Once on the river travel was much faster. The old store owner was so grateful to Dagan and his group for running off the 'river trash' that he sent a runner to a nearby Indian veil age to set up a barter. After a short time, Kawliga had made a trade for two canoes.
"They're not in their prime," Caleb said of the canoes,
"But for a sack of tobacco, flour and salt I think we did better than we hoped for."
It sure beats walking, Dagan thought. He'd always felt more comfortable on water than on land. They travelled for several days on the river, at times they'd have to haul the canoes overland for a short distance in an effort to miss rocky rapids, snags or fallen trees. Then once past the hazards, the journey downstream would begin anew.
Each night they'd make camp on shore and far enough from the river their fire couldn't be easily seen.
"Still smell smoke, but no see blaze," Kawliga had said in his short sentences. Kawliga had also proved to be an excellent cook. He fried bacon at night, cooking enough to have for breakfast in the morning without cooking again. He was good at cooking fried cornbread in the bacon grease and on a couple nights he even fried sliced sweet potatoes. Jubal seemed to think nothing of Kawliga's cooking abilities but Caleb and Dagan were impressed.
"Sure beats the hell out of old Frosty's cooking," Caleb swore.
"That it does," Dagan agreed but both men missed the 'old coot'.
One morning Kawliga spoke to Jubal who in turn turned to Dagan. Motioning his head toward the Indian Jubal said, "He thinks we're in South Carolina now."
"How can he tell?" Caleb asked.
"Lots of ways," Jubal replied. "There's more moss on the tree limbs that are hanging over the river. The lands more flat, more swamp and backwater. You don't see the clearly defined river banks we've been used to."
The air that had smell ed like honeysuckle now seemed to have a fetid odor. Birds stood in the shallows.
A white wood ibis on the bank beat its wings and lifted off. A sound like a bellow was heard.
As the bird lifted off Kawliga pointed. "Alligator scare bird, make it fly."
Lily pads were thick in areas, some with bright yellow blossoms. Turtles sunning on logs made plopping sounds as they slid into the water as the canoes passed by. Herons stood high on their long thin yellow legs.
These were al changes Dagan and Caleb had seen but had not realized the significance. They were out of their element and Dagan was once again thankful he'd been able to obtain such guides as Kawliga and Jubal.
"The only things I've seen different," Caleb responded, "Is more mosquitoes and snakes." That night it rained again and the men slept under the boats. They had turned the boats over and using downed tree limbs to prop them up, creating a shelter of sorts that kept things dryer and made the night more comfortable.
"Supplies are about out so we have to get some soon," Dagan told the party that night before they turned in. "If we don't find a trading place on the river soon we'll have to go inland before we continue to Charlestown."
Rising early the following morning the group rowed with a determination, putting a great distance behind them before the sun started to set. It was like they could al feel the urgency that possessed Dagan's very soul. As the canoes turned toward the shore another bird caught Caleb's eye, "Look at that. That's the prettiest bird I ever seen."
As the colorful bird flew off, Jubal said, "That's a bunting."
"I'm not sure what it is," Caleb thought to himself, "But I wouldn't mind seeing Kit y with a thin nightgown on the same green color as the bird's feathers had been." Caleb was still enjoying his thoughts when the canoe made a grinding sound in the mud. With his mind thus distracted he jumped from the canoe to pull it up on shore.
As soon as he landed he felt something move beneath his feet then felt a sharp pain in his leg. A blur went past Caleb's eyes then he saw Kawliga's
tomahawk embedded in the ground in front of the canoe. A headless snake laid writhing and flopping in coils.
"Let's see the bite," Kawliga said as he lay Caleb flat and using his knife cut the lacings on Caleb's moccasins and then split his trouser's leg. A red whelp was present and one small dot of blood. Not two dots, but one.
Jubal wiped the spot of blood away.
"Not deep, just enough to draw blood and looks like only one fang."
Kawliga walked back over to where the dead snake lay. A large bulge was around the snake's middle. The Indian slit open the snake and a rat fel to the ground.
"Snake not long eat, broke fang. Snake slow with full bel y. Caleb get sick maybe, not likely die." Kawliga then walked a few steps to a plant. "See plant, snake root. You chew root you not die," he said as he dug up the root. "You chew."
"I'm damn glad to know your expert opinion," Caleb said, trying not to show the pain he was feeling from his throbbing leg and also trying not to gag on the root he chewed.
