Archibald responded, “If she is finished with her chores, I see no discord. Mentioning Mari Anna, is she baking today?”
“I smelled that heavenly corn bread in the air this morning. You best hurry. I know she is low on corn flour, it might be the last of it for an age,” Prudence urged.
Patrick pointed to a long line of redcoats at a nearby house. “What is that huge line for?”
“Ah, lad. That is the food line for the government workers. They stand in this sun for hours to get some rancid meat and rotting fruit. The first few years of the colony were the worst. I remember when everyone was forced to take Oglethorpe’s handouts to live on. The founding settlers quickly over hunted the area and were completely dependent on what the traders brought in. They paid very little money to the local Yamacraw tribe, so the Indians only sold them only the worst meat and fruit.” Archibald explained. “In short time, the populace discovered how poorly their needs are handled if they trust the government to take care of them. A free market exploded very quickly and the quality of everything got better. Still those tied to the king, like the soldiers and bureaucrats there, are completely dependent on that disgusting slop. I guess we could still get the spoiled meat if we wanted to but no self-respecting man I know would take it. Do not forget how the food is actually paid for; silver is taken from the rest of us to pay for it. I can’t take that grub in good conscience because I know the funds to buy it were stolen from my family and neighbors by redcoat threats and force.”
The men departed with a wave to Prudence and continued back into the square where a small covered booth was standing. A queue five deep was waiting to purchase warm bread. The line was intoxicated with the smell of fresh bread. A father and daughter worked behind a table and were quickly running out. The blacksmiths waited anxiously in line hoping to buy some before they ran out.
The old, heavy man behind the counter then barked, “Your timing is that of a hawk, Mr. Freeman. We are down to our last loaf.”
“I have always had outstanding luck, Mr. Dandridge,” Archibald playfully responded.
“Good morrow, Mr. Freeman! Who’s your companion?” The daughter queried.
“Miss Mari Anna Dandridge, let me introduce you to Patrick Willis, our new indenture,” Archibald proclaimed and then bowed.
Patrick took in the beautiful young lady. Dark braided hair fell out of the cooking hood and onto her shoulders. She had a thin linen white dress and a cooking apron. She wore no gloves but her hands were not bug welted like everyone else. Working around a fire all day kept bugs from biting her delicate hands. Patrick bowed formally and stated, “My honor, lady.”
Archibald then interrupted the formalities. “My daughter and the lady Prudence,” he snickered, “Would like you to join them tonight to go hear the bard sing. If your goodly father bestows his blessings, I will escort you ladies to and fro.”
“Yes, I grant my blessing, but those three are like molasses. Enjoy yourself escorting them, Freeman,” Mr. Dandridge grumbled. Mari Anna then threw her arms around her smiling father and hugged him like a black bear.
Changing the subject, Archibald asked, “Mr. Dandridge, how did you get corn this early in the season?”
Mari Anna answered for her father. “The redskin deer pelt traders brought it up from the south. I suppose the winter was mild enough to plant early down there. Sometimes, if they are real lucky, they get two grows out of one season.” Silver was then exchanged for the bread and the blacksmiths walked off as they split a piece of hot bread.
“Ok, lad, it’s time you earn all this food and clothing. Let me go teach you how to make nails,” the wigged man said as the returned home.
* * *
The men came home to an empty house but Archibald was not alarmed.
“Every morning the family goes out to collect fallen wood to supply the pit. First thing we do is restock the fire. Grab some of that dried hay and that there stirrin’ stick. There are usually hot embers still alive from last night, so reheat them with the bellows,” Archibald instructed. Patrick pumped the bellows until the embers grew orange. He then tossed some hay and kindling onto the smoldering pit. With the kiss of air pumped from the bellow, flame was immediately summoned and the pit sprung to life. The men stacked some drift wood in and tended the fire until it glowed. It took a half an hour of burning wood to get it hot enough for their purposes.
“Here, lad. You can use my old apron and gloves," Archibald offered. "They are thick buckskin and will keep you safe.” Archibald then helped Patrick tie the heavy apron on.
