Savage Surrender

by Natasha Peters

  " 'Lise, what happened?" He stood up slowly and came towards me.

  "I—I'm all right, Joseph," I said in a calm voice that barely concealed my hysteria. "I—I fell down."

  He wrapped a sun-warmed blanket around my naked shoulders and led me to the fire. He sloshed some whiskey into a tin cup and put it into my hands.

  "He shouldn't have done that," he said slowly. "He shouldn't have."

  "I cut him," I said with grim satisfaction. "Badly."

  The beach was quiet. I could hear the muffled roar of the surf on the other side of the sand bar that protected our harbor. A few scattered gulls swooped and dived into the sea for crumbs, and came up squabbling and screeching. The sun was setting, casting its fiery gleam on the shimmering water.

  "Elise."

  Joseph and I looked around. Garth stood a few feet away. His left arm was drenched in blood. He had made no attempt to bandage it.

  Joseph shouted angrily and charged him. Garth wasn't prepared and he fell back on the sand with an astonished grunt. The two men grappled together, groaning and panting. Garth stumbled to his feet and swung his fist, catching Joseph, who was coming up from a crouch, under the chin. The black man went down, but only for a second. He bounced up swiftly, thundering like a lion, and he tore into Garth with a ferocity and determination that must have been Heaven-inspired. Garth, who was weakened by the loss of blood, staggered and fell. Joseph fell on top of him and they rolled around on the blood-spattered sand.

  "Stop it! Stop it at once!" I shouted, throwing off my blanket and dashing up to them. They paid no heed. I snatched up one of the rifles we always kept loaded in case of attack and fired into the air. The two men fell apart. I ran over to them and threw my arms around Joseph before he could hammer Garth again. "No, Joseph, please," I cried. "Are you trying to kill each other? Do you think I'm going to sail this leaky bucket to New Orleans by myself? Stop it now, please."

  Joseph stood up slowly, rubbing his jaw. "You shouldn't have done that, Garth," he said. "There was no need. The next time you touch her, by God I'll kill you for it."

  Garth was panting. "You—you should have told me, Joseph," he said thickly.

  "I asked him not to," I said. "It was none of your business anyway, Garth. Would you really have treated me any differently if you'd known? I don't think so." I passed my hand over my eyes. "Oh, God, I'm tired. I'm so tired."

  Three days later—three days of cold silences, murmured instructions, resentful, sidelong glances—Garth and Joseph finished repairing the rudder. We reloaded the Sea Demon and launched her at floodtide, not long after noon. The skies were gray and leaden and a sharp, cruel wind was blowing from the northwest. I had the feeling that autumn was upon us.

  Chapter 18

  Cape Fear

  Life on board the Sea Demon was not the same. My relationship with Garth deteriorated even more, to the point where we didn't even address each other directly but used Joseph as an unwilling intermediary. Garth and Joseph were barely civil to each other, and the easy camaraderie they had enjoyed was gone.

  "You shouldn't have fought him, Joseph," I said one day. "It wasn't worth it."

  "It was worth it to me. He had no right to treat you that way, 'Lise."

  I shrugged. "He would disagree with you, Joseph. He would say he had every right, and if he had the chance he would do it again, you know he would."

  Garth was still favoring his wounded arm. He had attended to it himself and he probably wasn't as careful as he should have been when he cleaned the wound. I resisted the temptation to ask him to let me look at it; he would have refused me anyway, and at least I was spared that rebuff.

  "I hope he gets gangrene," I muttered to myself. "It would serve him right."

  Joseph noticed the stiffness and swelling, too, and he was concerned.

  "That arm of yours looks a mite sore, Cap'n," he said to Garth one day. "You'd better let me see it."

  "No." Like most strong men Garth was impatient with his own illnesses. "I changed the bandage this morning. It's all right."

  Joseph was not easily dissuaded. "I'd like to see that for myself, if you don't mind." He made Garth sit down and he carefully removed the clumsy bandage. "You'd make a poor doctor, Garth. This looks real bad. 'Lise, come over here."

  The cut hadn't healed at all in a week. The wound was still swollen and red, and it looked infected.

  "What did you do, Elise, dip your knife in poison?" Garth asked me.

