by Bobbi Smith
"Change course, due south! Now!" Curtis was furious. In all the years he'd been running slaves from Africa to America, he'd never been cornered before. He had a reputation as a man who delivered on schedule, and it enraged him to think he'd finally been trapped.
"But what if they fire upon us, sir? That schoon er's faster than we are! He'll catch us within the hour!"
Curtis turned a baleful eye to his helmsman. "I can tell how quickly the ship's coming, Givens. Just do as your ordered and leave the rest to me."
As he debated with himself over the best course of action, thoughts of Luther Radcliffe hounded him. Radcliffe was the agent of the Sea Demon's owners, and he was one of the coldest, most money-hungry bastards he'd ever met. Curtis knew better than to disappoint him; yet he also knew that there would be no escaping the two American ships. If he was boarded by the U.S. authorities he would lose not only the slaves but also the Demon. Nothing, absolutely nothing, was worth losing your ship over.
Gauging the angle of the sun and the number of hours left until dark, Curtis made his decision. He would do what Radcliffe had told him to do should this situation ever arise. As much as it angered him, he would sacrifice his cargo and his lucrative profit to save the ship. They would lose this time, but at least they'd still be in business.
Nick and Slater kept out of the way as the crew of the Sea Demon slammed into action. Time passed in a blur as events unfolded quickly. The swiftly moving government brig altered course and managed to block the slaver's way south, giving the bigger, slower U.S. ship time to move in and close the trap. It was almost completely dark when Curtis, in frustration, ordered his vessel brought to a stop.
"I wonder what he's up to," Nick remarked to Slater. "It's too late for them to board us now, but why else would he leave us sitting here dead in the water?"
"He's probably going to wait it out until morning. If there were only one ship, he might have had a chance of slipping away tonight, but not with two. There's no way he can get away from both of them, especially not when one is as quick as that brig," Slater told him. He knew that when the U.S. authorities boarded them at first light, the blacks being held down below would be freed. For the first time in ages, he began to believe that there might be some justice in the world.
They watched the approaching government ships in silence, then settled down in an out-of-the-way place on deck to wait for morning.
Captain Curtis paced his cabin in agitation. As soon as it was nightfall it would be time to begin. The moon would be late rising tonight, and so he calculated that he had until midnight to do what needed to be done. He'd sent for his first officer, Mr. Jones, and when the single knock at the door signaled his arrival, he curtly bid him enter.
"Yes, Captain, you wanted me?" the dark, rugged-looking first officer asked as he entered the room. He had been at sea for most of his forty years, and it showed in the way he carried himself and in his weatherbeaten features.
"I have a job for you. It needs to be done quickly and quietly."
The first officer frowned. He knew they were in trouble with the authorities, but he had no idea what was on his captain's mind. "Yes, sir. What is it you want me to do?"
As Curtis gave him his instructions, Jones grew more and more shocked. Though not a particularly moral man by any stretch of the imagination, he was horrified by his orders. "Sir ...are you sure? I mean, there are over five hundred of them..."
"Are you questioning me, Mr. Jones?" Curtis bristled. His word was life and death on this ship, and he didn't like to be challenged in any way.
"No, Captain." The first officer went rigid at the reproach.
"Good," he responded with smooth sarcasm. "Then carry on. Execute in groups of fifty. You should be able to handle that many without major incident."
"Yes, sir."
"See to it at once."
"Aye, Captain."
Jones quit the cabin and made his way up on deck to recruit men to help him. He told them ahead of time what they had to do so there would be no hesitation once they were ready to start. One crewman balked momentarily, but was silenced when he saw the ominous glint in Jones's eyes. The sailors knew the fires of hell couldn't be any worse than a lashing with a cat-o'-nine-tails wielded by the first officer. Swallowing any fear of eternal damnation that might have haunted them over the deed they were about to do, the men prepared to carry out his orders.
