HMS Seawolf tfa-2

by Michael Aye

  "What are those buildings off that way towards the river?"

  "That's the sawmill then past dat is the gristmill. We can do bout anything heah on Marse Adam's plantation.

  We's got a blacksmith shop and dat big building over there is ’da ship's warehouse and jail."

  "Ship's warehouse. What's in that?"

  "Why thangs ’da bring in off ships. We plantation slaves, we don't go over there. Only Marse Hindley's boys go over there. They's men watch over dat place with guns."

  "Hmmm," Gabe said deep in thought. Was this where the gunpowder was to be sent after being unloaded from the Turtle?

  "Foh Missy Faith's mama and daddy died they owned ’da plantation and Marse Adam shipped ’da cotton and wood and stuff. But now he head of it al.

  He is Missy Faith's uncle but she don't care much for him."

  "Why is that?" Gabe inquired.

  "Well, she don't say but nanny says Marse Adam look at her like a woman from town and not his dead brother's child."

  "Tell me," Gabe asked, "Why is it you and nanny are so close to Faith? More so than the other slaves." Wiping the sweat from his balding scalp with a dirty rag, Lum placed his battered hat back on. "Nanny was Missy's wet nurse and I was Missy's daddy, Mr. Thomas Montique's, personal servant. Marse Adam, he jus kinda lets us be, less it pleases him to do ’utter wise."

  "What's that sound?" Gabe asked. A loud baying sound had broken out by the warehouse.

  "Sumthin's going on over by ’da warehouse dats set dem dawgs off. Let's get on outta heah foh trouble starts."

  Turning the two found themselves face to face with Hindley, the overseer. He had two other men with him, both carrying muskets.

  "Who you got there Lum?"

  "He's jus a friend ’o Missy Faith's, suh."

  "Missy Faith's friend. Well I ain't never seen him around before."

  "Naw suh, he's a new friend," Lum answered the overseer.

  "Does Mister Adam know his niece has a guest?"

  "I don't rightly know, suh. I's ’jus lookin after him foh the missy since he been sickly."

  "I see," Hindley said suspiciously, "What are ya'll doing out this late?"

  "We just took a notion to stretch our legs."

  "Have you stretched your legs over by the warehouse Lum?"

  "Oh naw suh, we show to gawd ain't sir. You know's ole Lum ain't going no where's around Marse Adam's warehouse."

  "What about him?" Hindley asked pointing to Gabe with a curled black bull whip in his hand.

  "Oh naw suh, naw suh, you know I wouldn't let nobody do dat and me catch ’da blame for it."

  BANG!…BANG!…

  "Shots down by the river," one of Hindley's men said.

  The bays of the dog continued and added to the noise. Loud voices could be heard.

  "Looks like whoever was at the warehouse is trying to escape down by the river, shouldn't we move on?" Hindley knew his man was right but something smell ed about this man with Lum.

  Now lights were on at the big house and Adam Montique's voice could be heard. "What's al the commotion?"

  Making a quick decision Hindley ordered, "Smith, you and Lum take this man on up to Mister Montique while Ledbetter and I go see what's about down by the river."

  Gabe had the desire to run but knew if he did he'd have little chance of making it. He also knew things would go worse for Lum and he didn't want to endanger the old slave. As the three men approached the mansion's front steps Gabe saw a man standing up on the porch.

  "Well, I'll be damned," he thought. He'd known there was something familiar about the name Montique but couldn't place it. Now he knew. This was the man from Antigua. He had owned the house Commodore Gardner had lived in. He'd also had numerous ships under contract to the Royal Navy. Now it appeared he had chosen to fight with the Colonials. I wonder if he still

  has Royal Navy contracts, Gabe thought to himself.

  Stepping to the edge of the porch, Montique held a lanthorn up high.

  "What do we have here?" he asked Smith.

  "Some white man with Lum. Mr. Hindley says to fetch him to you as he claims to be a friend of Miss Faith's.

  "Well, step forward," Montique ordered. Holding up the lanthorn he noted the worn clothes Gabe had on. As Gabe reached the top step he decided to act the part of an old acquaintance.

