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

by Tarrin P. Lupo

  “Bring the Mary Read about, boys, and pick him up,” she ordered. The ship swung around and they threw a rope to the splashing man. The crew quickly hoisted him out of the drink.

  “Merci, Captain,” the soaked man said to Patrick.

  “Oh, that was your first mistake!” Patrick cringed.

  “I be the fucking Cap’n of this barky! Throw him back in the blue until he learns to show some respect,” the true captain commanded.

  The four crew men threw the confused, soaked man back into the windy ocean. The poor man was floundering in the choppy water and trying to stay afloat.

  “Christ! Throw the rope to him again!” she ordered.

  The waterlogged man again grabbed the rope was pulled aboard.

  After coughing up a lung full of water, the rescued sailor begged in a French accent, “Pardon, Madame. I have never seen a lady captain. No disrespect intended, mon amie.”

  “What da hell happened, sailor?” she questioned.

  “We were overrun by British privateers. I was blown overboard with these barrels by cannon fire. The British killed my crew and threw them into the water. I acted dead and let myself bob with the barrels. Thank St. Michael you saved me. I would have drowned for certain with this storm."

  “Tell me what is in those barrels floating out there?” she inquired.

  “We were shipping salt. That cargo is ruined, Madame, as soon as water breeched them.” The French man explained.

  “Crew, get us away from this storm! Find me a port. And pull that fucking British jack down! I may need it to wipe me arse,” she yelled.

  The Frenchman laughed, “Oh thank St. Michael again, you are not the damn British. I would like you to save me some of that jack to wipe my ass with as well, Madame.”

  “Find this soul some rum,” the pirate captain demanded. “Let’s have a drink and hear your story. You be safe here now.”

  * * *

  “We don’t have time to go traipsing through those damn gator filled marshes just to avoid them. Plus, our luck won’t hold that much if we fight them. Those Spaniard troops in our path won’t be as easy to slay as those bandits were. We need to find a way through them without bloodshed,” the Scotsman warned.

  “Well, great warrior, how would your war parties handle something like this?” Archibald asked.

  The white-haired man smiled and his wrinkles deepened. He and his collie dog Garland ran into the swamp and disappeared. After twenty minutes he reappeared with a handful of white flowers. The Indian started collecting the seeds and then carefully began cutting up and preparing the roots.

  Archibald started laughing, “My god are you going to give them all that Devil’s Trumpet? They will be stark mad for two weeks.”

  “Au Gewalt, I had to use that plant when I ran out of laudanum doing amputations, it did not go well. You might kill those men giving them that much Jamestown weed.” Isaac warned.

  “As usual, I am the only person in this group that has no idea what the hell that plant is.” Isaac complained.

  Archibald shook his head, “You really don’t know much about the world you live in now, lad. Back in 1676, during Bacon’s rebellion in Jamestown, Virginia, Bacon’s men slipped a bunch of British soldiers some of this plant’s leaves and seeds in their salads. That group of English soldiers went mad for eleven days and had to be quarantined because most went completely out of their minds. They went blind, forgot to eat or could not stop laughing. Most of them were naked and shitting themselves to death. After such a horrible reaction, the plant got the nickname Jamestown weed.”

  The old man announced that the weed was properly prepared and that he was ready. When he scouted earlier he saw the Spanish soldiers had a small pot of stew brewing. The group watched with admiration as the old warrior slowly crept into the camp in broad daylight. The soldiers were too distracted playing dice to notice the white-haired man drop something into their stew. He vanished back into the swamp as quiet as a cougar.

  It took almost two hours before the Spanish men sat down and ate the stew. The entire group ate as they laughed about their dice game. It only took about a half hour before they started acting strangely. A few men started dropping and clenching their bellies in pain, while others just suddenly became amazed at how interesting their own hands were. They stared at their digits, opening and closing them with fascination. When a few of the soldiers got naked and started jumping back and forth over the fire pit, Li Go Che figured it was time to circle around the camp.

