The Black Swan

by Day Taylor

  In a fleeting instant Adam considered his options. With British waters so near and Dulcie aboard, he decided to run, counting on the superior speed of the Independence to carry them back to the islands before the cruiser could do much damage. He shouted the new course to the helmsman and demanded full steam.

  The Independence shot forward, set for the waters off the Great Bahama Bank. The cruiser angled in toward them, signals flashing. "Heave to, or I'll sink you!'*

  The sea changed, the blue-green water churned white, the wind current became contrary and inconsistent. Adam shouted orders to the crew, moving the great sheets, taking advantage of the additional speed the sails gave before the sea became too heavy to keep them set. The Independence was doing sixteen knots, pulling steadily, if slowly, away from the cruiser.

  The cruiser signaled again.

  The shouts and the sudden increase in the movement brought Dulcie from the cabin. Adam's voice cracked across the air like thunder.

  "Keep her clean full." The ship slammed across the wind. Then Dulcie heard the shots from the cruiser. Above the howl of the wind one of the crewmen shouted. "Get below, ma'am. We're runnin', an' there's bad weather ahead!"

  Dulcie stood frozen to the spot. The wind whipped over the deck. Before them the sky was turning ominously dark. The waves crashed against the Independence, sloshing and sending spray over her decks. Dulcie clung to the cargo lashings, gasping and struggling for balance.

  The sea heaved and tore at the lightly built hull of the Independence.

  "Ready about!" Adam shouted, knowing that the time he could use the sails was in fact done, and still the cruiser was within gun range. Tacks and sheets of the courses were cleared for the yards to swing.

  Dulcie pulled hand over hand along the cargo lashings, then struggled to the companionway. She glanced up in the direction she knew Adam to be, though she couldn't see him. Until this trip she had never accurately imagined what his being master of the Independence meant. Each member of the crew sprang into action at the sound of his voice. There was no hesitation, no look of doubt. They trusted him entirely. Only then did she realize the scope of Adam's power aboard the ship. There was no one above him. No one to whom he turned for direction or decision. He was alone. He was absolute ruler of the Independence and responsible for all the lives aboard it. And he had said he needed her. Now she knew why.

  Tears of pride came to her eyes. At another urgent cry from the crewman to get below, Dulcie carefully picked her way back to the cabin. Dutifully she sat down to remain safe. But she wanted to be with Adam.

  On the quarterdeck Adam shouted, "Lee oh! Down helm!" The helmsman spun the wheel in the direction of the wind. The foresheet and jib sheets eased. The weight of the wind lessened as the ship flew quickly into the wind's eye. The canvas shuddered, then slackened as the Independence crossed the wind.

  "Mainsail haul!" The yards came round. The hands wound the brace winches frantically.

  "Let go and haul!" The foreyards ground around on the winch. Adam glanced at tHb full sails. The rain was steady but not heavy. He looked at the cruiser, still coming and much too close. With a wary eye he checked the darkening mass ahead. For a moment he considered surrendering his ship, and then reconsidered. The squall was moving rapidly. He couldn't avoid it by surrendering to the cruiser. He pulled at the edge of his moustache and tried to think of something they could do to avoid the storm and the cruiser. It was futile, and he knew it. If Dulcie were not aboard, he would never have thought about it at all.

  The cruiser was as harshly buffeted by the heavy seas as the Independence. Her shots fell wide, and Adam prayed silently for the squall to hold oflf long enough for the Independence to make use of the sails to outrun the cruiser. Slowly they were gaining distJince. If it could only last a bit longer.

  The cruiser captain began to fire hot shot at the Independence, knowing her speed would eventually leave the cruiser behind. The first shot was short, but Adam heard the ominous hiss as it sunk into the sea. The next shot sliced through the topsail. The canvas flashed into flame. Adam swore under his breath. The shot, a cannonball heated red hot before firing, was capable of sending the ship up in flames.

  Within moments the next cannonball struck, shearing the foremast. Grape and canister spewed across the decks. The fire caused by the hot shot blazed like a beacon, presenting the cruiser a clear target in the darkening murk.

  Thunder began to rumble. Lightning flashed, great bolts of fire slammed into the heaving, white-capped breast of the ocean. Adam chewed tensely on the end of his moustache. The Independence was buUt for speed but not endurance. She began to yaw in the heavy seas.

