In a Pirate's Debt

by Elva Cobb Martin

  She cleared her throat and replied, “Yes, just down the corridor. There is a priest, and two Spanish ladies and their maid.”

  He bowed, turned on his heel, and proceeded down the passage.

  A marine waited at the door as Travay and Merle bundled the new clothing Lucas had given them into a trunk in the corner.

  Lucas sat in the dark, stinking hold of the British man-of-war in a cell with Thorpe and five others of their crewmen. One of them turned to Lucas. “Wonder where they are taking us?”

  Sinbad, in his own special cell down the row, growled, “Charles Town, I done heard. To them hanging gibbets at low tide. But they’ll never hang me is what I say.”

  Ayes erupted from the other prisoners, followed by curses.

  His stomach rebelling with hunger pangs, Lucas picked the weevils from the hardtack they had been served and stuffed the bread into his mouth. How were Travay, Merle, and the Contessa faring on a British man-of-war? And would the young captain pursue Travay at every opportunity? What did she think of him? He had escorted her to the Drakes’ Ball.

  Lucas pushed away familiar jealous feelings. He had no claim and never would have a claim regarding Travay Allston. He forced his mind back to the information the young Contessa Maria had given him about a woman who sounded much like his mother, and his heart lifted. Why would God give him this new information and then let him be hanged before he could rescue her? He knew God better than that. He took a deep breath and leaned back on the straw and soon fell fast asleep.

  On the third day at sea, Travay sat at the captain’s table, dressed in a frothy rose gown found in her cabin. She suspected the giver might have been Captain Hawkins but had no way of knowing. She and the other women had been brought aboard the man-of-war when the marines assigned to sail Lucas’ ship to Charles Town took command. They had been treated with respect. The captain, formal in his British uniform and responsibility, kept his distance. But when she met his eyes across the table, she saw the bright interest he wanted to conceal from his men. He must never learn of her friendship with Captain Bloodstone, or it might go even worse for Lucas.

  Her heart rolling in turmoil, she pushed the food around on her plate. What were the prisoners in the hold being fed, if anything? But why should she care? Disgust rose in her throat as she remembered Lucas kissing young Maria in the shadows on the deck of the Revenge. He had seemed to avoid the Contessa afterward, but what did that signify? Had they met again secretly? Why did that idea bring a pain to her heart? Travay forced such thoughts from her mind and looked around the table.

  Merle and Senora Pilar seemed to be enjoying the British ship’s fare and the captain’s conversation.

  The Contessa, shining like an angel in her white silk and lace, leaned toward Travay and whispered, “I hate this capitan. I detest what he is doing to Capitan Bloodstone. He may be beaten and hurt. How can you sit here and act like nothing is wrong?”

  Travay looked at the younger woman and sighed. “What else can we do?”

  “We can ask to visit the prisoners.” The Contessa sat up tall in her chair and pushed the white lace mantilla from one ivory shoulder with a graceful movement of her wrist. “I will see to it.”

  The eye of every male present turned toward her when she cleared her throat.

  “Sir Capitan, I have a great favor to ask.” She gave him a beguiling smile and cocked her chin.

  Travay could well imagine Maria twisting almost any man around her dainty finger. Lucas had proven no problem.

  Captain Hawkins’ face turned pink as he looked at her. “And what is that, Contessa?”

  “I want to visit the prisoners.”

  He blotted his lips with his napkin and laid it on the table beside his plate. “Why would a lovely young woman like you want to visit the brig? It is no place for women.”

  “But I demand to see if they are being treated kindly. I am well aware of what goes on in the holds of ships. My father has ten ships.” Her dark eyes narrowed, and she banged her small fist on the table.

  The captain exchanged glances with his first lieutenant. The air around the table grew tense.

  The captain cleared his throat and surprised Travay with his next words. “Very well then, milady, you shall indeed see the brig and the prisoners.” He turned to his second mate, a young man of no more than twenty. “Mr. Braswell, escort Contessa Maria and her duenna to the brig first thing in the morning. After breakfast, of course.”

