Amelia and the Captain

by Lori Copeland

  For a moment no one spoke. Finally, the girl on the cot choked out in a raspy whisper, “What do you want?”

  “I heard you crying. Is there something I can do to help?”

  “Help?” The girl looked at her as if she had suddenly grown horns.

  “Yes—you were sobbing. The accommodations are wretched, aren’t they?” If Amelia had it to do over, she would just tell Mr. Brown thank you but no thank you for his offer of assistance. The accommodations were disgraceful, and she’d venture that the food would be even worse.

  A slender young girl in the far corner spoke up. “Who are you?”

  “A passenger. I, too, find the ship deplorable,” Amelia confided, wondering why the women had congregated in such tiny quarters. She felt the lines in her forehead narrow when she noted the bindings on the girls’ wrists.

  “A passenger?” a dark-haired older woman in the opposite corner mocked.

  Amelia smiled. “I came aboard about an hour ago.” She glanced around the narrow quarters, suspicion starting to nag her. “Why are your hands bound? And why are you all in the same room? Are you traveling together?”

  Companionship with other women her own age could be just the thing she needed to boost her sagging spirits during her return to Mercy Flats. But the bound hands…Reality slowly dawned on her, and she gasped.

  A young woman with incredibly unkempt blonde hair struggled to her feet. “Really now. You’re a ‘passenger’?”

  Amelia’s heart hammered in her throat. “Why are your hands bound?” She dreaded the answer. Her life had not exactly been a cup of tea lately. But bound hands? Tears? She shook her head, willing the truth to go away. Hadn’t she suffered enough? Please don’t let this be the obvious, she silently prayed.

  “We’re playing a game,” the dark-haired woman returned in a listless tone. “Please, join us.”

  “Elizabeth,” one warned. “Don’t take your frustrations out on her. Can’t you see she isn’t aware of what’s happening?”

  “We’re on our way to hell,” the one called Elizabeth said. “She might as well know it.”

  To hell? Amelia recoiled. Well, that was ludicrous. Mr. Brown had purchased a ticket to Mercy Flats!

  “Is there a Hell, Texas?” Amelia asked, still not comprehending the situation. There very well could be. She hadn’t traveled very far from Mercy Flats.

  The hard-edged woman rose from her bunk. “Try again, lovey.”

  Realization slowly dawned on Amelia. “You don’t mean hell, as in a blazing inferno?”

  “You got it.”

  Amelia sank to the soiled mattress, the woman’s words ringing in her ears. Lifting her eyes, Amelia confronted her. “You’re not making a lick of sense.”

  “Maybe she really doesn’t know, Elizabeth,” a dirty, blonde-haired girl said softly.

  “Not know? Does she think she’s on an ocean voyage? On this tub?”

  Amelia nodded. “Yes, a short one to Mercy Flats.”

  Elizabeth turned away, contempt shining in her eyes.

  A thin girl stood unsteadily and came over to kneel beside Amelia. “You really don’t know what’s going on, do you?”

  Amelia was grateful for the kindness she saw in the girl’s large oval eyes. The others seemed so cold and hostile. “I’m confused,” she admitted.

  “You’re more than confused,” Elizabeth said. “You’re a prisoner, dearie.”

  Amelia bolted to her feet. She bit her lip to keep from bursting into tears. This couldn’t be! “A prisoner! There are no bolts or bars on the doors! What are you talking about?”

  “It’s true,” others whispered. A brunette spoke. “There may be no bars on the doors, but we are watched day and night. If we were to try to escape, we would be shot on sight.”

  “Prisoners?” Their words made no sense. Nothing had made any sense for hours now!

  The girl on the bunk nodded. “We’re prisoners.”

  “Of whom?” Amelia demanded to know.

  “Prisoners of an evil man by the name of Austin Brown,” another supplied.

  “Théodore Austin Brown?” Amelia asked.

  “I see you’ve met him,” Elizabeth said.

  There was something about Elizabeth that Amelia resented. She’d sensed it the moment she’d stepped into the room. She didn’t know what it was, but it was there as plain as day. Perhaps it was the coldness in her eyes or the razor-sharp edge to her voice. One thing was certain—they would never be friends.

