“You are welcome to stay with our clan here, brother, and join us,” Archibald said with a sympathetic tone. The bloody, kilted man nodded in affirmation.
Following Li Go Che and Garland’s careful pace, the group retraced their steps. They got as close as was safe to the fort and waited for an opportunity. A large pile of dead bodies laid strewn on the ground outside of Fort Mose. The Indian counted sixty-eight dead, most were Scottish. He also took note that there were only ten dead African bodies and about thirty captured men.
The party came across a British artillery division involved in a heated debate. The scavengers stayed their distance and listened intently. Patrick heard them arguing about whether or not they should abandon the artillery and escape. Oglethorpe’s siege was not holding. The Spanish managed to sneak supply ships through the Royal Navy blockade and any thought of starving St. Augustine into capitulation was lost. Oglethorpe now planned to storm the fortress by land while the navy ships attacked the Spanish ships and half-galleys in the harbor. Commodore Pearce, however, resolved to forgo the British navel attack during hurricane season. The commodore’s decision angered the general because he now would have to embarrassingly withdraw his forces. His entire campaign would be for nothing if he called a retreat and he would be disgraced. Now the Spanish were on the attack and driving the British out. The artillery units were running for their lives and leaving the cannons behind. The British soldiers were arguing amongst themselves about leaving the cannon mules behind when a spear struck one soldier in the back. A large group of black soldiers were screaming as they charged out of the woods throwing their spears. The British returned fire with muskets but were caught off guard. They were quickly overwhelmed and the few that were not already dead surrendered without a fight.
The old Indian motioned for the men to leave, but by that time it was too late. Garland barked to alert the group, but when they turned around, they found themselves at spear point. Twelve spears were pointed on the men who then quickly surrendered. Patrick pissed his leg in fear knowing that in seconds they would all be dead. He watched as the African soldiers started bickering and yelling at each other. One black warrior was arguing with the rest of the battle-raged group. The African advocate stepped between the spears and the prisoners and started yelling at his own troops. He waved a familiar looking Scottish battle-axe at his own men, backing them off. The group of five battle rats waited nervously to learn their fate.
“Archibald, no worry you not die today,” a familiar voice said. The advocate turned around and was hardly recognizable in full war gear.
“Alick? Is that you?” Archibald replied.
“Yes, friend. Gloria and I make it to Fort Mose. We free now!" the escaped slave smiled. "I tell da warriors here not ta kill you. I tell dem how you risked family’s life to help us. I tell dem you hate English. You lucky you’re not be dressed like a British. The warriors still want ta kill your Indian and Highlander!”
“Alick, please don’t kill these men. They also hate the British and don’t want to fight. They are like you Africans and are forced to fight for their freedom. They are used by the white man to do his bidding. They do not want to kill your men. Please help them. They are good men,” Archibald pleaded.
A series of translations set in motion. The tribesmen all spoke their own language and each conversation had to be translated many times. There was much heated debate and the infighting between the warriors was lengthy. Finally, Alick explained, “You may return home in peace. No Africans be killing you but we no speak for da Spanish. We keep these British cannon men as prisoners. You stay here. You not run off and warn other British we coming!”
The five men nodded in agreement and sat on the ground, unthreateningly, while they watched the Black soldiers regroup and head out to kill more British. The Africans vanished into the marsh, quiet as ghosts. Patrick’s feeling of terror was starting to fade. The pounding of his heart returned to normal as he stopped shaking with fear. He stood up and could not figure out why the rest of the group was smiling ear to ear. “Did I miss something? We all just about met the devil by spear,” Patrick questioned.
“Yes, that was a bit close, lad, but you might be looking around now?” McIntosh laughed. Patrick saw eight cannons completely alone and unguarded. There was a small army of mules as well as artillery carts of gunpowder, cannon balls and supplies. “Fuck this scrounging for muskets, those cannons could make us all rich the rest of our lives. Archibald, we have to take these and conceal them now!” the large Scotsman stated with excitement.
