up to be a gentleman and to govern with wisdom. Then my damned eyes witnessed an injustice from which my upbringing would not allow me to turn away. I had but seventeen years.

I witnessed a rake cut the breasts and face off a woman that displeased him one night in London. It was the occasion of her first cotillion, and the boor wished to take liberties with her.

I did not call him out. I cut him down like the animal he was. It did not matter that the woman he disfigured for life was the daughter of a duchess. The dog was Charles, scion of the Duke of York. I was forced to flee for my life.

May all blessings fall upon the armsmen of my father. They had taught me the knife, spear, staff, saber and bow. Their lessons have stood me well through the years. At the time I fled North to my father's lands and the lands of his men. I spent four years hiding in various holdings positioning myself as an apprentice at many skills. I have been lessoned as a farrier, coppersmith, baker, blacksmith, cooper and tanner. The Duke's men eventually tracked me down, and I fled to the sea and points west.

My time at tradesman's apprenticeships taught me patience, acceptance of my place and gave me a physique to do whatever I put my mind to.

The sailors aboard ship punished me for my ignorance of their craft, yet I persevered. After pummeling the stoutest bully among them to a wretched bleeding wreck I nursed him back to health and doctored to the rest. I gained their acceptance and eventual friendship. One, a small, quick octaroon taught me to throw a wicked little knife with great accuracy. We were well matched in speed. I taught him the Italian method of fighting with two sticks.

It was his friendship that bought me the confidence of the black gang—the men manning the cannon and lower decks.

I sailed over two years with that ship. My nerve left me and I jumped ship in Quebec.

I sent clandestine word to my father as to my straits and well being. I disguised my letter as a proctor's report of profit and loss, hoping that my disingenuousness would not be smelled by the Duke's dogs. I succeded in my duplicity. In the return post, only six months later, I received five hundred and fifty gold sovereigns under the family crest accompanied by a brace of pistols and a letter explaining that the duchess whose daughter had been mutilated had taken issue with the Duke of York and his family to the tune of several thousands of pounds.

Since the Duke was quite intransigent in his thirst for my blood a bank could not be involved. York was involved in finance at too high a level. I was advised to keep myself under moderate maintenance until the Duke's interest or health flagged. I preferred the latter as it was less fickle.

It was the year of our lord 1813.

I crossed the fresh lakes to the south and West to the greater plains of pines and hardwoods that bordered them. I proceeded South along the greater finger lake until finding a small port town with a beautiful sheltered harbor. There I disembarked. I bought supplies and a mule in harness thence struck inland.

It was high summer.

After two weeks of arduous travel I woke in a large glade surrounded by forest giants.

A moderate stream chattered just to the South, and the glade itself was protected on all sides by stony rills. Somehow, it spoke of Scotland. I would make it my home.

With axe, shovel, froe, mattock and cudgel I dug, built and roofed a stout cabin. I mudded in a fieldstone fireplace and built a forge with one wall common to the whole. With a view to the coming winter, I used the adjoining walls of the forge and cabin to construct a manger and deep shelter for the mule. I dug a larder beneath the cabin and constructed a cold box over the stream The trips I made to the port town were many and arduous, yet I did not consider them penance for some unknown crime—simply a miserable task to be endured. I established my homestead and was proud of the results of my sweat and labors. I purchased my supplies and filled the larder in anticipation of being frozen in for the duration.

A storm woke me before dawn. The sound of the rain and wind carried down the chimney was quite loud in the otherwise silent cabin. The lightning provided almost constant illumination thru the cracks of the shutters. I rose and dressed in the dark, then made my way outside. The wind nearly wrenched the heavy iron and ash door from my grasp, yet I held it firm, thus allowing myself to be pulled along and exposed to the furies of the night.

The sound of the fir trees crashing in the wind formed a constant background to the sight of them being battered about will ye-nil ye. The lightning did not strike so much as force the swirling clouds to flash and glow constantly. The first furious rain had stopped. I could smell the sweet balsam on the wind tempered with the musty smell of the decomposing needle bed and the sharp smell of the storm itself.

