Cabin in Glory: Voices of Pondicherry, #3

By Caroline D. Grimm

YoungEnoch Perleygrows to manhood at a pivotal time in the nation's history. He listens by the fireside to stories of war and adventure told by his swashbuckling uncle, General Israel Putnam. As he comes of age, the British regulars clash with local militia at Lexington and Concord. Enoch realizes that change is in the air. And that change brings opportunities for a young man not afraid of hard work and sacrifice. He is charged with carrying out a special mission by the proprietors of a new land grant in the wilds of the province of Maine.

Anna Flintgrew up in comfort and security, learning the domestic arts at her mother's side. Young Enoch Perley takes a fancy to her, but she wonders if he will ever settle down. When he decides to go to the wilderness of Maine, she must make a decision. Will she leave behind the comforts of home and family to join him in the wilderness?

Kumba, a young African girl, is stolen from her family by slavers. She finds herself on a treacherous journey in the dank and disgusting hold of a slave ship, bound for a land she's never heard of. Tossed about on the sea, fearing she will never see her beloved family again, she feels her spirit leaving her. Can she survive the journey? What will become of her?

Based on a true story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Caroline D. Grimm
• Release date: Nov 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393309260

Book preview

Prelude

Kissi Village, Guinea, Africa 1769

The slim, ebony-skinned child leaned into her mother’s strong arms, her legs wrapped tightly around her mother’s waist. Her older sister, Sia, held tight to their mother’s hand. The child fidgeted, brushing away the flies that plagued them night and day. Hush, Kumba, her mother whispered.

Lying on the floor of the hut, Kumba’s father writhed in the delirium of the fever that had overtaken him four nights ago. His face was contorted in pain; his body drenched in sweat. Flies buzzed and crawled over him. Kumba’s mother watched the rise and fall of his chest, willing him to breathe in and out. Looming over the man was the frightening visage of the village witch doctor. Possessed by his familiar spirit and wearing a gruesome mask, the witch doctor muttered and chanted.

For most of this day, the witch doctor had worked over the stricken man. None of his incantations had been able to overcome the strong demon that lived within the man. The burning herbs had a bitter smell, but it could not overcome the stench of death that crept ever closer.

The witch doctor reached into his medicine pouch and removed his conjure bones, bones of fowl and crocodile. Throwing them down into the dust, he sat back on his haunches and studied the way the bones had fallen. With a solemn expression in the dark eyes that looked out from the mask, he glanced at the woman, shaking his head. The bones had fallen the bad way. The man would die.

The witch doctor returned the sacred bones to his pouch, drawing it closed. Then, breathing deep, he sneezed out, Wen’sia! Wen’sia! expelling the spirit that was within him. The woman looked down with resignation. The witch doctor had spoken. The bones were cast. The spirits had decided.

Chapter 1

Massachusetts 1690

It was a bedraggled bunch of sorry souls that came trudging up the streets of Andover, Massachusetts. In the lead was their good captain, John Tyler. The long campaign had taken the lives of some of their number and left others permanently damaged, body and soul.

One of their number, James Bridges, hobbled along on a makeshift crutch, his feet blackened by frostbite. They’d been able to save just three of his toes. What was left of his feet was ugly and misshapen. How he would make a living for his family now, he did not know. He glanced about him at his compatriots. Their clothes were torn to rags, filthy and rank. Not one man among them was whole.

Having first suffered an appalling passage up the Saint Lawrence River replete with ill winds and poor weather, they faced far more hardship upon arrival at the Basin of Quebec. The men had expected little from the French, considering them soft and cowardly. The effete French would be no match for hardy New England men.

Confident that the French would surrender rather than face battle, just as their countrymen did at Port Royal, Sir William Phips sent his envoy, Thomas Savage, to demand that surrender. The French refused to surrender, and the English envoy barely escaped with his life. Shaken, he returned to report to Phips. In response to the demand for surrender, the French governor, Frontenac, sent back this bold reply, I have no reply to make to your general other than from the mouths of my cannons and muskets.

The battle that followed had the British in a poor state of affairs. Running low on ammunition and provisions, their numbers devastated by smallpox and dysentery, the British were forced to surrender. The French were jubilant. The British patched together their remaining ships and limped back down the St. Lawrence.

Arriving in Boston Harbor, the men quickly slipped off the ships and headed for home. The defeat was a blow to national pride. It left 1,000 men dead from sickness and wounds and created much debt for the colony. The men who survived were racked with dysentery, suffering from frostbitten fingers and toes, and the wounds of battle.