All eyes fell on Archibald. “Li Go Che, can you find us a place to hide these?”
The old Indian reflected and searched his memory. “Yes, a cave I found hunting when I was young warrior, two days into the marsh. We must leave now. All mules in one line. We must take them down river to hide tracks.” The savvy men wasted no time seizing the opportunity. They clumsily formed a mule-and-cannon parade and marched the entire lot into the swamp. They slowly moved the line of cannons and carts for hours. The white-haired Indian kept retracing their path and trying to hide the deep wheel tracks. He did his best; his efforts would have fooled a novice, but not an experienced tracker. The party slowed to a crawl as they maneuvered downstream and through creeks to completely erase their tracks. They were even blessed with a hard rain to further melt their prints in the earth. Fear drove them into the night and they did not stop to rest. They knew if the Spanish or Africans saw them, they would be killed on sight. If the British caught them they would be hung as thieves. It was a very dangerous game they played.
After two exhausting days of travel, the group arrived at two large burial mounds hidden deep in the swamp. The Indian man summoned his companions for help. In front of one of the mounds was a large pile of stones.
“Whoa! Whoa!” Isaac exclaimed. “This is not a cave, this is a tomb! I am not digging up a tomb. We need to find somewhere else to hide these.”
“No, these mounds are sacred. This mound is fake tomb. No Indian would ever open, it safe. Now move rock, big man!” the Indian gestured.
It took a long time to move all the rocks, but the crew was amazed at what was revealed. The mound was just an entrance to a large underground room. It still had barrels and some tools in it. The walls of the massive underground chamber were actually buttressed with timber and the cave was very deep. It was in the higher ground of the swamp so it would not flood inside when it rained.
The secret Indian burial mound
“My tribe hide here from Spanish soldiers and slavers. It took many moons to build. Men forget this place for many years. Cannons safe here,” Li Go Che said proudly.
The men worked all morning, carefully using the mules to position the cannons and carts. The massive chamber was crammed full. The men would argue and reposition the cannons and carts over and over, trying to make them all fit. Finally Isaac discovered a pattern that allowed everything to fit neatly. They used the oil and canopies in the carts to protect the cannons. The cannons were dried and then covered with oil so as not to rust, and then everything was covered with canopies. The tomb was then sealed closed with rocks to match the appearance of the others. The men were grinning proudly at their hard work. Archibald suggested to push on and camp away from the spot in case they were being perused. The men did their best to wipe clean the area of tracks to appear as if no one had ever stopped there. The exhausted group finally made camp and reveled in their good fortune.
“Lads, it will be perfect if we pull this off. The English will assume they were abandoned and the Spanish stole them. The Spanish will assume the English recovered them and, not go looking for them. It is truly devious of us,” Archibald bragged. “I know someone interested in buying these cannons but we will have to come back and move them out to the coast. Great warrior, will you help us?”
“I want profit of four cannons,” the Indian replied.
“I will give you the profit of three cannons and all the mules,” Archibald negotiat
ed. The old man accepted this with a smile and held out his arm. Archibald locked wrists in the Creek custom.
“I will take the mules with me and hide them. Two months, at full moon, come back to move cannons," the Indian instructed. "Tomorrow take different paths. Draw map for you to return home safe.” The men agreed and in a short time all were asleep, even Garland.
