

Pirates of Savannah

Trilogy

Book One

Sold in Savannah

### An Adventure Novel for Young Adults

### Written By:

Tarrin P. Lupo

Porcupine Publications

Anti-Copyright   2010 by Tarrin P. Lupo

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This ebook published by Tarrin P. Lupo and Porcupine Publications at Smashwords.

ISBN 978-1-937311-06-3

Available in print edition at www.Lupolit.com and other online retailers. 
Dedication

This book is dedicated to all persons, past, present, and future, which stand up for what is right despite authority and rules.

Acknowledgements

Lead Editor:

Ruby Nicole Hilliard

**Editors** :

Sandi Britt & Reagen Dandridge Desilets

Illustrators:

Ruby Nicole Hilliard, Scott A. Motley & Lori Messenger

Cover Art:

Ruby Nicole Hilliard, Scott A. Motley, Johnson Rice & www.PhotosbyBecky.net

Consultants;

**Cannon, Musket, Charles Towne and Low Country** **Historical Consultant:**

Reagen Dandridge Desilets

Sword and Blade consultant:

Mark McMorrow

Archeological consultant:

Audrey Salem

Preface

_Pirates of Savannah: Sold in Savannah_ is a historical fiction novel that takes place in the much forgotten yet fascinating setting of the Lowcountry in prerevolutionary America. The Lowcountry started as a small section of South Carolina coastline but has grown to include the coastal areas from Cape Fear, NC, to St. Augustine Fl.

A map of the locations in the book

Most of the events in book really happened, and many characters were real. The fictional characters weave in and out of true historic events of that time period.

During the 18th Century there were no formal rules of grammar and spelling. If you are a stickler for grammar, you would have had a nervous breakdown back then. The same word could have five different spellings in the same paragraph. Some of the words are purposely misspelled in this book to keep them accurate to that time period.

One last warning, the 1700's were a filthy time period! Most of you today would not have made it back then. Many people would have never see a bar of soap or a toothbrush and only bathed once every few months. I tried to keep this very accurate to the 1700's, so a few of the scenes might make some people squeamish, especially in the opening chapter. This was not done to be crude, but to keep the book true to the time period.

Many people immigrated over to America as religious refugees but just as many came over to escape living under a government altogether. After the civil war an effort was made to forget and rewrite southern history. I wanted to resurrect this censored part of history that celebrated southern independence and the ideas of liberty.

Check out all the video, audio and other extras that accompany this book at www.Lupolit.com!

Good Hunting,

Tarrin P. Lupo

Chapter 1

Debtors' Prison

Patrick and the crew watch Isaac drag a dead body out of their cell to the fire pits

Like a religious experience, the sun flooded the prison cell blinding the young man. A thick black cloud of buzzing flies poured out the door as they rushed toward the light that now bathed the young man. He rubbed the darkness from his eyes. He squinted at the intrusion of light, only being able to make out the blurry cloud of black flies that seemed to resemble smoke madly escaping from a burning building. For what felt like minutes, thousands of flies swarmed out of the doorway as the man's eyes adjusted to the first light they had seen in two long weeks. Fourteen days without a hint of light, sealed in complete darkness, was not quickly erased from the eye's memory, but after a few moments, he could see the guards.

Tattered rags had been tied tightly behind the guards' heads, covering their noses, revealing only their eyes. Their eyes were wide with fear of the disease that had swept through the prison so quickly. Even their hands were wrapped thick with cloth like filthy mittens. They would take no chances getting this close to the emaciated, diseased, and dying prisoners cells that were littering the cells.

The man watched dispassionately as a guard barked a muffled command to another inmate, ordering him to drag the dead bodies from the cells to the fire pit to be burned. The man smiled weakly and thought, _It must smell rosy in the barracks_. He knew the guards only allowed the prisoners to remove the dead when the festering smells seeped up through the floor into their quarters. The prison cells were once more sanitary, but that was before the rampant pox. The only thing that had spread faster than the pox was the fear of the pox. In response, the dungeon had been sealed and unlucky, frightened guards were assigned to leave food and water by the door once a day.

A selected few inmates were allowed to go to the door to retrieve the food and dispense it among their fellow prisoners, but the guards made sure only the healthy received the poor excuse for nourishment in this pit. The sick were too weak to waste vittles and water on.

The cell had become the dumping ground for those who had the deadly smallpox. Already twenty of the twenty-five imprisoned men had succumbed, their bodies breaking out into papules filling with opalescent fluid. It was only a matter of time until the remaining sick would join their fellow inmates in the deep fire pit in the yard outside the prison.

The extremely massive but emaciated prisoner dragging the corpses was handling his job with slight grace, but soon became nauseated by the thick fumes of ammonia that were emitting from the filth on the floor. He became overwhelmed and, gripping his stomach, he vomited the only meal he had eaten in days, adding to the piles of waste on the floor. This "vile sludge", as the prisoners referred to it, covered the floor over an inch thick.

The man had almost forgotten about the floor being alive until he saw it again in the rare sunlight beaming in from the open door. He recoiled from the sight; the throngs of maggots, fungus, and flies laying their nests in the filth. He had grown so accustomed to the constant buzz of flies and beetles coming from below his feet that he no longer heard them, but their squirming bodies, now illuminated, gave the illusion that the floor was a living, moving organism.

There was a time that chamber buckets would have served to keep the cell sanitary, but they had since become overfilled and obsolete. The guards, so sickened by the smell of prisoners dumping the buckets, simply let the pots succumb to the vile sludge over time until they were simply two, large mounds of fungus and waste.

"Hurry it up!" a guard commanded to the prisoner who was puking instead of dragging bodies. The man could see horror in the guards' eyes. They wanted to be exposed to the filth and disease of the cell as little as possible and it was already taking too long. The man could almost hear the guards desperately wondering if they made a mistake, questioning if the prisoner they chose to drag the bodies was sick himself.

The man smiled again, blinking in the blinding light, and thought, _Serves the guards right_.

The man would listen from a bench with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his knees. The only reason he was not dead from infection was the sanctuary of the bench he sat on. It was the only bench in the cell and it was like an island with just enough room for six castaway prisoners. The old, wooden bench had been broken so many times in the past, it was now barely held together with a rigging of thighbones and rags taken from dead prisoners to keep it standing.

Now with an empty stomach and his chest and beard covered with vomit, the nauseous prisoner soon regained his composure enough to finish his chore and dragged the corpses into the hall one by one. The man closed his eyes and rested his head on his knees drawn to his chest as the guards closed and locked the heavy cell door, leaving him once again in darkness.

With only the constant wails and moaning of the dying to keep him company, the man, just as he had every day for the past seven years, returned to thoughts of home and the fateful day of his arrest. He rubbed the long scar on the left of his jaw and silently vowed he would live to meet William Potts again.

* * *

His name was Patrick Willis and he was once an aspiring jeweler. His father had been a jeweler to the high society in the outskirts of London. Sadly, his father died of consumption when Patrick was fifteen. It was a horrible, slow death of hacking coughs, phlegm, and blood. The fever lingered a long time and the elder Willis lost his mind, could no longer work, and inevitably sank Patrick's family in debt. Patrick's family placed the patriarch in a sanitarium that promised to cure him, but the money ran out before a cure was found. The sick, old man had to be moved back to home where he was cared for by Patrick's mother and his three sisters.

Hoping his father would recover, Patrick made a desperate attempt to pay his father's debts and keep him out of prison. He took every scrap of valuable jewelry the family had left and went to make a deal with a competing, ruthless jeweler named William Potts. He wanted to see if Potts would buy his family's business. He hid the jewelry well and disguised himself as a pauper while traveling to the jewelers shop so as not to arouse suspicion.

Fortunately, Potts recognized Patrick as soon as he entered the shop and he did not throw him into the street, as he normally would a true pauper. Potts invited Patrick to the back of the shop so that the young man could display the wares he kept in a hidden bag concealed on his person. The swag was mostly bits of wire scraps of silver with a few rare stones. If he had the luxury of time, Patrick could have found buyers fetching a decent price for the items, possibly just enough to pay his father's debts. Sadly, this was not the case. Patrick did not have time and he had to desperately acquire as much money as he could before his father was sent off to debtors' prison.

Mr. Potts scratched his chin, taking painfully long to examine the swag, and could see the sweat beading on the young man's brow. He relished Patrick's desperation and anxiousness. Potts assumed correctly this was Patrick's first financial transaction. He also heard the rumors of the elder Willis's plight and was quite happy to see his competition sinking into illness, debt and desperation.

Mr. Potts slowly examined every stone, rolling them in his fingers and occasionally sighing for affect. The master jeweler took far more time then he needed considering the level of his expertise. It was all a game, to test young Patrick's patience and to judge the depth of his desperation. Finally, after what seemed like a painful eternity, Mr. Potts simply grimaced and stated flatly, "No," without any further explanation.

Patrick grabbed Potts by the sleeve and begged, "Please, sir. Reconsider. I will give you a dandy of a deal."

"No, boy," Mr. Potts smiled coldly. "Now release me and get out." Patrick's jaw went slack with shock. He released the older man's arm and felt as if the hope of saving his father from debtors' prison was slipping through his fingers. Brushing off his sleeve as if Patrick's touch had soiled him, Potts reiterated, "Go on now. Out with you!"

As Patrick staggered through the shop's front room towards the door, he looked over his shoulder to take a glimpse of Potts one last time. Maybe his father's competition would change his mind. Perhaps this was all a ploy to lower the cost of what he would have to pay for Patrick's valuable snippets.

Potts had strutted to behind his shop counter where another man in a rich red coat was casually leaning. Both men grinned maliciously and spoke to each other in cutting, hushed tones. Embarrassingly, Patrick was startled by the sound of the tiny bell that hung above the shop's door when it chimed softly as he made his exit. The two men roared in laughter and Patrick could only hang his head and walk out with a defeated gait.

Humiliated, Patrick slowly began his walk home. His mind scrambled trying to find the words he could tell his poor mother that his last, desperate plan was a failure. He thought about his little sisters and how they would fare in a life of poverty, with no dowry and no prospects for betterment.

_"SMACK!"_ Suddenly, Patrick felt a red, hot burning sensation flash across his jaw. It felt like he had stuck his face in a fire. Grasping at his jaw, he fell to his knees writhing with pain. To his astonishment, he realized that a puddle of blood forming on the ground around his knees was from the blood dripping off his own chin. He then felt a hard boot slam against his back forcing him prone into the mud. Immediately, Patrick felt hands rummaging inside his shirt. The thief knew right whereto find Patrick's pouch of valuables and deftly ripped it from his clothes. Looking over his shoulder, Patrick could only see the backside of the thief running quickly down the street. He was sure he had caught a glimpse of a rich, redcoat as the thief darted around the corner.

It took the assaulted young man a few sands of time to figure out what had just happened. His head spun and his face throbbed with pain. He called out for help but strangers just ignored him. The man appeared as a seemingly lowly pauper bleeding in the street, so the witnesses continued to walk by without even making eye contact. The strangers knew it was entirely too dangerous to get involved in other people's business. The locals knew that exposing a thief was the fastest way to put your own family in danger and find a dagger in your back.

With no one to help, Patrick eventually collected himself and tried to stop the crimson flow from his left cheek by pressing his sleeve against the gaping wound. He knew chasing the thief was futile and that he had better get home as fast as possible to control his bleeding and clean the wound. Nothing killed a man as slow and painful as infection.

When he finally made it home, Patrick's entire family sat around the kitchen table and cried as he told them what happened, how Potts offered him nothing, laughed him out of his shop, and how Patrick fell victim to the road agent in a red coat. When he was done telling his sorry story, the whole family was silent. His small straw haired sister, Garland, came over and held his hand. Patrick's family knew what this failure meant and that the consequences were ghastly. The Willis family owed the sanitarium a great deal of money.

Since his father had been a prominent jeweler, the sanitarium assumed Mr. Willis had plenty of money and extended him credit. After a few months, the sanitarium wised up and threw Patrick's father into the streets, demanding payment. Immediately, the sanitarium lodged a complaint with the officials and it was expected that soon the elder, sick patriarch be dragged off to debtors' prison.

Two days after Patrick failed to sell the jewelry scraps to Potts and was robbed by the road agent, his father died at the humble home they were renting. With tears in her eyes, Patrick's mother sold the wedding ring her husband handcrafted for her to pay for his funeral services and for the following month's rent.

It was a simple and solemn funeral poorly attended from fear of catching the consumption from the corpse of old man Willis. The service was heart wrenching. The sobbing of Patrick's mother and sisters who were grieving openly and loudly was muffled by the sound of heavy, falling rain. Garland wept loudly and hugged Patrick's leg as their father was entombed in the earth.

Then, as Patrick made his way from the grave, two agents of his majesty, King George II, grabbed each of Patrick's arms. He knew then he was out of time. By the king's law, it was decreed that the oldest son became responsible for the father's debt. This statute was usually not enforced on one as young as Patrick. Unfortunately, his family's debt was sizeable. He sadly said his goodbyes to his family and he calmly walked away with the agents escorting him. The sobbing sounds that came from his huddled family broke Patrick's heart. Although his mother and sisters vowed to work hard and pay off the debts to free Patrick, they all knew it would be impossible to come into such a large sum of money.

* * *

Patrick's first prison cell was nowhere near as bad as the one he was currently residing in. The people demanded of their king that mercy be shown on debtors and the poor. More and more, the king and his parliament were expected to pay for people's incarceration. Initially, debtors would be charged room and board at a private facility in addition to the debt they owed. Families on the outside were expected to work harder or sell off their belongings to pay off the debt for their imprisoned loved ones as fast as they could so as to not incur an insurmountable sum. The longer a prisoner was incarcerated, the larger and larger the debt grew due to daily fees. Once a prisoner's debt became too unmanageable, the private facility quickly realized they would not make a profit and moved the debtor to the king's debtors' prison. The government prison living conditions were terrible and Patrick resided in the most infamous of them all.

When he was young, Patrick's father read to him the illegal papers of the Enlightenment Doctrines. These ideas were radical and talked of such things as a man being born with rights and that these rights were not bestowed on him from king or church. His father told him, "As history has always shown, any government program will be run far worse than the private market would."

The king's prisons were no exception to this. The Crown begrudgingly spent as little as it could on these prisons. In times past, the king simply executed the troublesome, poor prisoners who were nuisances to him. Now, however, he was not so openly tyrannical. George the II wanted to give the appearance that he was a compassionate king, so he created social programs. He hoped to avoid the negative gossip in the socialite circles stirred by executing so many poor, non-violent subjects. He did not want to be publicly exposed as the tyrant he truly was. The king determined it was far easier to keep his subjects within his law if they felt a sympathetic ruler was hearing their concerns.

Recently, King George was pressured by powerful socialites to show compassion and extend his benevolence to the debtors' prisons. Many subjects' families had at least one relative in these dungeons and this was a popular societal concern. But soon the king discovered he was quickly going broke being compassionate.

Patrick was imprisoned in September of 1728. When he was still in the private system of prisons, he met a good fellow named Robert Castell who was a publisher. Castell had published a book on architecture and he was imprisoned for the debts he incurred by publishing it. Robert told Patrick that there was so much excitement about the book, that private investors practically threw money at him through loans. The book was called _The Villas of the Ancients_ and it focused on ancient Greek and Roman architecture. Greek and Roman architecture was then all the rage in upper-London society. Sadly, it was poorly timed. Robert took too long to release it and by the time it was published, the frenzy for Greek and Roman architecture had fallen out of fashion. The book was a total failure and Castell incurred a tremendous amount of debt.

Robert was a real nice fellow. Patrick and he quickly became friends. Patrick assumed he must have reminded Robert of a little brother or maybe a nephew, but never confirmed this notion. The young prisoner did not care what the reason was; a friend was welcome in this lonely place. They rotated watch so they could sleep safely and unmolested. Robert even taught Patrick to play chess in the dirt with some rocks he collected. He used to tell Patrick that this was the game of kings and royalty. It did help the time pass which dragged on. Patrick's family never paid one shilling towards his debt. He imagined his mother and sisters needed everything they could get just to pay for rent and to put food on their table.

After they earned each other's trust, Robert shared a secret with Patrick. The day he was incarcerated he dispatched a message to his friend James Edward Oglethorpe. Oglethorpe was a high-ranking military official and an old friend of Robert's. Robert promised his old friend would help but sadly, before Oglethorpe could do anything for the men, Patrick and Robert were moved from the clean, private prison to the den of stench that was the king's debtors' prison.

Upon entering their new cell, the offensive, dank stench announced the squalid condition immediately. Robert pleaded with the guard to move them back to their private jails. Angered by this request, the vindictive, cruel guard had Patrick and Robert moved to the filthiest, most infested cell in the entire prison. The sadistic sentry seemed to enjoy prodding Robert and mockingly asked, "Will the _privacy_ of this cell suit your delicate disposition, sir?" After the heavy, cell door clanged shut and the lock clicked, Patrick could hear the laughter of the guards echoing down the hall as they walked away.

This same watchman seemed to delight in torturing Robert. He would purposely add inmates to their dark cell whose minds were violent or touched with insanity. Among raving lunatics and violent men who were more like animals, Robert and Patrick had to fight just to keep a piece of moldy bread or a ladle of water. Many of these demented souls were murdered in their sleep, especially the ones who had lesions on the brain, who were touched and made mad. They so disgusted and annoyed the other prisoners, they were commonly strangled their first night in the cell.

Robert was surviving as well as expected until the corrupt, cruel guard decided to make their cell the infirmary for the smallpox victims. Robert soon fell sick from smallpox and died a terrible death shortly thereafter. The prison rumor mill told Patrick that when Oglethorpe finally arrived, he was furious about his friend Robert's death. It took Patrick a while to piece all these fragments of information together but this is what he gleaned:

Oglethorpe had enough political favor to initiate an investigation of the jails after the death of his dear acquaintance Robert. He even boldly took a committee to investigate the king's prisons. The findings were eventually reported to Parliament and the king, who were either truly shocked about the deplorable conditions or they faked their disgust well. When the news broke about the investigation, the subjects and powerful socialites demanded something be done immediately. Oglethorpe's report was used as a pawn in the political chess game and it caused a resounding rally cry for reform. In fact, the crooked jailor that made Patrick's and Robert's lives hell was publicly called out and taken to trial. It was such big news; it made it into the monthly periodical and was not even censored away from the public.

Of course nothing really changed at Patrick's jail. The officials merely cleaned up a few cells and a handful of prisoners, then invited the authorities to inspect their new "reformed" prison. Once the official inspections were over, the prison returned back to one giant pestilence and pox factory.

Over the years of his imprisonment, Patrick heard more of this Oglethorpe character attempting to reform the prisons. He heard Oglethorpe was so upset by Robert's death, that it ignited a burning in his soul for a sense of justice. The military officer lobbied Parliament to consider a Bill for Relief of Insolvent Debtors. Oglethorpe was also selected as a director of the Royal West Africa Company. Patrick later heard that Oglethorpe's directing of this company left a bitter taste in his mouth for slavery. Patrick even heard a strange rumor that Oglethorpe was trying to teach Indian heathens to accept Anglican beliefs. The thought of seeing all those savages wearing their feather headdresses in a church made him laugh heartily.

Eventually Oglethorpe and his friend, Lord Percival, came up with a notion to take all debtors' and other prisoners in England and move them to the colonies in America. They made an appointment with King George II to bring this idea in front of him. Oglethorpe sold the idea that it would solve a few of the king's problems with one move. He and Percival argued that the Royal colony of Charles Towne in South Carolina was being harassed by the Spanish and savages from Florida and that a new colony, a colony with a work force of convicted debtors, could act as a buffer against such attacks.

Oglethorpe went on to explain the advantages of having subtropical crops for the Crown to exploit. The fertile soil in that area was suitable for growing cash crops. The idea of relief to his burdened treasury sold the king of the idea. Oglethorpe suggested that the king provide relief to the debtors and poor by removing them from England and freeing them to work in the colonies. He knew if all reason failed, he could appeal to his majesty's purse. Oglethorpe closed the deal by appealing to the king's ego with one capital idea. He offered the king that if he would let him establish a new colony, Oglethorpe would name the territory after him and christen it "Georgia." The king loved the notion and instantly took all credit for the idea, like all politicians do.

So on June 8, 1732, the king signed the charter for the colony of Georgia. This charter planned for a clutch of politicians and board trustees, which would manage the colony for twenty-one years until it would be recognized as an official colony. Although the king and Parliament directly appointed these boards of trustees, they became hard to control due to the vast expanse of ocean between the colonies and the mother country. Corrupt dealings were wide spread on these trustee boards making many members very wealthy through nefarious side deals.