Within minutes, the first group of fifty blacks had been roused from their squalid quarters. After checking to make sure their leg irons were intact, the crew prodded them topside with the promise of a few minutes of fresh air.
At the first officer's direction, only a single lamp stood burning near the helm. Otherwise the area was shrouded in blackness to ensure that their terrible deeds would go unwitnessed. They couldn't afford to be seen.
Unaware of the fate awaiting them, the chained captives-men, women, and children alike-filed eagerly up on deck. They were generally brought outside once each day, and they assumed they were being allowed out now to make up for the time they'd missed earlier. Many of them were growing weak and sick from the heat and stench below, and they were thankful for the reprieve. The blacks paid little attention to the crew as they were lined up along the rail. They didn't notice that the sailors were carrying guns this time. They were too busy enjoying the sense of freedom being on deck gave them, and the sweet, fresh smell of the night sea air.
"Tie an anchor weight to that big man's ankle chain down on the end," Jones ordered emotionlessly.
Jones' unusual command brought Nick and Slater to their feet as one of the sailors hurried to do his bidding. They watched worriedly as he attached the heavy weight to the cruel iron clasp that cut mercilessly into the raw flesh of the captive's leg. They hadn't been concerned until they'd heard his directive, and watching the scurrilous activities going on now, they suddenly had an ominous premonition about what was about to take place.
"What's going on, Jones?" they demanded, approaching him where he stood slightly apart from the others.
"Gentlemen, I suggest you do not concern yourselves with things that are not your affair," he told them coldly. Then ignoring them completely, he continued following through with his captain's deadly plan. "Now, men."
With silent deadliness, the sailors unexpectedly clubbed the first few men on the chain. As they dropped to the deck unconscious, they were thrown roughly overboard. The weight of their bodies, along with the continued violent prodding of the crew, dragged the others after them. High-pitched screams of terror erupted as the women and children fought to keep from being forced to jump to their deaths in the pitch black waters of the Gulf.
"My God!" Nick and Slater were stunned for an instant. Neither man could believe that the Demon's captain would be so callous as to order the murder of hundreds of men, women, and children just to save his ship, but he had. They quickly regained their senses and lunged for the sailors in an attempt to stop the slaughter.
When the struggling blacks saw white men fighting white men, they knew a glimmer of hope until Captain Curtis' deep booming voice ended the fracas.
"Get those two out of here!" he commanded. It infuriated him that his two passengers were the instigators of the trouble. He had come up on deck to see how Jones was progressing and had found near bedlam instead.
The crewmen descended on Nick and Slater with a vengeance, pummeling them for their interference. Slater was clubbed viciously from behind as he battled with a sailor, and he fell unconscious to the deck. Three other sailors overwhelmed Nick and beat him soundly. Nick kept trying to get back up and keep fighting, but the crewmen were determined to keep him restrained. They twisted his arms behind his back, and holding him immobile, dragged him on his knees before the captain.
"You'll pay for interfering with the running of my ship, Mr. Kane," he snarled.
Overwhelmed by what he'd witnessed and realizing, to his horror, that there was more to come, Nick protested in a slurred voice through bleeding li
ps, "You cant just throw them overboard!"
Curtis turned on him with murder in his eye, "I can do whatever I please on this ship. I am her master."
"But it's murder!" he insisted, defiant even in the face of defeat.
"Murder, sir?" the captain approached him, his eyes narrowed evilly. "Who's to say? When the authorities board tomorrow, there will be no blacks in the hold ...no evidence of any wrongdoing... and no witnesses."
Nick's stomach lurched sickeningly as he realized that what he was saying was true. Curtis couldn't be stopped. He was God on the boat. "You no good bastard..." he swore.
In an act that was pure pleasure for him, Curtis kneed Nick viciously in the chest. He watched with sadistic enjoyment as Nick doubled over and hung limply between his captors.
"I've killed men for less, Kane! Remember that!"
Nick heard his words as if from a great distance as the blackness of oblivion swelled and roiled around him.
