Archive of Our Own ^beta

We finally made it back to Halifax today. DAMN do I wish I was back in Sherbrooke already. I don’t know how I’m going to get there, either--I’d even walk, though it would take me more than a month to get there, but I don’t walk so good anymore since the fight with that Yankee ship outside of Montego Bay. One of their cannons hit a little too close to me, and my leg got hit by debris. Doesn’t sound like much, a little debris, but the doc was too busy helping those who was hurt worse. I never healed up right after that.

At least I’m back in Canada. I thought for a while that they were going to drop me on Nantucket. I couldn’t bear the thought of still being so far from home after the last six years of exile.

Yes, exile. I don’t think it’s too strong a word--it’s not like I was traveling the world for fun. If Elcid damn Barrett hadn’t got that letter of marque… I can’t believe I ever wanted to leave home in the first place. Traveling to Halifax with my cousin seemed like the world’s greatest adventure. Well, I’ve had adventure up to my eyeballs now, and I’m sick of it. Sometimes I even wished he’d been caught along with me, so I’d have had company, someone I could talk about home with. In my better moments I’m glad he didn't get caught, though.

Maybe I can find a teamster heading Sherbrooke way, or something.

*****

I was still on the dock, trying to think of how to meet some teamsters to ask if they might be heading that way--marketplace? stables? when I realized that a tavern might be the best of all. Meet them when they’re not in a rush to get on the road, you know. I tried talking to the drivers who were loading up cargo here at the docks, but they were busy making sure the cargo got loaded right. I did get one of them to tell me what tavern they all like, though. He said it was the Split Crow.

So last night I went over to the Split Crow. I can’t say as it turned out like I planned, but at least I got good and drunk… The men by the fire was taking turns singing, and I didn’t plan on singing but I sat over by the fire anyway to keep warm. When it came around to my turn, I was just tipsy enough to decide to sing something anyway, and my troubles were on my mind, so I belted out “GOD DAMN THEM ALL” and it was kinda melodic, and I just kept going. “I WAS TOLD WE’D CRUISE THE SEAS FOR AMERICAN GOLD, WE WOULDN’T FIRE NO GUNS NOR SHED NO TEARS! GOD DAMN THEM ALL!” And then I just broke down and howled “How I wish I was home in Sherbrooke now! God damn, God damn them…” But it seemed the men liked it, they all asked me questions about my tale and bought me drinks til I couldn’t see straight. Seems like the beginnings of a real song there, I’ll figure out some verses for it. That bit that I came out with last night seems like it’d be the chorus. Might need some changing around too, I’ll have to see what I can do with it.

I’d arranged for a room there earlier in the evening, and apparently I managed to stagger off to it all right because that’s where I woke up this morning, to a pounding on the door. One of the teamsters I’d met last night was yelling “Martin, time to go!” Apparently last night he offered me a ride as far as Moncton. I asked him this morning what payment we’d agreed on. I was nervous what kind of a deal I might have struck while I was three sheets to the wind last night, but he just laughed and said he’d taken pity on me when he heard my story. Said I could maybe teach him that song I was singing. I told him the song doesn’t exist yet, but I’ll work on it.

Moncton! It’s not Sherbrooke, but oh, how I long to be out of sight of the sea. All Moncton has got is a river, I hear. That’s no ocean! It’ll take us about two days to get to Truro, he said--with a couple of stops along the way for trading--and then another 4-5 days to Moncton. Hopefully in Moncton I can find another friendly teamster heading farther west. Sherbrooke, here I come!