As with all governments through time, it was a game of rewarding one's friends and punishing one's enemies using the legitimacy of state powers. The first ship called the _Anne_ , with a little over one hundred settlers, had landed in a place in Georgia called Savannah. They dropped anchor on February 12, 1733 and the settlers began working immediately. They were trying to build a viable infrastructure in the settlement before they opened the floodgates to all the prisoners about to be shipped over. Those first rooted and positioned properly, stood to make the most profit. Moving the debtors to America took a long while. Many of them fell ill and died of disease while waiting for their turn.

Shuffled from one squalid dungeon to another for years now, Patrick could not believe he had defied death for so long in that stew of filth. He had miraculously survived five whole years since the new colony of Georgia had been established, still clinging to hope and waiting for his turn across the pond. To entertain themselves, each day the guards would lie to Patrick saying that he was next to leave. The watchman continually promised everyone that they would be on the next ship leaving. Patrick had almost stopped believing there was even a place called Savannah and any hope of escape. The two friends he had made in his five-year nightmarish ordeal, were what kept him going.

Isaac Swartz had been brought here two years earlier owing massive gambling debts. Built like a bull, he was a Jew who was once employed as a debt collector. Swartz was in his late twenties and had scars all over his body from a lifetime of knife fighting and beatings. He was certain he would wake up dead if he did not make friends fast because he was so reviled. Over the years as a debt collector, Swartz had broken and beat many of the men he was now imprisoned with as a debtor himself. Patrick was too frightened of the hulking Isaac to point out the irony of it all. Since Isaac was so massive and strong he always seemed to get the horrid duty of dragging the corpses from the cell. The Jewish man was getting weaker with each body he moved to the fire pit because he was getting so emaciated and thin.

Patrick's other friend was a wiry, Irish fellow named Shamus Red. He had flame crimson hair, ghost-white skin, freckles, and very few teeth. He had arrived about half a year ago after he took a large loan out to start a pub. Later he told Patrick more of the truth; Shamus was from a wealthy family and used their good name to obtain credit. His father was so infuriated, that he paid off the debt of the bar and then transferred the debt to his son. By king's law, Shamus was now legally indebted to his father and could be held accountable for it. His father disowned his prodigal son and reported him to the collection agent. Soon after, Shamus ended up in the cell with Patrick, hopelessly waiting for his father to regret the decision and buy back his freedom.

Shamus made one fatal mistake when he opened his business; he forgot to calculate the cost of his love for the Devil's firewater. The doors of his pub were only open a short time before Shamus ran out of beer and spirits. Some people are angry drunks, some people are happy drunks, Shamus was a generous drunk, and a fool. When he would become inebriated, he gave away too much of his stores. He made many friends, but little profits. The bar seemed to flourish with crowds every night but that was because the patrons knew if they got Shamus drunk, the drinks would flow freely all night. Like vultures, they would circle Shamus waiting for his speech to slur and his grin to grow wide, the tell tale sign that spirits were about to become free.

Neither Patrick nor Isaac knew how the Irishman was still alive. He was much thinner than the rest of the inmates and his breath smelled of rotten eggs and death as if he was a talking corpse. Patrick and Isaac theorized that Shamus must be surviving purely on his spirit. Even in this dung palace, he still smiled and joked like a man with no worries.

Chapter 2

Out of the Muck

One hot morning, something was different. Patrick helped the weakening Isaac complete the chore of dragging three more bodies into the yard to be thrown on the fire. Patrick did not enjoy being picked by the guards to help his Jewish friend drag puss-oozing bodies to the yard. He and his gaunt Semite friend learned to appreciate the few, fleeting moments they could enjoy the sunlight of the yard.

When the two men returned to the cell, Patrick, Isaac, and Shamus were ordered to take the food by the door and dispense it to the other inmates, as they had a hundred times before. This day, however, a guard barked, "Hurry up and eat. Your ship is leaving today and I ain't larking ya this time."

Patrick froze in his place with the bucket of gruel and ladle and stared at his two friends. Shamus was so stunned, he dropped the water he was carrying and asked, "Did ya hear that, ya pignuts?"

The guard grew impatient with Patrick and Shamus who were taking too long to dole out the food and hissed, "What's wrong with you fools?! Would you prefer to stay in bloody London? I said hurry it up! Now move!" He then addressed the entire cell. "Any man healthy enough to walk and who is pox-free may leave the hospitality of this cell and take their chances in America, but I am not going to wait all day for you criminals to enjoy your breakfast, so eat!" Every cellmate that was healthy enough quickly ravished their food down their gullets as fast as possible and ran from the room before the guard changed his mind. Five prisoners in total sprinted out of the cell and left the dying behind with no regard.

It had been some while since Patrick had taken a good look at himself or the others. The light revealed how the inmates were now shells of men; ribs, thin skin, green or missing nails and rotted teeth. Their hair was matted across their emaciated bodies and gaunt faces. The watchman was disgusted by the prisoners' appearance and pungent reek. All of the guards stayed a generous distance away from the men.

The sergeant of the guard grumbled loudly, "This will not do. The first thing we must do is take you all down to the river for a bath. If you cannot clean yourself up good enough, gentlemen, your captain will never let you aboard his ship. Try to not look like you've been sleeping with death and pox or back to the cell it'll be." Each man nodded their head empathetically, with wide eyes. They would scrub the skin off their bones to stay out of the cell if they had to.

The ragged prisoners were escorted down to the river. The water was slow-moving and downstream from the main city. It was filthy by most people's standards, but it was like a fresh mountain spring to the grimy men. Isaac and Shamus were wearing tattered loincloths and tunics made from rags they took off dead prisoners. Patrick still had pantaloons with bloodstained thighs where he had recently lifted a dead prisoner. As all five undressed, they looked like a parade of the undead with their long, matted beards and hair tangled with feces and dried blood. One guard cautiously approached them, taking care to avoid their stink, tossing Isaac a small brown and yellow bar.

Isaac looked suspicious and asked, "What's this?"

"It's soap," the guard responded flatly. "One of the prisoners had it on him when he came to the prison." The guard then smiled, "He got the pox so we decided best not use it ourselves." Isaac looked betrayed given the affect of one who had died of the pox. The guard, sensing the big man's growing anger, sneered, "Go on, Jew, and scrub yourself good. Maybe then the captain won't keelhaul you right away because of your stink."

Isaac started to splash water on himself, continuing to stare at the sentry. He had used soap once as a boy, but forgot what it looked like or how it felt. The other fellows bathing looked equally befuddled. He began to rub it on his body and immediately it stung his sores and cuts. After a good hard minute scrubbing his arm, he noticed the color of bright white skin peeping out of the black scum all over his body. He scrubbed and scrubbed, but the best he could do was only free a few patches of filth loose. He passed the soap on and continued to scrub himself raw with his hands. The massive man had forgotten how pleasant water felt on his body and sat in the river until the guards called them.

Patrick's clothes were a total loss and he was instructed to set them in a pile to burn. The guards gave them new clothes they said were donated by wealthy socialites. Of course, these clothes were really just old hand-me-downs of the guards. The watchman and their wives stole the first pick of donations leaving their tattered, old clothes to the prisoners. Although poorly fitting and patched together here and there, the five men were thrilled to have clean clothes and begun to smile and even giggle. Patrick was even lucky enough to receive some hand me down boots that actually fit. All five of the men even found old hats and vests that fit.

"New" clothes for the journey

The guards still maintained their distance. One bath does not remove years of stink and filth. The sergeant addressed the prisoners loudly, "It is a three hour march to the docks. You lovelies need to be there before sun down. So let's go!" The guards escorted the stinking and ragged men at a safe distance behind, making certain nonetheless that these pathetic creatures left English soil by nightfall.

Patrick thought there was plenty of time to get there and was confused by the sergeant's haste. It was still morning after all. What Patrick did not consider was that the prisoners, from years of entropy of living in a cramped, hellish cell, were all too weak to walk that far. Patrick barely had any muscles left in his legs from years of inactivity. It just seemed he had only shin, knee, thighbone and skin. The other four suffered terribly as well and hobbled like cripples on the road. One of them even suffered from rickets from being in the dark so long. He winced in pain with each step, but he refused to let that stop him. Shamus leaned into Patrick's ear and whispered, "Look at dat one. I bet Sam Scurvy be a fine' dancer, eh?"

The fifth man in the procession of skeletons was simply known as Jessup. He had been spared only one week in the cell. Jessup never spoke and no one knew anything about the stranger.

The guards and the prisoners both knew well that if the men looked too frail, the captain would send them back to the certain death of the prison cell. The prisoners knew this was their only chance for life. The sergeant of the guard mercifully did not push the men too hard either. He wanted to be rid of these prisoners as much as the prisoners wanted to go, so he walked the hobbling men ten minutes then rested them. The group repeated this rhythm of walk and wait for almost six hours before they finally arrived at the docks where sun hung low. Patrick had never seen a ship this big up close before. It seemed impossibly gigantic and he was completely taken aback by the sheer scale of the vessel. The salty air of the docks immediately stung his sore riddled flesh, the pain bringing him back to the here and now.

As ship standards went, it was actually a small vessel but Patrick knew nothing of ships and was impressed nonetheless. He had seen a few in his time but all he recently knew was the dark closeness of the dungeon he had been reprieved from. Many of his memories were lost in the deprivation.

This ship was a modified galleon and the name _Robin_ was painted on the stern. It had ten guns on carriages but four of the guns were Quakers, or fake cannons. These were old or nonfunctioning guns placed to give the appearance that the vessel was more formidable than it actually was.

**The** _Robin_

The _Robin_ had three square-rigged masts and after many voyages, was still in very seaworthy shape. She did not appear battle-scarred as many vessels of the Royal Navy ships seemed. Most Navy vessels had obvious mismatched wood, patchwork sails and rigging with hurried cannon shot repairs. It seemed odd that a ship this small would make an open ocean crossing, but the profit that could be made in the New World was worth the risk. Crossings were attempted with just about anything that could float these days.

The sergeant who was in charge of escorting the skeletal five walked to the dock and waited. Soon one extremely well-dressed man and another tall man, dressed in a hodgepodge military uniform, came down the gang plank to meet the sentry. The sergeant and the men spoke in hushed tones pointing at the five prisoners. They bargained for a long while until an agreement was reached. The shine of silver coins caught the setting sun's light as the sergeant gleefully accepted them from the well-dressed man. The guard waved for the five to come over and join them. He beamed, "Take a good look at 'em, Cap'n. They be fetching a good price after you fatten 'em back up."

The well-dressed man looked over the scraggly five he just purchased and stated flatly, "You have procured yourself a very dandy of a deal, sir. You are dismissed." The sergeant quickly took his leave and hustled off, rubbing his silver rounds between his fingers and grinning.

The five men stared with exhausted but hopeful eyes at the well-dressed man. The fancy man proclaimed loudly and arrogantly, "I am the Captain Gibbons of this vessel and you five now work for me. For some ungodly reason the king has shown mercy on you criminals and has given you a second chance in the colonies. This will be the only and last time I will speak to any of you directly. All communication or concerns will go through my quartermaster, Mr. Mandrik. Understood? You're his problem now." The captain then took his leave and strutted like a peacock down the dock to inspect the bumboat that was cleaning the filth of the _Robin_ 's stern.

Mr. Mandrik was a tall Greek man with olive skin and full lips. He looked young and refreshed for his station; not the sort of face one would expect of a quartermaster who lived a hard life at sea. The sailor was a very religious man who always carried a small, wooden, painted icon of St. Nicholas, the protector of sailors. He also wore around his neck an ancient, blue, glass-blown, apostrophic talisman known as the Mati, or The Eye. The Greek man was always afraid of his vengeful and disgruntled crew cursing him. The superstitious Greek would check if he was the victim of the Evil Eye, using the ancient olive oil test. Once a week he would drop some oil in a glass of water, if it floated he was curse free, if it sank he would have to perform secret rituals to remove the hex.

He spoke with an extremely awkward accent. Even after years of sailing he still could not get a grasp on the king's tongue and spoke very slowly. It also did not help that years of sailing the Earth caused him to fuse many other cultures' inflections into his own accent, which could only now be described as worldly. "I am Mr. Mandrik," he introduced himself in broken English, "and it is me job to keep yas alive until we gets to Savannah." He examined the men closely, looking them up and down before continuing to sound off loudly. "First thing we dos is gives ya jobs. Ya will take great care of this barky and show her love."

"What da heck is a bloody barky'?" Shamus wondered aloud.

"It be a ship well loved by her crew," Sam Scurvy barked back. "Now shut ya mouths! The quartermaster be speaking."

Mr. Mandrik then interviewed the slaves one by one, about their past, occupations, and skills. No quartermaster in his right mind would give a novice unsupervised responsibilities, so all five were assigned the roles of mates, making them apprentices on the ship. As mates, the men's new roles would be taught by others who were more experienced at sea life. The men could expect to be assigned only the most menial of labors and backbreaking grunt work. Isaac was first to be questioned by Mr. Mandrik. The quartermaster smiled as he looked at Isaac's wide shoulders and his hulking size. Impressed by Isaac's stature, he wistfully observed to no one in particular, "If I fatten dis Jew back up he do work of two." He then grinned and smacked Isaac on the shoulder, "Ya look strong, so ya go and work with da heavy cannons." And just like that, Isaac was assigned to as the Master Gunner's mate.

The enigma, Jessup, it was later discovered, had a strong knowledge of sea life, but he refused to talk to anybody, including Mr. Mandrik, about his past. Since it could not be determined what his past profession was, he was assigned to common crew or as it was better known as A.B.S, or able body sailor. The A.B.S. were the true backbone of the ship and mostly dealt with riggings and sails. They also needed to be like storm crows, able to smell the wind and the coming weather.

Sam Scurvy had a history at sea life as well. He was a talented fisherman before his incarceration. He was thrown into debtors' prison when he lost his ship, which he still owed money on, during a rough storm. Assigned as the galley mate, his job would be fishing and cooking his fresh catches for the officers of the ship.

When Mr. Mandrik stood in front of Shamus, he did not know what to make of the skinny, yellow-eyed Irishman. Before he could ask one question of Shamus's past, Mr. Red asked, "What be your full name?" Shamus had a peculiar habit of calling everyone he met by their full names.

Patrick was certain Mr. Mandrik would beat down Shamus for the insolence and leave him bleeding on the docks of London. He was surprised when the quartermaster seemed to almost smile. Patrick could not tell if the Greek was annoyed or entertained. "My name be George," Mandrik spoke.

"Ah... Very good George Mandrik," Shamus smiled warmly. "I be Shamus Red and I can't wait to learn ye Greek sea shanties over some devil's grog."

"Luckily fer ya, Mr. Shamus Red," the Greek man growled, "ya not the first mick I had to deal with on the _Robin_. So dis one time, I will allow dis lack of respect. My name is Mister Mandrik." He continued slyly, "Since ya skinnier than wet rat and loose in da mind to think you can talk to me in dat way, I, sir, have da perfect job fer ya." Mr. Mandrik was the one smiling now as Shamus started to look nervous. "Ya will be assigned as a rigger mate."

Rigging was the most dangerous duty on the ship. Countless riggers had fallen to their death after losing their footing on a slippery spar but Shamus reveled in the idea of being a rigging monkey high above the deck. His wild Irish smile returned to his gaunt face.

Lastly, Mr. Mandrik sized up Patrick. Patrick was well built and muscular before he became a bag of bones but he was nowhere near the size of Isaac's goliath mass. He had dark, wild hair, a long unkempt beard and had darker skin then most Englishmen. "What skills ye done in yer past living" Mr. Mandrik asked Patrick.

"I was a jeweler," Patrick replied.

"Not much need for dat out here." Mandrik scratched his chin, "But I bet ya be good wit da tools."

"Yes, sir," Patrick answered quickly. "Very good."

"Fine," Mandrik decided. "So ya go be the carpenter's and surgeon's mate."

Mr. Mandrik belched out the names of five members of the crew and commanded them to hurry to the decks. Five men scrambled from all parts of the ship everywhere from the rigging to below deck. They quickly scurried down the gangplank onto the dock. Mr. Mandrik made brief introductions and turned over the mates to their newly appointed teachers, with whom they were informed they would also be quartered with. Daylight was running out and the quartermaster was in a hurry to cast off before it was night. The five were rushed up the gangplank and split up to watch their new instructors perform their casting off duties.

The dock was in a mad frenzy of activity with everyone hurrying to load supplies as the sun set. Extremely large and heavy barrels were being rolled up the gangplank and lowered into the cargo hold. The crew lowered the barrels using a system of a large wooden anchor wenches called windlasses, with ropes attached to the yardarm. When the supplies were all loaded and their bumboat was paid for its cleaning services, the gangplank was finally drawn in. Sam Scurvy and Jessup helped the crew take shifts ratcheting the anchor up. Even with four men taking shifts ratcheting, the process still took an hour and a half. The ship was finally untethered from the dock and was cast off. The _Robin_ slowly drifted off into the sunset as the last light of the day danced wildly away on the water.

Even though the ship was not that large, Patrick quickly lost track of his friends. His mentor was a man named Mr. McLain. Mr. McLain handed Patrick a patch of cloth with string attached to it.

"What is this for?" Patrick asked.

"This is an old sailors' trick. Put it over one eye. We spend a lot of time going from the deck to the bilge so this will help your eyes adjust faster going in and out of sunlight all day long. You wear the patch over an eye of your choosing in the sunlight. When you go below into the darkness you take it off and you will be able to see faster than if both eyes had been in the sunlight," Mr. McLain explained.

"Thanks for the trick. I will give it a try," Patrick smiled as he pocketed the eye patch.

He then took Patrick all the way down to the bilge, the lowest part of the hull. It was musty and rat-populated but seemed like a king's quarters compared to the filth of debtors' prison Patrick recently inhabited. On all fours with only the light of a whale oil lamp, the two men crawled around the floor looking for leaks. "The light's not needed at all," McLain explained. "You can simply feel for water and trace it back to the leak." Patrick nodded that he understood.

"What about the rats?" Patrick asked, worrying about being bitten by the vermin as he was back in prison.

"Pay them no mind," Mr. McLain responded. "We have a cat that is a great hunter but he just can't keep up. We could use another one but as far as I know, the captain ain't got no plans to get one. He refuses to buy poison, too."

Mr. McLain wasted no time showing Patrick what he needed to know. He informed his new mate that a few times a day, an inspection would be made to keep the ship watertight. The planks of the hull would be inspected and oakum would be placed in seams that needed it. Wood constantly changes shape with different temperatures and the vessel continuously leaked. Every shift they had to check the water level in the bilge with a stick. If the water level was too high they would have to wrestle with a large bilge pump. The pump was cranked with large a lever, which caused the water to be sucked out of the bilge and jettisoned off the boat through a hole on the topside.

The carpenter's duties also consisted of plugging leaks with wooden pegs and repairing the mast and yards if needed. Since the _Robin_ was a smaller ship, the carpenter was also expected to be the surgeon. Unless the ship was very large, it would not have a trained, full-time doctor. Typically, most ships only had poorly trained surgeons, which were basically glorified carpenters. Their duties included routine basic health inspections to control outbreaks or setting up quarantine if needed. The only actual surgery a ship's surgeon normally performed was amputations.

It was a flurry of information to understand but Patrick was quickly learning. The lack of nourishment made it very hard for the ex-prisoner to focus and he was tempted to fall asleep where he stood. When Mr. McLain became unsure if Patrick was nodding because he understood or because he was falling asleep, he sent Patrick to his quarters to get some much-needed rest.

Patrick was lucky to be in quarters with a hammock. It took him a few tries to learn how to lay down in it without it flipping over and dumping him out. The veteran crewmates took great delight in watching Patrick fall repeatedly while trying to steady the hammock. Eventually, a crewmate took pity on Patrick after a good laugh and held it steady while he mounted it. In a few seconds, the gentle swaying of the ship rocked the hammock in a rhythmic motion. It was a strange sensation. It was the first time in years he could lie down to sleep. There were no buzzing noise of flies or the overpowering ammonia smells from the floor covered in the vile sludge. He closed his eyes with a grin and took a long, deep breath before passing out from utter exhaustion.

Patrick later woke by the violent shaking of his shoulder. Mr. McLain was standing over Patrick's hammock shouting. "Finally! You've been asleep for two whole days. Time to wake up! How the hell did you sleep through all those cursed bells and whistles anyway?" Patrick rubbed the sleep from his eyes as Mr. McLain informed him, "The quartermaster wants to see your whole lot. Now!"

