Free Ghosts of James Bay by John Wilson Page A

to it. In any case, Greene used the coin to convince me of the veracity of his tale. He said he would give me the coin, which would surely help in our meetings with the salvages, on condition I take him with me on the voyage. Greene was no seaman, so I brought him aboard by subterfuge. How I regret that action now, but it is done.”
    Hudson lapsed into silence, and I handed the angel back to him. I could think of nothing to say. Greene, the trickster, had wormed his way aboard Hudson’s ship with soft words. But were those words true? The angel was certainly real, as was the old document Dad had found, both of which appeared to support the story.
    My thoughts were interrupted by a thin, reedy voice singing:
    â€œAlas, my love, ye do me wrong
To cast me off discourteously;
And I have loved you so long,
Delighting in your company.
    Greensleeves was all my joy,
Greensleeves was my delight;
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,
And who but Lady Greensleeves?”
    We all listened as Wydhowse sang to himself, completely oblivious to the presence of the rest of us. The song was long, cataloguing all the things the singer had given Greensleevesto try to win her favour. It had all been in vain, and I wondered if Wydhowse was thinking of his family back in England as he sang it. Despite his weak voice, the words certainly seemed to strike a chord with the listeners, and no one interrupted him.
    Eventually Wydhowse finished the song, and we sat in silence around the fire. Then Wydhowse spoke. There were tears in his eyes. “Master Staffe, would you be so kind as to help me to our house? I am greatly fatigued and would rest.”
    Staffe rose and almost carried Wydhowse to the shelter. Hudson, Jack, and I remained gazing at the dull coals.

    Unseen, the warrior listened to the singing. It was not like his people’s singing at all. It was quiet and monotonous—not a fitting song for a warrior. He doubted he would ever understand these strangers. His mind drifted back to the time the strangers had attempted to make contact with his people. It had been the spring, after the ice had melted enough to allow Hairy Face and some of his men to travel south in one of their smaller canoes. They had come ashore near the warrior’s camp and gestured that they wanted to trade. Some of his people had panicked and run into the woods, but the others, led by the
okimah,
had set the woods on fire to keep the strangers away. Hairy Face had left.
    On that occasion the temptation to make his presence known to the strangers had been almost overwhelming, but the warrior had obeyed the will of his band. The arrival of the strangers had been a signal of change. Nothing like this had ever happened before in the entire history of his people. He didn’t know why, but he felt deeply that things could never be quite the same again. More of these strangers would come. If one canoe load came this far and suffered so much ina land they obviously did not know, they must be driven by such a strong curiosity that others would surely come. After these ones died, their companions would come looking for them. If some of these ones returned, then their stories would make others come to see for themselves.
    Either way more of these strangers in their winged canoes would come to the warrior’s land. Ignoring them would do no good. If these people were strong enough, they would take what they wanted, the warrior was sure of that. Better then to trade with them and become their friends. The
okimah
was wrong. There was going to be change and the people would have to realize that sooner or later. Maybe, by watching these people now, the warrior would learn enough to make the trading easier when it did eventually happen. Sighing, he watched as the singer was helped into the wooden teepee by the tall man.

EIGHT
    Staffe returned to his seat by the fire. “I fear Wydhowse and Fanner are neither long for this world.”
    Hudson nodded, then turned