"You want these two thrown overboard, too, Captain?" one of the sailors holding Nick asked.
"No. There would be too many questions if they disappeared. Take them below and put them in my `special place.' Leave them there until after the other ships have gone tomorrow."
"Aye, aye, sir."
As Nick and Slater were carried off, the rest of the crewmen resumed their gruesome duty. The balance of the first fifty slaves were tossed over the side, their pitiful cries echoing eerily across the darkened sea. Within a matter of seconds they were dead, dragged beneath the surface by the weight of those who'd gone before them.
When he regained consciousness Nick thought he was in hell. He was surrounded by darkness and by the overpowering, oppressive stench of human filth. Excruciating pain seared through his side as he tried to move, and nausea welled up within him. In a desperate attempt to figure out what had happened and where he was, he levered himself up.
"Slater?" He was surprised when his own voice sounded like a hoarse croak. "Slater, where are you?"
There was no answer to his call, and he was forced to grope around for his friend. He found him lying close by and, for a moment, feared he was dead. Only when he rested a hand on his chest and felt its regular rise and fall, was he relieved. Slater was only unconscious.
The agony in Nick's side was fierce, and he felt certain that a few of his ribs were broken. He sat back to catch his breath and to wait for the pain to let up.
When the pain finally lessened, Nick began a search to discover where they were and how they could get out. His efforts provided only scant knowledge. The room, if it could be called that, was boxlike, measuring only about four and a half feet high by six feet across. It was completely windowless and had only one way out. He tried to force the single door open with what little strength he had, but several futile attempts convinced him that it was securely barred from the outside.
Collapsing back against the rough wall near Slater, Nick drew a few strangled breaths as he agonized over the murders taking place somewhere above him. His own helplessness to prevent the killings enraged him, but he knew there was nothing more he could do right now. He vowed silently to himself that one day he would see that someone paid for the massacre.
A low groan came from Slater a few minutes later, and Nick felt a little better knowing his friend was going to be all right.
"What the..." Slater growled as he came awake to find himself engulfed in total darkness. For an instant he almost panicked, thinking himself back with Carlanta, but the sound of Nick's voice calmed his fears.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," Nick remarked dryly.
"I'm not so sure about that. What the hell happened?" His head was pounding so violently that he could barely think. He blinked into the darkness, trying to focus his eyes, but there was nothing to focus on.
"I think one of the sailors got you from behind."
"Oh," he grunted, then closed his eyes once more and lay unmoving, wishing the agony would go away. When it didn't, he gathered his strength and pushed himself up to a sitting position. "What about you?"
"I've got a couple of cracked ribs and a bad headache, but I'll live. It seems our illustrious captain has made us his captives," Nick explained.
Slater said nothing for a moment, waiting for the pain in his head to ease. "Where are we?" he asked finally.
"My guess is Curtis wanted us out of the way, so he had us thrown in some kind of secret compartment way belowdecks. I'm sure he wants to keep us safely stowed until the government ships are gone."
"Have you tried to find a way out?" Slater asked with a great sense of urgency, still wanting to do something to try to stop the murders.
"There's a single door on the other side of me, but it's barred and locked from the outside. If you've got the strength, it might give if we both try at the same time."
"Let's do it," Slater said as he made his way slowly through the cramped, malodorous quarters to Nick.
Though Nick's chest felt like it was on fire and Slater's head was killing him, they gave no thought to their injuries. They only knew that they wouldn't be able to live with themselves unless they did everything in their power to save the slaves. Horrible images of men, women, and children being callously murdered stayed with them as they sought out the door and jammed their shoulders against the solid, portal over and over again.
Curtis had known what he was doing when he'd ordered the two men hidden in his "special place." The room was as close to soundproof as it could be, and the door had been specially reinforced to prevent a breakout. It didn't give an inch despite their frantic efforts.
Exhaustion claimed Nick and Slater, forcing them to realize that their attempts were useless. They fell back weakly against the wall to rest, cursing their entrapment.