  Senora Pilar rapped her silver spoon on the table. Every head turned in her direction. “No. I cannot allow it, and I will not go.” She sat back as if the matter were settled.

  Captain Hawkins lifted a brow as he looked from Maria to her duenna.

  Travay took a deep breath. So this had been his plan to start with. He had known the elder woman would never agree. Travay’s voice cut the thick silence. “I will go with her.”

  The captain turned to look at her. His face and voice softened. “You, milady? Surely you do not wish to do this. Do you have any idea what the prison on a ship is like? The smell is terrible. The hold of a ship is often infested with—”

  “I will go.” Travay did not hesitate to reply.

  The man loosened his collar, frowned, and looked straight ahead. “Very well. I suggest both you ladies take handkerchiefs. You will surely need them.” With that, the captain stood, signifying the dinner was over. He turned on his heel and left without another glance at either Travay or the Contessa.

  Walking down the passageway, Travay couldn’t help smiling when she thought of the boldness of the young Contessa.

  Maria touched her arm. “I will bring a handkerchief, but it will be filled with good things.” She pulled pieces of bread from her sleeve. “And tomorrow I will get boiled eggs and cheese, too.”

  The next morning, Travay awoke at the sound of the five-thirty bells. By the seven-thirty bells, she and the Contessa, Merle, and the duenna sat at the captain’s table, although he was not present. Travay found herself stuffing everything she could into her pockets when no one was looking. She knew Maria did the same. They would have enough to bless several prisoners.

  Finally, Second Mate Braswell stood and bowed before them. “Ladies, if you are ready, we will descend.”

  Merle leaned over and slipped a sausage into Travay’s already stuffed pocket.

  Senora Pilar sniffed and glared at the Contessa.

  Carmen came up from the servants’ quarter and slipped another egg to Maria.

  The walk down into the bowels of the ship made Travay’s breathing difficult as fresh sea air grew scarce and the smell grew putrid.

  Mr. Braswell lit a lamp from the wall and carried it in his hand when they reached the bottom level where no sunlight could invade.

  “Watch your steps, ladies, and the puddles of … water.”

  Travay saw the bars as the lantern lit the way.

  “Is this it? Where is Capitan Bloodstone, sir?” The Contessa’s young feminine voice echoed down the dark passageway, and all sorts of voices rose in catcalls.

  “Hey, fellows, we got us a leddy visito—or maybe she’s just a ’hore.”

  “Hey, my pretty, why don’t you sidle over here and gi’me a lit’l kiss?”

  The second mate rattled his sword against the wall. “Shut your foul mouths, men, or it will be twenty lashes for each of you.” He stopped beside a cell.

  Lucas came to the bars. Travay gasped. He looked pale and shaggy with three days’ beard on his face, but his eyes caught hers, and he smiled.

  “Oh, Lucas.” Tears sprang to Travay’s eyes, but the Contessa pushed in front of her and reached her hand through the bars to Lucas.

  “Look, we have brought you good food.” She began to empty the contents of her pockets into Lucas’ hands, then Thorpe’s and the other hands that quickly stretched out in the light of the lantern held by Braswell.

  Travay blinked back the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, and she filled the hands reaching from the cells.<
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  Thanks erupted from the prisoners before the sounds of eating made words impossible for several minutes.

  Then Lucas’ deep voice rose from within the cell. “Travay, Contessa, we appreciate what you have done, but this is no place for you to come again. Do you hear me?” His words carried the strong authority they always did. He came to stand as near as the bars allowed, close to Travay. His eyes searched her face as if making a memory. “You must go. Now, Travay, and don’t come back.”

  The Contessa leaned against the iron rails toward him. “I will get my father to have you released.”

  Travay backed away and tried pulling the Contessa with her. Something scampered across Travay’s foot, and Maria’s satin-encased foot stepped on whatever it was. It squeaked, a piteous sound.

  The Contessa screamed and jumped back toward Second Mate Braswell who managed to catch her around the waist with his free arm. The lantern in his other hand swung ominously.