  They were almost spotted sneaking past because William could not stop giggling at the humorous site of men touched with madness. The group picked up their pace and made it to the mounds without another incident.

  The men heard Garland growling and stopped the work of removing the massive pile of stones. The men approached the canine cautiously with their weapons drawn. The collie was growling loudly at a large bush that was shaking. The men crept closer to investigate. The dog yelped as a large, open mouth with rows of teeth stormed out of the foliage. Garland jumped sideways and barely missed the pair of snapping jaws. Isaac showed unusual courage by charging the beast. He unloaded his musket full of pig shot into the reptile’s side. It bucked with pain and swung its tail, knocking the hulking man off his feet. It moved in to finish off Isaac when a colorful arrow appeared in the massive gator's side. The scaly beast slowed its approach as another arrow plucked its side. Garland taunted the gator fearlessly and it returned its attention to the yapping dog. Its gaping mouth opened again and then mysteriously stopped moving. It was just lying there with its mouth wide open. The gator's tail was slapping wildly and its body rolled over and over in the mud. Isaac had wearily gotten to his feet when he noticed the head was no longer attached to the flailing alligator body. The group watch in amazement as the body kept spinning for another half minute.

  William walked over with his bloody claymore sword, holding the gator head aloft and triumphantly stated, “I am mounting this on me wall. None of me clansman will ever believe I took the head off this beast.” As the group inspected the body, they noticed it was riddled with shot, three broken shafts and several stab wounds. “That is one fucking tough beast,” Archibald concluded.

  “You finish stones. I skin gator,” the old Indian man offered.

  The men went back to work as the guide skinned the reptile. The Indian wasted very little time as he carved every little piece of usable meat out of carcass. He even cut the legs off to sell the claws to some tribesman for rituals. All the meat was loaded into a large bag and he hung the hide to dry.

  The men finished moving the stones and went into the sacred cave to inspect. The cannons looked like they did when they left them with no rust or browning. They were well preserved considering they were stored in a damp swamp cave. It took most of the day to pull the cannons out and to attach their battle carriages to the uncooperative mules. By sun down, everything was loaded in the long mule train. There were eight twelve-pound cannons, eight artillery and storage carts, and eighteen mules. The Indian thought to bring two more pack mules in case any died during the journey. After readying the mule team, the group spent the rest of the evening piling the rocks back and hiding the entrance to the cave. Li Go Che insisted they hurry and leave before dark. He was worried the white men would anger his ancestor’s spirits. The group obliged and finished their work as fast as they could. They were also afraid of being cursed by revengeful Indian spirits.

  Li Go Che and Garland have a smoke

  The men pulled the train in the dark for about an hour and then set up camp. Archibald worried they were already behind schedule. Isaac kept disappearing and coming back with bundles and bundles of wood, more than what was the needed for a fire. The men gorged themselves on gator meat until they could barely move. Even Garland was passed out by the fire with a fat, happy belly. Li Go Che pulled out his pipe, lit some hemp and the men recounted their heroic battle with the green, scaled monster. Unbelievably, they became hungry again after they s
moked so much and helped themselves to another course of gator meat. The old man stayed up most of the night curing the hide over the fire and smoking the rest of the meat so it would not spoil during their journey.

  The party was woken by pouring rain. It came down so thick and hard, it stung the skin. The swamp was flooding with water quickly and they had to move their muddy train to higher ground. The train slowed as the carts and cannons kept getting stuck in the mud. Thankfully, Isaac’s massive strength was enough to free the wheels and keep the train moving. To slow the pace even further, the booming thunder and lightning was spooking the mules. The storm was so loud that it even scared their fearless dog, Garland. After one incredible crack of thunder, the dog jumped into a cart and hid under one of the canopies.

  It finally stopped raining and hauling the heavy artillery through the muddy swamps took its toll on the carts. Some of them were struggling to stay in one piece. Li Go Che solved the problem by quickly building some Indian travoises, which he quickly attached to the extra mule. He even built one for Garland and loaded it with sacks of alligator meat.

