Across Captive Seas

by Michele du Barry

  She was in such a state that Angela could barely make out what she was saying, at last figuring out that Mrs. Wallace was somewhere in the vicinity of the slave quarters. Remounting she rode around the house and along the path that must lead to the jumble of shacks that usually served as homes for the slaves. As she rounded a bend she saw that she was right.

  A great crowd of slaves stood silently, blocking her view into the compound. What were they all doing just standing around? Shouldn’t they be working at this time of day? A slight whistling sound caught her attention and as she approached Angela could see over the kinky heads into the square beyond.

  He had been caught! An ugly man wielded a whip, the sound sickening as it made contact with bare flesh, laying open the back of the huge man tied to a post firmly embedded in the ground. Muscles rippled and strained beneath his glistening skin, blood flecking the ground.

  “Twenty-four!” The whip struck again as Annee Wallace counted, watching the procedure with a sadistic smile of enjoyment on her red lips.

  It was horrible! The bound man jerked but made no sound. His back was already crisscrossed with dripping crimson lacerations. How could he stand it? She had to do something to stop the barbaric torture. No one else would.

  Plowing through the thick crowd Angela came to a halt near the whipping post. Pain-hazed amber eyes looked at her, recognition dawning, then fleeting as he was struck again.

  “Stop!” she shouted flinging herself off her horse.

  Planting herself firmly between the slave and the overseer Angela glared at him daring him to touch her. Her eyes blazed dangerously in her pale face and the man hesitated looking to his employer for further instructions.

  “How dare you treat this man like an animal! You are inhuman—vicious—”

  “What do you want?” asked Annee, her eyes coldly appraising as she sauntered up to Angela.

  “I told you—stop this abomination at once!”

  Her laugh was as cold as her eyes. “No! Why should I? This animal belongs to me. He is a runaway and I can do whatever I want to him.”

  “And what do you plan to do?”

  “Why he’s to be given one hundred lashes for running away and for stealing and killing your horse.”

  So Hibiscus was dead. Angela felt a pang of sadness. She had grown to like the horse, but more than an animal’s life was at stake here.

  “A hundred lashes will kill him!”

  The woman was a monster, evil and despicable. Somehow Angela had to get the slave out of her clutches; she didn’t exactly know why, but everything inside her clamored for his release.

  “I want to buy the man,” Angela stated. “Name your price!”

  “Buy him? But I don’t want to sell!” She laughed again, an ugly sound against the soft murmuring of the slaves. “I have all the money I need. . .”

  Angela cut her off, quickly searching for a way to persuade her. “I have something you might want. We can make a trade!”

  Curiosity gleamed in Annee’s eyes as she looked at the calm, imperious woman standing up to her. She, who had the whole island hoodwinked and twisted around her little finger. The duchess was a cool one all right and used to getting her way from the look of her.

  “The governor’s ball is next month,” stated Angela. “I have a bolt of Chinese silk the color of a flame—the latest thing from England. You would look stunning in a dress of the newest fashion. The silk and the loan of my maid to make you the grandest ball gown this island has ever seen in exchange for that slave!”

  Angela had hit home! She recognized immediately the greed on Annee’s face. The thought of outshining every other woman at the ball was evident.

  “And accessories?” asked Annee.

  “Yes, everything you need: gloves, a fan, plumes for your hair, ribbons. . .”

  “Done!”

  A huge collective sigh escaped the lips of the audience. Angela looked warily at Annee, not trusting her at all.

  “Have the papers drawn up,” Angela told her. “We will sign them whenever you want, but I will take my slave now. Cut him loose,” she told the overseer.

  The man glanced at Annee and she nodded, turned and strode briskly toward the house.

  The slave crumpled into a heap on the dusty ground and the overseer with a contemptuous sneer shouted for everyone to get back to work. They scattered immediately leaving Angela quite alone with a halfconscious man in the hot, empty square.

  “Damn,” she muttered to herself. “How am I going to get him home?”

  Going to the well she drew a bucket of water and carried it over to the prone figure. Kneeling in the dirt Angela removed a glove and dipped her hand into the water dribbling it over his face. Those eyes flickered open, stunned at first, then he half raised himself tipping the bucket and drinking right out of it until it was half empty. Flies buzzed, gathering on the raw flesh and the sun burned down mercilessly.

  “Please,” urged Angela, “you must get up. I have to get you away from here.”

  Her words activated him and he struggled to his hands and knees. He could never walk home in his condition, thought Angela, going to the horse and deftly removing the saddle. She led the gelding over to the slave encouraging him to find the strength to climb on the horse. Grasping his arm she tried to help him up and breathed a sigh of relief as he staggered to his feet. He stumbled against her, ruining her clothes with dirt and blood but she didn’t notice. All her efforts were directed at getting him out of this awful place to safety.

