Chapter 2
Out of the Muck
One hot morning, something was different. Patrick helped the weakening Isaac complete the chore of dragging three more bodies into the yard to be thrown on the fire. Patrick did not enjoy being picked by the guards to help his Jewish friend drag puss-oozing bodies to the yard. He and his gaunt Semite friend learned to appreciate the few, fleeting moments they could enjoy the sunlight of the yard.
When the two men returned to the cell, Patrick, Isaac, and Shamus were ordered to take the food by the door and dispense it to the other inmates, as they had a hundred times before. This day, however, a guard barked, "Hurry up and eat. Your ship is leaving today and I ain't larking ya this time."
Patrick froze in his place with the bucket of gruel and ladle and stared at his two friends. Shamus was so stunned, he dropped the water he was carrying and asked, "Did ya hear that, ya pignuts?"
The guard grew impatient with Patrick and Shamus who were taking too long to dole out the food and hissed, "What's wrong with you fools?! Would you prefer to stay in bloody London? I said hurry it up! Now move!" He then addressed the entire cell. "Any man healthy enough to walk and who is pox-free may leave the hospitality of this cell and take their chances in America, but I am not going to wait all day for you criminals to enjoy your breakfast, so eat!" Every cellmate that was healthy enough quickly ravished their food down their gullets as fast as possible and ran from the room before the guard changed his mind. Five prisoners in total sprinted out of the cell and left the dying behind with no regard.
It had been some while since Patrick had taken a good look at himself or the others. The light revealed how the inmates were now shells of men; ribs, thin skin, green or missing nails and rotted teeth. Their hair was matted across their emaciated bodies and gaunt faces. The watchman was disgusted by the prisoners’ appearance and pungent reek. All of the guards stayed a generous distance away from the men.
The sergeant of the guard grumbled loudly, "This will not do. The first thing we must do is take you all down to the river for a bath. If you cannot clean yourself up good enough, gentlemen, your captain will never let you aboard his ship. Try to not look like you've been sleeping with death and pox or back to the cell it'll be." Each man nodded their head empathetically, with wide eyes. They would scrub the skin off their bones to stay out of the cell if they had to.
The ragged prisoners were escorted down to the river. The water was slow-moving and downstream from the main city. It was filthy by most people’s standards, but it was like a fresh mountain spring to the grimy men. Isaac and Shamus were wearing tattered loincloths and tunics made from rags they took off dead prisoners. Patrick still had pantaloons with bloodstained thighs where he had recently lifted a dead prisoner. As all five undressed, they looked like a parade of the undead with their long, matted beards and hair tangled with feces and dried blood. One guard cautiously approached them, taking care to avoid their stink, tossing Isaac a small brown and yellow bar.
Isaac looked suspicious and asked, "What's this?"
"It's soap," the guard responded flatly. "One of the prisoners had it on him when he came to the prison." The guard then smiled, "He got the pox so we decided best not use it ourselves." Isaac looked betrayed given the affect of one who had died of the pox. The guard, sensing the big man's growing anger, sneered, "Go on, Jew, and scrub yourself good. Maybe then the captain won't keelhaul you right away because of your stink."
Isaac started to splash water on himself, continuing to stare at the sentry. He had used soap once as a boy, but forgot what it looked like or how it felt. The other fellows bathing looked equally befuddled. He began to rub it on his body and immediately it stung his sores and cuts. After a good hard minute scrubbing his arm, he noticed the color of bright white skin peeping out of the black scum all over his body. He scrubbed and scrubbed, but the best he could do was only free a few patches of filth loose. He passed the soap on and continued to scrub himself raw with his hands. The massive man had forgotten how pleasant water felt on his body and sat in the river until the guards called them.
Patrick’s clothes were a total loss and he was instructed to set them in a pile to burn. The guards gave them new clothes they said were donated by wealthy socialites. Of course, these clothes were really just old hand-me-downs of the guards. The watchman and their wives stole the first pick of donations leaving their tattered, old clothes to the prisoners. Although poorly fitting and patched together here and there, the five men were thrilled to have clean clothes and begun to smile and even giggle. Patrick was even lucky enough to receive some hand me down boots that actually fit. All five of the men even found old hats and vests that fit.
"New" clothes for the journey
Pirates of Savannah Trilogy: Book One, Sold in Savannah - Young Adult Action Adventure Historical Fiction Page 4