Dedication
For my mother, Lavinia Wright Hagan, with love.
A special thanks to my aunt, Ramona Wright Scarboro, for the use of her valuable Civil War Library.
Chapter One
Julie stood at the ship’s rail, oblivious to the chill of the December night as she stared pensively toward the moon-swept wilderness of the Georgia river bank. She was leaving behind everything familiar and dear to her to journey across the ocean to a distant land and marry a man she knew she could never love.
A shudder went through her slender young body. Marriage. She did not want to marry anyone, and certainly not someone for whom she felt only polite regard.
But she was not the only person driven to act against her will, she reflected. The war between the North and the South had brought upheaval and chaos to thousands of lives.
From above, twinkling stars reflected in the rolling black waters danced merrily and shattered into thousands of shards. The silence was broken only by the croaking of an army of frogs and the mournful hooting of unseen owls. Wind whispered through the gray moss that hung shroudlike from the trees lining the shore.
They had left the landing some hours ago, traveling to the ship on a ten-oared barge hewn of thick cypress logs. She, her mother, and Sara, their most devoted Negro servant, had been taken to the low, marshy flat that the Yankees had not yet discovered. Steam-powered cotton presses had been built there, and the blockade runners took on their cargoes from that point.
They had been met by sentries, who were posted on the wharves at all times to prevent Confederate deserters from getting on board and stowing away. And, of course, they kept a stern vigil for Yankee spies.
Before Julie’s betrothed, Virgil Oates, had left weeks earlier to go to England and make preparations for their wedding, he had explained that the conformation of the Atlantic coast and the direction and force of the winds were both factors in the successful blockade running.
“If the wind blows off the coast, it drives the squadron to sea,” he had said. “It enlarges the perimeter of the circle through which the blockade runner can swiftly and safely steam. If the wind blows landward, the squadron must haul off to a greater distance to escape the consequences of the heavy seas that are so violent along the coast.”
He talked of the shoals lining the North Carolina coast, saying that they extended for miles into the sea, and were unsurpassed in danger for navigating when strong easterly winds met the ebb tide.
“It’s an easy matter, however, for an experienced pilot who knows the coast to run a swift-steaming light-draft vessel out to sea or into port. The heavier and deeper draft vessels of the Federal blockade squadron are buffeted by the stormy winds and waves.”
Julie remembered how Virgil embraced her as he told her that he had engaged the Ariane, one of the swiftest runners afloat. “I certainly would not take a chance with my future bride’s safety,” he said, “and I am told that Derek Arnhardt is one of the most skilled captains on the high seas.”
He kissed her then, and she prayed he would not sense the negative feelings she fought to hide. She was grateful for the kindness he had shown both her and her mother, and she was well aware that if he did not use his “connections” to get Rose Hill cotton through the Yankee blockade, all would be lost.
She could not let that happen, and not merely for her own sake. She was thinking of her mother, who had struggled so desperately to keep the plantation going since her father’s death only five years past. Then there was her twin brother, Myles. Oh, God, he had suffered and was still suffering, and she wanted a home waiting for him when and if he was able to return.
Her hands gripped the railing tightly as feverish determination rippled through her body. Virgil had asked her to marry him, and when she accepted, she knew he would use all his influence and power to save her family estate. But it still made her sick to the depths of her soul to know she was marrying a man she would never love.
There had been so much misery to bear. She could trace her own heartache back to that balmy spring afternoon when she was only twelve years old and discovered the horrible secret about her father. Lord, she would never forget that fateful day.
She and Myles were going riding, and she had gone to the stable ahead of him. It was located down a long, curving path, behind the big house. Stepping inside the structure, she paused for her eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness—then froze at the sound of whispering voices.
“Adelia, darling, you shouldn’t have come here…”
She recognized her father’s voice, and before she could grasp what was happening, she heard her Aunt Adelia’s voice replying, “Jerome, it’s been weeks. When I saw Elena’s carriage pass this morning on the way into town, I knew I had to risk coming. You don’t know how I’ve yearned for your touch, your kiss…”
Cold reality washed over Julie in waves as she leaned back against the rough wooden walls, her legs no longer able to support her. Her father…and her aunt! They were lovers!
She was not able to will herself to move, though she wanted so desperately to run, to escape the nightmare. Helpless, she was forced to stand there, hands knotted into tight fists pressed against her quivering lips as burning screams struggled to surface.
And never would she be able to erase from her memory the sounds of their frantic, feverish lovemaking in the hayloft overhead.
It was only when silence descended that she was able to come out of her shock, and she slipped quietly outside, the memory forever etched in her brain.
She had not told Myles, though she would have liked to confide her heartache. She did not want him to be torn up inside too.
It had been terrible to force herself to pretend she knew nothing, especially when her father was around. A jovial, affectionate man, she reasoned he was the most wonderful father a girl could wish for. She tried not to despise him, blaming Aunt Adelia instead. It was only natural, she reasoned, that he would give in to a woman who threw herself at him, with no thought of morals.