Some blamed the expedition’s commander for the defeat and the losses. Others blamed the French or the weather. Still others were too tired and worn out to care about anything other than returning home to their families.

As the Massachusetts men marched back from Boston to their homes in Andover, Boxford, Topsfield, and the surrounding towns, the pall of defeat hung over them in a heavy cloud. James Bridges broke off from his fellow soldiers, heading down the road to his small farm. While he had been on campaign, his wife must surely have given birth to their first child. He hoped to find her well, and the babe, too. He hoped his younger brother, Samuel, had been able to keep up with the farm work while he was gone. Young Samuel was a worker. That was for sure. And a good providence that was with the way James’s feet were torn up now. His brother would have to continue with much of the work of the farm.

James turned in at his own gate and shouted a greeting. The front door swung open, and his young wife ran to greet him, cradling his newborn daughter in her arms.

Chapter 2

Massachusetts 1736

Long after the battle, the veterans of 1690 still struggled for payment for their service to the Crown. Promised paper money, they soon found that to be worthless. Captain Tyler fought for his men, insisting that something be done to satisfy the Crown’s debt. At last, the Crown responded. A meeting was called for all those who had served, or the descendants of those who had died since the battle.

Captain John Tyler called the meeting to order. He addressed his men, saying, Gentlemen, as you know, the Crown has been long overdue in paying its debt to us for our service. Others who fought as we did have been granted land to satisfy that debt. As you know, we petitioned the Legislature for a land grant some time ago. At last, we have received word that our petition has been granted, and we will receive the promised payment. All who served, and their descendants, have been granted land to the North of here: a township grant named Rowley, Canada.

Cheers broke out among the men. Tyler waited for them to settle again. They deserved their moment of jubilation after so long a wait. When the men had quieted again, he motioned to James Bridges, Jr. saying, "We wanted to have James Bridges handle the details, but since he is in ill health, young James will handle matters.

The first step will be setting up a committee of proprietors to get the land grant surveyed. In the meantime, you can all begin considering your options for how to use or dispose of your lots as they are assigned." As the men began to consider the possibilities, a buzz of excitement spread through the room. With thousands of acres to be divvied up, every man was the richer. Perhaps this could take away some of the sting that still lingered after their defeat at the hands of the French.

Chapter 3

Boxford, Massachusetts 1759

Enoch Perley woke in the early morning hours of May 10. In truth, he had barely slept the night before, having only dozed off well after midnight. Today was a day of great excitement for him. His tenth birthday. Although he was sure his Marm would make him a special treat to celebrate the day, his excitement came from another source altogether. This was the day his father deemed a boy was old enough to learn to shoot a musket. Of course, he’d been practicing for years with sticks, but it was time now for him to take on the role that all young men must: to learn to provide game for his family and to protect his own from the dangers of the wilderness.

He hurried into his breeches, hastily stuffing in his shirt tails, and pulling on his coat. Brushing his dark hair back from his eyes, he ran barefooted down the stairs. He nearly plowed over his sister, Rebecca, as she was coming to call the little ones for breakfast. Rebecca swatted at him good naturedly, and he skidded past her into the kitchen. His mother turned from the stove with a pewter plate piled high with steaming flapjacks. Smiling at her son, she said, Good morning! Thomas Jr. is doing your chores for you as a birthday gift. He said to tell you to save him some flapjacks.

Enoch was bouncing about the kitchen, unable to contain his excitement. Mr. Thomas Perley Sr. came in from the barn and tucked something behind the kitchen door. Gruffly, he gave his son a one-armed hug, tossing in a playful jab to the ribs. Enoch laughed and squirmed away. As his brothers and sisters trooped in, they each gave him a smile. The family crowded around the breakfast table. Mr. Perley gave the blessing, and everyone passed around the pancake platter and the sweet, amber maple syrup. Fresh farm sausage, rich with apples and spices, made the rounds, too.

Mr. Perley and Israel talked of the busy planting season soon to be under way. With plowing to be done on a very short schedule, every moment of May was carefully planned to make the best use of the short growing season in New England. Enoch listened carefully, knowing he would soon be called upon to play a bigger role in the farming of the large acreage.

His father and brother talked so long of their plans that Enoch began to think his father had forgotten his promise. He began to fidget. Just a little at first. Then he found he could barely hold still on his chair. His mother glanced his way with a reproving look on her face. Children were not to make a spectacle of themselves at the table. But having five boys and three girls, she was wise enough to know when to be stern and when to be gentle. She laid her hand on her good husband’s arm. He glanced at her, a warm smile slowly crossing his face. She nodded toward Enoch, a silent message sent.

