Pirates of Savannah: The Complete Trilogy - Colonial Historical Fiction Action Adventure (Pirates of Savannah (Adult Version))

by Tarrin P. Lupo

  For days they ignored their patrol duties and focused instead on chopping wood. Without plenty of fire, it would be easy to succumb to the coming cold. In days filled with hard work, they had chopped enough wood for three months. When the men reasoned they had enough wood, they finally decided to perform their job of patrolling. The first few weeks of patrol were completely uneventful. Isaac had killed a doe which Patrick had preserved by smoking the venison over a fire like the old warrior had showed him. The weather had chilled some, but no snow had appeared yet. The men found themselves in a daily routine of living off the land. The creek was loaded with bass this time of year and the men enjoyed lazy afternoons of fishing.

  “Funny how the owner of this land is worried about poachers, yet we constantly have to hunt to keep fed," Patrick laughed. "We will end up killing more game than the bandits.”

  The men started to ignore the patrolling duties more and more and simply enjoyed the quiet pleasures of the isolated location. Patrick took the time to carve wooden chess pieces and taught Isaac to play. The two friends chopped many cords of wood before the snow finally dusted the woods. It was January and time had passed without incident. That was until one cold morning, Crack!

  The shot of a firelock echoed through the woods. The sentries sprung to their feet and dressed for battle.

  Crack! Crack! Two more shots rang out.

  Patrick and Isaac ran through the pristine snow toward the sounds of musket fire. Isaac picked up a trail in the snow of two men. It took little time to track them down following the fresh footprints. “Freeze or I will burn you through!” Patrick yelled as he and Isaac held the two poachers at musket point. “Drop your knives and we will let you leave in peace.”

  The poachers were caught skinning a freshly killed bear. They dropped their knives at Patrick’s command.

  “I will make you a deal to avoid bloodshed," the hulking Jew offered. "You can take the hide of this beast but you have to leave the meat with us. The meat is not worth dying over.”

  The two Indian poachers stood up slowly and nodded in agreement.

  “Finish your skinning then hunt here no more. If we catch you hunting this land again we will fire on you,” Patrick threatened.

  The Indians must have understood since they quickly returned to skinning the bear. The poachers were very fast and efficient in their work. They removed anything of value including the claws.

  “We want the meat out, too. Keep cutting,” Isaac yelled. “No reason we should have to do all that hard work,” he laughed.

  The illegal hunters sliced the meat out with great skill. Nothing was wasted. One of the Indians pointed at the green gallbladder and then pointed at himself. “Go ahead and take it,” Patrick conceded, waving his hand. “Do you remember? Li Go Che said savages use bear gallbladders for medicines. We have no use for it. They can make money with it,” Patrick informed Isaac.

  The poachers stood up and unthreatingly walked backwards. They took the hide and the other bits and scurried away.

  “Don’t come hunting here no more,” Patrick shouted once more at the men. “That was wise, Isaac. Now we have lots of meat for winter. Let’s go dry this on the fire.” The men enjoyed bear and fish the rest of the mild winter.

  “I have to say," Patrick reveled as he sipped at a hot tea one day. "Not sure what the big deal is. This is the best job I ever had.”

  Snow was still on the ground in March when Mr. Perry returned. Isaac and Patrick already had the pack mule loaded and were eager to leave. “Take your pay and go,” Mr. Perry snorted as he threw two bags of silver at their feet. The two friends took their earnings and headed out.

  “I sure am glad I spent the winter with you, Isaac, instead of that master of conversation, Mr. Perry,” Patrick joked making both men laugh.

  Six long months had passed when Patrick and Isaac returned home to the Argyle Colony. The men were astonished to see all the progress that had been accomplished in their absence. The new houses were finished and the three families finally had their own space. They were greeted with much excitement. The mild winter allowed them to continue working and now they could focus all their efforts on crops for the fall. Isaac and Patrick contributed their new earnings to the group which would buy them enough food until harvest.