I sat upon a stump to observe the rest of the storm unfold. A brutal gust seemed to drop straight down from the heavens, bringing with it a steep drop in temperature. What had been a hot, still night was replaced by an incredibly violent storm that was still gaining in power. The sky took a on a pervasive green glow while clouds began racing overhead from left to right, faster and faster. A rumbling, roaring sound approached from the South-West. Bits of fir branches and needles began to pelt me as the wind picked up. I retreated to the shelter of the leeward side of a huge forest giant, resting my back upon its ancient bark. I could feel the core of the tree bending and twisting as its crown was beaten and thrashed by the fury of the storm.

The air was hazy with flying dirt and debris carried on the wind. The noise grew to shake the forest floor beneath my feet. I could feel the giant tree twist almost asunder beneath my back.

Sudden silence engulfed the woods as the wind died and the trees stilled. My ears popped several times as I stood in awe witnessing trees spinning and falling above me like the feathers of a dove struck by a hawk. I could hear crashes all about my homestead as the trees landed.

The wind suddenly picked up in the opposite direction, slashing branches and stones into my unprotected face and chest. I dashed to the safe harbor of the lee of my protecting tree. Looking up, I witnessed the sky twisting and spinning, then settling down to speed in the opposite direction that it had been pursuing. With the suddenness of the dashing of a bucket I found myself soaked in a freezing rain. I fled for the dubious safety of my cabin, and then my bed. I slowly dried and fell into a fitful sleep.

Upon the morning I explored what the storm had wrought. A channel tens of yards wide of fallen trees pointed directly at my cabin from two directions, miraculously skipping over my poor glade.

Two thoughts fought in my mind for ascendancy: I would not have to cut trees for firewood for ages, and someone on a higher plane approved my choice of homestead.

The event unnerved me to the point that I lay in bed and wondered at the mercy of our savior.

One day I was confronted by a nearly naked man, a deerskin covered his modesty and a spear was in his hand. My grey eyes met his brown. I reached out my hand in greetings.

"Hello, neighbor." His eyes widened and his fingertips touched mine. He inspected me curiously, then motioned with his hands, touching my chest, then motioning at my cabin, twisting his head in curiosity. I smiled, touched my chest, then the earth at my feet. For some reason unknown to me to this day, I took a handful of soil and rubbed it into my chest. I then motioned at the path of destruction traversing the forest, motioned a lift over the glade and continued to the retreating path. He seemed visibly impressed. He soon left. That was but the first of many curious visitors.

Indians visited me several times during my labors. I greeted them politely yet spoke to their eyes, as a warrior, not a slave. After a misunderstanding or two we met as equals. They were fascinated by my blacksmithing. One stayed with me for over a moon to learn the skills of a smith. When he left, I gifted him with a hammer and tongs.

Thinking back to those times, I truly cast bread upon the waters. I heard later of the thieving nature of the natives, yet in my many trips back to the port I never had any trouble with theft or pillage.

The Indians taught me the use of the travois. I forged many arrowheads for their tribe and brought many, many yards of hemp cord and rope for them. They were hungry to gamble. Their winter skills fascinated me, and their sliding of a stick in the snow was laughable as a sport, yet it gave them one more thing to gamble upon.

--1816--

During the hungry times—our Easter—the tribe was simply out of food. Upon observing their condition and attending the funeral rites for a starved infant, I pocketed a handful of gold and slogged my way back to the port with four braves. I bought smoked fish by the bushel and three of the most disagreeable equine nags it has ever been my displeasure to make the acquaintance upon with which to haul the supplies. I also secured many yards of rope and canvas.

Our return was met with as much jubilation as their enervated condition could accommodate. Their chief did not wish to accept the food until I made it clear that the children came first. That cracked his reserve. The poor man cried like a child, knowing that the rest of the children would not have to follow the ones that had died of hunger in their sleep during the past weeks.

Following on my status as benefactor, on the next warm day I helped them strip the great communal wigwam of rotting branches and cover it with canvas, then wrapped it within rope.

They slept warm and dry for the first night in many days. I stayed with them over the next month until the bulbs came up. We barbecued those miserable nags and had many a wonderful feast.

I learned much of their language during this visit.

During a lazy spring afternoon I took up one of their 'snow snake' sticks and its throwing stick. Out of sheer perversity I reversed it and cast it thru the air.

It flew for an amazing distance! Several of the boys watched and were gob-smacked.

One young man had the presence of mind to run for his father. I was sitting there bemused when suddenly I was surrounded by most of the braves of the village.

