The Outrageous Fortune of Abel Morgan

by Cynthia Jefferies

  I was in no mood just then to ponder her words about the treatment of slaves. I was more concerned with feeling outraged at her, a woman, daring to defy me, but over the following months and years I came to think much about the question of slavery and how best it was to be managed. Some had it that slaves were no more than animals, others admitted them to be more like children, but I never saw less than full humanity in all its many guises. They had been taken in Afric wars and sold by their captors to the merchants that ploughed this harvest of humanity. It was otherwise the tribal kings’ habit to slaughter them. By bringing them here, to labour in the fields, their lives had been saved and they were taught to be Christians, so also saving their souls. I knew I was doing God’s work by giving them their lives, but at times I wished they could have been less resentful and more grateful. I did rein back some of the harshest treatment of my slaves and did also physic them when needed, though at first, I had a hard job to convince them of my genuine concern for their well-being. Sadly, Marie was proved right in that none of this stopped slaves trying to escape. It took me a long while to understand this. Why should they not work for food, shelter and physic? But that is not it at all, is it? For my slaves, like that beautiful boy I had seen when I had been a captive myself, had not chosen the life they had. They had not asked to sail to Jamaica, to toil in the terrible heat of the sugar fields. And unlike any free man, the only way they had to improve their situation was to run away. What the answer is I do not know, for the demand for sugar is so high and plantations need more men to labour in the fields than could be provided in any other way. The Irish sent here as slaves are not able to withstand the climate, so the problem is more than I can fathom.

  My horse did not wander far, and so, having calmed myself, a little I remounted and returned home to my wife. Neither of us referred to our falling-out. For a few days things were awkward between us, but then she gave me news that made me forget my sulk. For Marie was with child, which gave me much joy. We were, I know, in spite of our differences, fond of one another and both had found each other’s bodies attractive. Many marriages have, I think, succeeded on less than this, but I did not know that then and Marie had been forced to subjugate her natural wilfulness through necessity for so long that she could no longer suppress it, nor wished to. In addition, pregnancy must have made her feel even more secure in her role as my wife, so it was not long before we took to bickering again.

  I thanked God I was a surgeon, having the knowledge to make draughts, because that was my recourse when argument failed. I did not wish to beat her to make her compliant. In truth, I feared it would take more than a slap to bring her to heel. She was not easily cowed and might even retaliate in kind. I did not wish to risk serious violence, especially while she was carrying my child. Instead, when her tongue goaded me beyond all managing, I took either to my horse or to administering a soothing concoction that made her drowsy, disguising my true purpose by telling her that it was a simple tonic for the child’s sake. That, and her pregnancy, reminded me of my calling. I could tell that administering a plantation was never going to be of any great interest to me. Let Marie pick fights with Ballam instead of me. He could not answer her back, which would keep her temper more even and be better for the child.

  I sent word to Mr Chepstow, ordering new instruments and medicines as well as the latest books. I would use some of my new-found wealth and leisure to learn of the ills of women and children, as well as the diseases of this island. Until the materials arrived, I spent more and more time away from home, riding in the woodland away from the fields. Sometimes I could almost imagine I was back in Dorset, riding old Troubadour quietly around, under the proud and watchful eye of my father. But the pretence never held for long. The climate was too hot, the trees too different and the sea was the blue of the Caribbean, not the much-missed, ever-changing sea off the coast of Dorset.

  On this particular day, the trees were hissing in the wind as I arrived at my favourite dawdling place. I rode idly along the track, the reins slack in my hands, thinking with pleasure of the books that would soon arrive. I should have kept closer control of my horse, but I was sure I had his spirit beaten and he was adept at avoiding tree roots and other obstacles. I had thought I was safe on his back, but I was not. I saw nothing to alarm me, deep as I was in thought, but he took a sudden skitter sideways, which made me raise my head. To my horror, a ruffian clad in rags, brandishing a pistol, erupted from the undergrowth. My life seemed to slow to a crawl. I had no time to wonder what a highwayman was doing on my plantation, why he was not on a horse like any self-respecting gentleman thief in England, and that I should spur my horse to escape being shot. Why my first thought was not to gather my reins I do not know, but I paid for that error. My horse reared onto his hind legs at the sight of the raggy man. I fell backwards and landed heavily on the track. The horse bolted, and I was at the mercy of a desperate man.