Patrick was in great spirits, but was incredibly sore. Every movement hurt. He was excited; in just two months on the ocean, he would step onto Savannah a free man. He hurried up to the deck as fast as his aching bones would carry him and saw the other four former prisoners assembled and waiting. Smiles were exchanged as Shamus laughed, "Patrick Willis, I see yer a pribbling bilge rat now, eh?"

The men attempted to stand at attention as Mr. Mandrik walked up. The group immediately stopped talking. The quartermaster explained their situation to them. "Let me remind ya. Ya criminals are two days out to sea already. I hear ya talking about freedom, it just be two months away but me thinks ya not understand yer situation. Yer not just going walk out a free man when you step off dis ship. No." He paused to allow the five men to understand the gravity of his words. "Ya have to _earn_ yer freedom and passage." The five men looked at each other, wondering exactly what Mandrik meant. When he was sure he had their full attention again, the quartermaster continued, "When we port this ship, ya will be indentured to a local merchant. Five years of service. Ya will learn a trade and _then_ ya be free."

The shoulders of the men stooped. Their hearts were crushed. Patrick gasped, "Five more years?!" Isaac starred stoically off, past the rail of the ship and into the horizon.

Noticing their lowered morale, the quartermaster explained that being an indentured servant was not as bad as being a slave, unless of course you were a woman or worked indentured to a tyrant. They would be provided with food, a place to sleep and a job skill. After the contracted work was over the master was expected to send them off with some money and the tools of their new trade. Two thirds of the colonists bought their passage with this arrangement, so there was very little social stigma in being an indentured servant.

Feeling as if his words did not reassure the men, he released a great, big belly laugh. "If you don't think dis arrangement is fair, feel free to swim home," he stated as he pointed to the open ocean. At that exact moment, Shamus started walking to the railing, took off his shirt and readied himself to jump overboard when Isaac grabbed the skinny Irishman by the scruff of his neck and pulled him down to the deck.

"Shamus!" Isaac yelled in his face. "You'll be dead in minutes, you stupid, lousy drunk. Do you even know how to swim?"

Shamus flailed his arms trying to get Isaac to release him, rolling into an angry rant he was infamous for. "Dose gorbellied, English clotpoles lied to us! And dey have some surly greasy Greek do dere bidding. Bloody cowards!" Isaac grabbed Shamus by his arms as the Irishman's face flashed crimson with anger, "Lemme go! I plan on swimmin' back to England and kicking George da Second right in da cherries!"

"Settle down, Red," Isaac coolly warned.

The Irishman grew hot with anger, but Patrick knew Isaac's anger was cold and not to be toyed with. Shamus continued, " Never trust the bloody English for any bloody thing! If I get a chance, I'm going to pee on dem when dey be sleepin'! Those pieces of dog squeeze! I can't wait to ... _mmmm_."

Isaac had enough. He put his giant hand over the irate Irishmen's mouth and held him down like Shamus was a small child.

Mr. Mandrik was amused at the Irishman's fire and vitriol. He smiled as Shamus ranted and the bigger Isaac handled him. When he felt the show was over, he commanded, "Gets backs to work and remember to do as we tell ya!" Pointing at each man, he warned, "I wants no trouble from you five."

As the five scrambled to their duties, Mandrik turned to McLain, "Mr. McLain, I need you to double their rations. They won't fetch a good price looking like drowned kittens." McLain nodded as the quartermaster continued, "Da one with da bow legs, see he gets triple the birch beer and limes. He won't fetch no good price if the cripple can't ambulate."

The quartermaster then took his leave and left the angry men all staring at each other from their positions. Jessup later angrily admitted to Isaac, "I agree with Shamus. He deserves a good kick in the stones."

Isaac calmly reasoned, "How quickly you forget the death sentence we just escaped from. Use this opportunity. Appreciate our new positions. Enjoy the fact we now get double rations."

The idea of double rations did bring smiles to the former prisoners' faces. For years, Patrick had survived living off moldy bread, rats he could catch and scraps of bone. He could not remember what real food tasted like. Anger over being indentured servants was quickly replaced with dreams of food. Patrick was happy to discover that the crew always ate as much food as they could the first two weeks out of port while they still had fresh fruit and vegetables. Soon enough, the sailors would be surviving on heavily salted meat and fish. Patrick was practically drooling on his way the first time to the galley. It was small and cramped in the galley and the food was shuttled out in wood bowls, but it seemed like a holiday feast.

Patrick sat with the other four former prisoners as they received bowls of fish, potato and turnip stew. They started slurping it down immediately. Patrick could not even remember what hot food tasted like and his taste buds were in shock. When his belly was full, Patrick had a difficult time keeping his food down but fought the urge to expel it. In just a few minutes, he started to feel his body come alive again with energy. He thought to himself how truly amazing his body was when given proper food. When their bowls were empty, the five were told to come back at sunset for their second meal. Sam Scurvey was informed he would get two limes instead of one during the second meal.

Above deck, Quartermaster Mandrik could be heard shouting commands, reminding the crew that being this close to the coast was the most dangerous part of the trip. There were a few cabin boys running around but two boys were covered in black powder. They were known as the powder monkeys and their job was to run gunpowder to the cannons from below deck. The master gunner had his mates and powder monkey on high alert and they practiced drills relentlessly. The cannons were cleaned and oiled with a religious fervor.

The loud whistle of the boatswain's call interrupted all work. Each man knew that the distinct whistle meant that all crew stop what they are doing to hear what message the captain had. The entire crew assembled on the deck and listened quietly as the captain addressed them from the raised poop deck. Captain Gibbons cleared his throat and spoke loudly over the constant sound of the waves lapping at the ship's side, "Gentlemen, we are now in pirate waters. The ship will be on high alert until she reaches open sea. Night watch patrols would be doubled as well. Spanish privateers are infamous for attacking at nightfall." Patrick swallowed the fear that was creeping up his stomach into his throat as Gibbons continued. "We will be flying the Yellow Jack until we land in Savannah." After the captain dismissed the crew, the men hurried back to their duties.

Patrick, being a true landlubber, had no idea what most of the captain's message meant. Sam Scurvy saw Patrick was bewildered and stated in his raspy sailor's voice, "'Privateers' are mercenaries, commissioned by the crown. When two countries be at war, the navy allows private ships to attack any enemy vessel. They be basically pirates, they loot and steal without fear of reprisal since they carry Letters of Marque. Both Spain and England use the Letters of Marque."

"Ah," Patrick nodded as if he comprehended all that Sam explained but he only really heard 'pirate'.

"The captain will fly the Yellow Jack. It's a warning flag meaning the ship is infected with yellow fever." Sam Scurvy grinned with his broken smile, "Hopefully that'll keep us from being boarded by privateers."

Captain Gibbons had some luck in the past flying the Yellow Jack. Most privateers would not take the chance and would leave his ship unmolested, but Patrick knew none of this. He only knew the tales he heard about pirates in the prison and had never actually seen one. His family had run in the upper circles of society and was never subject to such gruesome things. Images of bodies being tied to a yard arm and heads hung on the ship's bowsprit now filled his head, but these visions evaporated once he was called away to return to his duties as a bilge rat.

* * *

Surprisingly, life on the ship quickly became routine for the ex-prisoners. Patrick saw most of them between shifts and while they were eating their double rations. All of the men had already put on weight. Patrick quickly discovered on the ship that, besides being a surgeon and a carpenter, he was also expected to be a barber. Mandrik informed Patrick that the captain was complaining about the smell of the former prisoners and ordered him to sheer all the hair off his friends. Patrick had no idea how to actually do this and employed the help of Mr. McLain. The surgeon took a very sharp blade and sawed the mats of hair away roughly. Yanking, pulling, tearing, and sawing the thick mats was slow, tedious work. It was painful and he spied some blood coming from the nicks suffered when he was removing Sam Scurvy's long, mangy beard.

Isaac was ready to fight when Patrick and McLain came to trim his beard. Protesting, he complained that his religion forbid him from shaving his beard. Patrick calmed his friend down and a compromise of a trim and a wash was made after much negotiating. Isaac also seemed to have fashioned himself a little hat out of leather that he pinned to his hair. Such an outright display of Judaism would not have been tolerated by most captains' standards but Gibbons seemed not to care. The crew was intimidated by Isaac's monster size and gritty attitude and not one man worked up the courage to say anything derogatory to the Jew about his new hat.

When it was Patrick's turn, it seemed to take hours. Removing seven years of matted and tangled hair was a slow and agonizing ordeal. Blood flowed from his scalp all over the makeshift barber's chair, down his shoulders and down his back. When it was finally and mercifully done, Patrick felt lighter, cooler and reborn. Free from hair, his scarred up face was now apparent. Being mugged in London and fighting for seven years in prison had left their mark on his portrait. When he looked at his reflection in the bottom of a brass pot, he did not recognize the face that stared back at him. For the first time he saw himself as a full grown man, not a teenage boy. The food and sun had agreed well with him and he was already looking much healthier.

Later that day Patrick heard a ruckus when he was walking about the main deck. Isaac told him that Shamus had been trading away most his food for extra grog. Shamus was now madly skipping along the slick spars in the rigging singing a happy shanty. No one knew if he was really drunk or if this was just part of his normal behavior. Shamus was now lobster-red with large patches of burnt skin peeling off his body. He wore only a loincloth. The skinny man had complained his long clothes, or 'land clothes', were being caught in all the riggings. To be fair, very few riggers would ever wear long clothes and usually wore skintight clothes to avoid entanglement. To the crew's horror and delight, they were taken aback in seeing a sailor working in nothing but his skivvies. Shamus recklessly hopped around in the rigging and seasoned sailors were shocked that he had not fallen to a broken back yet. Most quartermasters would never tolerate such dangerous behavior, but Mr. Mandrik had started a wager with members of the crew to see when the fool would fall.

"I need to see ya tonight," Shamus yelled down to Patrick, "to take a wee look at me bite."

"Come see me when your shift is done," Patrick called up, "if you live through it."

Patrick was above deck to join Mr. McLain for a routine health inspection walk. They would lexically examine the crew looking for signs of pox or fever. fhey then went below to check the surgeon's chest. The chest was mainly a collection of bottles of rum and opium. It also had some blades, saws, braces and bandage rags. As Patrick was being instructed in the finer points of how much opium to administer for various conditions, Shamus's bright red, burnt body walked in. Since entertainment was lacking on this vessel, Isaac followed the Irishman down to watch the surgery.

"Shamus! Let me put olive oil on that burn," Patrick exclaimed.

"I don't need no pribblin' Roman-horse-oil salve all over me skin. I am 'ere for me bite." Shamus began to rub his jaw. "I gots so much fire in me front tooth here I can't sleep or even tink. I needs ya to yank it out, lad, but I gets real nervous when people gets near me mouth." Shamus lowered his voice sincerely and somberly said, "Perhaps a wee bit of the creature could help me relax."

Mr. McLain fell for the ruse. "We got plenty of rum. I think we can spare some to make this go easier." Patrick actually had never seen Shamus drink before but he knew he loved Satan's nectar. Thinking Shamus would take only a few swigs of the bottle before they pulled out his rotten, green tooth, Mr. McLain made the foolish mistake of handing the entire bottle of rum to the Irishman. The master surgeon turned his back to Shamus to dig through the chest and find a small tooth hammer. Shamus lifted the bottle straight up and begun to guzzle it down. When McLain found his hammer and turned back around and was shocked to see one entire bottle empty on the table and Shamus was downing a second one. He shrieked, "HEY! Stop that man before he drinks all the rum!"

Patrick and McLain grabbed for the Irishman but Shamus dodged and weaved deftly trying to finish the bottle. Isaac laughed heartily as he watched the two men try to catch the wiry, sunburned man squirm and wiggle until the last of the rum disappeared.

"Curse you, man! The whole crew might need that later," McLain shouted angrily. "We can't waste all this medicine on a tooth!" With the bottle of rum drained, Shamus finally stood still and belched. McLain was breathing heavy through his nose like an angry bull, "Don't just look at me dumbly. Sit the heck down and let me knock that tooth out."

In response, Shamus let out another loud, long belch and confessed, "I'm not ready yet, ya churlish doctor. Me needs more rum to relax."

Patrick tried to tackle him again, but to no avail, beginning the chase once again. Isaac laughed even harder as Shamus somehow kept away from the two men chasing him with a hammer in the small chamber. Every so often, Patrick would catch him but Shamus would easily break free and the wild chase would start all over again. Patrick and McLain would become exhausted and give up. Shamus would then continue begging for them to remove the painfully rotten tooth initiating the chase all over again. The chase highly entertained Isaac but he knew that he had to help end this game. Tapping Shamus on the shoulder, the Irishman turned around to be met with Isaac's heavy right hand punching him in the teeth. When Isaac pulled back his fist to inspect his knuckles, he saw two of Shamus's rotten teeth stuck in them.

"Ya pribblin', ill-nurtured, maggot-pie!" Shamus yelled as he spit blood on the wooden planked floor.

"Do you got any other health issues you want me to fix while I am here, Irishman?" Isaac smirked. Patrick and Mr. McLain immediately began laughing.

"A plague upon ya, ya canker-blossoms." Shamus cursed.

"Your breath already smells better," Patrick laughed. "And you're welcome."

The laughing was interrupted by the sounds of the watch bell ringing madly and the ship sprung to life. The bell rang over and over until the entire crew was hastily mustered on the deck. The sun was setting in the West, but a small outline of a ship could be seen quickly approaching.

"Man battle stations! Pirates amidst! Man battle stations!"

Chapter 3

Pirates AHOY!

News from the crow's nest

All hands were madly scrambling and manning the stations. Patrick was frightened. He had hardly participated in any battle drills. Nervousness could be seen in all of the eyes of the new crew or greenhorns, who had only performed some basic war maneuvers. They all questioned their abilities in real action.

Reports from the crow's nest were shouted down. "She fly no colors, Captain! I see no jack at all!"

Spanish Sloop

The approaching ship was still very far away and cresting the horizon, but it was plain to see from her mirroring movements the _Robin_ was being pursued. Using his folding spyglass, the captain could tell it was a sloop about the same size of the _Robin_ with one large mast and a smaller secondary mast.

The mystery sloop was gaining on the _Robin_ but not by much. Most pirate ships stayed within a few days sail of the coast and traveled light to increase their speed. These ships were stripped down to the essentials and modified for speed. What pirates do not ever reduce is the size of their crews and cannons. Though the _Robin_ 's compliment was fifty souls, a pirate ship of the same size would have around two hundred men. The _Robin_ 's crew was keenly aware of this fact and knew if the ship were boarded, all would be lost.

Captain Gibbons finally came to life in an authoritative role, usurping that of the quartermaster's. Until now, Mr. Mandrik was in charge of all the ship's daily activities, but with danger abound, the captain ran everything with supreme, authoritative power. Captain Gibbons barked a stream of orders and the crew quickly fell into a sort of organized chaos. The rigger men were quickly dancing high in the masts as the sailors wrestled with line and tacking, trying desperately to get full sail.

Mr. McLain shouted at Patrick to get under deck and prepare. Patrick froze and McLain saw the fear in his wide eyes. "Get a hold of yourself, man! Focus on your duties. We'll be fine." Patrick nodded and rushed below deck with Mr. McLain.

While rushing along below deck, the master carpenter/surgeon hastily explained what was expected of Patrick. "You'll heat this tar and oakum and be ready to patch holes. The rest of the crew not fighting or sailing will be helping you peg down spare planks and bail water. After the fighting be over, the real fun begins and we'll start treating the dying."

Patrick knew he should be paying close attention to McLain's words, but horrible visions of his head hanging off the mystery sloop's bowsprit kept invading his mind.

Back topside, the sun was quickly being swallowed by the sea and it was becoming hard to make out the pursuing ship in the long shadows on the water. Captain Gibbons yelled to Mr. Mandrik, "Darken the ship and make haste! All lights are to be extinguished immediately and no sailor will talk over the level of a hummingbird or I will have his tongue."

"Aye, Cap'n," the quartermaster confirmed his orders. "I will blacken dis ship like night fall, sir."

The moon was now half waxed and with good eyes, one could make out the dark shadow of a ship against the shimmering blue reflections of the moonlight. Even with his spyglass, the captain could not make out the style of the rigging to determine its weaknesses. Captain Gibbons attempted hard turns and angles to lose the pursuing ship in the darkness. The _Robin_ desperately zigzagged for hours in hopes the pursuing ship would be lost in the darkness. The deck crew worked silently, only occasionally speaking in hushed tones, as they wrestled with keeping the sails full. Every so often, a stream of Irish accented obscenities would drift down from the riggings cracking the silence. Shamus did not seem to understand the concept of a hushed voice and the sounds of cursing would carry across the black water. Barely keeping his temper, Mr. Mandrik reminded the Irish fool to control himself or his tongue would be nailed the mast.

Two hours after sunset the _Robin_ was rewarded with a bit of luck as a bellow of clouds rolled in covering the moon and starlight. The overcast blessedly lasted until sunrise. The deck crew was drenched with sweat as they responded to the captain's every order. The captain took the _Robin_ hard off course in the hopes that it would be lost to the pursuing ship's sight come morning. The approaching vessel had also darkened herself and was lost to the black of the night. Both ships would have to wait till sunrise to see the results of this seafaring chess battle of strategy.

The _Robin_ 's crew waited in paralyzing fear as the sun slowly overtook the water. The first ray finally caught the water and in minutes lit up the sky. The captain and the crow's nest lookout were shouting back and forth to each other. The lookout attendant was now very sick and had vomited bile all night into the barrel he was standing in. The sea's sickening motion was strongly amplified in the crow's nest and very few sailors could take more than a few minutes let alone an entire night's watch. Mr. Mandrik commonly employed the crow's nest as a punishment device for disobedient sailors. The lookout, sickly and green, shouted weakly, "Captain Gibbons, I can't find her anywhere. I think you sigoogled her." Indeed, the captain did outflank the mystery ship and could not find her on the horizon.

A great shout of joy went through the crew, but the captain sternly warned them, "Stay focused, gentleman, and stay on course."

Captain Gibbons then ordered the sailing master to join him on the poop deck. On the highest deck on the ship, the sailing master pulled out an antique astrolabe, held it up into the sun and stared. He then turned his back to the sun and held up a Davis backstaff determining the altitude of the sun. Then the practically blind man pulled out his old quadrant and determined the _Robin_ 's longitude by staring directly into the sun with it. With extreme caution, the sailing master gingerly removed the sextant from its protective case. The sailing master knew it was the most valuable item on the ship and if ever dropped, the sextant would be ruined and he would be punished harshly. Because of this, he always attached his sextant to a makeshift lanyard around his neck for safety.

"How far off course are we now?" Captain Gibbons questioned, "How many days did I just add on to our journey?"

As with almost all sailing masters, his eyes were filled with white, cloudy fluid and could barely see in daylight. He held aloft the sextant and sighted the sun and horizon. He looked through the telescope and dropped the shade glass in place as he stared directly into the sun. He knew his eyes would burn and itch hours later for this daytime reading, but he also knew the captain needed it quickly. He would have preferred to wait till the night, relying on the stars for better accuracy, but the grave circumstances demanded a day reading. The sailing master then took a reading with a sundial and compass. He then did a dance, consulting his charts and instruments repeatedly. Never trusting just one instrument, he utilized a combination of old and new navigation technology.

After a few minutes of studying, he looked at the captain with his cloudy, white eyes and reported calmly, "Captain, we be about three days off course now, but I think I can plot a new course across open waters to catch some of the time up."

"Very good, sir," Captain Gibbons barked. "Get to plotting!" The Captain knew how risky to chart straight across the open ocean rather than island and coast hop, but he feared pirates more than storms right now.

The crew settled into an uneasy state of alert with all eyes continuously fixed on the horizon. The captain finally relieved the seasick lookout and gave him time to sleep and slowly, the crew returned to their normal watches. With no sight of the pursuing ship to be seen, Captain Gibbon's knew if he could just get a few more days out to open waters, the _Robin_ would be safe.

They followed the sailing master's course throughout the day and the seas became choppy. As the sun began to set, the seas became even more turbulent and the sky filled with menacing gray clouds. Angry winds filled the sails and started bending the masts sideways until a steady rhythm of rocking was established.

Patrick was woken up by the surgeon's chest violently sliding into his hammock. The hammock was swinging wildly and Patrick abandoned it as fast as he could. The scarred man was unnerved as heavy items shuffled across the floor while the ship careened. He had taken to sea life fairly well but had not yet earned his sea legs. Until now, he had only felt mildly uncomfortable by the rocking of the sea, but now he was rapidly getting sick. Curiosity took him up deck side to see if they were under attack.

