'The Tables Turn'

As soon as the 'White Witch' had docked in Mohawk, Helen was out and heading for the two churches in town and then on to the public school. She'd told Sam earlier that she planned to have the church bells rang continually and send the older school kids out on their bikes to the farms and houses out of town. "Everyone knows that the bells mean 'get your ass to the old white church on the hill as fast as you can! We should have for a meeting by late afternoon!"

The sun was going down when the meeting actually got going. The little white church on the hill was packed to the roofters with townsfolk and those close enough to come in as quickly as they could. They came in cars, trucks, in horses, wagons and on foot. Most of the men were armed with either a deer rifle or a shotgun. Reverend Wilson opened the meeting with a prayer, thanked them all for coming and then turned the meeting over to Helen and Sam.

"Again, thank you for coming," Helen said in her clear, teacher's voice. "Especially on such short notice. Some of you might have already heard the reason for calling this emergency meeting, but for those who haven't, it deals with a group of pirates on the river."

That caused a stir in the hundred or so filling the small church.

Helen waited a moment, then raised her hand for silence. "It's the Grant bunch from over on Wolfe Island. Last fall they came to John Everston on Grindstone demanding food. This spring they came back for more and said that they'd be doing the same with communities. Sam and I plan to stop them before they get here --- and to do that we need your help. Now, I'm going to turn things over to Sam who will explain his plan."

She paused a moment, then raised her hand once more. "But before I go I want to thank you in advance for your help, because as you already know, we are all in this 'Brave New World' together --- and together we will solve this problem! Now, here's retired Master Sergeant Sam Burnham from the Canadian Special Forces!"

Sam stepped up to the podium, nodded to Helen, then faced the eager, anxious faces. "Thank you Helen, that was quite a speech." He paused and actually smiled. "Perhaps you should run for mayor?"

That got a few nervous laughs, then the hall went quiet and Sam continued. "Most of you know me as the 'old guy who builds wooden boats', and you'd be right. My family has been building boats for three generations right here on our river. But, as Helen just told you, as a young man I spent a fair number of years in the armed forces." He paused and the easy smile he had shown suddenly vanished. "In that time I saw some terrible things. Things best forgotten, but sadly never really are. But one of the most important lessons I leaned in the army is that in order to live a peaceful life, you have to be willing to fight for it. Another important lesson I learned was that most 'bad guys' are cowards. Just like a bully in the school yard, if you stand up to the bugger, maybe have to give him a bloody nose or a black eye, nine times out of ten he'll back down."

Sam waited a moment or two, then shrugged. "So that's my plan. To stand up to the Grants and, if we have to, to give them a bloody nose or two."

"And what if they don't back down?!" a voice yelled from the back. "What if that band of thieving smugglers decide to fight instead?!"

"Well frined, I doubt that will happen if we outnumber them," Sam said slowly, his deep voice filling the already filled room. "Also, from all I've heard, Roger Grant is a reasonable man."

"Roger?" another voice called out. "What happened to old Randolph Grant?"

"The father died over the winter," Sam replied. "Sickness or maybe hunger. Maybe both. His son Roger is running things now and apparently he's offering to patrol the river against these roaming mobs we've all seen. Any payment we give him can be in food or goods. That sounds to me like a reasonable request. So hopefully we can agree on a fair price and work together to keep us all safe."

George Stone, a retired doctor with a home on one of the many small islands just off shore spoke up. He'd bought one of Sam's 'creations' two years before the Pandemic struck, a beautiful small catboat for sailing.

"It sounds to me, Sam, like you want to deal with this Grant, not fight him."

"I do indeed, doc! If we show a united strength to Grant, but also a willingness to compromise, then we should be able to strike a deal that both sides can live with."

"And you think Roger Grant will go along with that?" Doc Stone asked.

"I haven't met the man, doc, but he's responsible for a large group of hungry, well armed people. They'll fight us for our food if they have to, but he told John Everston over on Grindstone that they're willing to 'work' for it by protecting all of us from those hungry crazies out there. That sounds a lot better than fighting to me."

"Me too!" the doc agreed. You've got my vote, Sam!" Doc sat down with a smile and a brief wave.

The next person to speak up was Fred Pearson, a onetime insurance salesman that had turned his pre-Covid blacksmithing hobby into a full time post-Covid job. Fred stood up and looked around the room. "Doc Stone's a good man, and I don't mean any disrespect, but it sounds to me, Sam, like this Roger Grant wants to rip us off! How is a few fishing boats going to stop these half starved, half crazy buggers from coming into our communities?! Half of them don't go near the water, they just shuffle down the bloody road like hungry locus!"