  The young woman turned and looked up admiringly into the mate’s face, which was a scant inch from hers. He promptly turned a deep red. She giggled.

  He struggled back into his British officer composure. “Ladies, let’s go.” He helped Maria regain her footing and removed his arm from her waist.

  “Certainly, Mr. Braswell.” The girl’s full lips spread into a deep smile as she moved away from him and adjusted her skirts.

  “Goodbye, Lucas.” Travay’s voice broke. Would she ever see him again?

  “Goodbye, Travay.”

  Lucas’s voice, calm and assured, did not give her any relief from the clamps around her heart. How could he be so at peace in such a horrible place?

  The Contessa stayed close to the second mate as they ascended from the hold. At the cabin door, she lingered behind Travay and awarded Mr. Braswell a warm gaze. He promptly turned two shades of scarlet, bowed, and departed.

  So, the little fox had another bird in mind to charm. Sorry, Lucas.

  CHAPTER 21

  In Charles Town, His Majesty’s soldiers escorted Lucas, along with Thorpe and Sinbad and the rest of the crew of the Revenge, down the moldy steps of the Court of Guard dungeon. As they reached the lowest level, the smell of sweat, unwashed bodies, and decay hit Lucas’ nose like a portentous cloud. Who knew how long they’d be held here before the trial.

  He tromped between the guards through the labyrinth of corridors. Their boots echoed on the uneven stone, and his captors’ swords clanged at their sides. Lucas surveyed the brick walls, floors, ceilings, and the small slits that passed for windows emitting little light. What hope of escape was there from such a place?

  As they passed the cells, catcalls, curses, and petitions for help from prisoners packed six or more to a space followed them. Sobs rose from a corner filled with dirty straw. Lucas frowned to see a woman in the same cell with men. As he passed more cells, another woman reached out a thin, pale arm and touched his shoulder. He turned to glance at her.

  “Hello, there, handsome. Wish they’d put you in my cell.”

  He looked into the smiling, dirty face of a middle-aged woman dressed in rags, with rotten teeth and empty spaces souring her smile. What had she done to deserve this hole?

  Up the corridor, the guards stopped and herded Lucas’ crew into two cells, but they held him back. Sinbad and Thorpe looked at him through the bars, their faces impassive. A guard jabbed Lucas, and he made his way forward down the passage.

  One of the guards snickered as he pushed Lucas into a smaller cell with another prod between his shoulder blades. “You get your own little corner of hell, being the captain and all. Big pirate man.” He slammed the heavy iron-barred door shut with a rusty clang. His raucous, mocking laughter, joined by the other guards, spread through the dungeon as they stamped back up the passageway and the steps.

  A hopeless silence descended in the thick shadows. It was worse than the catcalls. Lucas sat down on the corn husk mattress and inspected his new home. Fairly clean straw littered the hard floor. A water bucket sat near the door and another bucket for personal matters sat in a corner. All in all, he’d been in far worse places—in the hold of Ned Low’s ship, for example. With that memory, Travay came back into his mind. How desperate the straits she and her aunt must have found themselves in to attempt returning to England. Thank God, they had all escaped the insane pirate Low.

  I delivered you because I delighted in you.

  Lucas almost fell off the cot. Had God spoken to him? And how could God delight in a man who had done all he had done and who still held revenge in his heart?

  A man like David. Or Paul.

  Lucas listened for several minutes. Would the voice come again? Finally, he leaned back on the meager bed, even though it was probably full of lice. What he wouldn’t give for his Bible, now seized, along with his ship, by His Majesty’s Royal Navy.

  Lord, if that was you, then you know I am in need of deliverance again. And my men.

  He listened for a time and then fell asleep.

  On the third day, Lucas looked up from his solitary cell to see a visitor coming down the corridor escorted by the guard.

  Sir Roger Poole.

  The pompously dressed council member strolled up to the cell door and looked at Lucas, now dirty and smelling like all the rest of his crew, none of whom had had baths since their arrest in the Caribbean.

  “Well, Lucas, imagine your ending up here, like this.” Sir Roger lifted a perfumed handkerchief to his nose. “Pirating doesn’t pay well, does it?”