As he came through the hatch, he was pelted with stinging rain. The deck crews had just pulled the sails down and were tying down everything on deck. The crew screamed orders at each other through the howling wind. A sailor was moaning, like a prophet of doom, that crossing the ocean during the late spring was dangerous. Rain came down in blinding, sideways sheets and Patrick could only see a short distance around the ship. The nightfall was not helping. Against the judgment of the captain, the quartermaster was frantically dropping anchor to no avail. They were now in deep waters and the anchor would find no home.

Patrick realized very quickly that things had just turned treacherous for the _Robin_. The wheel was spinning wildly as the ship rocked back and forth and started spinning in a circle. Two men grabbed the wheel in an attempt to steady her but even with their collective strength, they could not hold on. Isaac seemed to materialize out of the darkness and rain and he grabbed the spinning wheel. The captain joined the three men and they collectively slowed the out-of-control helm. A scream came from the wooden rudder but it held together. For the rest of the pitch-black night, the crew wrestled with the storm to stay afloat. The quartermaster soon realized what a horrible mistake it was to try and drop anchor and it was causing the _Robin_ to list wildly. In less than an hour a frenzied crew managed to ratchet the anchor back in place.

While struggling against the wheel and the angry sea, Isaac was arguing with one of the sailors when a giant wave crashed over them. When Isaac opened his eyes, the man had simply vanished. Isaac scanned the deck and found the lost man nowhere.

"MAN OVERBOARD!" Isaac screamed as the crew began to echo the call. Men scrambled to help Isaac with the wheel, while others ran to the rail to scan the black waters. A voice desperately screaming for help could be heard from below but he could not be found in the blackness. Fortunately for the man in the drink, flashes of lighting cracked illuminating the dark waters and he was spotted off the starboard side. The crew quickly threw a rope down to the man who was fighting desperately to stay afloat. The sailors missed the throw repeatedly. He was just out of reach of the line, but then Shamus tried and threw the rope so straight that it hit the flailing man in the face. The sinking man quickly tied the wet rope under his arms and around his chest.

A wave rose up and swallowed the man. He sank into the dark and out of sight. The _Robin_ 's bow then swung wildly and slammed into the man. As the deck crew pulled the rope, a limp body rose out of the water. The body was unceremoniously dragged up the starboard wall and on to the deck. The saved man was groaning and his eyes could not focus. "Crewman Willis," Mandrik called out, "take dis man down and see to 'em."

The remaining sailors frantically tied themselves to a rope which was lashed to a tall mast for safety.

Patrick was ordered to return below deck just as they battened down the hatches. Endless screams and shuffling could be heard from above deck. Patrick tried to focus on his patient but the man passed out on the hammock and was snoring. The surgeon's mate joined most of the crew below in rotating moments of fear and vomiting in the dark. He mustered his constitution and then took to his bilge pump duties. The night was long and frightening, and the men kept their minds off dying by bailing bucket after bucket of water that had seeped in from the heavy rain.

* * *

The ship was finally settling down and the hatches were opened. The sun would be rising soon but it was still raining and pitch black. The waters had finally settled and the ship was no longer rocking wildly. The constant state of fear had kept the exhausted crew up all night.

Patrick wanted to escape the vomit smells from below so he went up topside. He saw that the dead-tired crew was still tied to the mast on long ropes as they performed their duties sluggishly.

Finally, the clouds became patchy and a little moonlight could be seen dancing on the water. Patrick walked to the railing, stretched his arms over his head, yawned and looked out across the waters. Moonlight was slowly becoming daylight and the water illuminated quickly. Patrick's eyes grew with fear as he saw a silhouette of a sloop become visible five hundred lengths off the larboard side. He screamed in a panicked voice, "Captain! Pirates! Larboard side!"

The deck immediately sprang to life with activity, shouts, and bell ringing. "Battle stations!" the quartermaster commanded in his awkward slow broken Greek accent. "Be ya reedy on da cannons!"

Captain Gibbons hurried to get the sails up on the modified galleon. The _Robin_ had three masts with larger sails and a crow's nest. Most private captains modified the ships to their tastes, and the _Robin_ was no exception sporting fore and aft jib sails as well.

The pursuing ship was easier to see now and it was more of a large coastal style sloop with one large mast and a smaller aft mast. The pirate ship was also taken off guard and was quickly raising its massive sail as well. The storm had unknowingly brought to two vessels together in the night. It would now be a footrace to see whose crew could catch the wind first.

An exhausted Captain Gibbons immediately took the helm. He steered the ship the best he could away from the pirates, still getting full sail. The wind was helping the _Robin_ but unfortunately, was also giving an advantage to the mystery vessel. Captain Gibbons still was unsure if this vessel in chase was an English privateer, so he ordered his true colors to be flown. The yellow jack was pulled down and replaced with the English Jack. Gibbons waited nervously as he watched the mast of the pursuing ship.

The Captain felt his heart sink as the enemy vessel did not slow or even raise a jack.

For a brief moment, Captain Gibbons considered giving the order to jettison all extra weight to gain speed. He realized this far out to sea, with the size of his crew, they would be dealt a slow death of starvation and thirst if their supplies were abandoned. They would have to stay and fight. It was a grim thought that made Gibbons uneasy.

The quartermaster yelled for silence and the crew listened attentively. Faint echoes rode out across the water. The Greek listened for a minute and then muttered under his breath, "Curses... That's Spaniard babble dey dribbling out der mouths." He then yelled, reporting to Gibbons, "Spanish privateers, Cap'n. I will see da crew be ready for fightin'."

Captain Gibbons did have some knowledge that gave him a little bit of an upper hand in this chess match. He knew most privateers relied on fear and not actual force. It was too costly and not wise to have holes blown into the prize you were trying to take. The captain calculated they would not shoot first; they would try to cower the _Robin_ into surrender. The Spanish might take on his crew, but Gibbons was well aware that captured captains were usually killed or ransomed. Either way, this would not end well for his skin.

The Spanish sloop was now quickly closing the distance. With his spyglass, the captain could see over a hundred armed men on the sloop's deck preparing to fight. The captain knew his ship was out manned and out gunned. The _Robin_ only had six carriage-style French garrison guns that actually worked. They were poorly retrofitted on the deck and below. The _Robin_ 's cannons rested on Vauban marine carriages so they would not fly backwards off the deck when fired. The carriages had thick mahogany cheeks and large wood-banded wheels. Captain Gibbons's plan was to bring the Spanish sloop as close as possible and cripple the sails with the _Robin'_ s smaller cannons.

A fake surrender would be staged to bring the Spanish close. Mandrik instructed all men above deck to raise their arms in the air as the Spanish vessel closed in tight. The ships were now turning broad side to each other as the Spanish crew could be seen preparing their grappling hooks to throw into the _Robin_ 's rigging. Captain Gibbons was putting enormous trust into his master gunner's hands and waited for his gunner to start firing. Gibbons was making a big gamble. Only four of the _Robin_ 's cannons were in range of the Spanish sloop.

Below deck, Isaac was loading the gunpowder in the gun tube with a ladle and watched as the other gunner's mate loaded the 12-pound ball. A loud metal-on-metal screech pierced Isaac's ears as the ball was shoved down with the ramrod. The Master Gunner then used his gunner's gimlet and poked it into the vent on the cannon to make it ready for the priming powder. He then broke open his dry powder bag and used his powder horn to prim the seat. He carefully loaded the priming quill, which was really a spirit-soaked wick, into the gun tube and down into the powder. The master gunner lined up the cannon, aimed it high at the Spanish sloop's mast and took the smoldering linstock from his gunner's mate. He moved out of the path of recoil and blew on the slow match of the linstock until it was bright orange. The master gunner turned the linstock sideways and lit the quill. Calls quietly went out under deck to light the wicks of the other cannons.

**The** _Robin_ **opens fire!**

Isaac had tied rags over his ears to protect him from the deafening blast of the cannon, but still had to cover his ears with his hands. _BLAMM!_ Even Isaac, with his hulking mass, was blown a step backwards from the violent, concussive force of the explosion. Gray smoke blinded all three men manning the gun while the master gunner immediately ordered a reload. Two other explosions were heard from the belly of the _Robin_.

At the sound of the first volley, Captain Gibbons turned the ship's bow hard and started to make an expedient escape. Five Spanish cannon shots rang out in return. Crewmen of the _Robin_ screamed as they picked up the hidden weapons from the deck and began firing. A gray fog hung between the two ships.

The Spanish privateers took two hits across the deck. One fantastic shot hit the poop deck and damaged the helm. The other shot missed the mast and just skimmed across the deck. One shot missed completely and another cannon never even fired because of damp powder. In return, the _Robin_ took considerably more damage. One of the jib sails was ripped completely off. A hole was punched into the galley and one of the Quaker cannons on the deck was hit and had blown into the sea.

Men were firing muskets with little luck. Both sides missed just about everything they fired at. The battle scene grew quiet as both sides focused on reloading. The _Robin_ turned away hard and the sloop did not turn to match its movements. The Spanish vessel's steering wheel no longer worked and they were already drifting aimlessly.

Isaac frantically wormed and then swabbed the cannon so not to pour gunpowder down a smoldering barrel. Another gunner mate then hastily ladled powder down the barrel. Isaac then loaded the cannon with another ball and the gunner's mate rammed it into place. The master gunner repeated his last ritual and readied the fuse, aimed and lit the wick. He took careful aim this time, trying to time the rise and fall of both ships. The master gunner knew this would be his last chance from this cannon before the angle of attack changed too much. All three men covered their ears, closed their eyes and prayed for a direct hit. _BLAMM!_ A deafening crack filled the compartment and the cannon blew backwards. A loud creaking and crash could be heard from the Spanish sloop. As the smoke cleared, Isaac could see the Spanish vessel's mast hanging a kilter and wailing in the wind. "Fantastic shot! You shivered her timbers!" the gunner's mate yelled in excitement. "Huzzah! Huzzah!" The three men cheered wildly not believing the lucky shot they landed.

Up on deck, cheers from the _Robin_ could be heard as they watched the sloop's mast flail in the wind. The _Robin_ now completed its turn, so only its stern was a target to the sloop as it made its hasty get away. The two ships exchanged cannon fire with not much avail. It seemed that both crews' gunners were very inaccurate. The _Robin_ only took some minor damage to the railing as it fled away.

The Spanish vessel soon became a small shadow until finally it was swallowed by the horizon. The crew of the _Robin_ was in a mad rush to make repairs. Captain Gibbons knew that he had to increase the distance between the Spanish privateers and themselves as fast as possible. He knew that the Spanish ship would already be rigging up a makeshift jolly mast out of the shattered one. Patrick and the master carpenter busily jumped to work patching the damaged galley. Sam Scurvy was covered with blood and had a large cooking fork sticking out of his shoulder from the cannon blast. He was ignoring the large fork and trying to clean his galley. Patrick summated that he was in battle shock and could not feel the pain of the skewer yet.

"Sam, don't forget that pot in the corner there," Patrick pointed.

As Sam Scurvy turned, Patrick made his move and yanked the fork free. With a tearing of flesh, a large splash of blood showered both of them. Sam Scurvy howled and then stared at the large fork in Patrick's hand and stated, "Arrr... Dat's where dat fork be."

Mr. McLain insisted that Patrick take Sam to the surgeon's chest and clean the wound with spirits. As Patrick was treating Sam, Shamus crashed into the room.

"Curse ya two! Why aren't yas lookin' for Brian?" Shamus yelled.

"Who is Brian again?" Patrick questioned, "Where is he?"

"He be a gunner's mate," Shamus belted back. "And if I bloody knew where he be, ya boil-brained boar-pig, I wouldn't be inquirin'! We tink he be blown into a drink when the Quaker cannon blew off."

"We will be there as soon as I finish defestering this lesion," Patrick replied.

Shamus stormed out as noisily as he could with a string of Irish obscenities.

Brian would never be found as the days passed. The crew still kept looking long after the _Robin_ was patched back up. Still uneasy from the battle with the Spanish privateers, the crew continued to nervously scan the horizon for days after the attack. A few days out in the open sea, the captain finally relaxed and turned his command back over to the quartermaster, Mr. Mandrik. They would not have to worry about pirates again until they closed in on Savannah.

Chapter 4

Passage to a New World

The ex-prisoners adapted to sea life well, rarely getting sick. But as soon as it seemed they earned their sea legs, the fresh food ran out and then their diets only consisted of salty meats. Their knives scarred their pewter plates because salted pork and fish was so tough to cut. The ship was gripped with constipation and a constant, overwhelming thirst. To complicate matters, the fresh water was becoming scarce and the stores were dangerously low. Water was collected by any means possible. When rains came, any item that could hold liquid was placed topside to collect the precious run-off. Mandrik devised a very clever method to recover water out of the sails. Most mornings, dew would collect in the sails and he would instruct his rigger monkeys to tilt the cloth at just the right angle so that the dew would bead together and run down the sails into a waiting cistern, which was nothing more than a modified barrel. If the sails were shaken and rung out as well, they yielded an astonishing amount of water. The quartermaster proudly boasted to the crew it was an ancient Greek sailing trick to collect water. Most of the men ignored this claim since Mr. Mandrik was notorious for attributing credit to the Greeks for every single good idea on the ship. If a crewmember invented something as small and simple as a new knot, Mandrik would proclaim loudly in his awkward Greek voice, "Dah! The Greeks did this first!"

The longer at sea and the longer the crew sailed, the more efficient each man became at their jobs. Soon the crew had a fair amount of free time on their hands the gambling started and although it was against the captain's policies, everyone gambled. Well, just about everyone. Isaac had finally learned his lesson from the debtors' prison and swore it off for life.

Liar's Dice was the game of choice and Patrick watched some of his crewmates make and lose a small fortune flipping cups and making dubious claims. Too nervous to play a game he knew nothing about, Patrick watched his fellow sailors play for hours. When Patrick became familiar with the game, he still did not try his hand at Liar's Dice. The carpenter's mate had no money, nor valuables. All he had to bid with was his rations of food. He was just starting to feel strong and look healthy again and considered his food too high of stakes to lose in a game of dice.

But Shamus saw things very differently. Except for his grog, the wild-eyed Irishman immediately started betting all his food in game. By betting large amounts of his food, Shamus somehow negotiated his way into a game with real silver. The Irish drunkard had a real gift for lying. He told Patrick in confidence he was descended from a race of storytellers, natural liars, and was quickly amassing a small fortune in silver.

Patrick watched in awe as Shamus entered a very high stakes game where the winner would walk out with one-hundred-and-fifty ounces of silver doubloons. Shamus had somehow won an exotic hat and clothing from his last few games and now wore them as trophies. To complete the image he now sported a small beard and mustache that he had grown with astonishing speed for an Irishman.

Shamus playing liars dice and Sam Scurvy watching

As Shamus sat on the deck with two other sailors in a triangle formation, a gasp went up from the crowd as all the silver rounds were slid into a pot. One of Shamus's opponents wore a fancy gentleman's blue hat. The other gambler was shirtless and only wore a hempen necklace tied with shells. The three men each had five dice in front of them on the deck and a worn, wooden cup. Holding each other's gazes, the three men collected the dice carefully, dropped them in their cups, and then wildly shook. A thunderous crack echoed above the waves lapping the bow of the _Robin_ as all three men in unison slammed their cups down on the deck.

All eyes watched as the combatants peeked under their cups.

"Im'a open with 4 twos," the shirtless man stated.

"Dar be 4 sixes on deck," Shamus corrected, upping the ante.

"I will have to follow our shirtless friend's lead," the top hat man countered with a confident smile and a well-educated English accent. "I believe there are 5 twos."

"There are 6 twos on the floor," the shirtless man offered with a grin.

"Ya two be weedy, crook-pated liars," Shamus screeched. "I am callin' ya out!"

The three men lifted their cups revealing their dice so that the counting could begin.

The shirtless man had 4 twos.

The man wearing the top hat revealed 2 twos.

"Ya Bloody liars and cheats! " Shamus cursed as he revealed he also had a die showing a two.

"Well that is seven," the educated gentleman informed Shamus. "Cast your die in, sir."

"Fie! I can do numbers, ya clapper-clawed codpiece," Shamus pouted as he tossed one of his die into the pot.

The men collected their dice but Shamus now only had 4 dice and the others still had 5. They shook their cups. _Crack!_

Shamus quickly lost two more obscenity-filled rounds and was now just down to two remaining dice. Although he was down in dice, the toothless pale man used the opportunity to study his opponents closely. The gentleman always opened with a bid with a bluff, lying about dice he did not have. He hoped his opponents would bid too high and then he could call their lie out. The other man seemed more honest except when he would toy with his necklace, a subtle tell. Shamus continued to cuss like a madman, but it was all theater now. He knew he had all the information he needed to quickly turn the game around.

Crack!

"I open with 4 threes," the gentleman coolly stated.

Shamus immediately pounced on him and challenged, "You be a rank, flap-mouthed, lyin' harpy! Call him out!"

"I think ya may be right," the shirtless man agreed with Shamus before turning to the gentleman. "You be a surly liar!"

The gentleman's mouth was slightly agape as he questioned, "It's opening bid. Are you sure you want to call?"

"Stop larkin' 'round," Shamus called out pointing at the gentleman's cup. "Show ya bloody dice."

The business of turning cups began. Shamus's cup revealed he had 1 three. The shirtless sailor had 2 three's. The top hat man had none.

"Only 3 t'rees," Shamus howled in victory. "Cast ya die, ya puny, onion-eyed mammets!"

The game went back and forth with lies upon lies until all three men only had one die each. Shamus wondered if he should open with a lie or actually be honest and play his die true. Honest to his nature, he decided to lie. "I open with 1 five, ya sheep-bitin' louts" Shamus cooed happily.

The gentleman was frustrated losing so many dice to two such lowly characters and was becoming quickly disgusted with Shamus's outbursts.

Shamus snapped at the gentleman "Now make ya bet, ya mammerin' flap-mouthed eejit."

"Very well," the gentleman in the hat pompously conceded. "I have 1 six."

The shirtless man quietly stated, "2 threes," without fondling his necklace. Shamus's eyes widened. He knew he was holding a three and assumed if this man was not lying, he must also have a three.

"Ok, ya goatish, fool-born canker-blossoms." Shamus confidently proclaimed, "I am calling da bid spot on." A hush fell over the very large crowd that had collected around the high stakes game. All eyes eagerly waited.

Shamus had a three. As Shamus predicted, the shirtless man also had a three. The top hat man told the truth and actually had a six.

The bid was spot on. Both of Shamus' opponents grumbled. They cast their losing dice into the pot and the crowd erupted with roars and cheering.

Shamus could barely lift the pot full of silver and threatened the crew, "If any of ya dankish badgers touch this silver, I'll run ya through and throw ya into da drink!"

The crowd laughed and made mock threats to steal Shamus's fortune when he slept. So happy to see a common man win, the crowd continued cheering and thumping the deck with their feet, howling and clapping, long after the shirtless man congratulated Shamus and the gentleman sulked off.

Only a few days were left of the crossing and to the crew's pleasure, it had been relatively uneventful. It was commonly known that crossing the ocean in early summer can be very treacherous because of the wild weather but the ship had been lucky to not have the ocean's wrath affect them. The crew attributed the good weather and good luck to the proper care given to the old sea rituals.

A bottle had been successfully smashed on the hull to ensure a safe return and a horseshoe was properly secured to the mast to keep storms away. A black cat was kept on board, ensuring the sailors would safely return home from sea and rum was generously poured on the deck and in the ocean to offer the sea god a bribe for safe passage. Most of the sailors wore earrings to prevent them from drowning and were properly tattooed for protection as well. The ship was adorned with a figurehead of a bare-breasted woman with a robin's head. This was so the naked woman could calm stormy seas, offer an eye to see the way to their destination and the robin's head was added so that unlettered sailors could easily identify the _Robin_. All these precautions convinced the sailors of safe passage. When a family of dolphins was spotted off starboard side swimming with the ship, the crew was confident that they and their ship were blessed.

**The figurehead of the** _Robin_

* * *

Patrick was woken by the sounds of excitement and rushed topside to see what the commotion was. The imposing sun blinded him immediately, but after he rubbed the darkness of his cabin from his eyes, Patrick could see the hazy coastline lying far off in the horizon. Captain Gibbons could be heard praising the sailing master for such a deft job. The _Robin_ was but one day's sail up the coast. Straying so far off course after the battle with the Spanish privateers, the captain's gratitude of the impressive navigation was well deserved. Morale amongst the crew was high. Each man bragged how they would soon be spending their hard-earned silver on women, fresh food and strong spirits.