She knew also how crushed her mother would be to learn her brother’s wife was cavorting with her husband, whom she loved with all her heart. Julie had always known this. So why had her father turned to another woman, betraying his wife and the mother of his children? She did not know, especially since her mother was much prettier than Aunt Adelia. Perhaps, she reasoned, physical beauty did not ensure eternal faithfulness and devotion between a husband and wife.
The times when Aunt Adelia was around were the worst, and every Sunday she and Uncle Nigel would bring their son, Thomas, to Rose Hill for a sumptuous dinner. Uncle Nigel was not a man of wealth. He was but a poor dirt farmer who barely coaxed a meager existence from his land, and she had heard the servants whispering that Sundays were probably the only time the Carrigans ever got a decent meal.
Myles noticed her sudden dislike for their aunt and questioned her about it, but she never answered him. Cousin Thomas was another matter. Until Julie discovered the “secret” they had been quite close. Afterwards he badgered her constantly about why she had cooled toward him, never accepted an invitation to visit him at his house, and avoided him when he came to hers. He was hurt and puzzled, but she knew all too well how it would destroy him if he knew the truth about his mother.
So she told no one, harboring the agony herself.
Then came the night that would haunt her forever. Rain was pouring down fiercely, and she was awakened by the loud pounding at the front door and the sound of a man’s booming voice demanding to see her mother.
By the time one of the servants answered and hurried upstairs to tell her mother Sheriff Franklin wanted to see her, Julie and Myles had come out of their rooms and stood at the top of the curving stairs. They waited with a chill of foreboding for
their mother to appear. When she did, she murmured that they should return to their rooms, but they paid no attention, watching as she hurried down the steps to where Sheriff Franklin waited, twisting his big hat around and around in his hands. Water dripped from his clothes onto the polished oak floors.
In a trembling voice, their mother demanded to know what brought him all the way out there in the dead of night during a storm.
Over their mother’s shrieks of protest, they heard him tell her that their father was dead—murdered in cold blood. He had been on his way home from town, and someone shot him right off his horse.
There had been much confusion, with their mother fainting, and Julie and Myles screaming and crying. It was only later that Julie was able to sort out the pieces of the story that no one else would ever know about.
The sheriff and their neighbors could not understand the reason Nigel Carrigan had quarreled with his brother-in-law earlier that evening in a waterfront tavern. They had no idea why Nigel had threatened to kill him. But when Nigel had disappeared that same night, the night her father was killed, everyone suspected that he had waited in ambush to murder Jerome Marshal.
He was never heard from again.
Julie knew what had happened…and why. It was another secret she would have to bear in agony, alone.
She was not surprised that once her mother recovered from the initial shock, she was able to cope with her life, and tried to keep the plantation going. But in the night Julie would hear her sobbing in bed, and knew how she was suffering.
The times since her father’s death had been difficult. They discovered he had borrowed heavily against his land to pay gambling losses. Her mother was determined that they would not lose their home, and worked day and night, struggling to surmount ever-increasing obstacles. Many were the times she worked side by side with the field hands, and Julie and Myles also learned what it was like to toil in the hot Georgia sun.
The gala parties on the lawn were no more. The house no longer rang with the laughter of merry guests, the sound of music. There was neither time nor money for such social frivolities. And they learned quickly that for some time the opulent air Jerome Marshal had presented to his neighbors was merely a front, one he could ill afford as he sank further and further into debt from his compulsive gambling.
Julie blinked back the tears from the past as she stared into the future. She would try to make Virgil a good wife. Was there any other path for her to walk in life? When she looked at her mother, saw the grief reflected in those green eyes, the same color as her own, she knew how her mother would wither and die if she knew the truth.
And there was another memory, the terrible blow that had struck them harshly, cruelly, bringing them to their knees in the epitome of despair. God, if only it had not happened…
Suddenly a voice spoke to her left, and Julie jumped, startled, then turned and strained to see who was standing there in the moonlight.
“Sorry I scared you,” the man said gruffly, “but we’re making ready to run the blockade, and the captain wants everyone below that ain’t supposed to be on deck. No lights. No sound. You just follow me, now.”
She could finally make him out in the dim light. He was of medium height, stocky, with a briny smell of the sea about him. Then she gasped as her gaze touched his face. Deep, ribbonlike slashes ran across his cheeks, with one long gash descending from his forehead to run crookedly across his left eye and on across his nose.
He smiled, but it looked like a grimace because of the cicatrices on his flesh. “Don’t be embarrassed because you find me ugly, lassie. I’ve grown used to the stares. And you should see the way the little children run screaming to their mothers at the sight of me.”
“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “Forgive me. It…it’s just that you took me by surprise.”
“The name’s Shad Harky. I’m a boatswain. I heard we was taking on passengers for Bermuda, but nobody told me you was so pretty. That must’ve been your mother that went below with the nigger wench. I take it the cotton in the hold belongs to your mother too.”
Julie could only stand there speechless, stunned by his appearance and his candor.
“Well, let’s get along now.” He reached for her arm. “I’d best be getting you below. You ain’t supposed to be up here, you know. Or didn’t you hear how the captain don’t allow lady passengers to leave their cabins. He don’t like passengers anyhow, ’specially ladies. So you’re going to be holed up down there for the two weeks or so it’ll take us to get to Bermuda.”