Jubal broke into a laugh, "Look here, this canebrake had thirteen rattles. That's the same number of colonies we got. You've done been bit by a colonial rattlesnake Caleb." Dagan burst out laughing and in spite of his pain, so did Caleb.
Kawliga's prophecy proved true. Caleb lived but his leg did swell and was very sore as the group made their way down the long stretch of wharfs after finally reaching Charlestown.
"Damme," Dagan said, "place looks like a floating market."
Bay Street was lined with wholesale stores and residences that ran parallel to the Cooper River. The river was choked with brigantines, sloops, and schooners from abroad. Tied-up as they were, there was little hope of escaping any enterprising British naval patrol.
From up river, barges, dugouts, and canoes made their way down from the interior full of country produce to be sold to the town folks.
Negro slaves were everywhere. A few Cherokee Indians were also about so no one paid much attention to Kawliga.
"Look!" Caleb tapped Dagan and pointed to a man holding a sign: "Mary McDowell s most notorious brothel for lewd women – Pinckney Street."
"What's a brothel?" Jubal asked.
Both Caleb and Dagan turned and stared at the boy. For once, both were speechless. "Your Pa will tell you about it," Dagan finally managed to say.
"Why can't you?"
"Well, some things need to be discussed between a father and son."
"But Pa ain't here."
"You'll see him soon enough."
"You just don't want to tell me. Well, I recon I'll just go over to Pinckney Street and find out."
"Huhmm…" Caleb said, "Might not be too bad an idea."
"Shut up Caleb," Dagan said, then turned to Jubal,
"You ever read the Bible?"
But before he could explain further, Jubal cried out,
"Mr. Frances…Mr. Frances over here."
Dagan was both relieved and concerned. Relieved he didn't have to explain what a brothel was but concerned about meeting the enemy. He had the letter of introduction but had hoped he wouldn't need it.
Now he was facing Frances Marion, a Colonial colonel.
Marion was a smallish man. He wore a crimson jacket and a battered helmet with a silver crescent and the words "liberty or death" was on his head. He had a slight limp. Seeing the limp was noticed, Marion said by way of explanation, "Broke my ankle during the battle of Fort Moultrie."
"I see," Dagan said trying to decide how to proceed with this man who could have him thrown in prison, or worse…shot. After a second Dagan decided to be truthful and straightforward. "Colonel, I'm a British sailor. I'm looking for my nephew who commands a British warship. I have a letter for you from my uncle, Andre, Jubal's father whom I believe you know well." Without the slightest change in his facial expression and demeanor, Marion said, "Well, it appears we have
a bit to discuss. Let's move to a place more suitable than the Bay Street wharf. I know of a nice little tavern that puts together a fantastic frogmore stew. Shall we go?" Dagan had no knowledge of what frogmore stew was but felt compel ed to follow the man known as the Swamp Fox as he limped off toward the tavern.
Marion read Andre's letter and listened to Dagan's story. Then he said, "I'll get you to Beaufort…if I have your word you'll collect your nephew and be off. No spying, no sabotage, just get your kin and get."
"You have my word," Dagan replied solemnly.
"We will protect ourselves if we have to but otherwise we'll avoid trouble when we can."
"Fair enough," Marion stated, "Wait here til you hear from my messenger."
In less than an hour, a man approached Dagan's group as they sat around a table at the tavern where Marion had left them. He was dressed in buckskin britches, a homespun Woolsey shirt and an ill -fitting crimson jacket that bore a silver crescent, the mark of South Carolina 's second regiment.
In a low voice the man spoke, "You the Britishers?" When Dagan nodded his answer the man said,
"Colonel Marion sent me to guide you to fetch your kin and keep you outta trouble whilst we's about it. Name's Rud."
"How shall we travel?" Dagan inquired.
"It'd be quicker to take a boat," the man said, "But that'd attract more attention to us so's we'll go overland but stay off the main road. The colonel gave me a pass in case we get stopped and questioned. But, he reckons it best we try to avoid any ’sojers' if possible."
"How long will it take?" Dagan asked as the rest of the group remained silent.
"Pends on if you can keep up," Rud answered. He had noted Caleb favoring his leg. "Day, maybe two." Finishing his tankard of ale, Caleb stood and stepped around the table. "When can we leave?" he asked.
"Quick as you get your plunder together," Rud replied, "There's still enough light left we can make our way outta the city and have a good jump on the morrow."