"Quartermaster, muster the crew," Captain Gibbons ordered. "It is time we made them understand the rules of shore leave."

Immediately, the boatswain's whistle blew and the excited crew gathered around the captain.

"Before you men get so excited you lose your focus, I need to remind you of your obligations," the captain stated sternly, looking at each man in turn. "You will have only one week to enjoy shore leave but you must check in with the quartermaster at high noon every day. Remember you have sworn contract to this vessel and if you do not return to honor those commitments, the consequences will be severe." The captain allowed the men their moment to grumble. He understood their excitement because the crew had been stuck on a ship for weeks, but he would not suffer any indiscretion. When the men quieted again, he continued, "There are certain rules and protocols in Savannah you must follow or you will disgrace this ship and its captain."

Quartermaster Mandrik was quick to drive the point home and shouted, "And any of ya crew break da laws and disgraces da cap'n, I will flog ya to da devil!"

"Now then," continued the Captain, "Savannah only has four rules you must remember. One: No strong water, spirits, rum or brandy is allowed." A loud rumble of objection quickly overtook the crew. "But beer, ale and wine are just fine," Gibbons explained.

"Two: absolutely no lawyers are allowed. The city understands that lawyers create divisiveness, encourages clients to seek causes. So if you do get in trouble while ashore, you will have to plead your own case. Then you will have to come back and deal with Mr. Mandrik," the captain warned.

"Three: there is no slavery in this town. The Negroes you meet will be free men and we expect you to keep your peace with them.

"Fourth and finally: No Papists and Roman Catholics are allowed to worship there. Savannah doesn't want to worry about its Catholics sympathizing with the Spanish Catholics, so that sect of religion is outlawed."

"Fie! Dis is gonna dun break me mutter's heart and make Jesus cry, ya impertinent fly-bitten foot-lickers!" Shamus barked up.

"I would normally have ordered you beaten close to death for that outburst," the captain cautioned, "but since you are being sold tomorrow, I can't have you blackened."

"Also, there are no Jews allowed," the captain pointed out. "They don't really enforce this one but it is their law. So, Isaac, be mindful of that and lose that little Jew hat of yours.

"Unfortunately," the captain addressed the crew and former prisoners, "we have some unpleasantness we have to take care of before we land. Let this serve as a demonstration that I am not a captain you want to embarrass in Savannah." He then turned to Mandrik and ordered, "Bring them up!"

Two hoodwinked men were brought out and forced to kneel before the captain. Their hoods were removed and both men had tears streaming down their faces.

Captain Gibbons announced so all the crew could hear from their positions, "Mr. Michael and Mr. James, you have denied stealing rations before. I have heard complaints from crewmates that they have seen you both exiting the galley when it has been unattended. I had overlooked all of this to keep peace in my crew until Mr. Mandrik caught you two red, handed as it were, with stolen food and wine. Not just any wine, but MY WINE."

One of the accused men openly sobbed while the other merely starred at the planks of the deck.

Gibbons continued, "You have been told to stay out of the galley repeatedly. You have been accused repeatedly and now been caught stealing from me."

Mr. Michael quivered. He wiped the snot off his nose on his shoulder, gathered his courage and then pronounced, "I can't help it Cap'n. I need the wine to soothe me nerves." Upon confessing his guilt, Mr. Michael continued a deluge of tears. Snickers could be heard from the crew.

Mr. James was older than Mr. Michael and starred defiantly at the captain, "Ya group of Judases! Hypocrites! Men ha'been stealing from each otter on dese ships since da beginning of time. I've even shared my goods with some a'yous, and yous shared with me, but I don't see you kneeling down here with me now. Ya didn't mind drinking me wine when we be alone, but now ya be cowards and not stand up for us when it counts!" With that condemnation, James spit on the deck.

"Enough!" Captain Gibbon's eyes were burning as he dispensed, "For that outburst and unremorseful statement, I pass sentence on you two, mammering thieves. Two rounds of keelhauling for the both of you." The crew gasped at such a harsh punishment.

It was at that moment when the Greek man felt his wooden St. Nicholas icon fall out of his pocket and hit the deck. The religious man tried to grab it as it dropped but he watched in horror as the edge of the icon broke off as it bounced around the planks. A deep sense of dread overtook him and he realized this was a warning sign from his protective saint. He knew the captain's orders were much too extreme and down deep he knew he should not follow this order, but years of strict obedience overruled his gut feeling. Instead of not following the harsh order he tried to convince Gibbons to reduce their sentence.

Mr. Mandrik drops his icon and Mr. Michael and Mr. James are presented for punishment

Mr. Mandrik cleared his throat, nervous to question the wisdom of his superior, and asked, "Cap'n, couldn't ya just introduce dem to the cat-o-nine tails or tie dem to da mast? Keelhauling for dis might sit bad wit da crew."

Gibbons shot his quartermaster a steely glare. "You heard me, Quartermaster. Execute my orders! We cannot have the crew stealing from their captain. Let this be a lesson to you all!"

The sentenced men shook with fear. Mr. Michael wailed like a woman as they were both tied to the keelhaul line. The thick rope ran from the starboard side deck, under the ship, and back up to the larboard side deck. The long rope was normally used to scrape barnacles off the keel. Now the two offending thieves bodies would be used to clean the razor-sharp shells from the bottom of the ship. Mr. James hissed, "CLOT-POLES!" as Gibbons nodded to Mandrik.

With that queue, Mandrik bellowed, "Send them into the drink, men. Pull them down!"

A group of sailors pulled hard from the larboard side and the two condemned thieves flew off the deck, over the side and under the ship. A loud thumping of kicking could be heard on the ship's hull. The sound made Patrick shudder. After a few seconds, the two men emerged on the starboard side drenched in salt water, gasping for air and screaming in pain.

"Quartermaster, that was too fast," the captain smiled maliciously. "Have your men slow it down this time!"

Mandrik swallowed hard and nodded to his captain that he understood. His voice cracked as he barked the command, "You heard the cap'n, boys. Slower." The torture procedure was then reversed pulling James and Michael over the side and into the sea. The men pulling the ropes pulled slower this time, drowning and dragging Michael and James across the sharp barnacle shells attach to the belly of the ship.

When they were finally pulled from the water, over the rail and back on the deck of the _Robin_ , the clothes of the two men were blood soaked. They were both coughing up water and Patrick cringed at the sound of two men whimpering like children. Once untied from the rope, both James and Michael doubled over, holding the deep lacerations, futilely trying to stop the bleeding. The crew was silent.

"I am not completely heartless," Gibbons explained with a sadistic delight. "See to their wounds. Then tie them each to a barrel and set them a drift. If you wait a few hours, the tide will be moving towards the shore and they might even be lucky enough to drift into land." The two howling men were dragged to the surgeon's quarters, leaving a line of crimson soaking into the deck. A young crewman ran over to quickly mop up the trail.

The excitement of landing had somehow vanished for Patrick. He just wanted to drift to his station, make his himself busy with work and forget the horror he just witnessed when Mandrik reminded, "Hold on, lads. The cap'n wants more words wit yas."

The captain rubbed his hands, as if wiping away the dirty business he just had overseen, and spoke, "You five will be sold as indentured servants, work hard and take this opportunity to learn a craft. You will be set free in just five short years."

Shamus was confused. "I thought I just heard your kook-sookin' mouth say slavery was forbade."

The captain replied, "Ay fine sir, you are _not_ slaves since one day, you _will_ be free. Until then, you will get living quarters, food, a small salary and even a little time to enjoy yourselves in the town in exchange for your labor. But you will not be allowed to court women or start a family until your contract is finished." The captain paused to give his next words greater gravity, "Let me explain the consequences, gentlemen. I expect to get top gold for you five and _you_ want to make sure that happens. If you do not sell, you will spend the rest of your days doing dog's work on this barky."

"We already be doin' da pribblin' clay-brained jobs!" Shamus exclaimed.

"One more outburst, Mr. Red, and I will let Mr. Mandrik teach you to respect your captain," Captain Gibbons warned coldly. After holding Shamus's eye for a long moment to emphasize his seriousness, the captain continued, "We have written ads for you that will be posted in town. Local merchants will come to inspect you and question you. You want to put on a good show and you hope they purchase your services. Otherwise, your life will be unbearable on this ship and you will curse your mothers for ever birthing you. Do we have an understandable agreement, gentleman?"

"Aye Aye, Captain," Sam chirped.

The quartermaster questioned, "Are any of yas versed in words? Raise yas palms if yas can read!"

Patrick and Isaac raised their hands.

"Yas two go over da descriptions of duties proclaimed in da notes," Mr. Mandrik explained in his heavy odd Grecian tongue. "Make sure everyone knows da skills we say day are learned at. I am given yas da proclamation of sale notes. Don't dare soil dem and I be back shortly."

As the quartermaster walked away the five men gathered around to read the advertisements written about them. Patrick read his own advertisement first. The advertisement was written on hemp paper and in elegant penmanship it read:

## Just Arrived

### June 21st The sale of this indenture will commence at noon in Market Square. Patrick Willis is versed in word and numbers and is well learned. He hast skills of a jeweler and silversmith. The indentured is very skilled with delicate handwork. This man can adapt to other metal work such as blacksmithing and forging. He also has served as a ship carpenter and surgeon's mate. Terms be a seven year service. I will sell on bid for ready money or Tobacco and the Credit, Bond and Security will be required.

### Inquire with Mr. Mandrik of the Robin for inspection and sale.

Patrick reread this advertisement and quickly panned through the others. "All of these are seven years, and none at five!" Patrick stated angrily. "We been lied to again, lads!"

"I thought it be strange," Sam Scurvy piped in. "Most prisoners be indentured seven to ten years, only free men serve but five." Sam thought for a moment and then continued, "The cap'n is going to try and pass us off as freeman, I says. He made no notice of our transgressions in the advertisement."

"You can slap that churlish, crook-pated lout. I'll shove his wig right up his rear! Curse this whole gorbellied, folly-fallen situation. I had enough of this dog squeeze!" Shamus shouted irately.

Isaac held out his hands and calmly resolved, "I will suffer two more years if I never have to go back to the dank prison we were rescued from."

"Let us ask Mr. Mandrik about this when he comes forth," Jessup injected.

"Agreed, we will have him change this," Patrick conferred.

The heat of anger continued to build among the huddled men until the quartermaster returned.

"What is dis about da seven years, you goatish Greek clot-pole?! You's all lied to us and ya best change da notice back to five years!" Shamus barked as he pointed his angry finger at Mandrik's chest.

The quartermaster began to breathe heavy through his nose like a bull that had seen red. He spoke loudly so there would be no questions. "Da captain changed da terms and ya all be better marketed now. You're to never mention yas jail time or I will throw ya into the drink on da way back to London! Now get back to yas duties and mention dis no more!"

The quartermaster angrily stomped off, leaving the five men staring at each other with dismay. Patrick sighed. "I guess I must suffer seven more years until I can truly live free." The five former prisoners nodded quietly in agreement as Patrick continued, "Lads, much confusion will happen in the next days and this may be the last time we are in league together. So let's all concur: one day on a harvest moon, years from now at the dock we arrive at, we have a reunion at their best pub."

The grumbling group accepted Patrick's idea.

After the men accepted their new fate, the feeling of excitement started to swell again. Tomorrow morning they would finally see Savannah. The men retired to the duties with a sense of newfound hope.

Savannah, 1734

Chapter 5

Savannah

Patrick woke up to loud hoots and cheering. He sprung out of his hammock so fast that his foot caught in the netting and he fell. His cabin mates roared with laughter that after all this time, he still could not maneuver his simple hammock. After gathering himself up from the floor and untwisting his ankle from the hammock's netting, Patrick rushed up the deck to the jeers and hollering of the crew already gathered. Off in the far distance, docks could be seen as well as steps climbing up a steep hill.

The boatswain's whistle blew loudly and the entire crew was materializing topside. The men wore smiles from ear to ear as they slapped each other's backs with joy. A loud Greek voice proclaimed "Prepare da _Robin_ fur shore, pretend yar Greek so ya will dos it the right way dis time."

The crew hollered like a church choir, "Huzzah, Huzzah, Huzzah!" as each man scurried to their job like ants on an apple. The deck exploded with excited activity.

Patrick smiled at Jessup, Sam Scurvy, and then Isaac. All the men were grinning at each other in anticipation of landing in Savannah, but a wave of odd feelings washed over Patrick. Something, or someone, was amiss. He wondered, "Where's Shamus?"

Savannah was slowly approaching; a bluff could be seen with a dock jutting from it. A long flight of stairs was cut from the steep slope. The stairs ran from the dock to the upper plateau of the town. There was a large wooden, octagon, ratcheting crane that was very similar to the windlass used to raise the anchor on the _Robin_. The crane was used to slide heavy cargo from the docks up a skid to the top of the bluff. Most of the town was difficult to see beyond the large protective palisades, or the wooden fences, circling it.

The crew was a fevered frenzy of activity. If the crew could swim, pushing the ship to increase speed, they would have. A call went out and the men scrambled, reporting to docking stations, as they drifted closer and closer to the bluff. More calls went out across the deck to drop the rigging in order to slow the approach of the speeding galleon. As land grew closer, the calls became more frantic, "DROP THE RIGGING! DROP THE RIGGING!" with no response. Furious, the master rigger questioned, "Where da HELL is da rigging mate?"

Savannah dock in 1739

Calls echoed across the deck, "Shamus, you toothless potato eater, get to your station!"

This commotion immediately attracted the attention of Mr. Mandrik. "Mr. Willis, go find ya drunken mick friend and get 'em to his station immediately," he demanded sternly. Patrick recruited Isaac to his aid and they went below deck searching for Mr. Red's passed-out, drunken corpse. They looked everywhere; every bunk, every crawl space, even the bilge. No sign could be found of him. What's worse was that all of his belongings, including his wooden pot of silver winnings, had vanished as well. Both Isaac and Patrick felt a growing dread. They knew the quartermaster would be murderous with this news and neither man relished the thought of reporting it back to him. They both drudgingly climbed above deck to report to Mr. Mandrik with the news.

As they told him what they found, Mr. Mandrik seemed to grow taller as his rage consumed him. His face became dark and fire blazed in his angry eyes. The two messengers were frightened and recoiled as their eyes sunk to their feet. Both men were struck in their faces with one stinging backhand. "Ya two best hope he is on dis ship! Summon the boatswain to call another meeting, NOW!" the imposing Greek bellowed loudly.

The sound of the boatswain's whistle could be heard screeching across the deck. The crew quickly assembled in excited curiosity. The quartermaster spoke in a harsh, angry tone. "It seems dat Shamus Red is missing dis morrow from da _Robin_. No man is getting off dis ship until he is found. All da crew search dis ship and find him. NOW! Or dare be no shore leave for nobody!" Except for the few men essential to docking, the entire infuriated crew immediately began a high-speed and panicked search.

In the meantime, as Savannah came closer into sight, Captain Gibbons ordered, "Quartermaster, signal the harbor master that our barky is ready for the mandatory pox inspection."

Mr. Mandrik produced a solid iron mug with a finger-sized hole drilled into the middle of it. The signaling cannon looked more like a beer stein than a cannon. "Cover ya ears, sailors. Don't let its small size fool yas, it packs a heck of a crack. They call this cannon a thunder mug for good reason." He carefully loaded the powder into the tiny cannon and then took a linstock to it. A loud, thunderous crack filled the harbor and within minutes, the harbormaster could be seen rowing small jolly boat out to inspect the vessel.

Some formalities were shouted back and forth between the captain and the dock master. After some quick discussion, the harbormaster boarded the _Robin_ and quickly inspected the crew for disease. He returned to his jolly boat, waving the _Robin_ in and leading it to the dock. The harbormaster then gave a quick thumbs up motion to call off the cannons on the bluff, which were quietly trained onto the _Robin_.

The _Robin_ drifted in perfectly and was gently docked; a true credit of the captain's abilities. The _Robin_ 's crew and the men working the dock snapped to life, working in a fluid unison to tie the ship down. A large steel ruckus was made as the _Robin_ unleashed its noisy anchor. Wasting no time, the crew slid the gangplank to the dock. Before any man could dash off, the quartermaster blocked the way of the crew. "Nobody touches land until da dirty mick is found!" The crew let out a collective groan, like children who were not allowed out after finishing their chores.

Ignoring this order, the captain walked down the gangplank to barter with the dock master over the price and terms of his stay. Summoning one of his cabin boys, the captain instructed, "Boy, post this notice for the auction of the indentured in market square. You'll see the other postings and figure out where to nail it up." The boy silently and solemnly nodded he understood and ran off. The Captain then strolled up the long stairs and disappeared into the town hidden behind the palisades.

Mr. Mandrik continued to make the crew search futilely for Shamus for the rest of the long day. The men searched until sunset when they started to collect on deck to approach Quartermaster Mandrik. "We done torn dis ship apart, sir," the rigging master stated. "There is no sign of Red. I doubt the drunk was washed overboard; his belongings vanished mysteriously as well. He must have jumped ship, Quartermaster."

The Greek man was seething with rage. "Listen good!" he shouted as the crew was silenced. "Whoever drags that mick, Irish coxcomb back to da _Robin_ get's his weight in silver. Go find him! Check every last pub and inn in town. But remember da captain's rules: make no mention of his sordid past or I'll make ya wish ya you were in a rat-hole prison in London."

The flood of excited men pushed past each other as they shoved their way down the gangplank. Patrick only got one foot on the gangplank until the angry Greek shoved him to the deck. "Ya four ain't going anywhere. We no lose anymore of ya slippery gudgeons. Ya will stay locked below until da auction." The four men surrendered to their fate and begrudgingly shuffled below deck escorted by six armed crewmen. Each of the four was locked into a cabin, instructed to sleep and clean up. Two days from now they would be auctioned off and they could not look dirty or tired.

* * *

Two long hot slow days had passed. Just a skeleton crew was left to help resupply the _Robin_. Boxes of cargo were removed while new barrels and boxes were loaded in the cargo hold. The full crew was only seen once a day while they checked in. The _Robin_ 's bell would ring loudly at noon and hung-over and sleepy sailors would slowly materialize on the dock. No returning sailor reported any sighting of Shamus yet. The captain was furious about the loss of so much income. The profits of the _Robin_ 's cargo only covered for expenses of the trip. Gibbons made more gold from his servants than all the cargo he dragged with him across the ocean. The indentured servants were all profit to his war chest. The captain knew he was on a tight schedule and had to have the auction without the foul-mouthed Irishman.

The quartermaster now presented the newly well-dressed, clean and healthy looking men to the captain for inspection. The extra food rations had done well in restoring them from their past skeleton-like bodies. Mr. Mandrik reminded the four men standing before the captain, "Remember whats da cap'n say: no mention of prison or ya find yourself swimming back to England!" Mandrik then escorted the men to the gangplank and down to the dock.

Patrick, with his feet finally on steady land, felt punch drunk. He stumbled and staggered and tried to make it to the stairs. After finally earning his sea legs and adapting to the constant movement of life on the ship, he now found the solid earth disorienting as he adjusted back to land.

The four men and Mandrik climbed the long flight of stairs and crested the bluff. They passed through the palisades, staring at the town. Savannah welcomed them with a blast of oppressive heat and rancid smells. The high walls of the palisades stifled the ocean breeze. Patrick was taken aback. He had never felt heat like this. He could actually see the heat dance in the air and felt the sticky, wet haze soak his shirt. The heat was not the only welcome present Savannah gave to the men. Patrick swatted at the swarming insects that were biting his hands and face. It was bewildering. He could not see the insects but felt their incessant biting. The men were all swatting and scratching madly as they wandered into town.

Savannah was a town under occupation; the king's military were everywhere. It seemed half the town was redcoats. This immediately made the four uneasy. In England, the king's army were feared and reviled. They followed and executed the king's orders without mercy. They were no different than the violent gangs of bandits that roamed the streets of London, except they had nice, bright, uniforms and the government's blessing. Patrick wondered if the military would still be just as terrifying in Savannah, so far from the king's iron grip of control.

The men started up the street and were immediately immersed in all the activity around them. It seemed most of the town was moving toward Market Square to watch the auction of the new arrivals. Patrick noticed the stark differences in the layout of this town compared to London. It had more of a military fort feel to it, especially the way it was designed. He was told Savannah was the colonies' first planned city. The men turned a corner and smelled the livestock. They then passed the livery where travelers' horses were being boarded. There were many black merchants selling goods from carts along the road. Once entering the square, Patrick immediately noticed all the business owners in the square were white. The men approached the livestock area where a large crowd had gathered. The four men were then led by Mandrik to a small wooden block and were instructed to wait.