“Now I have already melted some of the scrap metal and drawn the metal out into rods. Take this rod and heat it until it glows orange.” Archibald demonstrated, “Put it deep into the embers like this. Now, pull it out before it melts and quickly bring it to the anvil.”
The seasoned blacksmith began to forge and shape the glowing end of the rod into a four-sided point. He worked very quickly and then placed the nail shape end on the chisel sticking up out of the anvil. He proceeded to turn the rod over and over as he struck it against the chisel. He then took the chisel-weakened section and bent it until it broke off from the long rod. Finally he grabbed the glowing nail with a circular pair of pliers and inserted the nail into a hole in the anvil. He quickly pounded a flat head onto the nail and dunked it in cool water. With his adroit craftsmanship, the whole process was over in less than a minute and there sat a fine looking nail. Patrick was impressed with the speed and skill Archibald possessed.
Archibald sensing Patrick’s distress reassured him, “Don’t worry, son. After a few thousand nails you will be just as fast. You ready to try your hand at it?” To that, Patrick nodded. He worked until sundown with Archibald’s close supervision. At the end of the day, there were fifteen mangled, misshapen nails and ten that were passable. It was hard hot dirty work but at least the heat drove off the mosquitoes and annoying, biting sand gnats.
Patrick was beginning to feel confident in his vocation of pounding out nails. When Mari Anna and Prudence arrived to call on Heather, the disruption caused Patrick to smash his thumb with his hammer. The two girls laughed at Patrick's misfortune. Archibald, the veteran blacksmith, had to laugh as well. "Mind your hammer, lad!” Patrick's thumb turned almost as red as his cheeks. The elder Freeman then patted his shoulder and suggested they break for supper.
That day, Maximilian and Amos had caught four decent sized fish and Heather and Marian had readied them for cooking. The visiting ladies graciously brought a basket of fresh apples with them and they all dined under the dogwood. After their bellies were full and good conversation was shared, the anxious young ladies prodded the wigged smith to escort them to St. James Square.
“Daddy, it's starting. Can we please go?” Heather whined.
"Yes, my dear," he answered and then turned to his apprentice. “Would you like to hear some music this evening, Mr. Willis?”
Patrick nodded eagerly.
The three young women checked their appearances, fixing each other’s hair, as the group started on their stroll to the square. The three giggling girls held hands and walked ahead of Archibald and Patrick, making jokes the two men could not hear.
“If I can be so direct," Patrick boldly asked, "it seems odd, sir, that three adult women are not already bonded to men and baring children. This colony has many single men. Are they not being courted?”
“Oh, lad, these three be the most courted women in the colonies but they never accept any man’s advances. They treat the men like toys and accept their gifts but they seem more focused on being with each other than finding themselves in a family way.”
“Savannah is an odd colony. I have never seen women so carefree and not bound by social graces,” Patrick carefully noted.
“Lad, the king’s military and upper crust socialites act nothing like us working colonists. You will take a bloodcoat’s musket butt to the teeth if you do not adhere to their strict social protocol. Our friends are very careful about who and w
here we speak openly around,” Archibald warned.
“So how do you know you can trust me?" Patrick inquired. "How come you already speak freely around and with me?"
Archibald stopped in the street and turned to face Patrick. His face looked grave yet sympathetic. “Because you spent some time in the king's prison. I know you must hate the government that did this to you.”
Patrick stopped in his tracks and the color ran from his face. He then hung his head shamefully and muttered, “It’s true, Mr. Freeman, but how did you know I was a convict?”
“No free man would indenture his time so long. A freeman would only do five years at most for passage. Your debt is seven years, so I reckoned only a prisoner without a choice would accept those terms,” Archibald reasoned.
Patrick confessed, “It is true. I will tell you anything you want to know. I hated being clandestine with you. I was under mortal threat by Captain Gibbons to conceal the truth from you. Just please, sir, don’t return me. There is only death for me back at sea.”
Archibald put a caring hand on Patrick's shoulder and begun to walk. “Lad, you have no worries by me. Just tell me your story and speak the truth without fear.”