Chapter 12
Road Agents
and Flesh Palaces
The swamp heat and stench of warming algae woke the group early. All the men and even the collie were covered with painful bug welts from their trek into the marsh. The poor dog was a miserable mess of fleas, ticks, and tangles. The loud sounds of locusts and frogs overtook the men’s conversations. Until now, the seasoned Indian guide had somehow kept the group safe from gators, wolves and other dangerous beasts. Now the men had to venture unguided to Darien and then on to Savannah. They knew they had to move fast to make it by nightfall. Roads were extremely dangerous at night and without a seasoned scout, they were easy prey to road agents and highwaymen that plagued the area. Patrick wondered how this one old man showed no fear at all while marching off deeper into the forbidding switch grass with sixteen mules and a dog. They were off on their way early when Archibald advised the group to change their musket to smaller shot. The group loaded four smaller balls into the muskets instead of one large ball normally used for battle and large game. He figured boar blast or wild pig shot would give them a better defense against gators or such. The men kept a fast pace but the sounds of Scottish cussing could be heard throughout the swamp. Apparently, a kilt did little to persuade the swamp bugs and sand gnats. Without a guide, the group seemed to almost step on a gator every hour, but they followed the Indian’s advice. They would slowly back away and make a large circle around it. The massive reptiles showed no fear of the men and were mostly too busy sunbathing to notice.
The amount of alligators and snakes slowed down their progress, for they were still not close to Darien. Camping this close to the road was asking to get murdered in the night. They only had one unfortunate option left. To get home as fast as possible they would have to move very quickly up the dark road. Soon nightfall had completely set in and the blackness took over. The moon was hidden and the starlight was not sufficient enough to light their way. To travel in pitch black was extremely foolish and even more dangerous than bandits. One wet and slimy stone could turn a foot or a knee. A foxhole or large rut could find a man impaled by his own blade from a fall, but the men valiantly and foolishly stumbled up the road in darkness. The marsh winds were picking up and storm clouds covered the stars.
Isaac heard a soft creaking sound and quietly stopped the group. He encouraged them to listen to the black. The creaking sound seemed to amplify with the wind and it had a consistent rhythm. Rrrrrrrrrr, rrrrrrrrrr, rrrrrrrrr was heard about every second. The men drew their flintlocks and lined up shoulder to shoulder. They reached out and touched each other’s shoulders to stay within the next man’s limited sight. They stood dead still for minutes listening to the noise repeat over and over. William finally spoke up. “Fook this! I still got one dry torch,” he impatiently stated.
“Clang, Clang, Clang” pierced the air as bright sparks lit up the ground. The men’s eyes went blind as the torch turned the blackness to light. A low-pitched scream was then heard followed by a smashing and a rattling sound. When Patrick’s eyes adjusted, he saw Isaac standing next to half of a decaying skeleton. The other half lay at Isaac’s feet.
Archibald broke into laughter, “You smashed him good. You look like one of those massive golems out of your Jewish stories.”
McIntosh held the torch aloft reveling three other decaying corpses hanging from a tree and stated, “No worries, lads. This is just the thieves’ tree. It means we are close to Darien. Come on, it's not far now.”
Patrick and Isaac were still in shock, but the two Scottish men pressed forward with no signs of mental distress. Archibald comforted the two men explaining, “Hanging trees are still common in Scotland even today. It is a message to the road agents to steer clear of the town. You should have seen how they used to do it in the moors when I was a child. My town still had human-shaped iron cages that had been used for hundreds of years on bandits.” He continued as Patrick and Isaac's mouths hung open. “‘Tis true. They would throw the poor bastards in alive and starve them for weeks. I remember hearing hours of screams from men slowly dying. They would scream in pain as their own bodies slowly ate themselves. We are much more civilized here. Now, we just stretch their necks and be done with it.”
“Stop talking, you screech owls! Christ, a deaf man could hear you!” McIntosh warned. The men walked very quickly and followed the torchlight. “I hear something. I think this damn torch attracted up some attention. Let’s move, lads!" McIntosh commanded.
The four men broke into a fast, clumsy jog. The sounds of their large packs clinging and clanging alerted the world to their pace. “Not much further, through these fields. I know where we are,” the kilted man stated.
They knew they were being pursued. The men could hear the sounds of many footsteps behind them keeping pace.
“Me farm is right there, lads! Run!” the Scotsman said in a panic. The men tore up the road to the house in frenzied sprint but the footsteps were closing in on them.
"Lads! Fire your pig shot directly behind us into the darkness," Archibald pleaded. "Trust me! Do it!"
