Rounding a corner, the man suddenly turned and shoved them through a doorway, into a chamber where young women and girls stood packed together, trembling and whimpering. Freddy's mouth dropped open as the man threw off his coat, roughly grabbed his parcels, and leered at them. The leather pail flew from Freddy's hand out the door, rolling into the lane and leaving a trail of lugworms and wet sand.
"Got 'nough 'ere!" he bellowed out the door.
Three English soldiers rushed in. The one wearing a shiny helmet and breastplate paid the man, brandished a long musket, and declared to the frightened group that resistance would bring death then and there. "By order of Oliver Cromwell himself, ye papist whores are bound for Hell or Barbados!" he shouted.
The women began wailing. Freddy and Aileen clung to each other, casting terrified glances at the others.
"No trouble now, and no noise!" the soldier commanded from the doorway.
The other two men, who wore red coats and no armour, handed their muskets to the leader and tied the twenty or so captives together, securing each with heavy ropes around their wrists and waists. As one wrapped the rope around Aileen's wrists and tightly knotted it, the young girl turned bewildered eyes on her sister.
"This must be a mistake—" Freddy began.
"I said no noise, no trouble!" the soldier in the doorway thundered, waving his musket at her.
It happened in blurry slow motion. The musketeers drove them like livestock down the coast road. Along the way people watched, aghast but helpless under the scrutiny of Cromwell's ruthless men.
"They could be your own dear mothers and sisters!" cried one bystander, an older woman who stopped hanging her wash in the sun to look.
The soldiers whipped their muskets around, pointing them at her. "One more word!" the leader shouted. "Just one more, and ye'll go with 'em!"
When Freddy caught her first sight of the filthy slave ship awaiting them at the Galway City wharf, she lost her nerve and panicked, struggling against the ropes.
"Stop!" someone barked from her right side. As she turned toward the sound, the uniformed man clobbered the side of her skull with the heel of his musket.
CHAPTER 3
May 1653
Wedged against a timber, Freddy opened her eyes and blinked in the semi-darkness. She carefully raised her pounding head and could make out rows of women and girls crammed into a small compartment. The stink of vomit and human excrement hit her, and she gulped back a wave of nausea. Freddy felt her aching head and found a tender, sticky spot. She looked at her fingers, gasped at the dark blood on them, and pressed the cloth of her sleeve against the wound. Aileen, tucked beside her, whispered sleeping breaths on the side of Freddy's neck. Her slight body rolled away as the vessel pitched.
"Aileen?" she whispered. The younger girl didn't stir. Freddy leaned over her, anxiously watching her chest rise and fall. Aileen's face looked peaceful, with her golden-brown hair still half pinned up. She appeared uninjured. Freddy exhaled with relief, clenching her fists at the notion of anyone hurting her little sister. Aileen wasn't tall and strong like she herself was. The sisters did not resemble each other whatsoever – except for their eyes. They had both inherited the sloping, emerald O'Brennan eyes.
Lying back again, Freddy's mind was flooded with the memory of how they had ended up here. With a muffled moan she covered her face with one arm, grimaced, and pressed the heels of her palms against her closed eyes. She wriggled onto her side, facing away from her sister, to relieve her aching back. Resting her throbbing head on her hands, Freddy glumly stared at the dark wood of the hull.
Stolen. Spirited away. All for an empty promise of sweets. It was her fault, God help her. Mam had sternly told them never to speak to strange gentlemen. If only Freddy had obeyed for once. Her shoulders heaved as hot tears ran down onto her hands. Mam was right. She said that her eldest was a wild O'Brennan through and through, full of fire and rowdy passion that must be managed somehow. She believed that Freddy must pray to Jesus to change her unruly ways.
Everyone had heard the stories of Cromwell's men kidnapping Irish Catholics and selling them into slavery. Being "Barbadosed," they called it. But the rocky west of Connaught was said to be a safe haven for those who'd been forced to flee from their own ancient family lands.
She slowly shifted to her other side, careful not to disturb Aileen.