Heather, Prudence and Mari Anna milk courters for free gifts
Violin music was heard as they rounded the corner. St. James square was now being illuminated by the setting sun. The three young ladies picked a prominent spot to be seen while listening to what they thought was German music. They perched and displayed themselves like peacocks welcoming their suitors. It did not take long either as all kinds of men strolled by and found reasons to converse with the comely, young ladies. Mari Anna even brought a basket to carry home all the gifts the ladies would receive from hopeful men.
Patrick watched slack-jawed as a line of men tried to catch the ladies’ fancy. “Well, I guess we have time for me to tell you the true story of how I came to be here in Savannah,” Patrick conceded. Patrick spun the heartbreaking tale and even had to hold back the tears as the grief poured out of him. Archibald held his shoulder in support and concern. A new trust and understanding was forged when the tale was done.
Chapter 7
Angry Lobsterbacks
and Tomochichi
18th c. drawing of Tomochichi and his nephew Toonahawi while visiting London
The flirtation of the young ladies entertained their line of courters. Savannah’s socialites would have been horribly offended by this vulgar display, but they would not be seen in this section of town, especially at night. Torches were lit by nearby patrons who sat in their yards to enjoy the music. Mr. Loper was doing well tonight and his violin case glittered with silver in the torchlight. All was going pleasantly until the crowd parted and became uneasy as a group of bloody backs marched in. The music stopped and the crowd began to drift away into the darkness.
“Don’t stop on my account,” the commander spouted sarcastically. “Go on Mr. Loper, play that old Irish noise you keep trying to pass off as German. Please continue.”
Wes Loper nervously picked up his fiddle and peeped, “Of course, Commander Kingsley.”
The tall officer wore a formal commander’s uniform everywhere. He had a collection of wigs which he changed daily and wore like an arrogant rooster. He smiled slyly to the crowd and warned, “Yes, yes! Everyone stay. I would consider it a personal insult if one soul left this party on my account.”
The crowd held their ground in a hushed uneasiness keeping their distance. Archibald grabbed Patrick’s hand and pulled the confused blacksmith away.
“Archibald!” A condescending voice rang out, “Who is your new lover you lead into the dark?”
A shiver shot up Archibald’s back as he froze in his tracks. He spent most of his time staying invisible when the lobsterbacks came into sight. He knew he would lead a longer and happier life the more he could avoid the king's government. Slowly turning, he dropped Patrick’s hand.
“This is my new indenture, Patrick Willis,” Archibald reluctantly surrendered.
“Patrick, eh? Strange. You don’t look like a filthy Irishman,” the commander observed.
Patrick replied, “Not Irish. I was named after my mother. Her name be Patricia.”
“Ah that would explain your feminine hair and build now,” Kingsley mocked. He then turned to another lobster back and mused, “Sergeant Luthor, do you think Mr. Patricia here fancies himself men?”
“Of course, Commander. He looks like he is no stranger to the livestock either,” Sergeant Luthor replied.
“Daddy, it is time for us to be escorted home,” Heather interjected. She looked worried. “Mari Anna has to be home now.”
“I will escort her home, Freeman,” Commander Kingsley offered as he leered wantingly at her.
“No. I promised her father I would escort her home, and we were just leaving,” Archibald stated as he begun to herd the young women away.
“Perhaps then,” Kingsley laughed, “I will have to come to her father and court her at home.”
The three young women and the blacksmiths quickly slipped into the night as the commander was asking them to stay.
“That fucking bastard!” Prudence cussed. "I want to run him through with a knitting needle one day."
“Let’s just retire back to my house overnight until we know we are all safe,” Archibald commanded.
When the families returned to the Freeman home, the ladies were hurried inside. Marian demanded, “Good Lord! What is all this haste you bring into this home?”
“Damn lobsterback commander making eyes at these ladies. You keep them inside and on the ready,” Archibald ordered his wife.