  “What would Mr. Brown want with me?” Amelia asked. “I only met him hours ago.”

  Elizabeth gave a harsh snort. “Undoubtedly he knows you.”

  “He befriended me.”

  “He hoodwinked you. The same as he did all of us.”

  “I don’t believe it!”

  “Believe it.”

  This was terrible. Ghastly! Amelia’s gaze roamed the cramped quarters. The women were stuffed in here like sausage. Had she jumped from the frying pan into the fire? “What does Brown plan to do with us?”

  The girls exchanged hesitant looks, but Elizabeth seemed to take delight in telling her. “He plans to sell us.”

  “Sell us? Into slavery?” Amelia reached for support. This was even worse than she imagined. Abigail had once told her about the scurrilous practice among thieves, and now Amelia was living the bad dream! Could life get any worse?

  “Do I have to draw you a picture?” Elizabeth’s words hung heavily in the air.

  “Sold—to do what those painted ladies do that work in saloons?” Amelia whispered. She’d heard of such wicked things, but such revulsion was for worldly, tainted women, not her—or these innocent-looking girls.

  The girl on the cot broke into sobs. “It’s so awful. I’d rather die than be sold for a man’s pleasure. To be a soiled dove!”

  Another started weeping, and before long, they were all sniveling. All except Elizabeth. She stared at Amelia, whose ears burned with shame. She felt dirty just listening to the exchange.

  “Now listen to me,” she said. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I know one thing. I do not intend to be sold. And the moment Captain Kane gets word of this atrocity—and he will, because he seems to know everything—he’ll rescue us.” Now that shock was wearing off, she could think clearly. Soiled dove indeed! Over her dead body!

  Leaning back on a bunk, Elizabeth casually rolled a cigarette. “Captain Kane?”

  “Yes—a man who will not let this atrocity go unnoticed.” Amelia watched with fascination when she struck a match with her thumbnail, lit the cigarette, and began to blow lazy smoke rings at the ceiling.

  The young woman sent Amelia a snide glance. “You know Captain Morgan Kane? How can that be?”

  “I just do—do you know him?” She looked the sort that Morgan would fall for. Pretty, in a wild way.

  “Then pray tell, dear. Tell us what you and Morgan Kane plan to do so we can all ‘refuse’ to go along with Théodore—with the accent over the first e—Austin Brown’s plans.” She blew a series of little round O’s toward the ceiling.

  “Well, I’m not sure what I’ll do, but I’ll do something. Captain Kane will do something.” Captain Kane thinks you’re safely out of his hair! He couldn’t possibly know what you’ve done this time.

  Elizabeth appeared to doubt her claim. “Where is this Kane, this knight in shining armor? We could certainly use the man about now.”

  “He’s around, I can assure you.” Morgan had indicated he wouldn’t be leaving until morning. She must get a message to him quickly. But how? If the others were right, she was also a prisoner. Oh, she should have known not to trust that deceiver Austin Brown! He tricked her! He wined and dined her and then sold her like a load of cabbage.

  Elizabeth casually extended the cigarette to her. “Smoke?”

  Amelia shook her head. Elizabeth was the first woman she’d ever met who smoked. The sisters would smack this young lady’s hands and wash the tobacco out of her mouth with lye soap.


  The youngest of the girls slipped to Amelia’s side. “Can you really save us?” Her eyes focused on Amelia with open trust.

  “Do you know where they’re taking us?”

  “I overheard one of the men say something about New Orleans,” one ventured.

  “New Orleans?” Amelia’s heart sank. A decadent city to be sure. Abigail had told her about the red-light district there and of the music houses where women danced as they took off their clothes before men. Abigail read more books than she did. Many more. Until now, Amelia was sure such rumors about the French Quarter were wildly exaggerated. Perhaps not, she conceded. Discovering that she was aboard a ship of women bound for the worst kind of slavery suddenly made all other evils more plausible.

  “We’ll have to escape,” Amelia said. “Since they haven’t locked us in our rooms, we can manage it. They can’t watch all of us every hour of the day and night.”

  Elizabeth boldly sent another series of smoke rings spiraling toward the ceiling. “Are you willing to wager your life on it?”

