Savage Surrender

by Natasha Peters

  My mouth was dry under the rag that still gagged my mouth. I had tried without success to tear it off before I fell asleep, but my fingers were so cramped and stiff that I could not make the slightest impression on the knot. I swiveled my head towards the front of the wagon. I saw a brown-clad back topped by a fringe of dirty gray hair and a disreputable wide-brimmed hat. I grunted loudly to attract Bose Niles' attention. I got no response at first and wondered if he was sleeping. I tried again. He turned his head.

  "Oh, you're awake," he said over his shoulder. He pulled the horses up and climbed down, and walked to the back of the wagon. He had to cut the gag with his knife, so tightly had Arnold knotted it. I lifted my shackled hands and rubbed the bruised corners of my mouth where the gag had bitten into them. "You want to go off in the bushes?" he asked. I nodded. "Go on then. Don't try to run. You won't get too far with them things on your legs. When you get back I'll give you a little water and some meat."

  The irons on my legs made walking difficult and slow, and it was some minutes before I got back to the wagon.

  I said breathlessly, "Listen to me, Niles. I know who you are and what you do. How much did they pay you? I'll give you more, more, do you understand? I'm not a slave. I'm Jacques Fournier's wife, Elise, from La Rêve. We—we met once before. If you take me back to New Orleans, I'll give you twice what they paid you. That's good business, isn't it? You'll be collecting twice for the same merchandise."

  He tilted his ugly face to the side and said, "Lady, I don't care if you're the Queen of Arabia. I said I would do a thing, and I'm goin' to do it. Man's got a reputation to uphold, don't he? That's what I call good business, stickin' to your contract."

  "But you don't understand—"

  "I understand you threw me off your place without even givin' me a hearin'," he said. For an instant his hatred of me showed in his eyes, then it was gone. "Stop your fussin' now. We got a long way to go today, and I ain't had much sleep."

  "I won't go with you." I backed away from him. "I won't go! Stop! Take your hands off me!"

  He picked me up and threw me into the wagon, then said with unruffled calm, "There's some water in that jug, and here's a piece of meat. It's all you're goin' to get, so I'd think twice before I throwed it away."

  I stared horrified at the man who was treating me like a slave, transporting me to another part of the state, another part of the country. He climbed into the wagon again, flapped the reins, and spoke to his horses. We were under way again.

  I was tempted briefly to smash the water jug and to toss the food in his face, but I was hungry and I believed what he had said about this being all I would get. I gnawed the dried meat he had given me, which was salty and tasted slightly moldy, and washed it down with long pulls of tepid water.

  The food restored my confidence and I began to think about escape. I examined the shackles. They were heavy iron rings hinged on one side and fastened on the other by a sort of padlock which seemed to require a key to open it. Weighty chains with two-inch links were soldered to each of the rings, permitting my feet and hands a spread of only two feet.

  My wrists and feet were small. I tried to pull them through the rings. The attempts were futile and painful, and I soon gave up. I flounced impatiently. My situation was hopeless, desperate. And if I couldn't escape soon it would get worse.

  "Finished playin' with them things?" my jailor asked jocularly. "You won't make a dent in 'em, honey. Stronger men than you have tried and they couldn't budge 'em."

  I nearly wept aloud with frustration. The morning sun beat down mercilessly and sapped the last of my strength. We were traveling north, and not on the river road, I saw, but on some desolate track that was so little used that tall grass grew out of the ruts. Any hopes I had of seeing someone I knew in passing were quickly dashed. Not, I reflected mournfully, that they would know me anyway. They would not even look beyond their first impressions of black hair and eyes and ragged clothing. A slave was a faceless entity, not a woman with feelings and hopes and desires. Arnold and Georgette had planned their revenge well.

  I scolded myself. I was slipping into servility already. I could not let that happen, could not let my spirits falter. I must not let my determination to escape waver for an instant. I was not a slave. I would never be a slave, no matter what they did to me. I thought back to the Charleston Belle. The slaves in her stinking hold had been free once, too, until white men had forced their ways upon them. There was no escape for them now, none. No, no, I mustn't let myself think like that. No matter what happened to me I must remain strong and confident of myself. I had been tested before, and I had survived.