"Well Fred," Sam said back with a half smile; "that's the half that you and the local North Shore Militia can take care of! The last time you were in my shop you were going on about how 'tough and ready' your lads were to deal with any starving crazies. Seems to me with you looking after the land and Roger Grant and his lot looking after the water, we should all sleep nice and cozy in our beds."

That brought a considerable bit of chuckling and grinning amongst the gathered crowd. Fred reddened quickly, then turned and joined in with the laughter. "My boys will keep the roads safe, you can count on that!"

"We all know that, Fred," Sam replied. "But the roads are a lot easier to control than all the dozens of bays, coves and channels we have here in The Isles. You and the militia can set up a road block at both ends of the town, set a two or three man rotation of the guard and that's it. But patrolling all the different waterways around these islands will take at least a dozen well manned boats on the water from sun up to sun down! That's one hell of a lot of manpower to cover the whole Thousand Islands!" Sam, taking a hint from Helen earlier, paused dramatically. "I think that's worth us all paying a sac of corn or a few eggs now and then, don't you, Fred?"

Sam dragged the 'dramatic pause' out long enough for Fred to begin to sweat. "Er, maybe we could use a little help on the 'water side' of things. And I guess I could do a little metal work for them now and then--- long as it's not too much and too damn often!"

"All that can be worked out, Fred, after we meet with Roger Grant. But he'll take us a lot more serious if we go in strength. Show him we want peace, but we'll to fight for it if we have to!"

Then an older woman, Molly Tweed, stood up, her once handsome face frowning as ever.

Molly and her husband Jack were the owners of the Mohawk Marina. Jack had died two years earlier; not of Covid, but when he tried to stop a group of 'crazies' from looting their marina's snack-bar. From that moment on Molly hated the wandering mobs with a cold blooded passion that now ruled her lonely life. Last year she shot and killed two of them that were trying to steal a rowboat. She laid the bodies out on her wharf for all to see and had plans to hang them up for the gulls as a warning to other looters, but Helen and a few others on the town council got her to reluctantly change her mind.

Molly now stood frowning at Sam. "I've known you all your life, Sam Burnham. I even babysat for your skinny ass a few times way back when. I watched you play high school football and I prayed for you when you went off to join the army. I know you to be a good man." Here The Widow Tweed paused for her own dramatic effect. "Maybe too damn good."

Now Molly's was not the only frown in the room. Most, including Sam, waited for her to explain --- which she soon did. "You want to hire the Grant clan as watchdogs to shoo away any wandering crazies that come sniffing about. Have the Grants turn them back on the water and get Fred Pearson and his militia to turn them around on the road. I think that's a good idea --- but it doesn't go far enough!"

Another dramatic pause.

"And what would you have us do with them, Molly?" Sam asked, already knowing the answer.

Molly's once handsome face twisted into a grotesque shadow of her former beauty. "I'd have you all avenge my late husband's murder. I'd have the Grants and the militia and every other person that owns a gun or a sharp knife help me kill every single one of those wild-eyed crazy bastards!"

The crowded church went into a stunned silence, during which Molly surveyed the crowd with a baleful eye.

"I know what you're all thinking," she eventually said, her voice low and far softer than her looks. "That's a cruel, heartless thing to want --- the death of poor, starving strangers. Women and children and those less fortunate than ourselves. We should do the right thing --- the Christian thing ---- just like my Frank tried to do."

She paused again and if anything her stare became even colder. "He tried to help those bastards. Offered to share what little we had ---but look what that got him! Kicked to death in his own goddamned store! With me standing there frozen like a bloody deer in the headlights! Helpless! Useless! While they murdered my husband! And for what?! A goddamned loaf of stale bread!"

Her stern gaze swept over the silent crowd like a bird of prey hovering over a field of frightened mice. "Well, that day I learned my lesson the hard way --- and you will to if all we do is turn those murdering bastards around and hope that they stay gone ---- because they won't! They can't, because they already know what most of you refuse to see ---- it's us --- or them! And I intend to see that it's us!"

It was Sam that broke the silence.

"Molly's right. The hungry mobs will keep coming, and that the hungrier they are the more dangerous they'll be. But I don't agree that we'll need to kill them all! We'll kill what we must to drive them away."

