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 ‘othe
r 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.
Pirates of Savannah Trilogy: Book One, Sold in Savannah - Young Adult Action Adventure Historical Fiction Page 25