  “Don’t pass out on me now!” she ordered upending the bucket. “Here step on this and get on.”

  She tried to help but the horse kept shying away. Finally she had no choice but to hold the gray’s head as the slave’s fingers gripped the mane and he struggled to get on. At last he succeeded half lying, half sitting on the nervous animal.

  Through clenched teeth he groaned, “Lady—where are you taking me?”

  “Shh! It’s all right,” Angela comforted wiping his sweating face with her handkerchief. “I’m taking you to my house where there are no whips and no dogs!”

  “Yes, I remember. You saved me yesterday—the waterfall—your horse. Broken leg. . .

  “Hold on, we’re leaving now.”

  Angela grasped the reins leading the horse, slowly at first until she was sure he wouldn’t fall off, then as fast as she could walk. She was sure Annee Wallace and the overseer were somewhere secretly watching her discomfort. She wiped a hand across her moist forehead and could feel the trickle of sweat between her shoulders, and it wasn’t even close to noon yet. The morning cool had dissipated and now there were four miles to walk in the blazing sun. At least there would be shade in the forest and maybe she would meet up with someone who could help.

  Her rage helped her walk faster, fleeing from the horrible plantation that was so beautiful to look at but hid disgusting secrets. She had never realized before how cheaply life was held until today. To sell a man, a fellow human, for a new ball gown made her want to scream. She would like to see Annee Wallace bound to that post in the dirty square, her soft, white flesh torn and bleeding. What right did she have to commit such atrocities? The law, answered Angela, the same law that had hung Jack and transported Scott to Botany Bay. At least in this instance she had been able to do something, but what of all the others? She was impotent to help them but she had tasted one small victory over this ugly system and she was glad.

  Angela only stopped once, at the waterfall to water the horse and get a long refreshing drink for herself. Removing her hat she filled it in the pool and brought it to the slave. She couldn’t risk letting him get down now, he might not be able to get back on again. Looking at her reflection in the pool she realized what a mess she was and washed her hot red face, smoothing back her straggling hair. That was much better. She could face a dozen Annee Wallace’s now. Throwing her ruined hat on the ground she took the reins and forged ahead, the undergrowth dragging at her skirts, tearing the material beyond rep
air.

  Matthew Grey sighted her as he inspected the fields, galloping over to give her assistance. He could hardly believe the story she blurted out, but there was her proof, clinging to the horse—and her leading it! She was the duchess, a grand lady who should have armies of servants attending to her every whim and yet she rode off alone and did battle with that dragon at Rosemont over a lowly slave! Scott sure knew how to pick them; she was as brave and daring as he was and just as stubborn. If only he had been there to see it—what a scene that must have been!

  "I know him,” commented Matthew as they made their way back to the house. “Tried to buy him myself last year.”

  “But the slave trade has been abolished!” Angela cried, looking up at him in confusion.

  “On paper yes, but it still goes on. Illegally, it’s true, but since the economy of this place is based on slave labor everyone turns a blind eye to it. Anyway, Mrs. Wallace beat me out. Bought him for herself. His name is Ezra, a good worker. I wonder why he ran away?”

  “Wouldn’t you? What about the time you were in prison and Scott had a plan to break you out, didn’t you jump at the chance to escape?”

  “Yes,” pondered Matthew, “now that you put it that way I see what you are getting at. He should like it a lot better here.”

  Angela wasn’t quite so sure. How could anyone like being a slave even if they were well treated and had kind masters? She shuddered, thinking of the time Scott had beaten her. That had been nothing compared to what had been done to Ezra.

  They caused a stir when they arrived at the house. Angela arranged to have two of the old slave women take turns nursing him and immediately sent for the doctor. Molly was astounded when Angela insisted on accompanying the big black man and seeing that every thing was done to make him comfortable. The others milling about glanced in wonder at her disheveled appearance and whispered among themselves the snatches they had heard of what had happened. It wouldn’t be long before the whole island was buzzing. Angela once again caused a sensation wherever she went and this place was no exception.

  She watched as Ezra was helped into a small sparsely furnished room in the slave quarters. At least it was clean, not like most cabins on other plantations. Matthew Grey saw to that. Dirt and squalor bred disease and he wasn’t about to lose hands to an epidemic. The two old women bathed his back, and Angela sent for a bottle of rum to help lessen his pain. When the doctor arrived all he did was apply a soothing salve and bandages, instructing that the dressing be changed frequently.