  I thought of Jean Lafitte. More than anyone else, he had helped me become a woman, proud of my beauty and accomplishments, secure in the knowledge that I could do anything a man could do if I had to, a free spirit who had truly achieved a measure of independence that was rare for a woman.

  And what lay ahead now? A journey to a new life with an ugly, amoral man who treated me like a load of goods. I was certain that nothing I could say would persuade him to abandon his task. I would certainly try hard to win him over, but I suspected that I would be wasting my time. No, if I wanted to escape I would have to use a little more ingenuity. I couldn't expect to talk my way out of this predicament.

  The wagon rumbled along over the dry, deeply-rutted road bed. The horses seemed to know their way, and the man's head bobbed loosely, as though he were sleeping. If I slipped off the rear of the wagon while he was dozing, I thought, I could hide in the bushes until it was dark and then make my way to some civilized place—a house, a plantation—and beg for sanctuary.

  We went a little farther. He still seemed to be sleeping. Hoping that the creaking and rattling of the wagon would cover any noise I made, I jumped off the back. The shackles made it impossible for me to keep my balance and I fell clumsily onto the hard road. But I scrambled to my feet and ran for the shelter of the undergrowth. I didn't even look back.

  I hid quietly, not daring to breathe. After a few minutes I heard the crunch of footsteps on the road. He came closer, closer, and stopped about two feet in front of where I was hiding. I could see the scuffed toes of his boots.

  "Why don't you come on out of there?" He sounded unperturbed. "Might be snakes back in those weeds. Hate for you to die of snakebite. Terrible way to go." He parted the brambles with his calloused hands and looked down at me. "Come on," he said wearily. "I don't want to stand here all day."

  I emerged from my thorny hiding place and accompanied him back to the wagon, which stood about two hundred feet up the road.

  "I thought you were asleep," I said wryly.

  "I was. But I got ears, don't I? Besides, when you fell out of the wagon the whole thing shook near to pieces. Well, you won't get nowhere, gal. Not so long's I'm haulin' you."

  "They really must have made it worth your while," I remarked with bitterness. "And you'll still collect on me twice, no matter who you sell me to, right?"

  "Yes, I will."

  "Is it much farther?" I asked, hoping to learn my destination.

  "Oh, I guess so. Part of the deal was to take you so far from 'em that they'd never see you again. What did you think, that I was gonna sell you to the plantation next door so's you could run away and git in their hair again? No sir. I'm a man of my word. Keepin' your word's good business."

  When he lifted me into the wagon he nodded and said, "See those ring bolts there on the sides?" I looked around. "Yes."

  "Well, if you disturb my sleep any more I'm gonna shackle you to one of them ring bolts. It'll be mighty uncomfortable ridin', but I don't care about that. It's up to you."

  "I won't try anything," I muttered sullenly. I couldn't face being chained like a slave to the walls of this mobile prison.

  We avoided main roads and settlements. Occasionally I caught glimpses of the Mississippi through the trees. I had already started to scheme about the coming night and how I could wrest the key away from him while he slept. Bu
t as night fell he merely lit his lantern and hung it aloft next to his seat and pushed ahead, never even stopping to eat or drink or rest his weary horses.

  I slept briefly and woke when we jerked to a halt. He took his lantern down and came around to the back of the wagon.

  "Are we here?" I mumbled sleepily.

  "We're someplace," he grunted. "Get down."

  I swung my legs over the back end and hopped down. I would have fallen, but he caught my arm. We walked down a slope. I heard the gentle lapping of waves against wooden pilings, and soon I could see the light from his lantern reflected on the surface of the water. We walked to the end of a deserted pier and sat down to wait. I couldn't see any signs of civilization, only this rotting pier in the middle of nowhere.

  "We're a little early," Niles said. "Made good time on that cowpath. Good thing it was dry. River's high, though. Always is this time of year. The thaw up north."

  "What are we waiting for?" I asked him.

  "A boat."

  I couldn't get any more information out of him. At least I knew we weren't going to travel over land indefinitely. Escape would be impossible on the water. I could never swim, weighed down as I was with my iron bracelets.

  After a long time we saw a gleam of light far down the river and heard a low, roaring noise.