The blacksmith then went into the shed and closed the door. Clanging and clamoring rang out until finally the door swung open. He returned now brandishing a firelock, a large ax, broadsword and a thin wooden box. He laid the box on the stump and carefully opened it. The box was lined with deer hide and contained two gun shaped recesses. In the recesses sat two dueling flintlock pistols with a bag of shot and a ball caster.
“Lads, you remember how I taught you to use these?" Archibald asked his sons. "Keep it clandestine until you’re up close and personal." The two boys nodded obediently as their father continued, "Now check the flint and prime the flash pan with this powder. I want those Queen Anne’s primed and ready, lads."
Maximilian and Amos each checked their flint and rammed their muzzles. They finished priming while Archibald got his musket ready. The blacksmith then tied on his sword and handed Patrick the axe and warning, “I hope you know how to swing this thing. Aim for the neck. You only will get one chance, so keep your aim true.”
Patrick had never been in a fight with weapons before in his life and was now panicking. His hands shook and the axe vibrated with fright. The master blacksmith quickly noticed Patrick’s nervousness and thought an errand would distract him from his fear. He then pulled out a large bag from his coat and instructed, “Go arm the women."
Patrick took the heavy bag into the house and emptied its contents on the stone table. Five Scottish dirks splayed across the table. Each of the women took one and Mari Anna took two. They practiced thrusting them in the air.
"Aim for the leaders," Mari Anna encouraged.
"Leaders?" Heather questioned.
"The neck veins. Where did you say you’re from again?" Mari Anna questioned. The three friends nervously giggled. The matriarch then shot them an intense gaze to remind them of the seriousness of the trouble coming.
Patrick returned from arming the women. The boys were directed to watch the front yard as the men hunkered down in the back yard under the dogwood. Archibald and Patrick doused their torches and cautiously scanned the darkness for hours. Aside from the chirping of frogs and locusts, the camp grew eerily silent. Confident the threat had passed, both men fell asleep under the dogwood tree in the early hours of the morning.
“Ah... At least ya still sleep under a tree like a proper Scot!” a booming Scottish voice woke the men.
<
br /> “Damn, lad! I damn near burned ya down with my firelock! Waking me like such,” Archibald replied to the kilted man with the Scottish brogue.
Heather came running from the house and threw herself around the kilted man. “Uncle William, it has been so long!”
“I see you be carrying a proper dagger, lass. This makes an old man proud," her Uncle William smiled. "Maybe we will finally make you into a proper Scottish woman soon enough.”
Behind the large, bearded, kilted man, a mule drawn wagon was parked. William grabbed Archibald and led him to the wagon speaking a combination of Scottish, English, and Gaelic. The wigged blacksmith grew irate and shook his fist at William.
“What are they talking about?” Patrick asked Heather.
“William told Father that he has been gelded because he no longer wears his kilt and he speaks in English tongue," Heather responded with a smile.
Archibald returned to speaking English and asked, “William, are you going to just keep insulting me or are you going to buy some nails?”
William roared with laughter. “Both! Darien is booming with growth and we can’t keep up with the demand for timber there. We are building sawmills to handle all the yellow pine and cypress. Check out all the wood in the cart. We are having a good harvest. When are you finally going to join your kinfolk and come to Darien, brother? You won’t have to be sneaking around pretending you’re English.”
Archibald’s eyes lit up with fire and he mumbled in an angry hushed tone, “I reminded you to hold your tongue about my family life.”
William laughed, “Ah, finally your Scottish blood is flowing. You are still alive in there!”
“How many nails you buying, you drunk?”
“All you got, of course! And I need some ‘other’ provisions,” the kilted man asked in a whisper.
“I am out of ‘other’ provisions but I can make some in two weeks’ time,” the blacksmith offered.
“Aye. I take it. I pay you after inspection. If anyone asks, tell them that Captain McPherson at Fort Argyle has commissioned you. These ‘other provisions’ are not for the fort, as it’s well stocked. McPherson is not coming into town anytime soon so no one will be the wiser.”
Pirates of Savannah: The Complete Trilogy - Colonial Historical Fiction Action Adventure (Pirates of Savannah (Adult Version)) Page 10