  Joseph laughed. "If she had we would have seen the last of you, Garth. Why, in Africa a little drop of poison on the tip of an arrow can kill an elephant."

  "I'm sure if Elise had had some of that she would have used it," Garth remarked acidly. "I'm sorry I couldn't oblige you by dying, Elise."

  I said, "I'm a very patient woman. We still have a long way to go."

  "We're going to have to lance it and drain it, 'Lise," Joseph said. "I know a good poultice to make out of moss and roots. Some Indians taught me. We'll put into shore tonight—"

  "No," Garth said quickly. "We're going to take advantage of this wind for as long as we can. We can't, stop."

  Joseph protested vigorously, but Garth stubbornly held firm. He allowed us to lance the infection and to cleanse and bind up the wound again, but he refused to make camp on shore just so Joseph could gather the ingredients for his "jungle witchcraft," as Garth called it.

  We rode the wind for the next two days, and then suddenly we were becalmed in mid-ocean without even a breath of air to rattle our slack sails. We floated on gentle swells for four days. I spread our clothes and bedding all over the schooner to dry, and the men tried to find tasks to occupy their time. Garth cursed and fretted at this period of enforced inactivity.

  On the fourth day as I was climbing the short ladder from the cabin to the deck I saw Garth coming down. I backed down again so that he could pass. Neither of us spoke. I was about to go up when he caught my arm and pulled me back.

  "What's the matter, Elise?" he asked when I tried to jerk away from him. He was breathing heavily and he sounded drunk, but when I looked at him more closely I could see that he was feverish, ill. "Afraid that I'll rape you?"

  "No, I'm not afraid of you, Garth," I said calmly. "Please let me pass."

  He placed his hands on the bulkhead on either side of my head to brace himself. "It's no disgrace to be afraid, Elise," he said thickly. "Everyone is afraid of something."

  "Oh, really? And what are you afraid of, Garth?" I tried to hide the uneasiness I felt at his nearness. I didn't want to be close to him. I felt as though I couldn't breathe, that I was drowning.

  "I'm afraid of crazy girls who wear knives, for one thing." He glanced down at the weapon I always wore in my belt. "But that doesn't mean I intend to maintain a respectful distance between us forever, Elise. The best way to conquer fear is to confront it."

  His eyes were unnaturally bright and I could feel that his body was radiating intense heat. Any other man would have been flat on his back by now, but not him, I thought resentfully.

  "All right, Garth, I'll confront you," I said evenly. "Here we are, face to face, head to head. I'm not afraid of you. I don't look frightened, do I? Bon, I have conquered my fear! May I go now, please?"

  He touched my cheek very gently. I stiffened and pressed my back against the bulkhead. He laughed softly. "Not afraid? But you're trembling, my dear. You're terrified. You may not fear me, but the mere thought of a man's touch makes you grow white with horror." He looked sorrowful. "What a shame. Those men have a lot to answer for."

  "And so do you," I said angrily. "If you don't mind, I don't wish to discuss this matter—or any matter—with you. Get out of my way."

  "Meet your fears head on, Elise," he coaxed, "and you'll soon discover that they don't exist. If you like, I'll try to cure you of this terrible—affliction."

  "I am not afflicted and I don't require help from you, Garth McClelland. Although I'm sure you are expert in this sort of thing. I would rather join
a convent than submit to a cure from you!"

  He closed his eyes and moved closer to me. He rested his hands lightly on my shoulders, then slid them down to my waist. I felt none of the old, deep stirrings, only slight nausea and an all-consuming rage that seemed to envelop my brain like a mist.

  The schooner gave a sharp lurch and I heard Joseph calling, "Wind, Garth! From the southeast."

  Garth released me and went up on deck. I sat on my bunk and clasped my hands together in my lap. I felt no desire, no warmth towards him, nothing but sorrow and self-pity and anger. I wished with all my heart for the voyage to be over so that I could leave him behind me forever and take up the strands of a new life.

  By evening Garth was unsteady on his feet, his face was flushed and his breathing labored. Joseph and I exchanged a long, meaningful glance, and Joseph announced loudly that we were going to have to put into shore for fresh water, for the days of calm had almost wiped out our supply. Garth gave him no argument, and so we headed towards the Georgia coast and sailed up a wide inlet that seemed to be the mouth of a river. We anchored in a deep channel between the banks, and Garth stayed on board the Sea Demon while Joseph and I waded ashore to shoot some game and fill our casks.