The awkward Greek man started negotiating with the owner of the livery about the cost to display the men on stage. After a long session of haggling, a silver round was exchanged and both men smiled. Captain Gibbons seemed to materialize from nowhere and motioned to Mr. Mandrik to start the sale.

"Patrick, ya be up first. Get up dar," the Greek said as he shoved him up onto the block. Patrick stood on stage and stared out nervously into the crowd. He was offended to be sold as a mule to the highest bidder and he grew indignant.

Captain Gibbons piped up in a loud, pompous voice, "You may now inspect this man before the auction starts!" A group of men shoved their way to the block and manhandled Patrick. They poked and prodded him; one man grabbed his mouth and examined his teeth like a common horse.

"What are you doing? I am no slave," Patrick angrily protested and smacked his hand away. Mr. Mandrik became furious and then made a swimming motion to Patrick to remind him that he would be swimming back to England if he did not sell.

The buyers returned to their bidding positions and started conversing with each other. Meanwhile, Patrick spied a woman removed from the arguing men and trying to keep her distance. The woman had long, red hair flowing down her dress. Her pale face stood out of her worn red and black dress. She adorned a large red hat with a black lace ribbon tied on the backside and draping down her back. Red gloves, red shoes and a red parasol completed the outfit and protected her from Savannah's merciless sun. Patrick had not seen a woman in almost eight years and was completely dumbfounded. He stood and outright gaped at her while the auction started.

Captain Gibbons began his sales pitch. "Patrick Willis worked for one of the finest jewelers in all of London. His metallurgic skills are unmatched and would be a wonderful addition to any craft that requires delicate handiwork. Mr. Willis also has performed very well as our ship's carpenter and surgeon's mate. He is lettered, numbered and ciphered. Remember, this is a seven-year term, so dig deep gentleman. I am opening the bidding at 10 pounds."

Three men in the crowd tried to open with the bid and their fingers shot up. The bid rose fast as the three men started their bidding war.

"The bid is now twelve! Fourteen! Eighteen! Twenty and twenty-two!" Gibbons exclaimed.

A man wearing a leather bib and covered with black soot spoke to Patrick, "Can you make gunshot and nails quickly?" Patrick was completely oblivious to the events going on around him, he was only fixated on the red gloved lady.

Mr. Mandrik yelled at Patrick, "Lad, answer the man!"

"Ohhh yes, I have made shot before but not nails," Patrick said hesitantly.

"Very good. Twenty-four," the man in the bib chimed in.

"Twenty-five," another man in the audience replied.

The man in the bib came back with "Twenty-five and a barrel of Carolina tobacco."

A hush fell over the crowd.

"Last chance at Twenty-five and a barrel of Carolina tobacco. Going once, twice and sold upon agreement of the parties." Gibbons clapped his hand smiling, "Sold!"

"Let's go over there and work out this contract," the captain motioned.

Patrick was then escorted off the stage and shown the contract. "This is a voluntary contact so both parties need to agree. Look it over carefully and make sure you two meet on the level," Captain Gibbons stated.

"What are you known by, good sir?" Patrick asked.

"My name is Archibald Freeman and I am glad to know you," he extended his filthy black hand to Patrick.

"Name's Patrick Willis," he responded and then shook Freeman's hand firmly.

"Good. Let's take a look-see at this contract together," Archibald proposed.

The Contract read:

This INDENTURE Witnesseth that Patrick Willis a Jeweler doth Voluntarily put himself Servant to Captain Gibbons of the Robin to serve the said Captain Gibbons and his Assigns, for and during the full Space, Time and Term of Seven Years from the first Day of the said Robin's arrival in Savannah, during which Time or Term the said Master or his Assigns shall and will find and supply the said Patrick with sufficient Meat, Drink, Apparel, Lodging and all other necessaries befitting such a Servant, and at the end and expiration of said Term, the said Patrick to be made Free, and receive according to the Custom of the Country. Provided nevertheless, and these Presents are on this Condition, that if the said Patrick shall pay the said Captain Gibbons or his Assigns 25 Pounds British and a barrel of Tobacco in twenty one Days after his arrival he shall be Free, and the above Indenture and every Clause therein, absolutely Void and of no Effect. In Witness whereof the said Parties have hereunto interchangeably put their Hands and Seals the 21st Day of June in the Year of our Lord, One Thousand Seven Hundred and Thirty Nine in the Presence of the these men.

### Addendum

### Captain Gibbons of the Robin assigns this agreement to Archibald Freeman of Savannah.

### Signatures of

### Patrick Willis of London

_______________________

### Captain Gibbons of the Robin

_______________________

### Archibald Freeman of Savannah

### This document is lettered in triple.

Patrick snickered at the notion this was a voluntary contract, as if he had some sort of choice. He could voluntarily choose to say "no" and be cast out to sea or accept this one chance to eventually be free. He forced his heavy hand to sign the next seven years of his life away under duress. Mr. Freeman then handed a bag of money to the grinning Gibbons and arranged delivery of the tobacco. Both of the men, the captain and the blacksmith, then signed and sealed the deal in spittle.

They were then interrupted by the sounds Mr. Mandrik and Isaac arguing "Take ya little Jew hat off for da auction," Mr. Mandrik barked angrily.

"I will not," Isaac replied stoically.

"I will rip that errant hat from yar Jew head if you don't!" the quartermaster threatened hotly.

Isaac stepped on the block and stated coolly to the captain, "I am ready to start. Open the bids." The captain, annoyed with it all, just went along with Isaac's notion and called for inspection, but no man approached. The crowd of buyers stepped back in silence.

Isaac on the auction block

The captain continued anyway, "Isaac Swartz is a large, hulking man with a very strong back and could do the lifting of two men. He was trained to collect bad debts and is a trained pugilist who is very handy with his large fists. He would be excellent in security or as a sentry. On my ship he was trained as a gunner. I enthusiastically open this bid at twenty pounds."

The crowd was silent as awkward stares fell upon the captain.

Gibbons went on, "Anyone? Anyone at all? Very well. I will keep him as my gunner. Going once, going twice..."

A shout came for a frail, tall gray haired man wearing a yarmucle, "Wait, I bid twenty pounds!"

"Very good. Going once, going twice... SOLD!" the _Robin_ 's captain shouted.

The three men came together to examine the contract. "Shalom. I am the town Doctor, Dr. Daniel Nunis. Glad to meet you," the doctor offered politely.

Isaac replied, "I have no training in treating aliments, sir. I have no idea why you would bid on me."

The doctor grinned, "Anyone brave enough to refuse to remove his yarmulke to these Christians is a man I wish to call friend." Both Jewish men then smiled and quickly signed the contract with Captain Gibbons.

Next up on the block was Sam Scurvy. Although his legs were bowed, he was very able now. Once the crowd found out he was a master fisherman a furious bidding war started and ended at 23 pounds. Purchased by a local fisherman, Sam was happy to get hired for a job he already knew and loved.

The last man was Jessup, who even still, nobody knew anything about. He refused to talk of his past so Captain Gibbons embellished his sailing experience. Jessup had the weathered look of a seasoned sailor so the tale seemed believable. When the bidding opened, not one soul in the crowd placed a bid. As Gibbons was about to close the auction and walk away, a colored man approached him.

"Captain, I will buy him for fifteen pounds," the black man said. Some of the crowd jeered and stayed to watch.

"You want me to sell you a white man? What possibly for?" Gibbons was befuddled.

The colored man answered flatly, "I own a whaling ship and need men. Does my money spend?"

The Captain looked at Jessup, "It is up to you, Jessup."

"Well, if I go back with you I will be swimming back to London, so what choice do I have?" Jessup offered sarcastically.

"Fine. Let's do a contract, your money spends with me," the Captain snipped. The crowd watching was outraged but could do nothing about the sale but grumble.

Patrick and Archibald observed this sale and Patrick asked, "Is an African savage really allowed to be a ship captain in these colonies?"

"The colored folks are not slaves here," Archibald answered. "At least for a little longer, but rumors be that is changing. Yes, a black man can be a captain, but only in whaling. Whaling is the only profession where a man is not judged by the color of his skin, but his performance." Archibald continued, "It is so dangerous, that most of his crew will be dead within just two years. When a job is that grave, every day a flirtation between life and death, a man's skin doesn't seem so important." He then instructed Patrick to say his "goodbyes", then the two left to go to the shop.

Patrick shook his friends' hands and exchanged partings, agreeing to get together in their free time if they could. He also reminded Isaac, Sam and Jessup of their promised meeting years from now at the inn. Patrick could not help but smile as he walked away and saw Captain Gibbons fade off in the distance into the crowded streets.

Archibald led Patrick through some winding alleys and then stopped in front of a house. In the yard were a covered fire pit and a large anvil. The house looked like all the others around it. It was a small, humble building with a pitched roof and two windows on each side of the door. A small building used as a workshop was in the back yard. Opening the front door of the little house and smiling warmly, Archibald offered, "Come in and meet the family. I bet you're ready to rest a spell and eat some fresh vittles."

Chapter 6

A New Life

Patrick was greeted by a pair of women and a pair of boys sitting around a stone table. The older woman was wearing a sky blue dress, tied from the waist to the chest. Despite the oppressive Savannah heat, every inch of her was covered except her face. The younger woman could not have been more than fifteen; she had young skin and was wearing a shorter, yellow dress. Her exposed forearms and hands were covered with red mosquito welts. The two boys were dressed in matching tricorn hats, simple black vests and buckle shoes.

"Finally," Archibald announced, "this fine man is the indenture we have been planning to take on." The family sitting around the table sprung to their feet and cheered. Patrick was taken aback by this display of appreciation and could not find his tongue. Archibald continued with the introductions. "This is my wife, Marian; my daughter, Heather; and my twin sons, Maximilian and Amos."

Amos walked over to the new indentured and said in a haughty accent, "You, sir, shall polish my shoes before bed every night."

"And I demand you empty my chamber pot every morning," Maximilian said, matching Amos's mocking tone.

"Patrick, I'm sorry for these two. They joke even when it isn't appropriate." Archibald then turned to his sons and threatened, "You twins better behave or I will drop you off at the Bethesda Boys' Home for Wayward Children."

"I wish you would! Did you see how nice that building looks?" Amos snapped back with sarcasm. Archibald shot him a look and he immediately apologized to him and Patrick.

Turning to his wife, Archibald asked cheerfully, "What's for dinner, Mrs. Freeman? Our new friend must be starving."

"Mr. Freeman, we are dining on a bucket of crabs your two men, Maximilian and Amos, caught this morning in their traps," Marian replied in a formal tone.

"Well done, lads," the father beamed with pride and asked, "Where did you trap them?"

Amos replied "A short skirmish south of the palisade, off a small outcrop, where that large rotted palmetto tree is."

The Father picked up a snapping crab and chased after his boys with it saying, "Shall we eat them raw or introduce them to the kettle pot?" The family laughed at the scene of giggling boys running in circles around the stone table, just barely escaping the pinch of the angry crustacean. "Oh right! I forgot our manners," Archibald stated, ending the chase. "Wife, be a dandy and cook these crabs while I show this jasper to his quarters."

"Nice to meet such a lovely family," Patrick said humbly as he departed, smiling at Heather.

Patrick followed Archibald to the shed. It was tight quarters and there was not one bit of space wasted. A hammock attached to the walls, and under that, boxes of metal scraps. There was a workbench full of tools, strange contraptions hanging from the rafters and a small window mostly blocked by even more tools.

"The outhouses are positioned on the north side of town against the palisades currently, but they will be moved again shortly," Archibald instructed. "You can always go just outside the palisades in the swamp; nobody will get up in arms about it. Just bring a bucket of water and sponge with you. It's hard to find foliage to clean your backside that won't redden your rear. It seems everything green is poisonous out there," Archibald continued as Patrick tried catching every word he said. "Water is abundant and everywhere. You can get water out of the rivers, but it is best from any of the streams around," Archibald explained.

"I have had a very long journey, but I am ready to work if you like," Patrick stated eagerly.

"No. Not tonight. Tonight we get to know you and determine if we wasted all our family's gold coin or not. Shall we have some grog before dinner and watch the sun slowly retire, Mr. Willis?" Mr. Freeman grinned.

Patrick sighed happily, "Yes sir. That would be dandy good."

Both men sat down on stumps in the yard, staring at the sky. Archibald called for Heather to fetch him drinks and the men began to relax, getting to know each other better. Archibald removed his tricorn hat revealing his white curly wig. Patrick suspected he shaved his head, like most men, to avoid lice and wore a wig to stay stylish. As Archibald scratched at the wig in the warm Savannah heat, he asked very seriously, "Tell me, Patrick, how did you venture up here in Savannah? Truthfully."

Patrick anguished. Should he tell the truth or do as Mr. Mandrik instructed and omit the prison section of his tale? He drew a breath and spoke, "Well my Father was a prominent jeweler in London and I studied the craft. I took to the skill fast and made my father proud. Bad fortune fell on our family and he became a lunger." Patrick embellished a little, "After he died, I decided to earn my fortune in the New World with hope of sending for my family one day."

Heather appeared smiling with two wooden mugs of grog. She made a polite bow and handed the first cup to her father and then repeated the action for Patrick.

"So did you take a bride back in London, Patrick?" Heather chimed in. Her father shot daggers out of his eyes at the girl.

Patrick had not even seen a woman in eight years, never mind spoke to one. Nervousness overwhelmed him. He fumbled "Um, no ma'am. I've never took a woman. I mean bride. I mean, I have never been sealed in nuptials, with a woman. Not that I mean I took nuptials with a man." He hemmed and hawed, "I mean, uh... I mean, I never had the chance to, um..."

Archibald rescued the floundering man, "I think he means he is still trying to meet the right lady."

"Yes, yes and yes," Patrick agreed quickly, adding, "That is true what he be saying."

Heather laughed at Patrick's awkwardness and strolled slowly back inside the house.

"Well Patrick, let me tell you what you will be doing the next few years." Archibald went back to his instructions and his grog. "I am a blacksmith if you could not tell by my bib. I make my fortune mainly on making nails, horseshoes and tools. Times are demanding more of me lately and I cannot keep true to the demand. So I am hopeful you will take to working with iron as well as you took working with to silver and help me stay level with said production." The wigged man queried, "Do you think you can adapt your skills with your hands?"

Patrick nodded in agreement, as he guzzled his grog.

Archibald continued, "It is pretty simple but very repetitive, the real silver to be made is in gunshot and muskets. The king's forces constantly demand shot. They drop their casting equipment off for the day and we custom make shot for their muskets. The redcoats keep careful watch that the colonists don't make too many guns for themselves or they'll simply confiscate them from us non-military locals. If you plan on getting your own musket soon, you'd be careful to keep it hidden until you go hunting. It's best not to tempt those red demons."

"I can't even fathom being able to afford my own firearm. I was a fine shot with a sling in my boyhood," Patrick joked. "These days I could not even afford a rock to throw."

Marian interrupted them, announcing that dinner was now ready. She insisted that the family dine outside because she did not want her home to reek of crab and low tide, so the family gathered in the back yard under the dogwood tree. The tree was in an unusual second, yellow bloom and provided refuge from the sweltering sunlight. The shade extended over one large stump that was surrounded by eight logs sitting upright. The family sat on the makeshift, wooden seats and dropped the cooked crabs on the large stump table from a steaming pot. To add to the feast, Heather set out some fresh cornbread, presented in a small basket and wrapped in a cloth napkin to protect it from the clouds of flies.

Sitting down, around the great stump covered with boiled crab, the family started giggling as Archibald cheerfully counted, "One, two, three!" The family playfully grabbed at the food as fast as hungry orphans and competed for slices of the cornbread. Boisterous laughing ensued as Marian and Amos played tug a war with a crab until it broke in two. Such a ridiculous and vulgar display of manners only increased the family's joy and laughter.

Patrick was taken aback by this odd display. No prayer was said, no proper rotation of hierarchical serving was observed, just chaos. He sat there with a stunned look on his face as the family grabbed for crabs. Maximilian smiled, presenting Patrick with a crab and large piece of yellow bread. "I am faster than my father," the twin stated slyly. "Here, take these." Patrick laughed loudly and dove into the cornbread, smearing it in his beard. The family chuckled as the smashing sounds of crab shells and wood hammers echoed in the air. Much laughter was heard from under the dogwood for the rest of the evening as the libations continued to flow.

Later in the evening, Archibald led Patrick to his hammock in the moonlight and bragged, "Be ready for a tour of Savannah tomorrow. I want to show you off."

Patrick slowly mounted his hammock clumsily. "Months on a ship and I still can't figure these contraptions out," Patrick confessed with a grin as the two men laughed warmly.

"You will," Archibald promised. "You can rest during second sleep until the seasons change."

As with most cultures around the world, the night was split into first and second sleep. This tradition was carried over from the old world to the colonies. First sleep was about an hour after dinner until the witching hour of midnight. Second sleep was from midnight till sunrise. The late hours where used for just about anything. Many chores were done as well as hobbies. Many times the women knitted or prepared food for the next day's meal. The men completed chores that were too difficult to do in the day's heat like late night wood chopping or hauling. In the Freeman house, it was also a great time to read and they burned through barrels of whale oil in their lamps.

As Archibald retired to the house, Patrick smiled as he gently swung himself fast asleep in his hammock.

* * *

A mosquito bite on his nose welcomed Patrick to the waking world. The bite was already welting up. He noticed his hands and face were covered with more bites and angry welts. With an ungraceful maneuver, he fell out of his hammock and onto the pile of scrap metal with a cacophonous crash. Amazed he found no lacerations from his fall, he considered himself protected by good spirits.

Patrick took himself around the back of the shed and made water. The merry libations were now draining his fluids. Although the sun was just rising in the morning sky, the heat already overtook him and he immediately started to sweat through his linen vest. The new blacksmith amused himself by trying to pee on flies in a stagnant puddle. Mr. Freeman soon came around the corner and joined him in the morning urination.

"We start early around here to avoid the heat," Archibald explained. "I want to give you a tour so when I send you to fetch errands you can navigate the town. Let's explore Savannah, or as the rest of the colonies call it, the Scoundrel's Haven. This small swamp-town has also been called the sanctuary for the bandit, swindler, murderer and prostitute. Shall we go explore this convict's paradise?"

The men walked out onto the dirt thoroughfare and started their walk into town.

"Savannah is set up as a military base. All the lots are about the same size. It is supposed to promote equality, no man be better than his neighbors." Archibald smiled, "Unless of course you're a high ranking officer." He continued, "Oglethorpe knew about all the fire problems in London so this city is mainly grids and open spaces. This also is smart for defense from the Spanish and the savages. The town pretty much revolves around four main areas called wards. There are also two new wards being developed. Each ward has a central square and is surrounded by trust and tithing lots. The trust lots are for government builds and churches and such. The tithing lots are used for homes and each home also gets a lot of five acres at the edge of town. I will take you around the wards and give you a guide of each.

The layout of Savannah's wards

"The ward we live in is called Decker Ward and we live here on the Strand. The square in the middle is called Market Square and all the town's commerce comes through here. You see all the carts the vendors are setting up. They are mostly African freemen. This colony does not allow slavery. It has the town split. The king's subjects are jealous of all the riches that the Carolinas enjoy on the backs of slaves. Others of His Majesty's servants found the practice morally appalling. Every year the people try to bend the ear of the trustees that run this town to allow the practice. I fear the Trustees' are turning sympathies to the slavers." As Archibald cautioned, Patrick nodded. Freeman continued, "Basically any kind of foods, services, or commerce can be found in this square and Ward and you will spend most of your hours here.

"If you go down over there into the tall grass a ways, you will come to a large crepe myrtle that has been split in two by a lightning bolt. Never seen anything like it. The tree is still alive and growing as two trees now. Ever since that myrtle got burned in two, the townsfolk call that area Thunderbolt."

Freeman motioned down a corner to Patrick, "Let us turn down Mr. Thomas Broughton's street until we come to Derby Ward. It is named after one of those fat cats, the Honorable James, the Tenth Earl of Derby." Archibald mocked the pompousness by bowing.