She turned her head to take one last look at the Georgia shore before letting him lead her away. “I’m not going to stay below all that time,” she murmured absently. “And I won’t get in anyone’s way, I promise.”
“Well, that ain’t up to me. The captain makes the rules, and when he sees what a lovely thing you are, he’ll probably post a guard at your door. The crew, you see, gets excited over women, ’specially pretty ones.”
They reached the opening to the narrow steps leading below, and Julie suddenly halted. The thought of descending and not coming up for two weeks, even for a breath of fresh air, was not appealing. “I wish to speak to your captain,” she said sharply.
To her surprise, Shad Harky threw back his head and began to laugh. Julie felt rather foolish, wondering what she had done to cause such a reaction. Then, still cackling with glee, he told her, “Oh, lassie, you’ve got a lot to learn, you have. The captain, he don’t even mingle amongst the crew, much less with the passengers.
“You see,” he went on, “he hands down his laws like God did to Moses, and nobody hardly ever sees him, ’ceptin’ for his appointed few, like First Officer Edsel Garris, or Second Officer Grover Watson. Then there’s the Third Officer, Floyd Justice.
“So let’s just be on our way. Got to get you tucked away before the ship starts to sea.”
He gave her a gentle nudge forward, but Julie stood her ground, more determined than ever to confront the mysterious Captain Arnhardt. Her curiosity was aroused, but she was also concerned about her mother. Lately she didn’t have much color in her face, and she seemed wan, listless. If she were forced to stay in stuffy quarters for some time, it might not be good for her.
“I demand to see the captain now.”
He sighed impatiently. “I told you. You don’t see the Captain ’lessen he wants to see you. Captain Ironheart is a strange man…”
“Ironheart?” She was puzzled. “I thought his name was Arnhardt.”
“Oh, that’s his real name,” he chuckled, as though he were the possessor of some secret joke. “But we all call him Ironheart ’cause it seems to fit him. If the man has a heart, it’s bound to be made of iron. See these scars you been trying not to stare at?” He touched a finger to his cheek.
She glanced away, abashed, wishing she had gone below with her mother earlier and not remained on deck to become lost in reverie.
“Ironheart did this to me.”
Julie could feel anger emanating from his whole being as he ground out the story.
“Had me keelhauled, he did. My face got tore to bits by the barnacles. Barnacles is little shellfish that hook on to the hulls o’ ships. They keep hooking on top of each other, and they’re like sharp rocks.”
Julie shuddered, and he rushed on in a torrent. “You don’t know what keelhauling is, do you? They tie you up and drag you under the ship’s keel, real slow, till you’re almost dead from drowning. The bastards what dragged me pulled me as close to the keel as they could, so’s I’d scrape the barnacles. It was a long time ’afore I thought I’d even have skin on my face again, and it grew back like this.
“And see this?” He snarled bitterly as he held up his left arm. Julie could see that it hung crookedly from his elbow.
“They broke my arm. It never healed right. And it was Ironheart who ordered them to do it to me. Remember that.”
“I—I’m sorry,” she whispered, waves of pain flowing through her as she imagined wh
at agony the man must have experienced. “He sounds like a very cruel man. I won’t look forward to meeting him.”
“I’ll never forgive him for what he did to me, and there are plenty of others in the crew that hate him too. If you ever do get back up on deck in the daylight, when the sun’s beating down, watch when the men take off their shirts. You’ll see plenty with the criss-cross scars on their backs from the lash.”
They stood in silence for a few moments. Julie did not know what else to say, and she sensed that Shad Harky was caught up in painful memories. Finally she took a step forward and murmured that she would go below and talk to one of the other officers about deck privileges.
He took her arm. “The furnace force and the crew have been loading cordwood, so I imagine we’ll be moving out just about any time. I’ll see you to your cabin. Watch that fancy hoop skirt, now. It’s a narrow stairway. If I was you, I’d put them things away for the duration.”
Julie paused one last time to look at the Georgia river bank. A cloak of impenetrable yet lovely silence had closed about the ship. She saw a single riding light hung high at the stern. Somewhere a bird chirped drowsily as the moon, high now, burnished the entire surface of the cove, flinging great shadows from low bluffs and trees across the shining river as it swept out of sight in a silvery, misty cloud.
One lantern hung from a hook in the ceiling and cast a yellowish glow in the hallway. Julie saw that there were three doors on each side of the hall, and wondered which led to her mother’s cabin.
Shad gestured to the dusty oil paintings that hung on the walls. “This used to be a fine ship before the captain got hold of her and turned her into a runner. It used to carry a lot of passengers, I’m told. Tomorrow, if I get a chance, I’ll slip out and show you around. Maybe I can take you down to the boiler deck so’s you can see what makes her run.”
“That would be nice,” Julie murmured, trying to be polite even though she was starting to feel unnerved by the way the man was staring at her. His gaze kept shifting to her bosom, slightly exposed in the yellow muslin dress she wore. With a quick movement, she jerked her shawl tightly around her, completely concealing the bodice.
Souls Aflame Page 1