  28

  The breath had been blown out of my body by the fall, making me temporarily helpless. I cursed my foolishness for neglecting to carry my new pistols as protection. I tried to ready myself for what was to come as his face drew nearer, his eyes staring into mine. He was a filthy specimen of humanity, but with both relief and an equal sinking of my spirits I recognised him.

  ‘Abel. Are you hurt? I am sorry to have alarmed your horse. Let me help you up.’

  I had hoped to leave my past securely behind me, but there he was: Rowan Mantle, a shadow of his former swaggering self, but flesh and blood, here, on my plantation.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked in astonishment as he helped me to sit up. ‘I thought you to be long gone from this island.’

  Rowan gave me a hard look. ‘Black Tom and I have been evading the militia for the past several months. It seems you have been doing so in rather better style. You look as unlike us as is possible to imagine.’

  I shook off his hand and got to my feet, shedding leaves and twigs from my clothes. Rowan had a haunted look about him and when he explained what had happened I could see why. It seemed the very morning Mr Chepstow had guided me and Marie to our new home, the militia had entered the inn where most of the crew lay, half insensible after a night’s carousing.

  ‘Black Tom and I had not partaken as they had,’ said Rowan. ‘And we had risen before the rest of the crew to discuss re-provisioning our ships. We had heard that pirates were less welcome here than before but thought there was enough time for the men to enjoy their time ashore. Ale and a woman. It’s unheard of to land here and not spend some gold that way. But the crew paid with more than gold for their pleasure. They are all, I fear, dead or captive. Black Tom and I only just escaped after hearing the commotion.’

  I was shocked at the news and felt even more pleased I had heeded my lawyer’s advice. ‘So where is Tom?’ I said, him being the person I most cared about.

  ‘He took a cut to his arm and lies not far from here in some bushes. We saw you by chance a few days ago, but you were with another man and we dared not approach.’ He looked at me curiously. ‘Where did you go when we got onshore? And how are you riding about this place as if you own it?’

  I told him briefly of how I had come into my good fortune. Rowan smiled bitterly.

  ‘You joined us freely and left us freely too. All luck to you and none to us, but I cannot blame you for it. I daresay any one of us might have taken the opportunity if it had been offered to us, although speaking for myself I far prefer the sea to the land.’ He looked around him at the peace of my woodland and frowned. ‘The sea is clean and wide open. Here, there is danger I cannot see. I don’t trust these trees and hate skulking in bushes as Tom and I have been obliged to do. And all because Henry Morgan, God rot him, pretends outrage at our business, which in all but name was also his.’ I kept silent and after a moment he continued. ‘Well, will you come with me for old time’s sake and doctor to Black Tom’s arm?’

  I had saved his life once, why should I doctor him again? I would get no payment
for it, nor did I owe him anything. I wanted to say no, but something lay between us. Past friendship, yes, but mostly fear. What if I refused to help these two and they were eventually captured? How loyal would they be to me then? Might they even decide to trade my life in the hope of saving theirs?

  ‘Is he nearby?’

  ‘No more than two hundred yards from here.’ Rowan hesitated. ‘It would be an added kindness if you could find your way to bring us meat and drink.’

  ‘Of course I will!’ I said in as hearty a voice as I could manage. ‘I would suggest you come to my house, but it would not be safe for you. Take me now to Black Tom and I will look at his arm. Then I will fetch you something to eat and drink. It will take a while. My horse took even more fright than me and it will take me a while to walk back.’

  Rather than apologise for the loss of my horse, Rowan pulled up his shirt to reveal his swollen belly.

  ‘And if you could bring something to ease the pain in my belly.’

  ‘Food will soon cure that,’ I said, anxious to bring our meeting to an end.

  ‘I fear not,’ said Rowan wryly. ‘For it began to pain me while we were at sea this past year, only it has recently got worse.’