Archibald led Patrick down a dusty road to a square that opened in front of them revealing a large dirt space. The area was busy with activity; surveyors pulled string between wooden stakes marking lines, a crew of shirtless and sweaty men were digging a large hole as a group of well dressed aristocrats and a minister in a black smock and white wig patted each other's backs and shook each others' hands. Archibald informed Patrick of the Johnson Square. It was named after the generous and well-liked royal governor of SC and it was the hub of Anglican activities. They watched as a congregation of devout Anglicans was breaking ground to build themselves a church.

"I am not a gossiping kind," he ensured Patrick, "but so much scandal has occurred in this Ward around those pastors." With a sly smile and wink for Patrick, he continued, "So let me not tell you what happened. The very first minister named Henry Herbert died when he was returning on Oglethorpe's favorite ship, the Anne. He was heading back to England and his merciful God struck him down for reasons unsuspected. Then they had Mr. Quincy stand a short tenure till the third pastor arrived. His name was John Wesley, and lad, let me tell you this scandalous tale!" The wigged man laughed. "Well the beautiful Sophia Hopkey was to be married but a misunderstanding and folly caused Pastor Wesley to refuse to publish her banns of marriage in the church. Thereafter, she ran over to South Carolina in disgrace and got nuptials done there. Pastor Wesley was made the fool by this and refused the new couple communion when they returned. Such a public insult this was that Sophia's husband sued the pastor for defamation. Have you ever heard such a thing, suing a man of God? The resulting and embarrassing controversy caused such uproar in his parish that they asked him to return to England in thirty-seven. Funny thing is, a man told me he is starting some new Methodist Church in England that is already wildly popular. Oh those religious folks and their stories make me laugh."

As Archibald collected himself from laughter, he changed the subject and suggested, "Let us turn up this street until we run into the Heathcoat Ward." The men slowly walked on with Archibald continuing to point out the sights and characters of Savannah.

"The ward is named for George Heathcoat. I know, not very original. He is also one of the trustees. Although Savannah preaches the merits of equality, this is where all the high society resides. The square we are walking by is called St. James and at night is home to some wonderful music and arts. My favorite wandering bard sings here. His name is Wes Loper. We must remember to try and catch him one night. I'm sure you'll enjoy him very much. Rumors also bound that a troop of actors might come and perform here in the square."

Patrick could only nod. So much information of his new hometown was beginning to overwhelm him but Archibald continued on.

"Let's make our way to the Percival Ward. This ward and square are named after Viscount Percival. Again, I know our founders were not very creative with the names," Archibald cracked. "This is Jew territory and where the ladies of pleasure reside. There's not supposed to be Jews here at all, but that Dr. Nunis, the man who purchased the services of your goliath friend, he is the common man's town doctor and won favor for his kind. If you have bags of silver and are of the proper social class you get an appointment with Dr. Telfair, but he would never be seen with the likes of us. It took no time to break that no-Jew law because the second boat to land had forty-two Jews on it. Oglethorpe and the trustees' never made them leave because these Jews were refugees from Spain and Portugal. They had sympathy for their plight. The trustee's then decided to only ban Roman Catholics, in fear of them assisting the cursed Spaniards that keep attacking outside of this town."

Archibald then straightened his shirt and spoke as if he was very serious but a faint smile could be seen on his lips. "As far as the fancy ladies go, well, officially, there are none here. The upstanding, church-going wives would have seen them in the stocks of course, but all the men deny they are here. To know the truth one just needs to look at all the soldiers and sailors in this town. Of course any military attracts prostitutes like honey to bees."

As if on queue, two of Patrick's former crewmates then stumbled out of a house. A woman in a worn, red dress unceremoniously shoved them out the back entrance. She then escorted them out and exchanged gazes with Patrick. A warm inviting smile beamed from her as she waived her handkerchief at the two blacksmiths. She then hiked up her dress revealing a tattooed ankle, slipping a silver round down the side of her red shoe. At the door, she blew a gentle kiss at Patrick before returning to her duties. Patrick immediately felt his face blush red and hot.

Archibald smiled at the younger man, "Ah lad. That is the mysterious April Sky. I know it is an odd name. I've never heard of someone named after a month but I am fairly certain it is not the name she was christened with. With that stated April Sky is the most powerful madam in all of Savannah and no woman works here without her blessing and paying her homage. She is the scourge of Savannah's proper women but the men do really love her girls, so she is left to her craft unmolested by the authorities. The rumor is she used to run the seas with pirates before all the pirates were hunted down and killed. I am told every inch of her body except her face is covered with tattoos. It is said she is highly superstitious and uses them to ward off the devil." Archibald then warned, "If you want to keep your temple pure you best stay away from that harlot."

Patting Patrick's shoulder, Archibald then announced, "Well now that the fancy lady parade is over, come along. There are two other wards under construction I need to show you."

The two men recommenced their journey with Freeman pointing out the sights. "Over that way is the Upper New Square. The other one over that way is another that they have not decided on a name yet, it seems to change every hour. I reckon they must have run out of honorable trustees to bestow the honor on," Archibald poked Patrick in the ribs.

"Beyond there, continuing through the wild to the southwest is Fort Argyle," Archibald continued. "I'm sure you've guessed it's named after someone, John, Duke of Argyle, and personal friend to Oglethorpe. It's supposed to help offer protection from the Spanish and from Indian raiders but it's never been manned properly." Archibald stopped and seemed lost in thought, "A lot of men from the Scottish town of Darien rotate manning and running patrols there." He brought his attention back to the here and now and they started walking again.

1740 Map of Savannah and Fort Argyle

"Savannah is growing so fast it seems like they move the bloody Palisades outward every week. Let us walk this way toward the river," Mr. Freeman instructed, "and I will show you the exotic plants over in the trustees' garden."

The men wandered to the bluff and came across a garden adorned with a small herb house. "This is Oglethorpe's pride and joy, the Trustees' garden. It is modeled after the Chelsea Botanical garden in London. The mental bastard spent a king's ransom on having plants delivered to him from the four corners of the world. All sorts of exotic plants were first soiled here, but the first frost killed most of them. There was apple, pear, olive, fig, coffee trees, and cotton. Bamboo plants, indigo, coconut palms, hemp, oranges and many various herbs to assist a doctor. The money crop was intended to be mulberry trees for silkworms. Oglethorpe dreamed he could use them to feed silkworm and spin silk. The garden used to be well tended when Francis Moore was here, but it is now falling quickly into disarray. This is typical of anything owned by government," Archibald spit. "Nobody's ever held accountable and anything the king touches turns to muck. You would never see a farmer let his own land go that way. It's a shame." Freeman looked longingly at the failing garden and shaking his head silently with disgust.

"What's that mound of rocks in the middle of the garden for?" Patrick inquired.

"That is a pyramid burial mound of one of the Yamacraw savages," Archibald answered. "The Yamacraw locals were very helpful to Oglethorpe. In return, he respects their ways. He even promised their chief not to disturb any resting souls."

"Ah," Patrick mouthed with understanding. There were so many new, alien customs and strange sights. It was the only response he could muster.

Archibald continued still gazing upon the garden. "Now all that is really growing well are the oranges, apples, and the hemp. Us regular Savannians refer to this place as Oglethorpe's folly! Now don't let any of the lobsterbacks hear you saying such or you will be hanging from a gallows. That Oglethorpe does not care to be mocked."

Patrick nodded earnestly. He wanted to impress upon his new master he understood. Archibald could sense Patrick's seriousness so he joked, "Well that will be one shilling for the tour. You'll have to pay me in credit I am assuming." Patrick smiled and Archibald concluded, "Let us get you to the tailor now."

The men went to the Broughton side of market-square and knocked on the door of a humble house. A large breasted maiden answered the door hastily. Her hair was disheveled and her dress was hugging her sweaty chest. She clutched a stuffed linen ball full of needles close to her full chest.

Archibald removed his hat and politely inquired, "Good morrow, Prudence. Is your father here? I need my friend here fitted for some work linens."

She loudly cussed up, "No, the fen-sucked reds got him working for free again mending their coats in their quarters. Those heavy wool, red coats are made by that company in Charles Towne called the South Carolina Independent Company. They make fine wear but the buttons are always ripping off or the sleeves being singed by lamp-fire. Those red coats catch fire, they go up like a Viking funeral pyre." Prudence was visibly upset and spouted, "The swag-bellied varlots! Making him come to them and fix their wares for nothin'!"

"Quiet, love. Your tongue is too loose in open air," Archibald hushed Prudence.

"I just hate those red leeches so much! I hope the scuts get the pox!" Prudence responded with a little more restraint. She sighed and remembered the business at hand. "What are you two larks standing around for? Well, show him in and I can get his numbers."

Both men looked nervously at each other. "Um, ma'am, we cannot enter the domicile of a lady with no man home," Archibald nervously explained.

"For the Lord's sake!" she exclaimed. "Fine! I'll do it in the yard to reassure the world that you two not be taking advantage of me. Fie!"

Patrick was instructed to stand on a stump while she used marked cords of hemp to measure.

"This is Patrick, our new indenture. He will be smithing with me. He needs hemp fiber if possible, something sturdy and protective around fire," Archibald propositioned.

"Yes, I know how to make a bloody smithing outfit! You know I am a grown woman!" she snapped.

"Yes, and such a refined and proper young lady you grew into," Archibald smirked.

"Curse you, you flap-mouthed, Scottish, dress-wearing clack-dish. I hear your Scottish brogue you so desperately trying to conceal," she warned him.

"Stand still will you!" she snapped at Patrick as she ran her hand up to measure his inseam.

This was the first time a woman had ever touched Patrick. Since coming to Savannah, he had been exposed to so many women. It was wreaking havoc on his senses and concentration. He tried his hardest not to squirm on the stump.

"I got all I need," Prudence stated. "Come back in two weeks for a final fitting and me father will figure out the silver with you. Also, I would like to come call on Heather tonight to join Mari Anna and me in listening to Wes's fiddle," she half asked, half told.

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 and go get you some. 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 the worst meat and fruit." Archibald explained. "In short time, the people 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 there was no more.

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 crops 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 to restock the fire. Grab some of that dried hay and that there stirrin' stick, bring it back over here. 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 driftwood 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 where 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 and the setting sun was now illuminating St. James square. 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 flirting 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 bloodybacks 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 that 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 lobsterback 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 paunchy, hell-hated lewdster!" 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?"

"Cursed lobsterback commander making eyes at these ladies. You keep them inside and on the ready for him to come looking for us," Archibald ordered his wife.

The blacksmith then went into the shed and closed the door. Clanging and clamoring rang out from inside the room 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.

"Curse you, lad! I nearly 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 mammering clot-pole?"

"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 'em 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."

"I'll do that. How are our clansmen at Fort Argyle?"

"They are fine. We hate having to man that useless fort. Nothing ever happens."

Patrick recalled Archibald talking about how the men at Darien manned the fort and it suddenly occurred to him that Archibald was concerned about family stationed there.

A barrel of nails was loaded onto William's cart. The giant Scot then tossed Archibald a bag of silver, reminding him, "Be back in two weeks, Archibald ' _McIntosh._ '"

Archibald replied with angry Gaelic curse words as William rode off.

"Alright, family. Unload the weapons," Mr. Freeman instructed. "I think the danger has passed. Patrick, I need you to escort the ladies back to their homes and explain to their fathers why they stayed the night. If they feel you not be trusted, tell them to come see me."

Patrick then walked the ladies to their houses and watched as angry fathers met each. Patrick explained what had transpired, but it was not well received. On the walk home, he noticed the _Robin_ sailing out to sea. Patrick wondered why they had left so early. Captain Gibbon's crew already hated him and not giving them shore leave was not going to help him win their favor. It would increase the captain's chances of experiencing mutiny before he made it back to England. _Good riddance to the whole lot_ , he thought.

* * *

Five months had passed and Patrick welcomed the fall air. Savannah was very beautiful in the fall and was a stark contrast to the filthy dark, gloomy city of London. After living so long, wasting away in a disgusting dungeon, he now took time to appreciate the simple blessings in life. He sat for hours staring at sea birds he had never before seen. His favorite was a black bird that looked like a large gull. The bird would skim across the ocean with its bottom orange bill slicing into the water. When the bird's lower bill hit a fish near the surface, it would snap it up and fly off, never losing its balance. He also grew to respect the strange pelicans and their fantastically awkward hunting skills. Most of the harvests were now coming in and the blacksmith's apprentice could see all the rice fields surrounding the town being prepared for winter. It was a bountiful harvest this year and he found himself falling in love with Mari Anna's corn breads.

The scars on his face were softening over the months. He worked long hours but had grown quickly skilled in making nails, hinges, locks and various tools. He was proud of his Scottish dirk that Archibald had showed him how to make. The blade was well balanced and true but a bit longer than a traditional Scottish knife. He had even grown bold enough to wear it as he traveled around Savannah. The British troops gave him a curious eye but left him to his own devices.

Patrick had quickly grown close to the Freeman family. He was especially enthralled with Heather and found himself unable to focus on any thought in her presence. Heather often caught him staring at her while she was serving him dinner. He was horribly embarrassed but she just smiled. She seemed to enjoy his discomfort. Archibald was like his father he so badly missed. He convinced his employer to help him send a letter back to London to his family, explaining to them that he was alive and well in the colonies. Both men knew it had little hope of ever finding its mark but it was written and sent despite the chances of making it home.

Tensions with the British troops had eased some since Commander Kingsley and Sergeant Luthor had been deployed to fight skirmishes with the Spanish down south, at least until the searches started. Patrick had still never seen the infamous James Oglethorpe in town but the young blacksmith heard the he was infuriated because somebody dared to steal his imported winder they used to spin the silk cocoons raised in his beloved Trustees' Garden. All his silk cocoons would now just go to waste like most of the rest of the garden. He ordered a town search and his troops tossed all the colonists' homes. Strange men rifled through wives' unmentionables supposedly searching for something the size of a small cannon. This created a hornet's nest of animosity from the common folk toward the military.

He also saw Isaac occasionally, in the morning, buying a special kind of bread from Mari Anna. Mari Anna informed Patrick that a Jewish dictate forbade him from eating bread with yeast in it. She did not understand what the Jewish god had against yeast, but she baked flat bread and was happy for the extra money to be made for the unusual bread.

Patrick loved the new work clothes that Prudence had delivered to him. He had never had anything custom made for him. He had been washing them every three days because of the excessive sweating, but Savannah's heat was breaking a little and he only had to wash his clothes every ten days now. The Freemans made jest of his excessive washing, God forbid, two times a week! The indenture took the jokes in stride though. He had spent so many years living in the putrid squalor of the debtors' prison that he took any chance he had to clean himself. Patrick washed himself every Sunday, while most of the town was at church. Oddly, the Freemans never attended the services held in Johnson Square. One day he thought he might ask why but he loved the alone time he was given and frankly did not care.

Patrick was quickly realizing that Savannah was like a huge melting pot. It was made of British, Irish, Scottish, African, Redskins, German, Polish, Portuguese, and a collection of stragglers from all over Europe. This made the religious worship an interesting mix. So many beliefs all in one place yet most people were tolerant.

Patrick was also combining the gossip from different criers, as well as the news from all over the colonies. He was told nothing of Savannah back on the _Robin_ and was finally beginning to understand his new environment. He reasoned that many immigrants were promised freedom and the escape from the iron fist of the king. To a degree, they were indeed freer. They were allowed to own land and the tax burden was much less than in England. Some families were already creating wealth quickly, which would have been impossible back overseas. Some things had not changed at all though. Colonists were still subjects of the king and his soldiers could do anything they wanted to the colonists without fear of recourse. Patrick believed that the allure of the power the government offered attracted the worst kind of people. Most all of the soldiers were men following power-hungry politicians without question. The soldiers who disobeyed found themselves victim to mortal consequences. As a result, the worst, of the worst people rose to positions of power. The further up the ranks, the more corrupt and touched in the mind with power they became. Horrible atrocities would befall those that did not accept this situation. Patrick also discovered that people took dangerous risks anyway. Behind closed doors, words of freedom and personal sovereignty were spoken with whispers. He even stumbled upon an entire underground network of people and businesses that worked around Oglethorpe's rule. A disgruntled disobedience was on the wind.

One early morning of October 1739, Patrick woke to the sound of a ruckus. Heather was pounding on the shed door shouting, "Wake up!" She informed Patrick that Oglethorpe had commanded that the entire town attend his savage consort's funeral service that day. "If you had not heard yet, Tomochichi's savages are doing some heathen ceremony in memory of him, for Oglethorpe today." Heather mocked, "Be ready to join the family as we stop work and march ourselves down to Percival Square to console poor Oglethorpe's feelings."

The family adorned their most formal outfits and started the walk to Percival square. While walking, Archibald stated to Marian, "We should go anyway. I was fond of Tomochichi. I resent being ordered around like a mule." He kicked at the dirt in the road. "I think it soon be time to really think about joining our kin in Darien."

Marian shushed him and warned, "Let's not discuss this now with so many 'red' ears around."

The family turned a corner to view a huge crowd surrounding the square. The entire Yamacraw tribe attended in full dress. Even though Tomochichi had a falling out with the Creek tribe, many Creek still attended out of respect. Putting their differences aside, the Creek and Yamacraw met each other with traditional strong handshakes. The body of Tomochichi had been honored with a full military parade earlier and now sat in the center of Percival square on a horse drawn cart. Patrick was taken aback at seeing so many savages in one place. They were in full ceremonial dress. Huge headdresses, bright colors, fur, and feathers were everywhere. Many warriors were there. They had their hair cropped with a long central lock representing the traditional style of the Creek Indian. The warriors were also covered with ritual tattoos and pierced earlobes. He sensed the gravity of the event and, as far as he knew, no white man had ever witnessed the secret Creek Indian burial ceremonies.

Heather leaned over and whispered to Patrick, "The rumor circling today is this is only the internment ceremony. The Yamacraw already did a vast array of private rituals no white man has ever see. As part of Tomochichi's last request, he asked to be buried in Savannah to foster peace between our nations. I think he just loved all the white man's praise and attention. It made him a big fish to his people."

Four loud blasts sounded from a cow horn to summon the Yamacraw to the center of the Square. Five elders were holding large feathered ceremonial staffs that had broom ends. They then used the broom/staffs to sweep the crowd of groups. Patrick found it very odd how the tribe elders directed people to sit by pointing their lips.

The indenture then saw the esteemed Oglethorpe for the first time when the elders allowed the white leader to speak before they would begin with their scared rituals. He wore a formal military uniform with a new white wig. He solemnly walked to the center of the Yamacraw crowd and spoke sincerely to them. Oglethorpe kneeled in front of Tomochichi's wife, Senauki, and his nephew, Toonahowi, and spoke respectfully. Oglethorpe's friend, Mary Musgrove, translated English to the Yamacraw.

Mary Musgrove was the widow of a prominent South Carolina Indian trader who traveled with and was befriended by Tomochichi. She was born of mixed blood to a Tuckabachhee lower Creek Indian woman and Edward Griffin. She was married off to John Musgrove to foster peace between the Creek and the English. John Musgrove met the Coweta headman, Brim, a native that the English had earlier designated as "emperor." The tribes called him this so that, in the eyes of the English at least, Brims could speak for the other chiefs or headmen. Mary was held in a position of prominence with her people and, even though the trustees of Savannah did not like her, Oglethorpe adored and trusted her. She was now remarried to her indenture, an act that was considered scandalous by Savannah upper-class socialites. She translated Oglethorpe's words to the stoic Yamacraw crowd.

"Tomochichi was a great chief. The counsel in the sky will welcome him with the pipe of peace. The king and the people of Savannah owe him a great debt for all the help he gave us settling this town. Let us not forget his greatness and wisdom that helped us negotiate a treaty with the lower Creek. He was a great warrior and a noble savage."

Patrick was surprised when he eyed Commander Byron Kingsley in the crowd. He grew nervous knowing that muckraker was back in town. The commander rolled his eyes in disgust and disrespect while listening to Oglethorpe's heart filled speech.

The white leader continued, "I got to know him and his family well when we traveled to England together in the Lord's year of thirty four. He was the toast of England and his majesty the king considers his death a great loss.

18th century painting of Tomochichi and Oglethorpe visiting London

"Let us not forget the noble work of John Wesley, Benjamin Ingham, Peter Rose, The Salzburger community and the noble chief. They all worked together to establish the Indian school at Irene to help teach the Indians of our Lord, God and help them abandon their savage ways. I want to proclaim to all, Yamacraw and Creek: so honored is this great chief that Savannah will forever know his name and his grave will rest here, undeterred till the end of time. A pyramid will be erected with an inscription in brass, so all generations will know his name and deeds." Oglethorpe bowed to the tribe and sat in an honorary position next to Senauki and Toonahowi. As Oglethorpe sat down, a line of redcoats in full dress came up and presented arms. They raised their muskets into the air and fired an honorary volley of shot.