  Patrick was soon informed that Archibald left one last gift to his family. Marian was gaining weight and even with her loose dress one could tell with she was in a family way. The family was very excited about the unexpected pregnancy and it seemed to help everyone move past Archibald’s murder.

  Life finally set into a nice quiet rhythm. The families were truly enjoying spending their days with each other. The spring came along with back-breaking planting but the seeds had taken to the soil and were actually sprouting. Patrick remembered the old Indian mentioning a trick to growing corn. They would bury dead fish under the corn seed. The natural fertilizer set up the perfect environment for the plant to take root. All was turning around and going great for Patrick until...

  Chapter 18

  Bloody Marsh

  and Gully Hole Creek

  “You have to come with me back to Savannah!” William commanded.

  “You came all the way up here to get me? What is the problem, old friend?” Patrick asked.

  “I think yar sister be in Savannah. An indentured servant named Garland just arrived. She is rumored to have mentioned yar name and be searching for ya. Did ya not tell us ya named the Indian’s dog after yar sister?” the kilted man asked.

  “I did send a letter a while back. Could it really be true that it found her? We have to find her. Who purchased her contract?" Patrick matched William’s excitement.

  “I have not found that out yet," the Scot explained. "This is all rumor to me. I have not yet confirmed any of this tale. I thought ya would be wanting to know first.”

  Later that night Patrick called a meeting of the families and explained William’s news. “I am going back to a very dangerous situation. I have to go to my sister before she ends up in a life of horror. Being a female indenture is not much different than a being a slave. I've heard the stories around town. Women indentures are routinely beaten and raped by their owners. I can’t leave her to a life like that, especially since she came looking for me. I don’t want to leave you, but I have to know if it is her,” Patrick finished.

  The families discussed the risk but after some debate they gave him their blessings.

  “I also ask the families' permission to go with Patrick, to keep him alive. He needs a counterpart with a rational mind, not just crazy Scottish warriors,” Isaac shot William an eye.

  Marian spoke up, “You can go too, but I want you back by the time this child comes calling.”

  “It’s settled. We'll pack up and be ready to travel by first light. I need to cut this beard and hair off so I look different. Will one of you ladies help me?” the indenture asked.

  Prudence pulled her knife, “I will be happy to trim down that fooking rat’s nest on your face. It’s about time. What about you Isaac? You want to cut down that disgusting crumb catcher, too?”

  “No, Prudence. My religion forbids it,” the Jewish man countered.

  “Your religion sure does forbid a lot of shite. Do you all do anything fun? Is it always pray, pray, and pray? What the fook does your God have against a clean face anyway? You do realize, Patrick, that even though you be changing your appearance, people are still going to notice a gigantic hairy Jew traveling with you,” Prudence warned.

  “I will dress him in a really large women’s cloak. He has the ankles to pull it off,” Patrick smirked. Isaac’s massive hand smacked Patrick in the back of the head causing him to almost fall out of his chair while the families laughed.

  “Well, get cutting then!” Patrick barked as Heather and Mari Anna laughed.

  William, Patrick. and Isaac all left in the morning and made fast time to the little fishing sloop. The ship avoided the dock and dock master completely this time and had a s
mall row boat waiting for them on shore. The men loaded their things and were ferried out to the waiting Scottish-owned sloop.

  “Where to, William?” the captain asked.

  “I think it is time to call out a favor, lads! Go to the little Yamacraw village above Savannah. Get us as close as you can."

  The men had a blessing of good luck and made it to the little village without incident. Patrick held up the belt made of beads the rescued Indians gave him at Fort Mose. When he held it aloft, the belt was recognized as a sign of peace. Normally, white men would have been killed by mistakenly wandering into the Indian village. Travelers would not know subtle Creek protocol and, unknowingly would offend or threaten the tribe. Even with the belt, the three men approached cautiously and slowly. Hooting and shouts shot across the camp signaling alarm. The men were quickly surrounded by Indian warriors who were inspecting them closely.

  “Do any of you speak the king’s tongue?" Isaac inquired.