The sickening stench of the cramped hold hit her again and she gagged. She pulled up her apron skirt, covered her nose with it, and breathed through her mouth. Dim light poured from a single overhead hatch secured with a padlocked metal grill. The compartment was quiet except for the ship's groaning and male voices singing a bawdy ballad somewhere beyond a partition. Some of the smaller girls were sitting up, their noses covered with layers of their skirts. As the ship lurched, Aileen stirred in her sleep and again rolled into Freddy.
The ship lunged, more sharply this time. Every minute, every ocean swell, took them further from Mam, from their sisters, and from Éire. Along with the next wave of nausea came another, even stronger surge of wretched homesickness. Freddy blinked back more tears, picturing her family around the fire in Aunt Kate's snug cottage.
Oh, that God Almighty may bless us and save us, she whispered into her apron. With His help, she and Aileen would make the best of this, make their way back to Mam and the others. Somehow they would. They must. They were, after all, O'Brennans – the fiercest warrior clan in all of Éire.
Freddy clenched her jaw, took a deep breath, and lifted the apron from her face. She wiped her eyes and again held the fabric against her nose, shivering in the damp dark. Her bare feet were like ice. She curled up tight to warm them under her skirts. Now the only thing Freddy could see was the hatch. She watched as the square of light gradually disappeared into the night.
Spotting her first star, Freddy folded her hands and whispered more fervent prayers, a single word echoing through her mind like a drumbeat: home, home, home. As she prayed, she kept her eyes on the star. Then something moved, blocking her view of the star. Shadows flickered around the hold, from a flame held near the grate. Thick fingers held a torch, waving it back and forth above the hatch.
"We must eat it, all of it," Aileen whispered, "and thank God and His angels that we're not sick like poor Bridget." Freddy nodded and dug her spoon into her morning slops, willing herself to force it down. This time it was gritty potato peelings, fat and gristle, mashed grain, and a bit of yam.
"Captain's orders," Silas, their skinny gaoler, mumbled as he again locked the grate from above, ignoring their pleas. The latrine pot had not yet been emptied. Its contents slopped over with each roll of the ship, creating a putrid mess.
"Silas, have mercy!" It was Ciara this time. "The rats bite and the bilge water is sloshing…"
But he was already gone.
"Ach, that he may shit sideways!" the high-spirited girl fumed.
A slender beam of sunshine from the hatch lit the hold this morning. They were packed like herrings, each person allowed two feet in width and six feet in length. As the wretched ship sailed south, they coped with the reeking hold by taking turns crawling over each other to press their noses against the grate and gasp what fresh air they could. Freddy tried to make it last as long as possible by quickly covering her nose and mouth with her apron when she finished inhaling unsullied air.
Ciara, whose place was next to Aileen's, said that among the women were thieves, prostitutes, and prisoners. Some had burned their crops when Cromwell's men came. Others had given in to the temptation of liquor, then were spirited away.
Bridget, the seasick one, claimed to be engaged to a Barbados planter. The girl vomited and moaned again where she lay just below Freddy's feet. Severe illness had already taken a toll on the underweight girl, who could barely stay on her feet long enough to use the latrine. Freddy had caught a glimpse of Bridget in the daylight, and was shocked to see that the girl's face had a greenish hue.
Having managed to swallow their slops, th
e O'Brennan sisters crawled over the others to the latrine pot. Waiting for Aileen to finish, Freddy watched a hefty rat approach her sister's bare ankles. She held back until just the right moment, then gave it a fierce kick. The rodent rolled, let loose a piercing squeal, and scurried away.
"Bless ye, lass," a nearby woman said, "mayhap it will die."
"Mayhap," Freddy answered, holding her skirts as she carefully squatted over the latrine. "We need the captain's cats. They'll kill the vermin." She lifted her face toward the grate. "Silas!" she called. "Throw down the cats, will ye?"
No response came.
"Ach, let's talk of better things," Ciara said with a deep sigh as Aileen and Freddy crawled back over her to their places. "Like what awaits us beyond the wide sea."
"The West Indies are said to be perfect altogether," Bridget said in her faint voice.
"Like the legendary Tir na nÓg, the Land of Youth," added a girl Freddy could not see.