"I hope to hell the government officials find something when they board," Nick swore angrily.
"Don't get your hopes up. Curtis and Jones aren't about to take any chances. They'll get rid of anything and everything that might even be remotely construed as evidence. The only thing they won't be able to get rid of is the smell, and that's not proof enough," Slater told him.
"I've always known smugglers were ruthless, but I had no idea they were capable of doing something this vile."
This ship means everything to Curtis and to its owners. They'll do whatever they have to to save it. They'll willingly sacrifice the blacks because they're the lesser of the two investments."
"All for money..." Nick was filled with revulsion. "I'm going to see that Curtis pays for this!" he vowed.
"He was only following orders," Slater pointed out. "The owners are the ones who told him to dump cargo if he was ever threatened with boarding. They're the ones to go after."
"With your contacts, we should be able to track them down pretty fast."
"It's not going to be as easy as you think," he cautioned. "A lot of these ships are held by middlemen who are paid to preserve the anonymity of the real owners."
"I don't care how long it takes or what we have to do. Somehow, someway, we're going to get them."
Being forced to admit defeat did not sit well with the silver-haired, authoritative Captain Meredith of the U.S. brig Stormcrest, but he met the gaze of the devious Captain Curtis squarely when he faced him the following morning. His men had searched the Sea Demon from stem to stern, but had found no solid evidence to prove that he'd been smuggling slaves. Meredith was now forced to set the slaver free, and it infuriated him.
"I'll not forget this incident, Captain," he said. He knew full well what had happened through the night. Unable to act because of the darkness, he had agonized over the screams of the drowning victims. Now, to his great disappointment, there was not a grain of evidence against the captain. He couldn't prove a thing.
"Incident, Captain Meredith?" Curtis managed to sound puzzled by his insinuation.
"Incident, Curtis," Meredith insisted hotly. "You may have eluded us this time, but it will never happen again. From this moment on, I plan to make your
life a living hell."
"Are you threatening me, sir?"
"I never make threats... only promises. God only knows how many perished at your hands last night, but I swear I'll see you in hell for what you've done."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Curtis said sharply.
"Take a deep breath, Curtis. Smell the stink of death. How many of them had already died down in your hold before you decided to throw the rest overboard?"
"Perhaps it's time you took your leave of the Sea Demon."
"Your ship is aptly named, Curtis." Then Meredith turned his back on him and without another word left the ship.
When the Stormcrest and the other U.S. ship had started to move off, First Officer Jones joined his captain in his quarters.
"You did it, sir. You outsmarted them!" Jones was pleased with their victory.
"I may have outfoxed the authorities, but I'll still have hell to pay when I inform Radcliffe of the loss."
"You saved the Demon, sir."
"That I did," he replied slowly as he moved to the window to watch the two vessels moving off in the distance. "That'll be all, Jones."
"There is one other thing, Captain."
"Yes?" he asked impatiently.
"Our two passengers, sir. Shall I let them out now?"
Curtis scowled at the thought of the two interfering fools. "Yes, but I want you personally to keep an eye on them for the rest of the voyage. Don't leave them alone for a minute until it's time to put them ashore."
"Yes, sir. I'll take care of it."
Nick and Slater parted company in New Orleans, and Nick headed upriver, eager to be home again. Riverwood had never looked so good to him as he rode up the main drive to the big house. The fields were green and the trees were bursting into bloom. He loved this land with his whole being. It seemed almost a living part of him, and he knew he never wanted to leave it.
It seemed an eternity since he'd ridden off to help Slater, and, in truth, Nick felt years older. Before this trip, his biggest concern had been working with his father to make Riverwood a success. Other than that, he'd gone his way, enjoying life as it came, giving little thought to deeper or more meaningful issues. His father thought him a playboy, and Nick knew he was right. Ever since he turned eighteen, he'd been considered one of the most eligible bachelors in the area, and he'd taken full advantage of the dubious honor.