  "We've met sir," he said. "I had the pleasure of being introduced to you at a reception given by Commodore Gardner in Antigua." Gabe held out his hand to Montique whose face became hard, and twisted into a glare, his eyes like burning coals as the flame from the lanthorn reflected in them.

  With clinched teeth, Montique spat on the porch.

  "Damned if we haven't. Mr. Smith, we have before us the bastard son of a British Admiral."

  Without thinking Gabe lunged at Montique but before he could reach him Smith clubbed him with the butt of his musket. As Gabe went down he heard a woman screaming, "Uncle, what have you done?"

  Chapter Eight

  Once on the river travel was much faster. The old store owner was so grateful to Dagan and his group for running off the 'river trash' that he sent a runner to a nearby Indian veil age to set up a barter. After a short time, Kawliga had made a trade for two canoes.

  "They're not in their prime," Caleb said of the canoes,

  "But for a sack of tobacco, flour and salt I think we did better than we hoped for."

  It sure beats walking, Dagan thought. He'd always felt more comfortable on water than on land. They travelled for several days on the river, at times they'd have to haul the canoes overland for a short distance in an effort to miss rocky rapids, snags or fallen trees. Then once past the hazards, the journey downstream would begin anew.

  Each night they'd make camp on shore and far enough from the river their fire couldn't be easily seen.

  "Still smell smoke, but no see blaze," Kawliga had said in his short sentences. Kawliga had also proved to be an excellent cook. He fried bacon at night, cooking enough to have for breakfast in the morning without cooking again. He was good at cooking fried cornbread in the bacon grease and on a couple nights he even fried sliced sweet potatoes. Jubal seemed to think nothing of Kawliga's cooking abilities but Caleb and Dagan were impressed.

  "Sure beats the hell out of old Frosty's cooking," Caleb swore.

  "That it does," Dagan agreed but both men missed the 'old coot'.

  One morning Kawliga spoke to Jubal who in turn turned to Dagan. Motioning his head toward the Indian Jubal said, "He thinks we're in South Carolina now."

  "How can he tell?" Caleb asked.

  "Lots of ways," Jubal replied. "There's more moss on the tree limbs that are hanging over the river. The lands more flat, more swamp and backwater. You don't see the clearly defined river banks we've been used to."

  The air that had smell ed like honeysuckle now seemed to have a fetid odor. Birds stood in the shallows.

  A white wood ibis on the bank beat its wings and lifted off. A sound like a bellow was heard.

  As the bird lifted off Kawliga pointed. "Alligator scare bird, make it fly."

  Lily pads were thick in areas, some with bright yellow blossoms. Turtles sunning on logs made plopping sounds as they slid into the water as the canoes passed by. Herons stood high on their long thin yellow legs.

  These were al changes Dagan and Caleb had seen but had not realized the significance. They were out of their element and Dagan was once again thankful he'd been able to obtain such guides as Kawliga and Jubal.

  "The only things I've seen different," Caleb responded, "Is more mosquitoes and snakes." That night it rained again and the men slept under the boats. They had turned the boats over and using downed tree limbs to prop them up, creating a shelter of sorts that kept things dryer and made the night more comfortable.

  "Supplies are about out so we have to get some soon," Dagan told the party that night before they turned in. "If we don't find a trading place on the river soon we'll have to go inland before we continue to C
harlestown."

  Rising early the following morning the group rowed with a determination, putting a great distance behind them before the sun started to set. It was like they could al feel the urgency that possessed Dagan's very soul. As the canoes turned toward the shore another bird caught Caleb's eye, "Look at that. That's the prettiest bird I ever seen."

  As the colorful bird flew off, Jubal said, "That's a bunting."

  "I'm not sure what it is," Caleb thought to himself, "But I wouldn't mind seeing Kit y with a thin nightgown on the same green color as the bird's feathers had been." Caleb was still enjoying his thoughts when the canoe made a grinding sound in the mud. With his mind thus distracted he jumped from the canoe to pull it up on shore.

  As soon as he landed he felt something move beneath his feet then felt a sharp pain in his leg. A blur went past Caleb's eyes then he saw Kawliga's

  tomahawk embedded in the ground in front of the canoe. A headless snake laid writhing and flopping in coils.