I was presented with the stick I had previously thrown and diligently observed.

The devil must have twisted my ear, for as I looked about for a target I observed a camp dog many yards away. I took a bead, drew back and bashed the poor dumb animal into its next life. The camp was utterly silent. Then a roar built up.

I then closed my eyes to make my final observance to my maker when the warriors began to strike my back and shoulders. I thought that they were to pummel me to death, yet they relented. As the day played itself out, I was made to understand that the bow was difficult to make, the bowstring difficult to maintain and the arrow a perfect nightmare in both respects. Straight black willow could be cut almost at will and made perfect flights...

It seemed that I was some sort of hero. Well, God bless.

I forged many giant arrowheads to accommodate the six foot flights. For myself, I forged over a dozen the length of my hand with spines the size of a reed. I honed them and stitched two bracers for them. they made for an admirable set of weapons, both as iron-spined bracers and set of darts with which I could pierce an eye at twenty paces.

I explored the path of the stream near my homestead with an eye towards gaining an easier route to the giant lake which harbored my port town. It took over two months of harrow and shovel work to deepen various places, yet my labors came to fruition in the form of a blessedly less arduous path whose mouth came out within 3 miles of the port. Reaching August by this time, I enquired of a local proctor if the vessel my father had advised me to expect had docked recently.

Regrettably it had not. I took up residence with a widow desirous of a boarder and commissioned a lap-built flat-bottom jolly boat of moderate size and high gunnels, built for poling. I then sent word about that I was desirous of a cooking stove with water boiler, iron furniture, pig iron and as much coal as was available. (Iron furniture being pots and pans)

My profligate purchases attracted the attention of several men whose habit was to prey upon others. I was disagreeably informed of these affairs when suddenly set upon one night. I had taken my fathers' advice to heart— an unarmed man deserves his beating. Bearing a sword had gone out of fashion since the end of the war, so I bore shorter weapons. I was armed like a pirate beneath my greatcoat. Two cudgels, a brace of pistols and a baker's dozen of throwing blades, as well as my old sword breaker, as a gule-sinister.

A blow from the dark caught me unawares across the shoulder. It stunned me a bit, coming as it did from nowheres and being a cunning blow. I dropped and rolled towards where the blow came from, kicking off from one foot. I came up with my sword breaker and a throwing blade. I heard the "whoop" of the cudgel coming in for a second strike and seized it with my sword breaker.

I plunged my blade under the arm that swung it and ripped across. Upon hearing a grunt I slashed at where I presumed his throat was.

Damn, I missed my saber.

I heard a curse and at least three shuffle in the dark. I somehow felt for where the next one stood and carefully threw my blade, drew a pistol, cocked and fired at the belly of the next. I caught a flash of two down and two on their feet in the flare of the pistol's muzzle blast. I pocketed the pistol, drew and fired again, backing up.

I stumbled over the staff the first brigand had dropped. With a note of thanks to our maker I thrust my last pistol back into my pocket, seized the staff and laid about myself with a great vigor. I struck about hearing howls and the snap of bones for a measure, then all was quiet. I stood panting, leaning on the staff. I then beat upon a door, calling out "Bring a light! I've waylaid four ruffians that would have waylaid me!"

Soon, I was accompanied by several men with lanterns. I retrieved my blade, then bent to search the bodies, for bodies they were.

"Say now, That's for the constable!"

"Well, now, why don't you toddle off and snivel to the constable that someone poached his candy, then?" I came back.

I found freshly minted gold on all four of them. I felt as if I'd been doused with ice water. I quickly hid the gold. Each had the calluses of a soldier or guardsman. Two had the forearms of swordsmen. If they had been better armed I would have been a dead man. I vowed to arrange for a saber and a back harness and be damned with custom. After the actions of this night, Napoleon was back in Paris.

I vowed to the others that I would speak to the constable in the morning and quickly strode off to my lodgings. Sleep did not come easy that night.

After breaking fast the next morn I found the constable. He began the morning as a disagreeable wretch until I stated my case.

"By God, man, I was waylaid by four and did for them in defense. You should rather afford me a medal!" I caught him aflush and vowed to be right with him, as he seemed a veteran doing his job. He asked my name and how I supported myself.

