Pirates of Savannah Trilogy: Book One, Sold in Savannah - Young Adult Action Adventure Historical Fiction

by Tarrin P. Lupo

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 servi
ces, 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 fe
tch 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.