  “That collie dog sure has come in useful,” William commented. “I really hope ya don't eat the little girl when she gets too old. I will be happy to let her spend her last years roaming me farm, and I can even buy her off ya when the time comes,” William offered to the old warrior.

  "Eat Garland?" Isaac questioned in shock.

  William answered, "Aye, lad. It is a very injun thing to do. They never waste anything. They treat dogs like any other beast of burden. When it gets too old to work, they will eat it. They will use the hide, bones, claws and every other part as well. It would be a damn shame to let a proud Scottish breed suffer a fate like that. It would not be right to let that happen. Lots of Scots brought their dogs with them. She might have even run off from someone I know. "

  Garland had a large smile on her muzzle, thrilled to be given a new task to conquer. She pulled the custom travois with surprising power.

  An Indian travois is attached to Garland to haul supplies

  The men trudged through muck like this for two long days. They fought hordes of fresh, hungry mosquitoes, venomous snakes, gigantic alligators, and were now even being robbed of their food stores by a bunch of raccoons at night. On top of worrying about the beasts of the swamp, the men had to stay constantly vigilant for bandits, as well as Spanish and British soldiers. Being seen by anyone would be trouble, so the old scout took the men through the deepest and least traveled parts of the swamps. That also meant it was the most difficult area to travel through, making the entire trip absolutely miserable for man and beast alike. The exhausted and soaked men had to take shifts when they set up camp. They had scared off a bobcat and the old man swore he even heard a cougar cry the night before. Li Go Che suspected the mules were being hunted by a pack of wolves. The thieving, trickster raccoons had brought the attention of a pack of gray wolves. Since there had been so much hunting of the wolves and their prey, the canines were growing increasingly bold in their search for food. When the sun would set, Archibald could hear the wolves growling just outside the light of the campfire. Luckily, William came up with the brilliant idea of storing dry wood down the barrels of the cannons. If the Scot had not taken this precaution before leaving the mounds, there would have been no hope of starting a fire in all the rain. The men would have shivered and caught ill with no heat and it had the added benefit of keeping those wolves at bay. Surprisingly, the mules had not fallen ill. They were much tougher animals than Archibald anticipated.

  Crack. Blam! The sound echoed over the rain making the men spring to life with weapon in hand. Isaac yelled, “That wolf was getting too close to the mules! I don’t think I hit it, but the shot scared them off. I heard them running away in the dark.” The men then decided to pull the mules closer to the camp and to surround the pack animals with torch light. It was a necessary precaution but William was sure there would no chance of sleep now. In just twenty minutes, the sounds of hungry wolves could be heard just outside of the torch perimeter. Over ten sets of wolf eyes reflected red in the lightning.

  “Lads, there be a lot more of them wolves then I reckoned," Archibald said in a panic. "We need a plan.” Lighting flashed again revealing that Archibald had greatly underestimated the amount of wolves circling their camp. Now close to twenty sets of hungry eyes could be seen reflecting back. “Get the mules ready to move out. We can’t stay here, lads.” Archibald announced.

  “You are touched in the mind, lad! We cannot be traipsing into the swamp in this black," William protested. "It would be impossible, lad.”

  The blacksmith fired back, “I count almost twenty wolves out there. We can’t be staying here.”

  William reluctantly lined the mules up to move. Li Go Che took the lead and started to march the train into the foreboding blackness. Isaac appeared holding the large sack of gator meat legs. With amazing strength, he threw the offering deep into the darkness to the pack of predators, hoping to distract them long enough to make an escape. The plan seemed to work. The pack was growling and fighting with each other over the alligator parts as the train quietly moved away.

  “Good thinking using the gator, lad!” Archibald complimented. “I hate to give away our prize and that tasty meat, but if we lose these mules, we will be dragging those cannons through the muck ourselves!”