  “She’s right,” another said. “There are dozens of men aboard ship, and they’re watching us like hawks.” The speaker’s eyes focused on a dark-skinned girl. “Ask her. She tried to escape, and they caught her. Ask her what they did.”

  The girl turned away, biting her lower lip.

  The horror of their predicament slowly seeped into Amelia’s consciousness. “How long have you been here?”

  The women gave varying accounts of their captivity, ranging from hours to weeks. Some had been captured far away and some as near as Galveston.

  Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed as she met Amelia’s eyes with a mixture of contempt and resignation. “If the storm hadn’t blown this clipper off course, the women would be in New Orleans by now. And I wouldn’t be aboard. I’ve been here two hours, and I have no trouble understanding my predicament. So tell us, Miss Innocent, how do you intend to inform your friend Kane about our circumstances?”

  Amelia glanced away when she felt tears swell. She hadn’t the slightest hint of Morgan’s whereabouts. The severity of her situation rose quickly to mind, and with it came a knot of desperation. Despair filled her. It was entirely possible that she would never see home, Abigail, or Anne-Marie again.

  The thought was like a dagger plunged to her heart.

  Oh, Morgan, where are you? I’m sorry I’ve caused so much trouble. The noble captain would never find her here.

  Her blessings had suddenly come to an abrupt halt.

  Wind gently rocked the old clipper back and forth as the half-moon dipped lower in the sky. Two men approached the gangplank, their shoulders hunched against the damp gusts.

  A shout rang out. “Who goes there?”

  “Permission to board,” a voice called back.

  “That you, Brown?”

  “It’s me.”

  “Come aboard, mate!”

  The two men quickly crossed the gangplank and stepped aboard the ship.

  Brown addressed a burly Welsh packet rat as they stepped aboard. “The captain in his quarters?”

  “He is, but don’t disturb him.” Packet rats were a breed of their own. They were wild, rough men, commonly of English, Irish, or Welsh origin, who understood no law but force. Dirty, uncouth, ignorant bullies, they nonetheless were superb sailors and feared neither man nor weather.

  “He’ll see me,” Brown said.

  The smell of Stockholm tar coming from the rigging hung heavily in the air when Morgan followed Brown to the lee side of the poop deck. The captain’s quarters were forbidden territory to all except those invited.

  The two men made their way below deck. The ship reeked of bilge water and rotting timber. Proceeding down the dimly lit, narrow corridors, Morgan noted a door ajar. Muffled cries drifted from beneath the entrance.

  “Don’t mind the noise,” Brown barked. “You get used to whiny women.” Pausing at the end of the corridor, he rapped softly on a second door. “You in there, Elliot?”

  A gravel voice returned. “That you again, Brown?”

  “Open up. I’ve got someone with me.”

  The door opened a crack and a pair of rum-sodden eyes peered out. “You bring another woman?”

  “No, I’m here on business. Let me in, Elliot.”

  “Business? Now?”

  “Just open the door.”

  Weathered oak swung wide to reveal a disheveled, dirty man who was well into his cups. Brown entered the stinking cabin, motioning Morgan to follow.

  The captain viewed the intruders with a wary eye. “Who do you have with you?”

  “Dov Lanigan.”

  “Dov Lanigan!” Elliot’s eyes narrowed as he lifted a shoulder to wipe his runny nose. “What’s going on? I thought we were supposed to meet Lanigan in New Orleans.”

  “We were, but a stroke of good fortune has brought Mr. Lanigan to Galveston this evening. Now make yourself presentable for Mr. Lanigan.”

  Lifting a bottle of rum to his lips, the captain eyed Morgan briefly before he took a hearty swallow. Grunting, he said. “State your business, Brown.” Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he wove his way toward his bed.

  “We’ve come for the woman.”

  Lying back on his bunk, Elliot raised his hand to block the light from the one small candle. He squinted. “Dov Lanigan, huh?”

  Brown heaved an impatient sigh. “I believe I’ve made the proper introductions.”

  “Odd, don’t you think? Lanigan showing up here is a tad suspicious?”

  Brown shrugged. “I admit it was a bit of a surprise to me. But here he is. Big as life.”

