Pirates of Savannah: The Complete Trilogy - Colonial Historical Fiction Action Adventure (Pirates of Savannah (Adult Version))

by Tarrin P. Lupo

  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 you just fookin’ hear that, laddies?"

  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 damn 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 only 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 heads 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 river 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 piss-and-shit soaked rags they took off dead prisoners, using them as tunics. Patrick still had pantaloons with the common bloodstained thighs that he had recently lifted off a dead prisoner. He was not ashamed by the blood stains on his crotch. Commonly referred to as "peasant stains," most people Patrick knew had the same blood pattern on their trousers. One would labor many days in the hot sun and the sweat would drench their pantaloons. At night while they slept, the bottoms would dry leaving a layer of salt on the pantaloons and skin. After days and days of the salt collecting, the thighs would tear each other raw and bleed. Eventually, after many painful months, one would develop hard skin on their thighs and not bleed as much. Patrick was told if one could bathe every three days and wash their clothes, they could avoid the condition, but only royalty had the means for such a luxury.

  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, thigh bone 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 damned be if that would stop him. Shamus leaned into Patrick's ear and whispered, "Look at dat one. I bet Sam Scurvy be a fine fookin’ 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.

  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 s
poke 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 which 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 hell is a g’damn ‘barky’?” Shamus wondered aloud.

  “It be a ship well loved by her crew," Sam Scurvy barked back. "Now shut da hell ups! 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 back-breaking 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 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 had 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 to a rough storm which he still owed a great deal of money on. 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 handed the mates to their newly appointed teachers, who they were informed 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 pat
ch 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 had a cat that was a great hunter. Kept this barky so pest free we never got any poison. But he went missing at our last port stop. As far as I know, the captain ain’t got a new one yet but 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 a quarantine if needed. The only actual surgery a ship's surgeon normally performed was amputations.