A gang of road agents stalk the men at night
The men slowed their sprint as they blindly pointed their muskets behind them. The dark road lit up with musket fire and group of angry bandit faces could be seen in the flashes. Screams could be heard from the gang of thieves behind them. Throwing his torch at them, William ran toward his home. He shouted something in Scottish as loud as he could, over and over, as they sprinted toward the house. The wild musket shots bought the fleeing group a few seconds to make their final dash to the house.
The house door flew open and three women and a boy with muskets stepped onto the porch. The women and the boy took fire into the darkness behind the fleeing group and immediately ran back into the house. The exhausted group burst into the house and fell over each other. They immediately got to their feet and barricaded the doors. Angry screams could be heard cursing outside in the night wind. Behind their barricade, everyone reloaded and took positions at the windows as sentries. They sat and listened to the gang yell at each other while one of their men screamed in pain. The screams of agony grew louder and louder until a gunshot was heard and the screaming stopped. By the time second sleep approached, the bandits had finally abandoned their siege.
“Thank you, family, for saving your father’s hairy arse once again,” McIntosh smiled.
One of the young ladies said, “Gross, Boban! That is disgusting!” The men in the room laughed and the tension at the moment lifted.
“Dis is me bride, Deborah, and our girls, Lindsay and Lauren,” the large Scot introduced proudly. “Dat over there is me little wean, Roderick,” he said, pointing to the boy.
“Well, we are all indebted to your clan. Thank you for helping save us from those bandits,” Archibald said to the family.
“Well you saved me soul with the blacks, so we be level now,” McIntosh reasoned.
Lauren, William, Lindsey and Deborah McIntosh
The exhausted men worked out shifts and rotated sleeping. In the morning, the four men emerged from the house slowly, fully armed. It did not take long before they discovered a naked body shot several times. The men cautiously dragged it into the swamp for the gators and wolves to enjoy.
Isaac, Archibald, and Patrick stayed with the family for three more days until they declared it safe. They were eager to get home and see their friends and family.
“I want ya three to wear these for protection against the dark. They will keep away marauders, ghosts, and the Devil. Ya tempt Satan when yas travel in the dark,” Deborah cautioned. She gifted the men with three large Rowan wood cro
sses that were about the size of their hands. The wood was fastened together with switch grass.
“She had dem brought over from Scotland. A very old tradition. Rowan wood is a very powerful and magical wood,” William added.
“Thank you so much," Archibald gratefully replied. "It is nice to have something from the moors. I sure miss those beautiful, foggy mornings.” The men said their heart-filled goodbyes and then they were back on the trail to Savannah.
Archibald joked, "Sorry Isaac. I guess you could cut that cross up and make it into a Jewish star.”
“Well the sentiment was very nice," Isaac replied. "I will keep it. You can’t have too many things to keep away evil.”
They made their way to Savannah as fast as possible while the sun was up. They left very early in the morning and arrived in Savannah without incident. It was dusk when they arrived at the edge of town and the blacksmiths said an affectionate goodbye to Isaac. “Tell Dr. Nunis to come see me tomorrow and we will settle up on pay for your services,” Archibald reminded Isaac.
The indenture and his boss returned home to find it already prepared for the night. The Freemans had already done the nightly “shut in.” For hundreds of years, their ancestors used this ancient procedure to protect them from the dangers of the night. The door was locked with a huge key that tumbled the slide locks. The family locked down the shutters and pulled the blinds. Archibald had also installed iron bars on the inside of the windows to protect them from night thieves. He was especially adamant about the shut in procedure when he was not at home. After all, Savannah was made mostly of corrupt soldiers and criminals. Archibald knocked on the door and announced in a deep voice, “We are here for Marian. Send her out in her nightwear!”
Pirates of Savannah: The Complete Trilogy - Colonial Historical Fiction Action Adventure (Pirates of Savannah (Adult Version)) Page 17