  The group did not get very far in the complete blackness of night. The storm had blocked out any star light and it was pitch black. They had no choice but to use the last of the dry wood and set up a new camp. They circled the mules and surrounded them with torches. Sadly, this used up the last of their dry wood. The men were going to need immense luck if they would ever make it to Jekyl Island on time.

  * * *

  The tattooed woman swigged down a mug of rum and asked, “What do people call you, Frenchmen?”

  “Madame, my name is Robert Deaux. My family line is Parisian and from the country side of France. I am a trader merchant who ships spices around the world. I really hate working around the colonies and much prefer traveling to the Orient.”

  “Was that your ship and cargo the British stole?” she asked as Regan the cat jumped in her lap.

  He replied, “The cargo, oui. The ship? No. I rent ships to carry my cargo. I've never made enough to buy my own ship.”

  “So you are skilled with bargaining and languages, are you? I could use a man of your talents, if you need a job,” the captain questioned as she stroked her purring feline.

  “Since all my money was just was just stolen and you hate the English as much as me, I would have to say ‘oui’, depending on the terms,” the Frenchman nodded and reached out to also pet Regan. The cat immediately hissed at Robert and swatted his hand. Crimson dots appeared on the French trader palm.

  “She is a little particular in who she fancies. Feed her some fish for a few days and then try again. I can pay you five shillings a week and half the profit of any trading you procure. You will have accesses to this ketch and can take her as far as you need to along the coasts and Caribbean. You will have access to my very loyal crew to assist you in any deal you broker,” she offered. She spit in her hand and held it out. The Frenchman looked a little repulsed by this custom but spit in his palm and shook.

  “I have many great connections. With use of this ship and a good crew we could make much silver, mon amie,” Mr. Deaux replied with glee.

  “Let us seal the merger in rum and song. Sing me a French sailing song! I be hankering for some entertainment,” she demanded.

  The French man cleared his throat and started to belt out an old sea shanty. April sat on Patrick’s lap and he held her as the man sang for their amusement. Ten minutes of song put the woman in a romantic mood and she whispered something into Patrick’s ear.

  The madam captain thanked the Frenchman for his song and then ordered her crew, "See that Mr. Deaux is properly fed and give him as much rum as he cares to have. Keep a careful eye peeled for that Engli
sh galleon and be sure to keep Captain Brewer’s vessel in sight.” The captain then placed the cat in Robert’s lap and it began to hiss. She laughed as she took the smiling, love-struck Patrick back down into her captain’s quarters.

  The next morning there was a knock on the captain’s door and a crewman reported, “Captain, we are at the location, but the land party has not arrived yet."

  “Very good, crewman. Report when they arrive," she giggled while Patrick tickled her breasts. She then mounted Patrick and said, “You know, we have much more in common than you know.”

  “Really? Do those tattoos also give you magical powers to read minds?” Patrick smiled.

  “Shake my hand, my wolf,” she extended her hand.

  Patrick was confused by this but took her inked up hand into his and gave her a firm handshake.

  “Not like that. I mean shake my hand, Patrick,” she hinted.

  She slid her hand down toward his elbow and locked wrists. She extended her two fingers in a “V” pattern. Patrick returned the secret handshake.

  “How do you know about that? Only men are allowed in that club,” Patrick asked, puzzled.

  “If you happen to notice, I do as I please. I do anything men do. I run my own business, captain my own little ship and fuck you as I please. Because of my pirating days, people still fear me and the connections I have. I get to do things other women can’t even dream about doing. I am also the only woman allowed into a meeting of the Freeman Society,” she explained. “I do many clandestine missions to help the cause. I am one of the few people you will ever meet who actually knows what it is to live free. Being a captain on the open waters is the only time when a person can live without anyone else controlling your life. You are free to earn a living as you please, not pay taxes to an unseen master and live by your own rules. It is a life I really miss. I value that freedom over anything else and I am trying to find a way to return to it. The Mary Read is a fine ship, but she is too small for living free on the open seas.”