John Locke - Now & Then

Rugby arched her back and hissed loudly, causing Jack to follow her gaze. He leaned over the side and shielded his eyes against the sun’s glare on the water.

“What do you see down there that you haven’t seen a hundred times, girl?”

In this part of the river the water was brackish, with light green patches of algae hugging the shorelines. Whatever it was that had riled the cat was still troubling her, but Jack couldn’t make it out.

Until he could.

“God’s blood!” he exclaimed, jumping back in shock. There, just below the stagnant surface, he’d seen the hideous, human-like face of a yellow eel. Five feet long if an inch, and covered with dark brown spots that looked like eye balls. Jack had never seen an eel in these waters before, let alone the eyeball markings. This one had obviously slithered out of one of the numerous limestone caves that lay beneath the waters of the Little River. A terrifying sight; and Jack shuddered to contemplate what manner of soulless, unknown species might be too large to escape the dark caves below his boat.

For the better part of an hour, into late afternoon, he navigated the river, relying on his sharp vision and keen intuition to evade the submerged tree limbs and sandbars that discouraged less skilled travelers from duplicating the journey. He and Rugby passed snakes, turtles, raccoons, skunks, cranes, and lily pads teeming with great, bellowing bullfrogs, and giant spiders mending their webs. Other than the occasional puff of hot breeze, the air was rank and stagnant, and filled with the odor of rotten eggs. Rugby winced and sneezed.

Jack laughed. “I know, smells like hell fire, don’t it, girl? But it’s just the sulphur pits that line these coves. We’ll move past them soon.”

He kept to the center of the river to avoid the thick, green pond scum that had all but taken over the river at this point, and the ravenous mosquitoes that hugged the verdant shore.

Rugby’s ears pricked as they neared the final bend that led to their destination. Jack knew what his companion had heard. A moment later, he heard it too.

Children’s voices.

Though he knew whose children they were, he stopped rowing, and kept his oars in the water to hold the boat in check. He listened a moment, studying the cadence of the voices. They sounded enthusiastic.

“Rugby, make nice, for they’ve assembled a landing party to greet us.”

The cat looked at him and Jack said, “I don’t know how they knew I was coming. But they always know. It’s probably Rose, the witchy one. She senses things.”

Chapter 4

THE LANDING PARTY, Jack knew, would number six: George and Marie Stout, their three young children, and Johanna, the young girl who lived and worked with the Stouts. Jack let out his signature whistle before rounding the final bend, and the voices immediately stopped, their minds processing the sound. Then, almost instantly, they began cheering. Jack had taught Johanna and the Stouts this particular whistle as a means of identifying themselves from a distance. He had taught them a danger whistle as well.

The group had gathered at the Stout’s dock, thirty yards west of George and Marie’s outpost. For years the dock had been the primary means of accessing the outpost by the river families that settled on the banks north of this location. But the previous year’s hurricane had deposited so many trees that the river north had become virtually impassable. These days, those who visited the outpost were forced to walk or ride the rough trail on horseback. Though the post was isolated, people willingly made the trip to obtain the one thing George had that they couldn’t get elsewhere.

Medicine.

Medicine, the most prized and valuable commodity in the colonies, had been the foundation for Jack and George’s close friendship. Other than gold, Jack’s principal reason for attacking ships was to acquire medicine, which he sold and traded for goods and services. He had two paying customers in St. Alban’s: the Mayor’s physician and Thomas Griffin, who owned the local apothecary. He also traded medicine with George Stout in return for information regarding the town’s current attitude toward pirates, the unlimited use of George’s horses, and care for Johanna, whom Jack had rescued from an abusive family two months earlier.

When the greeters saw Jack making the final turn, they cheered. But when they saw Rugby, George and Marie crossed themselves and spit over their shoulders. Even the children, accustomed to all manner of woodland creatures, crossed and spat, and hesitated to approach the boat.

Johanna was the lone exception. She sported a smile that seemed to occupy her entire face. When she bent down to accept the bow of the boat, she and Rugby eyed each other closely. Jack said, “This is Rugby. She’s yours, if you want her.”

Johanna squealed with joy, which caused Rugby to arch her back and hiss. One of the Stout boys yelped at the sound, and Marie recoiled in horror. But undaunted, Johanna put her hand out, and waited for Rugby to respond. Eventually the cat bent her head against Johanna’s hand without launching an attack.

“She likes you,” Jack said.

Looking pleased, Johanna steadied the boat and Jack climbed out. Giving the cat a wide berth, the Stouts gathered around Jack. Marie hugged him vigorously, and George clapped him on the back.

“Good to see you, Henry,” he said, for that’s the name Captain Jack used among the locals.

“Aye, and you and your family as well,” Jack said. He looked at Johanna and nodded. “And you, miss. How are you?”

Johanna had picked Rugby up and cuddled her. Upon being addressed by Jack, she blushed and curtsied slightly. “The Stout family has taken excellent care of me, sir, and Mrs. Stout has been learning me to cook and clean.”

“Such are good skills to have,” Jack said, approvingly. He and Johanna looked at each other a moment, as if unsure what more to say. By contrast, the children were full of questions, most of which involved the cat.

Seven-year-old Samuel said, “Why do you call him Rugby?”

“She’s named after her former owner, Colonel Rugby, of Glenshire.”

“And what became of the Colonel?” the ultra-precocious, ten-year-old Rose asked. “Was it ghastly?”

“Rose, hush!” her mother scolded. “If Henry wants us to know what became of Colonel Rugby, it’s for him to say, and not for us to ask.”

Rose pointed a finger at the cat. “No matter,” she said. “I suspect we’ll all be dead by morning.” Of all the Stout children, Rose was the least inclined toward optimism.

“Mind your tongue, child, or I’ll cuff your ears!” Marie said, though Rose looked as though she might welcome such a cuffing. She was, in all respects, an unusual child, and her siblings weren’t the only ones who regarded her as such. George and Marie learned early on to distance Rose from other families, after hearing visitors question whether she might be a witch.

Rose was not one of the Stout’s birth children. According to George, he and Marie had found her four years earlier, wandering the woods, speaking in tongues. They took her in as they would any stray. From her first days with the Stouts, Rose had shown a particular fondness for heights and could routinely be found high in the branches of trees. According to Samuel, Rose could talk to spiders, rats and snakes. Jack, though far less superstitious than most, always gave Rose a wide berth.

Jack watched Samuel tie his boat to the pier before speaking. “Colonel Rugby was set upon by either the French or pirates. I came upon their smoldering ship quite by accident, while fishing.”

He and George exchanged a look as Jack continued his story. “When I boarded, I found not a single person or thing on it, apart from this strange cat-like creature. I did manage to salvage a portion of the Captain’s journal and read mention of Colonel Rugby’s strange, furless cat. Not knowing the cat’s original name, I named her for her former owner, and she seems to have accepted it without protest.”