  ‘May I feel it?’ There was no mistaking the lump when I laid may hands upon him.

  ‘I regret to say,’ I said sadly, ‘even if I had my medicines or instruments with me I could do little to help you.’

  Rowan looked bitterly disappointed but made light of it. ‘No matter, Abel. No matter. It seems I am a dead man whatever I do.’

  He had hidden Tom deep in a thicket, close to a rocky outcrop. It would have been a good lair for an animal, but it pained me to see two men who had each commanded successful ships to be brought so low. Once I had crawled in, I looked at Black Tom’s wound. He had taken a sword cut to the left shoulder. The wound should have healed a long time ago, even without being stitched, but their exertions and lack of food had not given it enough opportunity to do so. If I’d had a bucket of seawater I would have sluiced it down. And if I’d had my medicine box I would have washed it with oil and made a plaster, as I had done so successfully with the cut on his leg. However, I had nothing but my eyes and nose, which told me that in spite of all Rowan’s care the cut had gone bad and would certainly be Tom’s end. I think both men knew it.

  ‘The best treatment is rest and good eating,’ I said, seeing no point in spelling out his death. ‘The first you have in this place and the second I will bring you.’

  I began to crawl back out of their den. Rowan would have followed me, but I refused his company.

  ‘You need rest too,’ I said. I hurried away from the place and regained the track. I was astonished to find my horse standing a little way on, looking very sorry for himself. Ballam’s horse was there too, tethered to a branch, and the man himself was dismounted and feeling the legs of my mount. He straightened up as he heard me and, although my heart had begun to bang in my chest, I put a smile on my face and hailed him as if I were mightily glad to see him.

  ‘The devil threw me,’ I said, ‘and bolted. I had thought him to be home by now!’

  Ballam’s expression was one of distaste, quickly replaced by his more usual subservient demeanour.

  ‘I was alarmed when I saw him riderless,’ he said. ‘And he is lame.’ He left it a moment before continuing. ‘I wondered if you were lying injured somewhere.’

  ‘As you see, I am not,’ I replied.

  Ballam waited, not quite daring to question me. Going to my horse’s head and giving him a stroke, I looked the manager full in the face. ‘As you are here,’ I said, ‘you can give me your mount and walk my horse back for me. I trust he has not irreparably damaged himself?’

  ‘I expect it is just a sprain,’ said Ballam. ‘He should do well enough, given time.’

  I took his horse and resisted the urge to look back at where Tom and Rowan lay before I rode away.

  I had thought I would not speak of it to Marie but, finding her in a mild temper, I changed my mind. In truth, I was in need of an ear and another mind to help me decide what to do for the best.

  ‘If I had the right materials for Black Tom there is a slight chance I could save him, and with food and rest they might both appear well enough to find a new ship … so long as they left the plantation as soon as they were able … No ship would take them as crew as they are but …’

  ‘I curse the ill luck that brought them to this place,’ she said. ‘Or did they know you were here?’

  ‘How could they? They were astonished at my good fortune.’

  Marie laid her hand on my arm. ‘There is only one safe solution,’ she said.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘You must shoot them.’

  I stared at her.

  ‘Rowan was my captain, Black Tom my friend.’

  She shook her head. ‘If you truly cared for them you would have offered them better rest than the den they have made in the bushes. If you really wanted to help them you would not be debating now how to absolve yourself from them.’

  I could understand her argument, but to shoot them? In cold blood? I could not bring myself to go that far.

  ‘Listen to me,’ said Marie with steel in her voice. ‘You say yourself Black Tom is wounded and suffering.’

  ‘As is Rowan,’ I admitted. I told her of the cancer in his belly and to my utter disgust she laughed.

  ‘You see! They are neither of them long for this world, no matter what they or we do. What is the matter of a few weeks or months when it will be full of suffering? You would be helping them to a peaceful end.’

  I tasted bitter anger. ‘Being shot to death by a friend is not a peaceful end.’