  The crew worked frantically hauling in the remaining canvas. The cruiser, astern of them, suddenly disappeared into the pelting rain and rolling ocean, only to appear again several points starboard of her last position. In spite of the storm and though they were in British waters, she showed no sign of giving up the chase.

  Adam adjusted his course once more, running for An-dros Island, hoping to round it and return to the safety of Nassau harbor.

  The fury of the storm mounted. Adam began to suspect that it was not merely a storm but one of the enormous, dangerous squall lines that plagued the ocean here and could extend for as much as one hundred miles.

  With the cruiser hard on her heels, firing shot, the Independence was running before the sea, the most dangerous position she could have. Both steerage and power were lost to her as she was lifted by the stem, carried forward on the breast of a sixteen-foot wave. Adam abruptly checked the speed, to stop the wild yawing of the low blockade runner, never designed to take such

  punishment. Green water swept over her decks. The ship nosed under, then struggled back to rights. Carried forward again, she broached and broadsided into the seas, helpless as the next wave rolled over her. They seemed to shoot straight to the bottom of the ocean as the waves parted and then snapped closed over them. The hull trembled and shook as though she would tear apart.

  The helmsman met the swelling sea by quartering into it, receiving the force of the crest on the windward bow, then as Adam shouted, he straightened course, taking advantage of the momentary calm that follows a heavy sea.

  "Man overboard!" They heard, heeded, then forgot as the ship pitched and yawed slithering into the next trough.

  As the sea crested and washed over the Independence, he heard screams and then silence. The green water enveloped them and washed away as the ship righted. The forward deck was empty. No cargo, no man.

  With a panicky fear he had never known since Ullah's death, he realized he couldn't get to Dulcie. There was only one chance of keeping the ship together and afloat; he must remain as he was, directing from the helm. And if he lost the ship, he also lost Dulcie—and their unborn child.

  The hull of the Independence strained, the ship shuddered as one of the engines quit. Adam grimly ordered the first mate to signal an SOS to the cruiser. They hadn't seen the cruiser for the past half hour, but Adam was certain the heavier-built ship was weathering the storm far better than the Independence. Prison was far preferable to dying in a white sea. Repeatedly between crests the SOS was sent, but he saw no answering flash.

  Adam checked the compass, no longer certain of direction. The compass jerked erratically, not showing north. He ordered the SOS sent from every quarter of the ship without stop, and again his mind raced to Dulcie and the child. He sent two crewmen below to see to her. He ordered the second mate to take out their supply of flares and to shoot them up regularly so the cruiser could find them if it were anywhere near.

  Poring over charts, checking and rechecking the few indications of position he had, Adam judged they were near the Tongue of the Ocean. The ship lurched, then rose, yawing and broadsiding once more into the trough.

  .490 Day Taylor

  The green seas washed over them. The charts swept from the table. Adam was flung to the deck. The helmsman lay sprawled unconscious, the helm spinning wildly as the ship
was buffeted by the sea.

  Adam pulled himself painfully up, grabbing the helm.

  The first ominous sounds of the hull grinding against reef or rock came but seconds before the water crashed in on them. The Independence listed, teetering on the reef. Then she was lifted high, free of the barrier, only to be sent crashing down into the sea to break apart.

  BOOK III

  The Black Swan

  1862-1865

  Chapter One

  Pale points of starlight set deep in the black heavens lit the sandy shore of Andros Island. The Tongue of the Ocean roared ceaselessly. The dark forest crept toward the angry waters. A large square native hut stood near a smaller round one, both with thatched roof and walls. At a distance, several other huts were clustered raggedly together. Near the ocean's edge shadowy figures moved stealthily out of the protection of the dense growth, away from the security of the huts.

  Cautiously, following the woman who led them, they approached the two bodies lying on the wet, littered sand. The voodoo queen, a woman short and wide, said, "Tek de 'oman to Mam'bo Luz hut."

  The natives looked at her, fear and doubt on their faces.

  Mam'bo Luz raised her huge arms. With her head thrown back, she praised Erzulie, goddess of the Moon. Then she turned her intense gaze to the natives. "Erzulie speak ter Mam'bo Luz. 'Oman be good speerit Erzulie sen' from Ian* ob Ife. We call 'oman Guede Vi, chil' ob de gods."

  Satisfied Luz had the blessing of the gods, the natives lifted the limp woman, carrying her with care to the voodoo queen's hut.