"And how many is that , Sam?" A lone voice called out.

But it was Molly that answered.

"As many as you can! Because if you don't, the more you let live, the more that will come back!"

No-one had a counter to that, not even Sam. Instead he asked for a show of hands of how many were willing to sail with him to Grindstone up his meeting with Roger Grant. Of the hundred and some odd packed into the small church, all but a few noisily agreed to go.

"Then it's settled!" Sam said loudly. "Tomorrow at first light we leave for Grindstone! Bring your weapons, a sack of rations and meet me at the town dock by seven o'clock tomorrow. Don't forget a canteen, a warm coat and a blanket. I'd like Doc Stone and those of you with boats big enough to carry troops to please stay behind for a bit. And our thanks to you all for being so brave!"

Sam got a quick head count from the boat owners of how many each could take and then turned to Doc Stone. Helen was still there, as was Sam's best friend, Abner Hays. The dark eyed Fiona was, as usual, watching silently from the shadows.

Sam had gotten used to her quiet, ghost like presence, though by her frowns and furtive glances, Helen had clearly not. Abner however, seeing the beautiful young woman still hovering close to Sam, was smiling from ear to ear.

"What are you grinning about, Abe?" Sam asked, smiling back at the first friend he had made back in Grade One.

"Because it looks like I'm finally gunna get the chance to be part of one of your 'special forces' missions!" Abe said. "I've been hunting, fishing and sailing with you all my life, but I missed out on all the fun you had in the army. Now I get a chance to join in for once!"

Sam snorted out a dry laugh. "You didn't miss much --- except a hell of a lot of pain."

"No pain, no gain, old buddy. Speaking of which," Abe's glance moved over to the young woman in the shadows. "How fares the fair Fiona? As pretty and as silent as ever I see."

Sam's smile widened --- a fact not lost on Helen. "She's no trouble."

"Really?" Abe asked, with an envious gleam in his eye. "She looks like a double handful of trouble to me --- but the kind a man wouldn't mind all that much."

Sam's innocent frown was matched by Helen's disapproving grunt. "Men!" she muttered as she walked away. "Either blind fools or horny old men!"

"Helen, my love," Abe called out mischievously as she reached the church door. "Who are you calling old?"

"Ask the blind fool beside you!" she said as she stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine.

***

Dawn was still a good half hour away when the first group of 'supporters' turned up at the town wharf. Six other large boats were tied up alongside the White Witch with several even larger ones at anchor in the bay. All were waiting to take the hundred some volunteers on a board for the seven mile sail to Grindstone.

Abner Hays was there with his good natured smile and a clipboard, getting everyone's name down that was coming. "I've put them in groups of five and given each a number," he told Sam. "So far we've got thirteen groups. That's sixty-five volunteers. More might ne coming, but we can start loading them whenever you want."

Sam smiled at his old friend. "Well done, Abe. Consider yourself the quartermaster for this expedition. Here's the list of boats and how many they can take. Helen and doc Stone can help with the loading."

"Right you are, cap'n! Doc, Helen, let's get them loaded." He then stepped up on a wooden box and raised his voice. "Listen up you lot! We're about to load the boats! First thing, everyone with a firearm check to see the damn thing isn't loaded! We don't want some eager beaver shooting his neighbour by accident! Then we'll load by groups, starting with one through thirteen."

"How do we know what bloody number we're in?" Bob Shanks yelled out.

"Because I'll read your bloody name out Bob, that's why!" Abe yelled back. "And because I told you what it was when you bloody well got here!"

There was some smiles and laughter at that, but soon Abe was bellowing out group numbers and people's names and Helen and Doc were directing them to the various boats. Within fifteen minutes all were loaded, even the few last minute stragglers.

"That's it, Cap'n Sam!" Abe grinned. "Sixty-six men and eleven women. Seventy-seven armed volunteers, not counting the four of us. Eighty-one in all!"

"Make that eighty-two, Abe," Sam said. "Fiona is coming with us."

As Sam spoke the dark eyed young woman came out on deck from the Witch's cabin. She was wearing Sam's old hunting jacket and had his grandfather's pump shotgun cradled in her arm.

"She know how to handle that thing?" Abe asked.

"I showed her how last night," Sam replied.

Abe's grin suddenly went from ear to ear and he leaned in and whispered: "I just bet you did --- you old dog you!"

***