  "Let's see the bite," Kawliga said as he lay Caleb flat and using his knife cut the lacings on Caleb's moccasins and then split his trouser's leg. A red whelp was present and one small dot of blood. Not two dots, but one.

  Jubal wiped the spot of blood away.

  "Not deep, just enough to draw blood and looks like only one fang."

  Kawliga walked back over to where the dead snake lay. A large bulge was around the snake's middle. The Indian slit open the snake and a rat fel to the ground.

  "Snake not long eat, broke fang. Snake slow with full bel y. Caleb get sick maybe, not likely die." Kawliga then walked a few steps to a plant. "See plant, snake root. You chew root you not die," he said as he dug up the root. "You chew."

  "I'm damn glad to know your expert opinion," Caleb said, trying not to show the pain he was feeling from his throbbing leg and also trying not to gag on the root he chewed.

  Jubal broke into a laugh, "Look here, this canebrake had thirteen rattles. That's the same number of colonies we got. You've done been bit by a colonial rattlesnake Caleb." Dagan burst out laughing and in spite of his pain, so did Caleb.

  ***

  Kawliga's prophecy proved true. Caleb lived but his leg did swell and was very sore as the group made their way down the long stretch of wharfs after finally reaching Charlestown.

  "Damme," Dagan said, "place looks like a floating market."

  Bay Street was lined with wholesale stores and residences that ran parallel to the Cooper River. The river was choked with brigantines, sloops, and schooners from abroad. Tied-up as they were, there was little hope of escaping any enterprising British naval patrol.

  From up river, barges, dugouts, and canoes made their way down from the interior full of country produce to be sold to the town folks.

  Negro slaves were everywhere. A few Cherokee Indians were also about so no one paid much attention to Kawliga.

  "Look!" Caleb tapped Dagan and pointed to a man holding a sign: "Mary McDowell s most notorious brothel for lewd women – Pinckney Street."

  "What's a brothel?" Jubal asked.

  Both Caleb and Dagan turned and stared at the boy. For once, both were speechless. "Your Pa will tell you about it," Dagan finally managed to say.

  "Why can't you?"

  "Well, some things need to be discussed between a father and son."

  "But Pa ain't here."

  "You'll see him soon enough."

  "You just don't want to tell me. Well, I recon I'll just go over to Pinckney Street and find out."

  "Huhmm…" Caleb said, "Might not be too bad an idea."

  "Shut up Caleb," Dagan said, then turned to Jubal,

  "You ever read the Bible?"

  But before he could explain further, Jubal cried out,

  "Mr. Frances…Mr. Frances over here."

  Dagan was both relieved and concerned. Relieved he didn't have to explain what a brothel was but concerned about meeting the enemy. He had the letter of introduction but had hoped he wouldn't need it.

  Now he was facing Frances Marion, a Colonial colonel.

  Marion was a smallish man. He wore a crimson jacket and a battered helmet with a silver crescent and the words "liberty or death" was on his head. He had a slight limp. Seeing the limp was noticed, Marion said by way of explanation, "Broke my ankle during the battle of Fort Moultrie."

  "I see," Dagan said trying to decide how to proceed with this man who could have him thrown in prison, or worse…shot. After a second Dagan decided to be truthful and straightforward. "Colonel, I'm a British sailor. I'm looking for my nephew who commands a British warship. I have a letter for you from my uncle, Andre, Jubal's father whom I believe you know well." Without the slightest change in his facial expression and demeanor, Marion said, "Well, it appears we have

  a bit to discuss. Let's move to a place more suitable than the Bay Street wharf. I know of a nice little tavern that puts together a fantastic frogmore stew. Shall we go?" Dagan had no knowledge of what frogmore stew was but felt compel ed to follow the man known as the Swamp Fox as he limped off toward the tavern.

  ***

  Marion read Andre's letter and listened to Dagan's story. Then he said, "I'll get you to Beaufort…if I have your word you'll collect your nephew and be off. No spying, no sabotage, just get your kin and get."

  "You have my word," Dagan replied solemnly.

  "We will protect ourselves if we have to but otherwise we'll avoid trouble when we can."