  Lucas disdained to give any kind of retort. He sat on what passed for a bed and glared at the man.

  “You know, you might say your life is really in my hands. Let’s see. You will stand trial, and you’ll most surely be convicted with the witnesses we have lined up. Then you’ll be hanged at low tide. I wonder if I can get Travay to watch.”

  Lucas jumped up and reached through the bars for Roger Poole’s throat, but the man stepped back just in time. He smirked and walked away. He turned back in the corridor, his form outlined by the dim light streaming down the steps. “You know Travay will marry me, eventually. I always get what I want.”

  Lucas shook the bars and then paced back and forth in the small cell. Disgust flowed out of every pore. He knew he should pray, but he couldn’t get the fire out of the back of his throat. How he would love to get his hands around the man’s neck.

  “Lucas, what are you thinking?”

  The voice of Reverend Wentworth stirred Lucas from his dark thoughts. The man had slipped down the corridor while Lucas was too furious to notice.

  A guard opened the door to admit the minister into the cell. Ethan sat on the corn husk mattress holding a covered dish in his hand. He motioned Lucas to come sit beside him.

  Lucas plunked down, stiff as a board. “I wouldn’t want to tell you what I’m thinking, Ethan. And even after I believe I heard God’s voice when I first came here.”

  “That’s great news, Lucas. Hannah and I have been praying hard for you. What did the Lord say to you?”

  Lucas looked at the gentle face of his friend and tried to feel once more something of the closeness he had felt with God just three days earlier. “I was thinking about the time we were captives on Ned Low’s ship. Travay and Merle became captives also, but God delivered us all from that insane menace. As I was thinking about that, I heard the voice of God say that he delivered me because he delights in me.”

  “That’s wonderful, Lucas. Of course God delights in you and how you’ve given your heart to Him. I believe He’s going to deliver you again. And I’m going to pay the guard to let me bring you water to bathe, as well as some fresh clothes.” Ethan uncovered the bowl in his hands. “But here’s the first thing we need to take care of.” He uncovered a container of warm soup and pulled a thick chunk of bread from inside his coat. “Hannah sent this.”

  Lucas’ stomach quivered in anticipation. He made short work of the succulent beef stew and crusty bread. After the last swallow, he turned to Ethan. �
�What can you tell me about Travay?”

  “Travay and her aunt are fine right now. Sir Roger Poole is still pressing his suit, of course, and so far Travay has refused him.”

  Lucas shook his head. How could he be of any help to her now?

  Ethan continued. “Hannah and I have done, and will continue to do, everything in our power to help them. But Hannah, my precious Hannah, is due almost any time now.”

  Lucas looked up. Guilt assailed him for not even asking about Ethan’s pregnant wife.

  “How is Hannah doing?” A dark sadness seized Lucas, and his shoulders sagged. The hangman’s noose swayed like a specter before his eyes. Would he live to father a child?

  Ethan’s face lit up with a strange light. “Hannah is doing fine. And I want to tell you I believe the Lord just confirmed to me you will one day have a wife as loving as Hannah and have children around your knees.”

  Lucas’ head jerked up. The man seemed to have an uncanny ability to read a person’s thoughts. Or did God relay them to Ethan?

  The minister laid his hand on Lucas’ arm and prayed for him. Warmth ran up Lucas’ arm and touched his besieged mind. Ethan’s prayers always seemed to help.

  The guard’s heavy tread descending the steps echoed through the dim cubicle.

  Lucas took the minister’s hand. “Ethan, thank you for coming. Thank you for that good word. I receive it. I choose to believe it.”

  Ethan leaned close before leaving the cell. “Tomorrow, the water and fresh clothes, and as much bread as I can carry for you and those of your crew.” At the cell door, he turned and whispered, “After that, I plan to bring Travay to see you.”

  Lucas’ heart jumped into his throat. How he longed to see her. But did she want to see him? He sniffed and grimaced. Not until after the bath. Definitely not.

  Lucas called after the minister. “And I have some good news to tell you when you come back, my friend.”