Mr. Perley looked around the table at his brood and said, If you’ve all finished, you may be excused. Chairs scraped back as they all got up to leave. All are excused except for Enoch. Enoch looked up expectantly. His father said, Just outside the kitchen door is something I think you’ll find of interest. Excitedly, Enoch peeked around the door. Leaning against the wall was his oldest brother’s musket. It’s time Israel had a new one. Now this one will be yours. Grab your hat, and we’ll head out to the pasture for some target practice before work.

Standing in the pasture with the morning mist still rising, Mr. Perley and Enoch stood side by side. Enoch’s fingers itched to hold the Brown Bess. His father said, Before we begin, I must tell you what you need to know about guns. A gun is a serious responsibility. With it, you can feed your family or protect your home. But you must never take a life when you do not need to. We hunt to eat. We kill only to defend what is ours. You must never shoot anything as a game or a jest. Do you understand, Enoch?

Yes, sir, the boy said.

His father continued, You must apply yourself and practice until you become an excellent marksman. A good marksman can be relied on to bring home food for his family. A good marksman can save the lives of his family in times of danger. It is one of the skills a man must have to survive. Then he took the gun and placed it in Enoch’s hands. First I will teach you to load the gun. You must practice over and over until you can load it in just a few seconds.

Impatiently, Enoch watched as his father showed him how to load the musket. He had seen his father and brothers load a musket hundreds of times. He knew the musket from the lock to the barrel to the stock. His father pulled the hammer back to half-cock. Pulling a paper cartridge from his shot pouch, Mr. Perley carefully tore the top of the paper off with his teeth, spitting the excess away. Pouring a small amount of powder into the pan, he then tipped the remainder of the cartridge upside down into the muzzle of the musket, powder, ball, and paper falling in. Then, pulling free the ramrod, he quickly and firmly tamped the load down. He replaced the ramrod. Closing the frizzen as he lifted the musket, he settled the gun on his shoulder. Pulling back the cock and stilling his breath, he fired.

The crack of the musket that close to him made Enoch jump despite his most stalwart efforts. As the smoke wafted away on the morning breeze, Mr. Perley handed the musket back to his son. Ready to give ‘er a go? he asked. Enoch nodded eagerly. He slowly went through the steps to reload the musket, with his father’s watchful eye upon him. His hand shook slightly as he poured the powder into the pan. Steady on, said his father quietly. When the musket was loaded, Enoch looked to his father for approval. Finding it in his father’s proud nod, Enoch raised the musket to his slight shoulder. Pulling back the hammer, he took aim at a tree branch and pulled the trigger.

The musket flashed and fired. The recoil sat Enoch down hard on his breeches. His father held out his hand, and Enoch grabbed hold, jumping to his feet. With his arm around his son, the two walked toward the tree branch where Enoch had taken aim. Pointing at the bark on the top of the branch, Mr. Perley said, Hit it first try. Good man.

Enoch swelled with pride. His father had called him a man. It took away some of the sting from his shoulder and his breeches. His father handed him the musket to carry to home. Walking back, Enoch tried to match his stride to his father’s. He only had to add a skip here and there to keep up. His father rested his hand on Enoch’s bruised shoulder, bringing warmth to ease the pain he knew the boy must be feeling. Enoch made no mention of that. A man’s hurts were his own to tend.

Chapter 4

Boxford, Massachusetts 1759

The sun rose golden and glowing red beyond the wheat fields of the Perley farm. The light touched the waving heads of wheat and silhouetted a morning lark perched bobbing on the fat grain. Enoch Perley followed in his father’s wake, now and then reaching out to run his hand across the raspy, rustling wheat. His father stopped and reached out to pluck one of the ripe heads. He held it down by Enoch’s face. Can you see how the grains are bursting and ripe? That means it’s time to harvest. The wheat will feed us through the winter and let us winter over more of our stock. That’s the importance of a good crop. Our hard work and the good Lord’s earth together produce sustenance for all of us. Never neglect the earth, Son. Never shirk your care of her, and God will always provide.

Enoch took the full head of the wheat stalk into his hand with a sense of reverence. He felt the sun on his face and the cool of the dirt beneath his feet. The dew was still on the grass, giving the world a fresh new feeling. Breathing in deep, he stood for a moment, this boy who never stood