  Mam'bo Luz's attention focused on the other body. Moving sinuously, she circled the man, then stopped, holding her body rigidly still, listening for the words of the gods as she had before. Again she nodded her head quickly and turned to the natives. "De man evil speerit. He de Guede rOrage, god ob de stawm. Bring bad time."

  Luz watched their faces, her expression shrewd and crafty. It had been a long time since she had been able to perform one of her black miracles to impress them. For months she had fretfully watched her powers being usurped by her archrival, Lucifer. Now, with the gift of the woman of the red sun and the man of the black storm, Luz could once more demonstrate her power—and crush

  Lucifer's hold on her people. Luz would perform her black miracles with Erzulie's gift.

  She spread her arms wide, encompassing the crowd of brown people who stood tentative and waiting. "Luz 'tect you. Tell you what ter do. Tek de man 'roun' de ben' where he doan see de village. BuiP ring ob fire 'roun' 'im. Buil' it high, high, high! Fire, fire, fire!"

  The men hung ba,ck, circling the powerful guede who had been washed ashore, afraid to touch the evil spirit.

  The woman was contemptuous. "No lissen ter Mam'bo Luz? No lissen ter Erzulie? Git dat man 'roun' de ben' 'fo' he wake up. I gib you a charm, keep you safe lak de bat in de cave." She mumbled an incantation, and the men moved away, carrying the man far down the beach, around the bend to the empty desolation of an empty shore.

  Luz smiled in satisfaction, then shouted after them. "You git back, I talk oV storee. I tell you what you doan know. or storee calm de water."

  Later, near a small fire in the clearing, Mam'bo Luz began her "old story" in the traditional way:

  Dis was a time, a very good time, Not in my time but in ol' people time, Monkey chew tobacco an' spit white lime.

  "Dere was a king, big king 'cross de sea. King say to Gilmartin, I gib you some Ian'." ,

  In the strange singsong cadence of her language Luz wove the story of the white man's invasion of the isolated native world of Andros Island. The first of the luckless Gilmartins had been given a land grant by an English king. Gilmartin had brought with him men from the Congo to clear the wild jungle. Before he could enjoy the riches gleaned from his new mahogany plantation, he died. His son mherited the wealth as well as the curse that seemed to hover over the Gilmartin family. The son, too, died young, leaving behind the riches of the plantation and two children, William and Kenneth, to lust after it. William, the oldest son, inherited. At his untimely death his property went to his young son, Justin.

  "Kennef t'ief de Ian' from boy Justin. Den Kennef tek a wife. De wife Helen. Helen gib Kennef li'l girl baby. Helen look on Mam'bo Luz while she got baby in belly." Mam'bo Luz smiled now, remembering how her power had

  soared when Helen had given birth to Dorothy and the child had had a birthmark that remained bright red all her life. Helen had looked on Luz, and the natives had believed Luz had marked the baby. They still talked of it today.

  Luz chuckled maliciously as she told of Helen's second child. "Helen belly git fill up one odder time. Sen' Mam'bo Luz away 'cause Luz be pinto woman. Helen doan wan' pinto spots on baby. Mam'bo Luz call on de gods. Call Erzulie. Call guides. Mek de ritu'l when baby git bom. Mam'bo Luz mek de baby speerit evil!"

  Mam'bo Luz's laughter rang out in the dark night. The natives shivered, sensing her maniacal aura. "Luz pow'full Luz han'maid ob Erzulie! Kennef know dat. Dor'fy know.'*

  Luz, insane with the notoriety the Gilmartin's misfortunes gave to her, took credit for everything that befell them. Her people witnessed her incantations, calling down the spirits to plague the Gilmartins further.

  Luz performed her rituals day and night. The Drum of the Thunderbolt split the heated night air. The wild singing and dancing went on and on until Luz triumphed.

  Helen Gilmartin had died giving birth to the deformed child, whom Kenneth had hated on sight. Drinking and raging over his land like a madman, Kenneth had shouted blasphemous vilification at God. Deep in the woods he had cursed the land, pounding on the earth until his hands were bloody. He renamed his jdantation Satan's Keep and his only son Lucifer.

  Seventeen-year-old Dorothy, horrified by her baby brother and the drunken raging insanity of her father, had run in panicky fear to the dense junglelike forest and become lost.

  "Dor'fy disappear—^poof!" Luz smiled slyly. "Nobody know 'bout Dor'fy. Mam'bo Luz know. Mam'bo Luz wise, eh, eh."