  "What's that?" I asked wonderingly.

  "Steamboat."

  "Oh." I hadn't seen too many of the iron monsters that were just beginning to navigate the river. I knew they were dangerous and unreliable, prone to explosions and fires.

  "I seen men get their whole heads taken off when one of them boilers goes," Niles said encouragingly. "Terrible. But they make time against the current, not like them keelboats."

  He waved his lantern and received an answering wave of a torch. As the monstrous thing hove into sight I could make out shadowy figures moving around on her single deck, which was about thirty feet long and fifteen wide. The center third of the boat was taken up by a furnace that belched flame-tinted smoke. Stacks of firewood were piled in the stern, along with barrels and sacks of goods that would be sold upriver—coffee, sugar, rice, whiskey, barley. The thing slowed down and anchored in front of us, about thirty feet out from the pier. Two men lowered a dinghy and rowed towards us.

  "Howdy, Bose," called one.

  My captor jerked his head. "Jake."

  "What you got for me this run?"

  Bose gave me a little shove. "Quadroon slave. Friend of mine wants her far away, Jake. He doesn't want her to come back."

  "I'm not a slave," I shouted angrily. My chains rattled, belying my words. "I'm not! It was a trick, an evil plot against me because they hated me. Won't you listen to what I'm saying? I'm not a slave, I'm a French woman—"

  Bose gripped my arm warningly. "Jest shut your face," he growled. "Don't interrupt when a man's talkin' business."

  "You got a live one there, Bose," Jake laughed. "How much you askin'?"

  "Two hundred," said Bose calmly.

  "Two!" Jake spat into the water. "She looks a little scrawny, even in this light. I'll give you a hundred, Bose, and I got some fancy liquor on board, straight from New Orleans."

  "You don't say so?" Bose drawled. "Two hundred, Jake. I got all the liquor I can use right now."

  "Aw, Bose," Jake said sorrowfully, "you ain't no fun to bargain with anymore."

  "You'll get a lot more for her up north," Bose told him. "I can't let her go for less. Come on, honey, you and me'll try someplace else."

  "I'm not going with you," I bawled. "Let me go!"

  Jake laughed. "A hundred and fifty, Bose. And not a cent more."

  Bose nodded. "Sounds good to me. She's all yours now, Jake." Hard money changed hands. "So long, gal. Hope he don't blow you up on that fool thing. I wouldn't travel on her, I know that."

  They lifted me into the dinghy. I protested loudly, and when no one paid any attention I began to thrash and kick. When one of my kicks nearly overturned the dinghy Jake cuffed me and I sat down in the bottom of the boat. My head buzzed and I felt sick.

  "You got a key for these things?" Jake called to Bose before we pushed off. He reached over and rattled my leg irons.

  "Nope," said Bose. "Never carry a key. You'll have to get a 'smith to hammer 'em off."

  Jake cursed. "We'll leave 'em on, then. I ain't goin' to no smith with this piece of trash. Ain't got the time. Well, so long, Bose. See you next time we're down this way."

  Bose picked up his lantern and waved it at us as he walked back to his wagon. Jake rowed us out to the wheezing steamboat and lifted me up over the low side. Strong arms on deck hauled me aboard and I fell panting on the crudely-hewn deck. Jake and his mate climbed up and dragged the dinghy up, then made her fast. Jake shouted orders to his men to stoke the furnace, and after enough pressure had built up inside the boiler, the pistons began to pump up and down and the large paddled wheel on the port side started to turn, churning the river water. We moved slowly up the Mississippi.

  "When we get up a nice head of steam we can do about five miles an hour against the current," Jake roared at me over the din. "Come on, I'll show you where you can sleep."

  We skirted the furnace, which radiated an intense heat. The night was already uncomfortably warm, and I noticed that the three men, Jake and his two helpers, went shirtless and that their bodies were shiny with sweat. Jake led me forward to the prow. A small lean-to had been erected to provide a minimum shelter against the wind and rain. Blazing torches mounted on poles on either side of the craft illuminated the way ahead sufficiently so that floating trees and other obstructions could be avoided.

