Ethan Gage Collection #2 by William Dietrich

Author:William Dietrich
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

Chapter 24

What do we do?” The speed with which the monster swam was unnerving. It made straight at us as if we were reeling it on a string.

“Stand and shout,” Jubal instructed.

“But the French!”

“Exactly.”

We sprang up in the shallows, water only to our calves. “Does this scare caimans off?”

“It draws fire! Here! Over here!” He waved.

The beast’s body was flexing like the arms of a blacksmith and reminding me of extremely unhappy experiences with a Nile crocodile. But when we stood the moonlight silhouetted us. A great shout went up and muskets fired, bullets peppering the water. A small cannon banged. With a scream a five-pound ball struck the water and skipped like a stone before bounding up the beach.

“This is your strategy?”

“Look.” Jubal pointed. The startled alligator had turned and was retreating for the swamp. “Now run, on the sand!”

I glanced a last time at the harbor. The longboat was still clearly visible, pulling for a ship, and I thought—or did I imagine?—Astiza half standing, trying to discern what the soldiers were shooting at in the night. Then we were dashing away upriver, my feet bare, the sand hard-packed, men following on the opposite bank and shooting from two hundred yards away. We were dim shadows against the jungle swamp. I squeezed in on myself as lead sizzled by us.

“There, a fisherman’s boat,” Jubal pointed. A dugout canoe, again looking like a log, was pulled into marsh grass.

“How do you tell boat from beast in this cursed country?”

“If it bites.” He dragged the canoe and we jumped aboard, craft rocking, and seized the paddles. “Like those.” Suddenly other “logs” slid into the water. The river was thick with alligators, roused from sleep by our sound and sweat. I heard them plop, and then a snap of exercising jaws.

“Paddle fast,” Jubal said.

I needed no encouragement, making a fair imitation of Fulton’s suggested steamboats. The caimans followed, each sending out an ominous delta of intersecting waves. It was like being escorted to a dinner, with us the main course.

We stroked upriver, still hard to pick out against the jungle. One musket ball thunked into the wood of our canoe, but otherwise the balls buzzed by like pesky hornets. A tide had turned the sluggish current in our direction. Dark reptilian shapes followed like escorting frigates, their prehistoric eyes gauging our pace and their primitive brains calculating what we might taste like when we spilled. On the opposite shore, horses galloped and dogs loped.

The city gave way to the avenue of shorn palms and then the French camps and outposts. Orders were shouted, torches lit, soldiers roused. Rochambeau was not going to let me slip by if he would help it.

“This was a foolish way to escape, but after a mile the river bends away from their lines,” Jubal said.

“Thank goodness. I did some canoeing in Canada but haven’t stayed in shape. I didn’t think it necessary for retirement.”

“You should exercise, because trouble seems to follow you, friend. My plan was to walk quietly out of town, but with your plan, we have to fight through their entire army.

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