  One of the warriors nodded and held his hand out to which Patrick surrendered the family belt to the painted man. The Indian looked it over and read the little bead pictures woven into the belt. “Stay,” the warrior commanded with his open palm. He then ran off into the woods.

  The three travelers found themselves under guard with nothing to do but wait. While they waited, the men stared at the interesting sites in the village. The village was impressive, but primitive. Nothing was permanent and looked as if it could be folded up and moved in a matter of minutes. Although the camp seemed temporary, it was expansive. It hinted that the tribe had finally stopped moving so much and set up a more elaborate camp with massive fire pits and totem poles.

  “Fuck all this standing, lads. I am sitting on me arse,” William announced as he sat. Patrick and Isaac looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and sat down, too. The Scot produced a fist-sized deerskin pouch filled with hemp. He offered it to the closest warrior guarding him. The painted man looked surprised and slowly opened it. The Indian quickly smiled and beckoned his hokti to bring him a pipe. The feathered woman soon returned with a long ornate pipe and a small torch. The happy Yamacraw packed the pipe and lit the slow burning hemp with the small torch.

  The warrior held the smoke in his lungs for what seemed an eternity and then blew a puff of blue smoke out slowly. He then passed the pipe to William and he drew deep trying to match the warrior's time. As the kilted man blew the smoke out, he passed it to the guard standing next to him who in turn smiled and sat down. After only a few minutes, a large group of Indian men were sitting with the three outsiders smoking. An old Indian passed the decorative pipe to Patrick who over eagerly inhaled. The scarred-face man quickly choked and coughed on the smoke. The group enjoyed a hardy laugh at his expense, relaxing the tense situation.

  By the time the original warrior returned with the belt, nobody in the group had noticed. The entire pouch was empty and the guards were laughing loudly as they practiced their broken English on the prisoners.

  The man with the belt now was escorted by three familiar looking redskins. “Me called So Lat Ti Kee. You white skins that free us. How we can help?”

  It seemed everyone loved the smoke except Patrick. He was green, queasy and had a headache so Isaac spoke up for him. “We need your expert tracking skills to find someone. A white woman named Garland came from England last month as an indentured servant and is now in Savannah. We need you to find her and bring her back to us.”

  “What she look like?” the Warrior inquired.

  “No idea now. She used to have bright, blonde-yellow hair, like straw,” Patrick squeaked out.

  “You stay here. We find straw hair,” So Lat Ti Kee commanded. He then, in turn, spoke to the guards and explained the situation. The three warriors quickly departed in the direction of Savannah as So Lat Ti Kee tied the reunited family belt back around his waist.

  “Ya redskins know Li Go Che? He be one dangerous old man!” William asked.

  The group of smoke-happy warriors did not understand the Scotsman’s brogue or just ignored him. The red men were busy ordering their women to feed their guests. The hoktaki went over to a large bubbling caldron that was always ready. The idea of set meals times was a silly notion to the Yamacraw. Within minutes, the three travelers were enjoying some peaches and deer stew.

  The buzzing of a large, black puff of flies woke Patrick who was sleeping on the ground. The other two men were already awake sitting in the dirt trying to gather their bearings.

  “Good lord, dos Injuns sure do know how to smoke. I had not seen smoke and grog consumed like that since a Scottish funeral,” William chuckled.

  “Wake me when those warriors return with my sister. I am going back to sleep over there in the shade,” Patrick stated as he stumbled to a spot under an oak with Spanish moss hanging from its branches.

  “For the lord's sake, don’t let that hanging moss touch ya. It be loaded with little red bitey things,” William warned.

  Patrick quickly passed out in the shade while the other men went to make water.

  He was woken up by someone shaking his shoulder. “Sister sold to group of white soldiers. War break out again. Spanish get revenge and plan to take Savannah from British,” the Indian informed him. “Fifty Spanish ships seen near Fort Simons. Oglethorpe be calling back Creek to fight again. Your straw haired sister be with redcoat soldiers traveling to St. Simons. We take you to St. Simons, rescue sister from white soldiers."

  “You will be traveling with known men. If the British catch you helping us, they will kill us all. This could be very dangerous for you, my new friend,” Patrick explained to the Indian.