  “How can you be so sure he’s who he says he is? I hear Lanigan sticks real close to New Orleans. A price on his head and all.”

  “My dear captain,” Brown replied, “may I remind you that all of us have a price on our heads?”

  The captain leaned unsteadily on one elbow “Yeah, well, the reason no man has had the good fortune to claim the reward for my dead body is because I’m just a wee bit on the cautious side.” The captain slapped the lumpy mattress beneath him. A puff of dust rose from the filthy coverlet, and a large cockroach sprang to the floor and darted in Brown’s direction. “I’m not a fool.” The roach scurried several inches before a dagger sliced the air and split its back, nailing it to the wooden floor.

  Brown and the captain focused in stupefied silence as the roach’s legs pumped furiously for an instant, going nowhere. The legs halted abruptly and then stilled.

  Morgan kept his expression neutral as he pulled his dagger out of the plank and met the two men’s eyes. The captain drew his legs up as Morgan reached for the filthy blanket at the foot of the cot and slowly wiped both sides of the blade before inspecting it.

  Candlelight glinted off the beveled blade but did not penetrate Morgan’s shadowed eyes as he turned it slowly, lovingly with nimble fingers. He then silently slipped the weapon into its sheath. Brown cleared his throat.

  “Mr. Lanigan, you’re quite handy with that thing.” Brown glanced at the captain. “I hope the matter of his identity is settled to your satisfaction.”

  The captain grunted and swung his feet to the floor. The expression on the man’s face left no doubt that his pride was injured. “What do you want from me?” He pushed himself to his feet, more alert now.

  “Take me to the woman.” Morgan used a demanding tone and an uncompromising stare.

  Brown turned diplomat. “I’m sure Dov wants to see for himself if the lady is as beautiful as I’ve claimed her to be.”

  “Which one? There’s a bunch of ’em. You want the older one? The youngest?”

  “The latest one. Brought her here not two hours ago.”

  “Women come and go here like flies.” The captain appeared to be taking Morgan’s measure. “All right. No harm in lookin’.” He gestured toward the door. “Long as you remember not to touch till she’s paid for.”

  Brown turned. “I think Mr. Lanigan knows the rules better
than we, Captain.”

  Moments later, two robust seamen appeared on deck, dragging between them a fighting, spitting Amelia.

  “Let go of me, you miserable, smelly brute!” Her teeth sank into the hand of the man restraining her, inciting a string of oaths that fouled the already putrid air.

  The sailor glanced to Brown pleadingly. “Let me teach this one a lesson. She’s a bloody handful, she is! My pay ain’t worth puttin’ up with this blooming persecution!”

  Jerking the bodice of her dress into place, Amelia glared at the lout threatening her. With a toss of her head, she turned her attention to Brown.

  Morgan sensed that she was preparing to tell him where to go and how quick to do it when she recognized who was standing beside Brown.

  Her jaw dropped. “You…!” she sputtered.

  Mr. Brown smiled. “Watch your language, dear. My friend, Lanigan, will think you’re a hooligan.”

  “Lanigan? Lanigan, the privateer who was reputed to be merciless with a knife?” Morgan Kane was the notorious Lanigan? She shook her head in disbelief. The nightmare wouldn’t end.

  “Ah, this one seems to have spirit,” Morgan, or rather, Lanigan observed. “Highly spirited. I appreciate all that fire and bluster.”

  Beaming now, Brown nodded. “I thought you would.”

  Amelia twisted and pulled until her breath heaved in gasps. With exasperated oaths, the men on either side hauled her arms behind her to force her cooperation. “You low-down, dirty, thieving snakes in the grass!” Amelia screeched, focusing on Morgan. “How dare you take advantage of me this way?”

  A slow smile spread across the man’s features. “Yes, she’s full of spit and vinegar.”

  Her eyes pinned him to the spot. “You, sir, should do some soul-searching. Maybe you’ll find one.”

  Turning away, Lanigan said in a bored tone, “Will someone stop her tiresome prattle?”

  “Listen, you!” Amelia’s eyes shot fire at her swindler. “You get me off this ship and do it right now or I’ll—”