  "Dear God, he looks terrible," I said to Joseph when we pulled ourselves up on the riverbank. "He—he isn't going to lose that arm, is he?"

  "No, I don't think so," Joseph said. "But the poisons in the arm have got into the rest of his body and made him mighty sick. Maybe my medicine will help and maybe it won't, but we have to give it a try."

  The wooded areas along the river consisted of a thick cover of short, scrubby pines and brambles. The earth underfoot was sandy and soft. Joseph had to penetrate rather deeply into the undergrowth to find the mosses and leaves he needed for his poultice. I shot a couple of ducks for our supper and finally located a stream where the water ran clear and fresh and tasted free of salt. I filled the casks and left them for Joseph to carry back to the schooner, then I returned to the riverbank. The evening was calm and serene. The setting sun shone orange on the furled sails of the Sea Demon, making them look not unlike slim pillars of fire. I could see Garth moving around on her deck. He had a rifle in his hand. When he saw me he paused and raised his arm in a mocking salute. In the evening light he looked like a Viking warrior about to sail into battle.

  Just then the air was split by a blood-curdling scream and the sound of gunfire. I whirled around to see Joseph stumbling towards me from the dense curtain of the forest.

  "Get back, 'Lise," he shouted. "Get back to the boat and get out of here!"

  I froze for a second then ran towards him. Two painted savages burst out of the woods and flung themselves at me. Joseph intercepted one of them and dragged him to the ground. The other was on top of me before I had the wits to raise my rifle and fire at him. Joseph leaped on his back and yanked him off me. The Indian made a choked, gurgling noise far back in his throat and slumped to the ground. I gaped at him. He was wearing the cotton tunic and deerskin leggings of the peaceful Seminoles I had seen around New Orleans, but his face was daubed with paint and he looked weird and inhuman.

  "Run, 'Lise," Joseph gasped. He was reeling from a bloody wound in his chest. His blood-stained knife fell out of his grasp.

  "Joseph!" I rushed to help him. Then about a dozen Indians came out of the trees. They were all yelling and brandishing rifles and knives. Joseph charged them, his knife slashing and cutting. They soon overpowered him and I watched with horror as he fell under them and lay still. I fired once and one of the attackers clutched at his stomach and pitched forward onto the ground. But I had no time to reload. I threw my rifle aside and raced towards the riverbank. I plunged into the water and swam towards the Sea Demon as fast as I could.

  Something grabbed at my ankle. I twisted around and saw that an Indian had followed me into the water. I took a lungful of air before he dragged me under water, and I felt in my belt for my knife. I had it in my hand when we surfaced again and when he pulled me towards him I stabbed at him with all my strength. He released me and floated backwards, a ribbon of red flowing from his side. As I looked towards shore I could see an army of savages plunging into the river after me. I heard a shot over my head. Garth was firing at them, holding them off until I could reach the boat. One shot from our small cannon scattered and panicked them. They left the water and ran for the shelter of the trees. I swam furiously; when I reached the boat Garth reached over the side and helped me up. Shots from the Indians' rifles spent themselves in the water, but as I fell on the deck I heard Garth grunt and mutter a curse. One of the bullets had found its mark.

  We were drifting downstream towards the sea. Garth must have pulled in the anchor just before I reached the boat.

  "Take the wheel and guide her, Elise," he said hoarsely. "We can hoist our sails when we're out of the channel."

  He crouched in the stern and fired at the Indians. I felt the boat sway and looking over my shoulder I saw two of them climbing aboard. They carried no rifles, but were armed with hatchets and knives.

  "Garth!" I screamed. I snatched up a loaded pistol and fired. One of them snarled and leapt at me, then dropped at my feet. The other threw himself at Garth and wrestled him to the deck. I saw that Garth was bleeding badly from a wound in his shoulder. He struggled valiantly with the Indian but I knew his strength was deserting him. Sobbing, I reloaded my pistol and took careful aim at the enemy's head. I fired, and he staggered and fell over the side.