  “We honor life debt to you. We save sister, you forgive debt?” the Indian asked.

  “Absolutely. We will be on the level, redskin,” Patrick guaranteed.

  “I really do not want to go back into that mosquito and gator infested death swamp, but I really want to find my sister," Patrick explained. "Isaac, William, I do not expect you to go traipsing through such a dangerous place just to help me with my debt I owe my sister.”

  “We are all family now, even if our blood is different. Your sister is our sister. Of course we are coming, you fool," Isaac smiled.

  Patrick stumbled to his feet and hugged the men. “Oh, God, I feel awful! Don’t hug too hard or I will unload my guts on your boots," the green man warned.

  “Can you trust these redskins not to sell us to the British for silver?” Isaac queried.

  “Honor is extremely important to dem in their culture. If this Injun be not honoring his word, his tribe would forsake him and his family. His honor be much more important to him than silver, lads,” William responded.

  The white men rested and cleaned their muskets while a large group of Yamacraw warriors were preparing to go fight the white man's war again. So Lat Ti Kee rode up with three warhorses wearing English saddles. The appaloosas were painted with yellow and black hand prints. A feeling of panic ran up Patrick’s woozy spine. He had never been on a horse before. Although horses were everywhere in Savannah, Archibald preferred to walk or to travel by carriage. The deceased man had been thrown off the back of a gelding and slammed into a fence when he was younger and had never forgiven the beasts. Isaac and William mounted the steeds with ease and the group watched and waited for Patrick to mount. Patrick took a deep breath and placed his foot in the stirrup. He awkwardly grabbed the saddle and pulled. The appaloosa picked up on the man’s unsteadiness and lurched forward. One foot followed the stirrup and the other held fast on the ground. The steed quickly ripped Patrick off his foot and dragged him away from the camp. So Lat Ti Kee chased down the horse, laughing. The equine steadied and the white men helped a scraped and bruised Patrick up into his saddle.

  “Just relax and don’t yank the steeds bit. They hate that. Bend your knees and lean back a little,” Isaac advised.

  Patrick clumsily steered his painted beast into the line of horses and held his reins in fearsome dread.

  “Relax
, lad. The beast knows if ya be frightened of him and will test ya. Just stay between us and we will help ya get the hang of it,” William chimed in.

  “How do you stop this damn thing?!” Patrick yelled as his horse picked up its pace to match the herd.

  “Don’t worry, Patrick. We will teach you on the journey,” Isaac laughed.

  The three rescuers rode out and somehow kept pace with the fast moving warriors. The three white men followed the painted men for days deep into the swamps. They veered their path away from Savannah and steered clear of any British inhabitants. The warriors scouted ahead and kept the white men invisible for the entire journey.

  * * *

  It was July 17th, 1742, when So Lat Ti Kee came back to the men with news. Patrick had discovered through the scout that the Spanish had already seized St. Simons weeks ago and were occupying the fort. A small, one-carriage road named Military Road ran between Fort St. Simon and Ft. Frederica through the dense woods. “We find straw hair. She cook for Chief Oglethorpe soldiers at a camp half day from here. Tomorrow, we go together and take her,” the Indian announced. The rest of his tribesman had gone to help the British repel the Spanish so So Lat Ti Kee was able to pass through English lines without suspicion.

  A map of Military road in the Battles of Bloody Marsh and Gully Hole Creek

  “Huzzah! Let us finish this and get the hell out of this damned swamp,” Isaac exclaimed.

  “Let us enjoy one more lovely night of being dinner for the hungry bugs. We must not rush in blindly,” Patrick countered, paying homage to Archibald by flattering the Indian. “We will make a plan tonight. Great warrior, report what you have seen with your hawk eyes.” The scout’s mood brightened and he smiled. He sat down and constructed a crude model of the camp with sticks and stones. William pulled out more hemp and sat down for a smoke as they hatched a plan.

  “Let us get a good night’s rest before we move. My arse is still red from all this riding,” Patrick complained.