From atop the dunes at the island’s point between the bay and sea Timpoochee saw the sprawling Yonega town itself and the large fort on a hill behind it.
Just off the island, to the south, in the sea, lay silently at anchor in the blue-green expanse a giant ship. “San Ramon,” were the words across its bows.
Timpoochee had never seen water quite that spectacular in color. It was as if his own mountain pools had been magnified and transformed by some magical force. The sight made him homesick for his beloved mountains and the streams and pools which linked them.
“The water, “ he thought. “Always the water. It is our constant.”
He was shaken from his momentary daydream by the soldiers who brusquely shuffled Timpoochee and his men down the hill toward scowls pulled up on the beach. They were loaded into the scowls and set sail across the wide bay.
To the west, atop red cliffs above the shore Timpoochee saw posts of cannons. Many were destroyed, burned and left to rot. Other were deposited in piles, shining like gold in the bright sunshine.
The red hills themselves were scarred and pot marked, like a giant storm had whipped the sea against them.
The boats sailed a bit further north, turning west into a lagoon. A bayshore warehouse stood out on the lonely wharf in the distance. It seemed vacant. The wharf was empty. The sight was bleak, disparaged.
Surrounding them in the bay huge war ships floated, cannons extended from their gunwales. The largest of the ships lay at anchor in the lagoon. Clearly, Timpoochee and his men were being taken there. As they slid closer Timpoochee looked for a name on the ship’s bows.
“Galveztown,” was the single Yonega word he found.