  Garth moaned and lay spread-eagled on the deck. There was another wound, a knife wound, in his side. I threw myself on my knees beside him. He tried to sit up and I pushed him back down.

  "We're safe now, Garth," I told him. "We're out of their range and we're safe. Just lie still until we're under way and I'll be back."

  "Renegade Creeks," he said, gasping. "British arms. Bastards. Shouldn't—shouldn't have—Joseph—" He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. My heart was pounding and I felt for his pulse. He had fainted. He was still alive. I staunched the bleeding and left him momentarily.

  I hoisted the sails and guided the schooner out of the inlet and into the ocean, wondering all the while what I would do if Garth died. I thought of Joseph, slaughtered by Indians while on an innocent healing mission. I thought my heart would break.

  When we were well out to sea I secured our lines and lashed the wheel so that it wouldn't spin and let us drift with the tide. Garth was still unconscious and starting to shiver. I wrapped him in blankets and tried to make him comfortable until I could get him down to the cabin. I could never move him like this. I would have to wait until he woke up. There was still one dead Indian to dispose of. I hauled and lugged him to the side of the boat and tipped him over. The leaden splash as his body hit the water and sank under the waves filled me with a grim satisfaction.

  Garth moaned and stirred. I knelt by him. His flesh was burning hot and dry. I moistened a cloth and bathed his forehead and gave him a sip of water.

  "Garth, listen to me," I said in his ear. "I need to get you below, to the cabin. But I can't do it alone. I need your help. You're going to have to stand, Garth. I know it will hurt but you have to try, just this once. Please."

  I tugged at his hands. He grimaced and groaned and I helped him sit up. I kept talking to him, urging him, and somehow I managed to get him down that ladder and into a bunk. The darkness of a moonless night threatened to swallow us up, and I lit a lantern and hung it from a hook on the ceiling. It swung dizzily over our heads, casting wild, dancing shadows on the cabin walls.

  I knew I would have to take the rifle bullet out of his shoulder and sew up the gash in his side, but I couldn't do it now, tonight. All I could do was keep him warm and dry. I fell asleep kneeling on the floor near his bunk.

  The Sea Demon drifted in mid-ocean for five days while Garth hovered between life and death.

  While he lay unconscious in his bunk on the day after the attack, I cut into his shoulder and extracted the bullet, fightin
g down nausea every second. I disinfected his wounds with whiskey, bathed him in cool seawater, and bandaged him loosely. That night his fever shot up and he became delirious, moaning and calling my name and shouting orders to a band of invisible men.

  I kept cold compresses on his forehead. "Garth, Garth, it's all right," I said soothingly. "The battle is over now. You can rest. Try to rest."

  "Indians!" he shouted, struggling to rise. "Powder dry! The flames, the brand. The brand! Too late. Go—go to France."

  I tried to hold him down. As sick as he was, his strength was almost too much for me.

  He tossed his head and murmured. "Elise. Damning—damning black eyes. Little Hellcat. Savage. Fire. Firebrand." Then he opened his eyes and said lucidly before closing them again, "Will you have some wine, Mademoiselle? It's a splendid vintage, a very good year, as I recall." He sighed and started to shiver violently. "Cold." His teeth were chattering. "Cold."

  I was at my wit's end. "Oh, dear God," I sighed wretchedly. I piled blankets on top of him and when his shivering didn't lessen, I bundled all our clothing around him, everything I could find. Finally I held him in my arms, trying to give him some of my own warmth.

  I knew that we would have to go ashore soon for water, for we had lost all our casks but one in the Indian attack. I scanned the skies eagerly every day, but saw no signs of rain. I dreaded the thought of landing on the coast. I could probably handle the schooner if the seas stayed calm, but the memory of those screaming savages was still fresh in my mind. I could never fend off an attack by myself.

  For the first few days I hardly slept. I tried to nap while Garth was resting quietly, but at the slightest unusual movement of the boat or sound of distress from him I awoke instantly. I knew I couldn't manage both the nursing and the sailing. So far my luck had held and the weather had been good, but I was sure that in the event of a storm we would sink to the bottom at once. And I knew Garth would be more comfortable on land. His wounds weren't helped by the bumping and buffeting they received in the cabin. Finally I put us on a westerly course and hoped we would sight the Florida coast before too long.