  The old story went on. Luz described how, bloated with success, she turned her attention to the infant on whom she had placed an evil spirit. "Lucifer so ugly nobody touch. Fadder no touch 'im. Boy Justin no touch. Nobody touch ugly evil speerit. Mam'bo Luz touch 'im. Feed 'im. Ten' *im. Mam'bo Luz got de power ober Lucifer.

  "Frum time Lucifer li'l boy, Luz tek de life juice from he root. Sometime she suck it out. Drink de life juice. Mek Lucifer weak. Mek Mam'bo Luz strong, strong, strong'r. Sometime Mam'bo Luz tek he root inter she Sacred En-

  trance down below. Hoi' he root tight. Tight. Mam'bo mount Lucifer an' ride 'im till he root gush he life fluid inter Mam'bo Luz. Mam'bo t'ief he power. Mek Lucifer weak, weak. Put 'im in de Mam'bo power."

  The others murmured, then quieted, waiting for her to tell them of the future, in what new way she would weaken the fearsome Lucifer.

  "Ternight de speerits come in on de stawm. De man come fo' Lucifer. De 'oman come fo' Mam'bo Luz. De gods funnin'. See which serbant be bes'."

  Luz's narrowed eyes were hard. The gods had sent two bodies from the sacred land of Ife. One for Lucifer, one for Luz. She saw a contest of strength. Luz or Lucifer would win to reign supreme on the island.

  "De man speerit, Guede I'Orage. No good!'* she said violently. "Man he ready to gib he body so Lucifer hab body like a god. Big. Strong." She looked at them slyly. "But nobody tell de man how Mam'bo Luz t'ief de power from Lucifer." She snickered. Her people giggled and poked each other.

  Luz stood, her fist stabbing the sky. "Gods punish de man! Put 'im in de pit. Mam'bo Luz pow'ful, eh, eh." Then she swung her attention to her people. "But Luz kin'. We tek keer ob dat man speerit. Treat 'im good, lak he a real people. Mek de medsin on 'im. Mek de food offerin'. Put man in de sacred ring ob fire. Three days. Den we put 'im in sacred boat an' sen's 'im back to de sea. Say, 'Man speerit, git on back ter Ife.' Dis way Lucifer no git de strong body ob de stawm speerit. We do dat, doan we, Pa Bowleg?"

  Pa Bowleg smiled toothlessly, nodding. "We
do dat, eh, eh."

  Mam'bo Luz then told her mesmerized people how she would take the body of the woman as her own. Luz planned her greatest triumph of all. She would enter her own spirit into the beautiful body of the red-haired woman Erzulie had sent on the storm-tossed sea.

  Then Luz's eyes became slits as she warned her people to keep her plans secret. "Mam'bo Luz doan wan' ter lay de oberlook on her brown peoples 'cause dey tell de storee to Lucifer!"

  Heads shook in negation. "No, no, Mam'bo Luz. Doan gib de oberlook!"

  The short, wide woman smiled. "Mam'bo Luz gib her peoples big trick dis night. Wc mek Lucifer de ritu'l."

  Faces lighted with sensual appreciation. This was a special ritual, one they highly enjoyed, performed on the ground outside the oum'phor.

  "1 talk de ritu'l. Den biddy biddy ban, dis storee en*. Fus' de ogantier clap he bell, mek de big noise dat wake up Lucifer. Den de drums begin. Summon Lucifer. Brown peoples dance. Sing. Happy.

  "Be brown men's git de strong hard root like de Sacred Tree. Brown 'omans want fo' root. Brown mens mount brown 'omans. De drum go boom boom boom boom boom. Mam'bo mount Lucifer. Mek Lucifer less, less. Mek Mam'bo Luz strong, strong, strong'r. Mambo use de speerit power to gib her peoples good times."

  Smiles wreathed the faces, even as some cast apprehensive looks into the dark beyond the low fire.

  Mam'bo Luz shook her asson, a gourd rattle. The or-gantier struck his bell with an iron rod. Then the Drum of the Thunderbolt began its demonic beat

  The brown people waited tensely, chanting, wanting to move, to dance, but not daring. The drumbeats stirred their blood with passions of fear and lust.

  Mam^o Luz began to dance, her plump body writhing like the serpent. Her people danced, their faces growing dreamily sensual.

  The drum assumed a new note, wild, /oa-ridden, uncontrollable. The dancers froze, heads turning to the dark forest path.