  "Fair enough," Marion stated, "Wait here til you hear from my messenger."

  In less than an hour, a man approached Dagan's group as they sat around a table at the tavern where Marion had left them. He was dressed in buckskin britches, a homespun Woolsey shirt and an ill -fitting crimson jacket that bore a silver crescent, the mark of South Carolina 's second regiment.

  In a low voice the man spoke, "You the Britishers?" When Dagan nodded his answer the man said,

  "Colonel Marion sent me to guide you to fetch your kin and keep you outta trouble whilst we's about it. Name's Rud."

  "How shall we travel?" Dagan inquired.

  "It'd be quicker to take a boat," the man said, "But that'd attract more attention to us so's we'll go overland but stay off the main road. The colonel gave me a pass in case we get stopped and questioned. But, he reckons it best we try to avoid any ’sojers' if possible."

  "How long will it take?" Dagan asked as the rest of the group remained silent.

  "Pends on if you can keep up," Rud answered. He had noted Caleb favoring his leg. "Day, maybe two." Finishing his tankard of ale, Caleb stood and stepped around the table. "When can we leave?" he asked.

  "Quick as you get your plunder together," Rud replied, "There's still enough light left we can make our way outta the city and have a good jump on the morrow."

  Chapter Nine

  Someone was screaming. Screams intermingled with cries and loud sobs. As Gabe tried to clear the fog from his brain he could hear the cries. They were muffled but close by, women-the cries were women-

  and seemed to be coming beyond the wall where Gabe had been laying. As he reached to touch the back of his head he felt a weight tugging at his arms. He was manacled. A chain went from wrist to wrist, then another was around his waist and still another attached the chains shackling his arms to the one around his waist. The chain around his waist had a tail and was attached to something. It was dark in his prison so Gabe on his knees followed the length of chain to a wall.

  About three feet off the hardwood floor he found the chain was attached to a large ring bolt. Not unlike that on a slaver they'd taken as a prize last year.

  Next to the wall the sounds from the next room were much clearer. Now there was a mixture of sounds.

  In addition to the cries and whimpers of women there was also the laugh of men. Right away he recognized the voice of Montique and Hindley. Hindley was addressing his boss.

  "Can the men have a turn now, Mr. Montique?" A slight pause then Montique answered,

  "Tomorrow nig
ht, but tell that bull Smith if I lose another from his sodomizing he'll pay. The dey of Algiers doesn't take it kindly when his merchandise can't hold their bowels."

  "I'll warn him, sir. I'll threaten to take the cost of the wench from his pay."

  "And I'll have the hide off his back as well," Montique said.

  As the two men stepped out of the prison where the captive women were kept, Montique could see Faith sitting on the top step of the plantation house. She had her legs drawn up to her chest with her chin on her knees.

  "Has she come around yet?" Hindley inquired.

  "No, not yet, and I'm losing patience," Montique answered. "If she's not willing by the time I return from Charlestown I may send her on a trip to Algiers. I could get more for her than the whole group we got penned up."

  "Should I help persuade her some," Hindley asked, hoping to have his way with Faith. He'd seen her in the low cut dresses acting so innocent. He'd also seen her naked. He had climbed the oak tree and laid on a limb until Nanny had the tub fixed and Faith undressed as he watched. She was ripe and he was ready to pick the fruit.

  Montique had come to a stop and appeared to be considering Hindley's suggestion, "No, not yet. Keep an eye on her. Give her free rein, but watch her closely.

  If she don't want me when I get back, Ali Dey can have her. Let's see how she likes ’The Dey's keeper of the

  honey' watching over her night and day. The big eunuch stands with his arms crossed and a great scimitar in his hand guarding the only entrance to the harem's quarters."

  Montique seemed to be thinking aloud as he continued speaking, "A beautiful blonde is worth a lot, but a beautiful blonde virgin is priceless." Shaking his head, Montique appeared to have made up his mind. "No, don't touch her Hindley…keep your eye on her, but don't touch her." These last words were fill ed with menace.

  As they parted in different directions it started to drizzle, then the rain came harder. Damn, thought Montique, it will be a slow muddy trip to Charlestown.