Heather whispered to her father asking, "Did they ever find out who killed that nice Indian named Skee?"

Archibald responded, "I know it had to be John Musgrove's servant named Justice because his life was taken by Skee's relative named Essteeche. The whole thing smells of scandal and whenever scandal is involved, I look no further than Commander Byron Kingsley." The father then warned sternly, "You and your lasses stay far away from that commander, do you understand?"

"Aye, father," she obediently responded

Patrick watched as the honored rituals and the sacred ceremony started. As Creek tradition insisted, only the friends of the family could dig the grave. Tomochichi's own family sat and watched while the warriors of the tribe dug. During the digging, the squaws danced and chanted their last goodbyes. This part of the ritual of digging, chanting and dancing took over an hour. To pass the time, Patrick whispered to Archibald, "Why would this savage help the white man bring more white men here?"

Archibald explained quietly, "The Yamacraw have an enemy tribe in the south who have sided with the Spanish. For fear of extinction, Tomochichi befriended the English. When Oglethorpe needed help establishing Savannah, Tomochichi saw the opportunity to win favor for his tribe. It also didn't hurt that Oglethorpe and the trustees stuffed his mouth with gold." He smiled as he continued, "As with most savages, he did not keep the gifts for himself but distributed it to his tribe to reward rank. I also think he was motivated by the fame and respect the white men gave him. He actually liked being referred to as a 'noble savage'."

A group of warriors then lifted the coffin that Oglethorpe had provided for the chief. They used ropes to lower the pine box into the hole dug in the ground. The chants and dancing continued as the casket was lowered.

The master blacksmith spoke sarcastically, "If that chief be ninety-seven years aged like they say he was, then I am the King of Scotland. No man would still be a warrior at his age. Look how young his skin is. I'd guess he was no older than sixty! Well let's depart. We have done enough for king and country today and I need to be quenching my thirst."

Most of the whites were departing but the natives continued to mourn at the tomb. As Patrick looked back, he saw the warriors starting to make a pyramid mound out of stones over the grave.

Chapter 8

Fort Mose, Liberty, and Honor

The Freemans approached their home in a hushed walk so as not to disturb the closing ceremonies of Tomochichi's burial. Archibald and Patrick returned to the shed so Archibald could hide his Scottish broadsword he wore for the ceremony. The men froze when they heard a loud crash inside the shed. The master blacksmith drew the large broadsword while the apprentice grabbed an extinguished torch to use as a club. They stood close and Archibald threatened, "Come out with peaceful intent or I will run you through!"

Movement and a hushed conversation could be heard in the shed.

"Come! Present yourself in front of me now or I will raise arms!" the angry blacksmith demanded.

Slowly, a crying black woman stepped out of the shed with open palms. She was followed by a skinny African man who also presented his open hands. He quickly explained in a nervous voice, "I be very sorry. We just searching fo' scraps of food. We done been robbed by road agents and not eaten a ting in days, sir. Please, mister, we stole no wares. Just let us be on way."

"Sit down," Archibald commanded with his sword pointed. The nervous colored couple sat on the stumps for splitting wood outside the shed. "Go take inventory of the shed, Patrick. See if they be speaking true," the smith instructed.

Alick and Gloria are caught

An uneasy truce was called while the apprentice searched the shed loudly. This attracted the rest of the Freemans, who watched in shock from the backdoor of their home.

"Good sir, I find nothing amiss," Patrick reported.

"Marian, can you bring me that basket of apples we have in haste," Archibald asked his wife.

Marian offered the basket to the shaking couple, "Here, relax."

"I will give you as much food as you desire but in return I want you to tell me your real story. Your fresh shackle bruises tell me your possessions were not taken by road agents. You two are runaways or I am a fool," Archibald offered.

"My name be Alick, sir, and dis be da wife Gloria. It true. We be on da run from Charles Town," the black man stopped to bite into an apple.

Heather and Marian took seats as the tension relaxed. "Tell us more, Alick," Heather prodded.

"We from da Kingdom of Kongo and our friends and family be forced inta service. Many of us from dar. One of Cato's slaves, Mr. Jemmy, stirred up da lot of us. We was treated much worse den all da utta slaves we know. Da beatin's be very bad. Twenty of us slaves rise up and go running from da Ashley River, it be north of da Stono River. A few men used ta be soldiers and started making weapons from whatever we found on da way." Alick boasted, "We kept goin' south and da news spread. We liberated about sixty slaves from der harsh masters."

Archibald looked dismayed, "How many white masters did you kill?"

"We took revenge on twenty of da white devils and took der things and weapons," he said with dismay. "Da militia from da Carolinas caught up wit us at Edisto River and a great battle took place. Dey killed forty-four of da slaves. We killed twenty of da white devils. Da survivors went running and da militia hunt dem down. We be da only ones left I tink. Please good, sir, I never killed any whites in those battles. I don't have it in me ta kill anyone. Dat is why we have no weapons and we run fast. Those were evil men and deserved ta meet da devil." The fugitive slave pleaded, "Please just let us go on our way and forget we be here."

The Freemans looked at each other with concern as Archibald spoke sternly, "We need to discuss this. Do not think about running." The patriarch then handed his sword to Patrick and told him, "If he starts to move, stick him."

The young smith watched the slave couple cry and shake as the Freemans were judging their fates. After a passionate and lengthy discussion, Archibald returned.

"The Scottish have been terrorized and enslaved in sorts by the British for as long as I can remember. I sympathize with your plea for freedom," Archibald grimaced, "but you put my family in grave peril by staying here. What are your plans for flight?"

"We have no's ideas. Maybe run as far in da swamp is we can so nobody can ever find us." Gloria replied.

"What if I told you there is a place you can be safe and free?" Archibald questioned.

"No such a place I be know of," Gloria stammered.

"There is such a place where you can be free. It is called Fort Mose. It is a settlement the Spanish set up to anger the lobsterbacks. The Spanish made it as a haven for escaped slaves to encourage British slaves to run and then raise arms against the British as free men," Archibald explained in hushed tones.

The black couple stared at the wigged smith in disbelief.

"It's true. The fort was founded last year. It is a little north of St. Augustine in the Floridas. A Creole man runs the fort. I once did some unmentionable business with him. He is named Francisco Menendez. I am telling you this because I have no love for the English or any government ruling over people with force. It is with great risk to my life and family. I would be branded a traitor to the English and hung from the gallows," Archibald warned.

"We bless you for dis knowledge. If you draw us a map, we leave at nightfall. We owe your family our lives and would never speak of you ta anyone," the colored couple sincerely promised.

Alick and Gloria spent the rest of the day quietly eating and drinking upstairs in the small house. Late into the night, Archibald saw them off. "Here, take these apples and this skin to hold water. Here is a dirk for Gloria and an axe for you. Keep these hidden until you have made your way past Darien. Those in Darien would most likely kill you on site for having Scottish weapons. If you do get caught in Darien, beg for your life and tell them to give this note to William McIntosh. The note might keep you from losing your heads."

The two fugitive slaves' eyes were wide.

"After Darien the real danger falls on you. You have to pass through English, Spanish and Indian deer hunting territory. It is a large zone where hatred is set aside to make silver. You two would be a good bounty to the wrong kind of person, so stay silent in the marshes. You need be invisible and only travel by moonlight. Pray no savages or British find you or that will be the end of your lives. Keep steady south and you will find Fort Mose. Good luck and may the wind be at your backs."

Gloria and Alick were taken with tears at this generosity and said their goodbyes. They quickly disappeared into the night, quiet as mice.

* * *

Patrick was enjoying the cool air blowing. Even the sand gnats and mosquitoes had slowed their assaults for his blood. He was trying his hand at forging an axe head and was making fine progress when Archibald interrupted him, "Lad, it is about time me and you go have a drink." He then instructed his daughter to bring them a drink. The two men sat under the dogwood as Heather appeared with a bottle and mugs. She looked around cautiously and then poured rum into the mugs.

"Ah, lad! Here is some of the forbidden nectar of the Caribbean. Let us enjoy our sins against Oglethorpe," Archibald mocked. He continued. "Lad, I put you in grave risk when I helped those Negroes. When we thought that bastard Kingsley was going to ascend on my daughter, you came to my family's aid without question. You have given me the truth of your nefarious past so it is time you learned the truth about me."

Feeling comfortable with Patrick and the rum, the master blacksmith let his brogue come out, "Me real name be Duncan and I am from the clan McIntosh from Inverness, Scotland. Life for me family was hard and miserable. We never owned anything. The bawdy English took so much, it kept us in squalor. I grew up a blacksmith like me father before me. He wanted to leave that hopeless life, so when the English outlawed Scots carrying weapons, he saw an opportunity to make money. He learned to make muskets, blades, axes and small shields called 'targs'. He enlisted me help and I quickly grew competent in weapon crafting. Me father made a fortune but so much trade brought the eyes of the British on us. Because of this scrutiny, he gave me all his monies to go out and resupply our shop. One day when I came home, I found me whole family dead. Me father and me mother were hanging from our tree and me siblings met their deaths by fire inside our home, burned alive by British soldiers."

His eyes filled with tears as he confessed, "It was a message to our town about what happens to arms dealers who defy his majesty. I immediately became a wanted man and was hunted. Me clan was outraged and demanded a reckoning. I talked them out of a war on the lobsterbacks. I would not let them spill the blood of me community and clan. Me clan smuggled me to Savannah with money from me father to start a new life. A few in Darien know me true self but I had to take on British mannerisms for safety. I changed me name and me voice to protect all those around me. I concede to live this way until I can escape the English warrant for me."

"So are these your birth children?" Patrick questioned in surprise.

"No. I met Marian and her family when I arrived in Savannah in the Lord's year thirty-six. She was married to a Spanish trader who played both sides of the war but the Spanish executed him for selling stolen arms to the British and savages. Her family is not welcomed in the Spanish colonies or Indian Territory. We be a family of outlaws trying to make enough money to get far away from any government. We needed each other, so our marriage was a good fit. The bloodybacks ignored her warrant because her husband sold so many guns to them."

Patrick sat stunned and speechless. He then put a comforting hand on Archibald's shoulder and promised, "I will take this secret to the grave. And I wish there was a place that existed without some authority ruling over our freedom, my friend."

"Do you lad? Well I have one more secret you might want to know. There are many others who feel as us, a whole underground world," He smiled as he sipped his illegal rum.

"Will you teach me to make muskets and pistols now?" Patrick inquired.

"His royal majesty's men do not get alarmed when I make simple blades but they do not allow me to make muskets for anyone but their soldiers. I will teach you but if you're careless, it ends with all of us swinging in the wind. We can only make them when no eyes be watching. Have you ever noticed it takes me weeks to fix a long firearm or a pistol? Working under the guise of fixing a redcoat's firelock, I am allowed to secretly make another one in plain view without suspicion," Archibald taught.

"So now we hang together my friend. You're invited to a secret meeting two fortnights from now. I hope you will join with others who feel the same as you about governments," Archibald offered. Patrick nodded his head in acceptance as Archibald finished, "Oh! One last thing, it is no good making all these weapons if you can't use them. Tomorrow we go hunting in the swamps."

* * *

_Crack, BLAMM!_ The firelock blinded Patrick with smoke as it went off. He coughed and rubbed his eyes.

"Oops! I forgot to mention. You have to keep your eyes closed and hold your breath when you fire," Archibald and the twins howled with laughter. "Maximilian, did he hit the pine?"

"No father," Maximilian shook his head. "I can't find the shot anywhere."

Firelock musket

"Let us not try to waste that shot. It be hard to get metal in Savannah. Try to find it. Now Patrick, hold your breath and stabilize it more with your shoulder." Archibald smiled, "Now show me how fast you can load, lad."

"Everyone clear out of the way, I'm loading," Patrick called out to the twins.

Patrick had practiced the procedure repeatedly without ammo all morning hoping it would become second nature. He pulled the charge out of his deerskin pouch. It was shot and gunpowder carefully wrapped up in paper to fit in the barrel easily. He then detached the ramrod from under the barrel and pushed the charge all the way to the bottom. He returned the ramrod, moved the flint to the half-cocked position, and then opened the flash pan. He poured in a small amount of powder in the pan and then moved the flint to full cock. He then sited at the large pine 50 paces away and took careful aim. He lined up his feet and shoulders as Archibald instructed, held his breath and lined up the sights again. He closed his eyes and held his breath as he slowly squeezed the trigger.

A loud crack could be heard as the flint struck the mizzen. The powder ignited in the flash pan and moved into the chamber. _BLAMM!_ A large cloud of smoke covered Patrick and a paper wad flew out of the barrel. When the smoke cleared, he took a deep breath, opened his eyes and asked with anticipation, "How did I do?"

"Father!" Amos shouted. "He hit it!"

"Fantastic, lad! It took me days before I ever hit anything. You need to fire ten more to get a feel for Marian," Archibald said with pride.

"You named your firelock 'Marian'?" Patrick queried.

"Of course, lad. It be bad luck not to name your weapon after your sweetheart. You really don't know a darn thing about fighting, do you?" Archibald laughed.

Patrick practiced all morning and hit six out of ten of his shots with the musket before switching to Archibald's antique Queen Anne dueling pistols. The pistols were wildly inaccurate. Even at fifteen paces, Patrick only hit the tree three, out of ten times.

"You boys go now and dig that spent shot out of that pine, we need the metal to recast," their father commanded.

The men went shooting the entire week under the guise of being bad hunters. Patrick improved greatly. Archibald even showed him some basic knife and broadsword skills before his shooting lessons. Once in a while, one of the twins would bring back game he had hunted while Patrick was getting his lessons. They were excellent hunters for such a young age. Both boys had learned to shoot a bow from a savage friend of theirs and were becoming deadly shots.

One morning in November, Maximilian helped his brother hobble to the front door. His foot was bleeding badly.

"What in the Lord's name happened?!" Marian exclaimed. "Heather, fetch your father immediately!"

Amos grunted in pain, "I stepped on a bloody oyster shell and it sliced me good."

"Heather, go fetch that Jew doctor! Hurry!" Marian screamed while she compressed the wound with her dirty hand.

Amos's foot started to bleed less and in a short time, Dr. Nunis and Isaac Swartz were tending the boy's foot. Patrick had missed seeing his goliath friend and once Amos was tended to, they caught up. Patrick had shown Isaac the broadsword he was making and Isaac showed Patrick the exotic plants he had in his medical bag. Dr. Nunis watched the exchange and finally said to Archibald, "Why don't I stay for a while and visit your family? I would be happy to check you all for aliments. It would be nice to let the old friends talk."

Archibald nodded his head in agreement and then showed him Maximilian's forearm. "See the worm is moving right next to the skin, it is growing and almost half the length of his forearm," Archibald pointed out.

"Oh, Mr. Freeman, you need to call me sooner. If you had waited a few months longer, the African worm would have come right out of a blister. It would burn like hell and cripple your boy," Dr. Nunis explained. "We need to take this worm out right now. Let me get my worm stick."

He returned with a knife and a small stick that had a hole dug out in the center of it. After that he explained, "We have to cut enough to put the end of the worm through the hole in the stick. Then we need to tie it off." The Doctor then cut a small nick and blood rolled down the brave boys forearm. Everyone gathered around to watch as the doctor threaded the head of the large white worm though the stick. While nimbly attending to his work, Dr. Nunis spoke, "These cursed worms are all over lately. I think they came over with some slaves in the Carolinas and now they are everywhere."

After a few moments, the doctor stated, "Okay, I have it tied down. Only give it one half turn a day, anymore than that it will break and kill the worm. If this worm dies in your son, his forearm will become septic and make him very ill. Do _not_ over turn the stick! Do you understand?" Dr. Nunis warned. "Now son, continue to hold your hand on the laceration until it clots."

Archibald then took the opportunity to show the doctor a rotting tooth and asked his opinion.

Patrick and Isaac were laughing, reminiscing about the vanishing of Shamus, when Patrick froze in mid-sentence. Isaac watched as his best friend's face lost its color. Two well-dressed men were standing over them.

"You there, go fetch your master," the tall aristocrat demanded.

Patrick stood up and continued to stare at him intensely.

"Are you dumb and deaf? Go fetch your master or I will have him beat you!" the tall man pushed on.

Isaac quickly sensed something was very out of sorts with Patrick and waved Archibald over. Patrick began to close the distance between himself and the two men when his employer stepped in his way and stated, "I am the blacksmith here. How can I help you?"

The tall man replied, "Ah yes. I need a very small hammer made. I am a jeweler just come from London and I seem to have misplaced my hammer."

"Can you draw out the size you need with this paper and quill?" the blacksmith responded.

"I can do my best, good smith." The aristocrat then took the quill and paper.

"I'm Archibald Freeman and can I ask your name, sir?" Archibald asked as the tall man busied himself drawing the dimensions of the proposed hammer.

Drily, the aristocrat announced, "My name is Mr. Potts and this is my associate Mr. Edgeington."

Patrick pushed past Archibald and smacked the paper and quill out of Potts' hand. "We won't help you here," Patrick snarled. "Now get out!" The entire group was stunned by Patrick's extremely unusual behavior. Archibald tried to step back in and but Patrick pushed him away. "I said get the out!" Patrick screamed.

"Mr. Freeman, you might want to control your hammer monkey before Mr. Edgeington buries a blade in his chest," Mr. Potts threatened.

Tension grew thick in the small house and everyone was standing on toe. Patrick then spit a large ball of mucus into Potts' eye and screamed, "Pox on you! And take that with you!" Patrick's accuracy had benefited from hours of spitting competitions in prison.

Everyone stood stunned and mortified. None believed what they were seeing. As all disbelieving eyes were on Patrick and Potts, Mr. Edgeington skinned his blade, though Potts urged him to hold.

Patrick now took his time to build a large amount of phlegm in his mouth before sending it flying across the distance and landing on Potts' chin. "CURSES ON YOU! GET OUT!" he shrieked.

Potts then wiped his face, closing the distance between himself and Patrick. As he was closing fast, he was suddenly smacked in the face with Patrick's deerskin smithing glove. The entire room watched in awe as the glove hit the floor and lay at Potts' feet. Potts stopped in his tracks and looked at the glove. He then looked back up at Patrick with a moment of fear.

"Pick it up," Patrick demanded coldly. Isaac tried to pull Patrick back but the challenge had been made. "Pick it up you coward!" Patrick growled.

Potts hesitated and was terrified as he looked into the rage filled eyes of his opponent. "I want to know your name first before I accept your challenge."

"I am Patrick Willis," Patrick hissed. "You stole my life. You disgraced my father and you're the reason I was in debtors' prison all these years."

Marian and Heather simultaneously gasped in shock.

Potts stopped and examined the younger man closer. "Ah yes... Mr. Edgeington don't you remember this boy who was nice enough to donate those stones to you all those years ago?"

Mr. Edgeington smirked, "Right, boss. I had forgotten. Hey lad, how's da face?"

Both men laughed as Patrick flew at them in a rage. Isaac then quickly grabbed his friend and was only barely able to overcome Patrick, pinning him against the wall and holding him back.

"Well, lad, those stones of your father's were worth dog-squeeze," Potts said mockingly. "I had to practically give them away." Mr. Potts slowly bent over and picked up the fallen glove and informed, "I guess I will have to end your whole rutting bloodline and accept your challenge. Stupid boy, I have emerged victorious in four duels."

"Very well. We will engage in single combat, at daybreak, on the deer-hunting road to Darien. Meet me under the thunderbolt tree outside of town to avoid legal complications." Mr. Potts challenged.

"You cursed child. Were you not already gelded, you would do it at noon. Dawn is for cowards," Patrick bit back. "Why not a duel at noon? Your death will be devoid of mist and fog."

"Fine," the tall aristocrat answered. "A single combat duel at noon, I will take your life in clear sight, boy."

Isaac pulled Patrick's other glove off his hand and threw it down at Edgeington's feet. "He does not accept single combat, do you second?" Isaac questioned.

The crowd looked on in amazement.

"This man wants to meet his Jewey god. I will hurry your wish," Mr. Egeington laughed as he picked up the glove. "I have killed many more men than Mr. Potts. I will enjoy this opportunity to send another Jew to his grave."

As the arrogant men took their leave, Isaac continued to hold Patrick against the wall while the enraged man continued to scream in anger. After a few moments, his rage waned and led to tears. Isaac was able to release his upset friend and the entire Freeman family came to Patrick and hugged him. They held onto him tight as if they knew these would be his last hours on earth.