  She hardly paused, and a smile still hung about her face. ‘More peaceful and quick than dancing at the end of a noose or dying of starvation and disease. If they betray us,’ she continued in a hard voice, ‘you are hanged, and I most likely returned to slavery in the Americas. Do you wish your child to be born a slave?’

  She had me silenced. And so, filled with poison, I left her.

  I rode away from the house, not knowing in which direction I went. It was as if I struggled to shake off a snake that had me by the neck. I did not want any of this. I did not want to be a murderer of friends, nor did I want a shrew of a wife to drive me on to it. Equally, neither did I want to dance at the end of a rope or see my child a slave.

  What she had said was true, but I did not want her to have been the one to say it. Was there no other way? Could I not shelter them somewhere until they died of wound and disease? But where? Nowhere was safe from the eyes of slaves and if I was discovered to have harboured two outlaws it would go even worse with me. I was in a fury of indecision. I turned my horse and cantered back to the house. Flinging the reins to a slave, I crashed back in, scattering anxious house slaves as I went. I paused only to collect my new pistols, powder and shot before escaping once again. I did not see Marie and was glad of it. My resentment at her was like a stone in my chest. I hated her for saying what I had not thought through for myself. I cursed myself for speaking to her of it. I should not have been so weak, but I would be weak no longer. In a fever to rid myself of my dilemma I rode back to where Rowan and Tom lay. I drew rein at a little distance from them and tied my horse to a tree. I had no plan, other than to put an end to my trouble, but as I primed my pistols I remembered that I had never tested them. They had cost much, but how accurate were they? How close would I need to go to be sure of my shot?

  I told myself that all would be well and with that thought I felt tears prick my eyes. It was what my father had so often told me when some childish trouble had worried me. Why, after so long, could such occasional memories so unman me? Why, especially at a time like this when I needed to be bold and strong? What did those words even mean? All would be well for whom? Even as a child I had known that what is good for one person is not always good for another. I rubbed my eyes and thrust these unhelpful thoughts away. I had spent so
me time after my father’s death trying to live in a way I thought he would have approved of. But my father was no longer living and I had led a violent life. I could not gain his approval, even if I wished to. I had to do what was right for me now, in the life I found myself in. I had to make all well for me. I could do it. I would do it now. All I had to do was call the men out of their lair and shoot each one as he emerged. They were cornered. They could not possibly escape, and with two shots I would be free.

  I approached the place cautiously. I must think of them as no more than the murderous dogs I knew them to be. I couldn’t allow myself to falter because of past comradeship. Above all I must not remember the liking and respect I had for Tom or the admiration I once had for Rowan’s leadership. I had to remember how they were so often the first to board a vessel, cutting down any who resisted. That was not bravery. It was murder. They were killers I had been obliged to spend some time with, not friends. I was the son of a gentleman and so much better than them.

  The bushes and undergrowth were tangled, and the path to where they had hidden themselves was not at all clear. I pushed my way on and called Rowan’s name. I stumbled over a root and stopped to steady myself. It wouldn’t do if I fell, discharging the pistols by mistake. I wouldn’t be the first man to shoot himself that way.

  It was then that I heard a sound to my right. I was so tense I reacted without thinking. I turned and fired both pistols at once. As I did so I saw Rowan in front of me. He held a dead rat and a knife in his hands and I knew with pitiful certainty that he had been about to skin and cook it to feed himself and Tom. I saw his fleeting expressions of pleasure and relief at seeing me turning to puzzlement and then to disbelief and last to anger. His feelings swept over his face in the blinking of an eye, but I have never managed to banish them from my mind. I saw no fear in him, but with total certainty could tell that should he survive to escape me his intent would be murderous revenge. The flash and smoke obscured my view, and I confess I feared the knife he held, for I was now unarmed. The breeze soon swept away the smoke and revealed him sprawled amongst the greenery. I feared he lived still. I couldn’t believe I had killed him. Was he not teasing me as he sometimes liked to do? Was he playing dead, only to rise and shake the rat in my face, my shots having gone wide? Or was he gripping that knife, waiting until I bent over him, ready to plunge it into my heart?