"Warm sun each day, and beaches white as sugar," Ciara enthused.
"Where bananas grow wild." The voice came from the far side of the hold.
"And coconuts too," someone added.
"And the yellow fever and starvation and slaves worked to their deaths!" another chimed in. "Good Irish folk kidnapped, Barbadosed, and never heard from again. Didja know old Cromwell believes Catholics are right devils with tails and all?"
"…devout Irish women raped and tortured," an older voice put in.
Silence fell, heavy as a tombstone.
"That God may give us strong backs to bear our burdens," Freddy offered, quoting Mam.
"Aye, aye, that He may," the others answered in a chorus.
"Enough of yer yammerin'!" someone bellowed from above.
With a bang, the hatch door slammed shut.
CHAPTER 4
June 1653
Captain Blanchard paced up and down the line of young women who, after six days in the dark below-decks, squinted under the glaring sun. In a blue doublet and soiled breeches, his ruddy face streamed with sweat under powdered curls gathered back into a black ribbon.
"Freddy? What sort of name is that for a right bloomin' rosebud such as yerself?" He stopped in front of her, smirked, and picked up one of her black curls. The captain's milky blue eyes reflected the blinding noon light. As he caressed Freddy's ringlet, the back of his freckled hand deliberately rubbed her green bodice and the tender swell of her left breast. She shrank back, her face burning, angrily twisting her wrists against the ropes binding them in front of her. Freddy imagined strangling this snake who called himself a captain. She could feel her hands getting strong enough to do the deed.
God save me from my own temper, she prayed silently, dropping her eyes, clenching her teeth, and lifting her chin. Freddy dared not cross him. Aware of Aileen trembling next to her, she took a ragged breath of salt air.
"My given name is Frederica," she replied, her voice quaking. The sun seemed to bore a hot hole through the top of her head. The deck rolled out from under her, pushing her hard against him. His greasy beard stank of rancid onions, and tobacco. The stocky captain chuckled and she caught a whiff of rum. She wanted to jerk her head away from his nauseating smells, but was determined not to anger him.
"Well, Miss Frederica," he wheezed, shoving her away and dropping his hands, "it's lucky you are that virgin white flesh brings a higher price in Barbados. The planters want fresh white females." He wiped his dripping brow with his yellowed sleeve and resumed pacing. Freddy watched from the corner of her eye as he stopped to scrutinize the Gypsy woman named Dika. As he ran his hands down the sides of her brown bodice and over her skirted hips, Dika moved not a muscle. Her dark eyes glittered straight ahead.
"They tire of their island darkies," Blanchard continued, again moving down the line. "Ye must keep up your strength and bring a good price. Soon we anchor. Any foolish enough to try something will discover the pleasure I take in torturing wayward slaves."
Returning to Dika, the captain grabbed her by her waist. "Ye'll do, slut," he mumbled, leading her toward the stern. His hand moved down to her rump. She jerked away and he yanked her close by her black hair. "Silas, make ready the others. This won't take long." With a coarse laugh he ducked into his quarters, pulling the woman in behind him.
"We'll not see her again, I'll wager," Ciara whispered into Freddy's ear. "He knows her from the Galway streets."
"Poor Dika," Freddy murmured, puzzling about how Ciara would know such a thing.
"But it's better fed she'll be." The older girl rubbed her own flat stomach with her tied wrists.
"This is the slaver Three Brothers, ye're the Cap'n's property now," Silas was saying. "Those who can read and write the King's English, over here while I sort the rest."
The O'Brennan girls joined the other two who were literate in English. Freddy studied the shimmering blue ocean surrounding the ship and wondered how a day could be so cloudless and brilliant, yet fill her with such dread.
Aileen touched her sister's hip with her bound hands. "Let us pray," she whispered into Freddy's ear.