He bristled when I admitted that I was a remittance man. However, when I bristled and claimed house Stuart I heard the damnedest thing from him—"House Frasier recognizes house Stuart. Confusion to the English!" and he grinned like a dog in the chicken house. I showed him my discoveries of the corpses—the calluses and marks of a swordsman. He liked it no more than I did.

"You'll not be bringing your feuds here!"

"Constable, if they come, they'll disappear quietly into the woods, never to be seen again. I've a tribe of warriors beholden to me close against my homestead.

The Yorkies will follow Cornwallis."

The good man looked to heaven and said with false piety "One must take one's blessings wheresoever God sees fit."

By the middle of the month the Sweet Anne made port. I discussed my arrangement with the purser and received a shock—There was a passenger for me! Lady Katherine Howard, the poor girl that I'd rescued all these years ago!

With my remittance came a letter explaining all— Katherine's disfigurement had dis-heartened her to the point of ultimate melancholy.

She saw in me her rescuer and victim of my action upon her benefit in the same motion.

She wished to stay with me, despite the primitive conditions.

The seclusion in the woods was exactly what she wished.

What could I say? I could not refuse her. This was not a contract to be haggled.

She was begging sanctuary and on the Stuart name there was no agency short of Sweet Christ himself that would force me to turn her away.

I took charge of my passenger and greeted her. She was heavily veiled in white linen and wore a simple grey linen shift. I held out my hands to her to greet her properly. Much to my surprise she flowed into my arms and hugged me as if she hungered for contact. I gently held her, rocking her in my arms.

"Easy, girl. I'll take care of you. You have nothing to fear now. I hugged her tightly for a bit, then relaxed, still holding her.

"I must purchase a few things, as I did not expect your presence. If you will come with me, I will take you to the house of the widow that I room with here. She will be glad to care for you for the hours I must be away from you. Tomorrow, we can begin our travel into the woods."

She said nothing.

"Katherine, can you speak?" a delicate "yes" came forth.

"Hmm. Have you luggage?"

"Yes two cases."

"Fine. I have a new stove to take back with us. The rest of mine can wait for the next trip. Come, now. Let us get you washed up after your long trip."

She hugged me again, then relaxed and took my hand. The poor thing must have been isolated the entire voyage.

I talked the purser into selling me two boarding cutlasses and a flintlock shotgun from ships' stores as the town was too small for such supplies. Oh, I could purchase lead, powder and such, but firearms or good steel? No.

Katherine looked askance at my purchases, yet said nothing. I did not wish to alarm her after her voyage so said nothing of my brutal exercises.

The widow Jeffries took Katherine under her wing like a hen with adopted chicks.

I was dragooned into hauling clean water in, hot water to the tub and dirty water out. I really couldn't complain. I made note to obtain some form of tub for the cabin. Where would she sleep? What would she eat? Did she drink tea?

A rough bachelor's life was not something I wished to inflict upon her. A life in the woods would be hard enough on the poor girl after the life of a lady in London.

I vowed to search out whatever books were available in the village and order more to be shipped in at the earliest opportunity.

I had been instructed in violin. I must determine if she played any instruments and order same before the ship left harbor! And sheet music! Oh, may the very God have mercy on my soul.

What about clothing?

The silks, satins, wools and linens of the London houses were unobtainable here and would not survive a single day. Perhaps the women of the native village could outfit her. I had seen beautiful quillwork on their garments Perhaps some could be traded for?

She played the cello! I ordered a violin, cello, books and sheet music courtesy of my father and the Lady Howard, Katherine's mother.

I made a house-to-house enquiry of the village, begging to buy a bit of tea, a cone of sugar, a china service, a sleeping robe, a whale oil lantern and oil for its use, all reimbursed with good english pounds in gold.

I stopped at the harness maker to provide me a pair of waxed leather holsters with weather flaps for my pistols and a shoulder harness for a cutlass.

I bought many pounds of swan shot and powder. I would not be found short now that I had another to care for.

I loaded the jolly boat with her chests, the stove, four covered iron pots and a gallon jug of sweet oil with which to season the pots then took the rope over my shoulder to begin the trek home.

"Duncan, cannot you be seated within the boat?"

"No, I fear not. The weight at the stern would not let me pole it safely, and I would fear for your health in the water."

She seemed to relax in the boat as the day passed.

"You may remove your veil if you wish."