  "There's only one blanket in there," Jake said. "Don't be scared if somebody nudges you a little later. We keep going night and day when the river's this high, and we take turns sleepin'. It's all right as long as there's two fellas workin', one to stoke and one to navigate. This is my boat," he said proudly. "The Golden Eagle." He gazed at me and moistened his lips. The torchlight flickered on his broad, seamed face. He reached out and grasped my shoulders and pulled me close to him, and tilted my face towards the light. "You're not bad-lookin' for a quadroon," he said. "What's yer name?"

  I stiffened and lowered my eyes. He reeked of grease and smoke and whiskey. His hands were huge and so rough that I could feel the callouses on his palms through the thin fabric of my dress and shawl.

  "Alligator got yer tongue?" he asked. "You need to loosen it up if you want to enjoy this trip. Folks on the river don't take kindly to mean-faced slave bitches. They'll beat your head in if they don't like your fancy ways. Come here."

  He pressed me close to his oily chest, which seemed to radiate, an unbearable heat. We fell back into the lean-to and he shoved my skirts up to my waist and wriggled around on top of me. I tried to hold my breath, just so I wouldn't have to smell him. I nearly passed out, and wished that I could faint and lose consciousness while he was straddling me. But I didn't.

  He groaned as he relieved himself. My eyes were closed but I didn't have to see him to know what he was doing when he was finished with me. I had seen too many men strutting as they closed their breeches, gloating over their manliness. I hated them, all of them.

  "Don't you worry none," Jake reassured me. "I won't let those other two pigs near you."

  I would have laughed in his face if I hadn't been so choked with anger.

  We nosed our way upriver, stopping often to replenish the supply of wood that the dragon devoured greedily, and to trade some of Jake's New Orleans whiskey for supplies. Jake worked me hard during the day and used me hard at night, or whenever he felt like it. The other two, although they must have resented Jake's decree, never laid a hand on me. I hated life on the river and I hated the River Rats, as they called themselves, but at least I was still alive. And as long as I lived I could dream of escape and revenge.

  When we reached Memphis, Tennessee, Jake unexpectedly sold me.

  "I need the money, Frenchie," he explained. He held an impromptu auction
on the docks. I was wearing a tattered boy's shirt and a skirt made of sacking. The shirt had lost its buttons and I had knotted it together under my breasts. I was dirty and I smelled bad. My jaw was swollen from the last time Jake had beaten me, and my hair was so matted and tangled that I knew I couldn't have gotten a comb through it if I had owned one. I looked awful, but the men who sailed the keelboats and arks and rafts on the Mississippi thought I was beautiful.

  "I got me a fine high-yeller whore from Haiti," Jake bawled. "She's as pretty as a peach and as tough as nails." That much was true: life on the river had certainly toughened me, and I was as strong as any boy. "Come on, boys, take a look. Just step right up here. Smile for the boys, Frenchie. You look as mean-faced as a water moccasin."

  Interested parties began to gather.

  "What are you askin'?" someone called.

  "Three hundred dollars, hard cash," Jake said. "Come on and take a better look. Say something, Frenchie. Let the fellas hear how nice you talk."

  "I'll promise five hundred dollars to the man who delivers me to Jean Lafitte in New Orleans," I said. "I'm not a slave—"

  Their laughter drowned me out. Jake clapped me on the back.

  "See, boys? Ain't she a fine little bitch? Talks just like a real New Orleans whore."

  The men crowded closer. One squeezed my breast while Jake's back was turned. I cursed at him and struck him on the face, and Jake obligingly knocked him down.

  "I'm a Frenchwoman of noble birth," I shouted. "I was married to a rich planter. My enemies conspired against me. Please, please listen to me!"

  But no one listened. They thought I was amusing, if a little crazy, and they commiserated with Jake when he told them he hated to part with me.

  The bargaining was intense. Finally two hulking brothers who owned a keelboat bought me for two hundred and eighty dollars. They intended to sell me when they got to Illinois, where slaves commanded higher prices. They took turns beating and raping me, and by the time we reached Cairo, Illinois, where the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers merged, I was nearly dead. From Cairo I traveled upriver with my new owner, a hawk-nosed man named Starker who talked a lot about repentance and the evils of the flesh during the day, and who raped me every night before he went to sleep.