As they waited for Silas to slowly record the women's names and ages, the sisters turned toward the stern – facing north toward the misty land of Éire. Their lips silently moved. Freddy held onto the rail with her tied hands, closed her eyes, and remembered Mam and Aunt Kate laughing together as they baked brown bread. She could still smell that buttery bread and the lush fields they called home until trouble sliced up their lives like the sharp scythe Da swung back and forth. Freddy longed to press her nose into Firewind's neck, sniffing his sweet scent. The striking Gypsy horse always smelled like fresh hay in a sun-warmed barn. Da had impulsively purchased the splendid animal from a passing tinker, and given him to Freddy. When she altered an old pair of Da's breeches to ride him over the fields and through the woods, Mam had accused Da of letting their eldest girl run like a feral thing. And they should not call her Freddy, Mam had fretted, convinced that wagging village tongues would be her daughter's ruin. Firewind would have to be sold, Mam had said. But Da was having none of it. He was proud of his high-spirited daughter and encouraged her to follow her heart.
Freddy stood on the sunny deck, guilt stabbing at her. She glanced down at her sister, whose lips moved in silent prayer while her own mind raced with these thoughts. Freddy shook her head and cursed herself. Her rash ways had landed them on this devil ship.
Try as they might, they could not awaken poor Bridget. That afternoon, the smell of death crept into the hold's lethal stink. When Silas brought their daily salt meat and biscuit, he indifferently dragged the girl's corpse to the steep steps. Without a word, he heaved her thin body over his shoulder, climbed to the main deck, and put her down to lock the grate.
A moment later, the women's heads turned toward the loud splash.
"She's free now," someone said.
"May God level the road for her soul," Ciara prayed.
"Aye, may she rest in peace," the others intoned numbly.
"Among the angels," Freddy added in her native tongue.
"She's just the first," someone across the hold muttered. "There's many can't survive the middle passage…"
"Aye, some of the men are sick with the scurvy," someone else added.
"Small wonder I heard the right wicked wail of a banshee last night," another said.
"And felt the stark chill of ghosts on this death ship," yet another added mournfully.
"Let's don't start that sort of talk," Ciara snapped.
For once, Freddy was glad of the older girl's bossy ways.
"I dreamed of Bridget floating down with the wee faerie folk, down into the green glen where they live under the western sea," Aileen whispered. The sisters huddled together, shivering in spite of the night's steamy heat, the scent of death lingering in their noses and in their minds. It was damp and misty. The patch of sky above them held no stars this night.
"Aye, I can see it." Freddy hugged her sister. "And her in bliss among the Tuatha
de Danaan in lovely Tir na nÓg. The strength of St. Patrick's horse to her."
"Tell me, please…"
"Tell you what?"
"About Tir na nÓg..."
Freddy smiled in the darkness and tried to imitate Mam. "Imagine," she whispered into Aileen's ear, "a land of youth and beauty, a golden otherworld where there is no sickness, no hunger, no thirst, and no death…only music, strength, life, and eternal happiness."
The night's silence was broken only by the ship's creaking as they both pictured it.
"Why does God punish us so?" Aileen asked, her voice as soft as a sigh.
Freddy held her tighter and stroked her long brown hair, wondering what Mam would say. "We must not question God's will," she murmured. "It's not for us to know what's in store. May we never fear the will of God."
"I miss Mam…"
"As do I…"
"Will we ever see her again?" Aileen's small chest heaved in a sob.
"We must have faith." Freddy rubbed her sister's narrow back, searching for the right words to bolster both of them. She took as deep a breath as she could through the apron she had pressed tight against her nostrils. "We must keep our wits and find a way back. We are O'Brennans, descended from the Old Ones, the Tuatha deDanaan, the real people. Da always says so, remember?"
She could feel Aileen nodding wordlessly in the black night.
"That's right," Freddy whispered, "even though the Church frowns on such talk and calls our faerie folk demons."
"Surely they're not demons…"
"No, macushla, far from it." She rested her cheek atop Aileen's head.
"The sharks will eat you if you try jumping overboard," Silas warned, pointing at the turquoise water twinkling around the Three Brothers where it was anchored in the crescent-shaped Bridgetown harbor. "Ye'll take your turn resting, and make yourselves presentable. I'm watching ye."
Spirited Away - A Novel of the Stolen Irish Page 2