Caleb Wolfe, Salem Massachusetts 1692

I road into the town of Salem as I was greeted by more then a few unfriendly stares though I was used to it. Being the son of a white man and a Mohawk woman I walked two world but never felt truly accepted by either. Though it could just be the bright red coat I wore which stood out against the dark wool coats, brown waistcoats, and linen shirts of the townsfolk who was mostly puritans. At least when people saw the coat they knew what side I was on at the very least.

I served as a scout, interpreter, and messenger for my fathers people the British against the French though I was not really part of the militia and held no rank. I had been drawn into the conflict after the Schenectady Massacre when the Caughnawaga Mohawks from Quebec loyal to New France attacked the settlement of Schenectady killing and capturing the people there not far from Albany where my family lived. The war was not going well as Cape Porpoise, Saco, Scarborough, Falmouth and North Yarmouth had all been destroyed or abandoned.

The town of Salem itself seemed as hospitable as its people, with rows of weathered timber-framed houses with steeply pitched roofs. The smell of wood smoke drifted from chimneys mingling with the odors of the nearby harbor and other smells of the city. The streets were little more than uneven dirt tracks, worn down by the passage of horses, carts, and foot traffic, with shallow drainage ditches running alongside them. Their exteriors were covered in overlapping wooden clapboards, faded by years of wind and rain to a dull gray and brown. I forced a smile at some kids who were watching me as I road past and a little girl gave a wave before her mother ushered the two away.

I found the warehouse belonging to a man named Philip English on the South River waterfront, which a few soldiers had told me about after I had crossed paths with them a few days earlier in the wilderness. The building stood alongside the river, its broad wooden doors facing the wharf where merchant vessels could unload their cargo directly. Its exterior was covered in overlapping wooden clapboards, weathered to a dull gray and brown, with a steeply pitched shingled roof overhead.

I tied off my horse and grabbed off my bag then I stepped inside. I found myself in a large, open room with heavy timber beams supporting the ceiling. Barrels, wooden crates, and tightly packed bales were stacked along the walls, leaving a clear space for men to move cargo. Toward the back stood a wooden counter and a broad writing desk, where a clerk sat recording shipments in a large ledger while some men past me carrying out a crate as I had to step aside. I approached the man sitting at the table as he glanced up at me.

“May I help you?” He set setting his quill aside and sat back.

“I have some furs to sell if your interested.” I said as I sat the bag down on the table.

“Are you looking for coin or trade?” He asked as he took the bag and untied it before opening it up and began to pull out a mixture of beaver, otter, fox, and mink pelts.

“A bit of both. I need some supplies if you have them and will need a place to stay for the night with warm food and a soft bed.” I said. I really didn't need the luxuries as I was used to sleeping under the stars and cooking by camp fire but a small part of me missed our family cabin in Albany.

“Ye can try the Widow Gedney's or the Blue Anchor Tavern. These are fair quality but I have seen better. I'll give you two pounds and ten shillings for the lot in coin or trade.” He replied as he ran his hands over the furs before looking up.

I knew they were worth more then that but sadly I also knew my options of where I could sell them were limited. Boston was a days ride in the wrong direction and it be two to three days to reach Portsmouth further north.

“As long as you throw in a wool blanket as well.” I replied. To him it be nothing to part with a blanket or two for what he make off my pelts but out in the frontier a good blanket was a necessity and be worth more then the coin he was offering.

“Done.” He nodded and began bagging up the pelts. I ended up getting a blanket, some salt off of him for preserving meats, powder and shot, as well as some sugar and tobacco for trade. After that I found a blacksmith who was even less hospitable to outsiders but he still took my coin for a new hatchet though I doubt he would have if not for the red coat.

After trading my goods I headed to the Ship Tavern to get a place for the night. I found it along Main Street, not far from the waterfront. I stepped inside, ducking slightly beneath the low doorway. Beyond the entrance was a spacious common room, with a low ceiling supported by heavy wooden beams. The walls and ceiling gave the place a rather enclosed appearance, while the firelight from the great hearth cast a warm glow across the interior while light from the small windows did little to brighten the deeper corners of the room. The air carried the faint smell of wood-smoke, ale, and cooked food that made my stomach rumble since I had not eaten since breakfast. The place was mostly empty with a few patrons.

I saw two women talking near a doorway as I stopped at a table and laid my rifle across the empty table and took off my satchel before sitting down on the bench. One was younger with lovely auburn hair under a linen cap over her brown hair as a few locks escaped down the sides. She wore a dark blue dress with a large white collar and a white apron tied around her waist.

“Do you think he speaks English.” I overheard the younger of the two whisper to the other as they looked at me. I could tell I made her a little nervous but the destruction of Fort Loyal had seen an influx of refugees to places like Salem who probably told stories.

“When he wants.” I replied and gave the two women a glance before setting my coin purse on the table. A subtle hint that I was a paying customer.

“I apologize sir. We do not get many of your kind in here. I have some chickens cooking if you are interested in some food.” The older woman replied.

“Yes please and some Cider if you have any.” I nodded.

“Coming right up.” The woman replied.

A few seconds later the younger woman came over with a picture and a wooden cup. “Good day to you sir. The food will be up in a second.” She filled the cup and put it down beside me. I could tell I still made her a little nervous but she was someone cute in her apprehension. Maybe a little to good for the likes of someone like me. I had been in the wilderness so long I was not sure if I still knew how to react around a lady, even one as calmly and humble as her.