  Angela went to visit Ezra every day, watching him grow stronger. At first he was wary and sullen speaking only when questioned but eventually he realized that the impending doom of Rosemont was no longer hanging over him and began reviving in spirit as well.

  She had known he was special the first time their eyes had met and now she realized why. He told her his story, pouring out all the bitterness that had been lashed into him. His mother had been a slave on his father’s plantation in New Orleans and when they fell in love he set her up in a small house as his mistress. There Ezra was born twenty-nine years ago, loved and pampered never realizing the dangerous situation he was living in.

  He had been well educated first by private tutors and then in boarding schools. When he was eighteen his father sent him to France to continue his education. Ezra remained there living in comfort but his activities were cut short when he received a letter saying that his mother was dying.

  When he returned she was already dead, followed only a month later by her grief-stricken lover. Reeling under the blow of the deaths of his parents Ezra came face to face with the fury of his father’s widow.

  Unloved and jealous, the bitterness of years had turned her into a shrew. Striking at her dead husband through his natural son she sold Ezra into slavery in Jamaica to a woman notorious for her cruelty. The sudden loss of freedom was a blow that left him stunned for months. When the haze began to clear, his first thought had been escape and that’s exactly what he attempted. When he was caught he was sure he would be killed and even that would be better than being in bondage.

  Ezra looked at the woman sitting beside his bed listening so quietly. She was beautiful—no, more than beautiful, like no woman he had ever seen before. She was an angel, his rescuer, and he owed her everything; yet she also owned him. Even though he respected her and knew that she would not treat him badly, it rankled him to belong to her like a horse or a dog. Conflicting emotions fought as he lay there day after day with nothing to do but think.

  Angela came every day, inquiring after his health, cringing delicacies to tempt his appetite, talking to him soothingly when the pain seemed at its worst. Sometimes Ezra thought she was truly interested in him as a person but then his mind would whisper treacherously: she was only interested in her property, waiting and watching until he could begin working in the fields. Then the other slaves would tell him what had happened that day when she had bargained for his life. Their voices always held a reverence and respect when they talked of their new mistress which irritated Ezra. But then what could he expect? They had been slaves all their lives and were taught that they were lower than dirt, but he knew differently.

  She had saved his life twice. . .she owned him. . .she cared about him. . .she owned him. It always came back to that and he alternated between hate and love, respect and contempt. No matter how kind she was, no matter how she treated him, he must try and escape again. To be free was everything! He could hear the cry of liberty echoing in his ears.

  Angela watched the suppressed feelings flicker briefly over his intelligent face and could feel what he was thinking. Her aqua eyes probed his searchingly and he looked away.

  “Would you do me a favor?” she inquired and he looked at her in surprise.

  “You don’t have to ask,” Ezra retorted bitterly. “You own me. Tell me what to do and I will do it! Well?”

  So she had been right. As long as they were slave and master part of him would hate her. Even though he snapped at her as if they were equals the unvoiced idea of inequality was there. She had learned to like him and wanted to be friends. Perhaps if she had met him in an English drawing room things would have been different, but as the situation stood they could never break through the barrier of color.

  “Never mind,” she said rising hastily. “I don’t think you are ready yet.”

  She left and Ezra lay glowering at the window. It would be better when she left on her voyage and he hoped it was soon. It would make what he had to do that much easier. His reverie was broken when one of the house slaves opened the door carrying an armful of books. Clearly indignant at having to stoop to such a lowly task the slave in his impeccable uniform informed Ezra that these were on loan from the duchess.

  He swore out loud when he was alone again. How could she bedevil him so? Tempt him with books while he was an invalid only to send him to the fields when he was well. Her mysterious smile on leaving still lingered in the room and he wondered what she was up to. She wasn’t all kindness and mercy, that he guessed. If she could stand up to Annee Wallace and get away with it there must be more to her than she had revealed to him.

  He would probably find out soon enough—too soon! With a groan he picked up one of the books and opened it. How long had it been since he had even held a book, never mind read one? Ezra’s eyes devoured the words like a starving man at a feast. Once again she was his savior.

  Chapter Ten

  They sat in the garden on a blanket spread over the thick grass. An unconventional schoolroom but Angela had never been conventional. She had taken over the task of the children’s education herself ever since Owen had vacated the position. Robert’s task was to gather different flowers and a large collection was scattered beside Lorna. She leafed slowly through the thick, lavishly illustrated volume and cried out excitedly as she identified one. Angela smiled at her, pleased with her quick mind and zest for learning.

  A commotion sounded in the house, loud excited voices. Ezra burst ou
t of the library trailed by Ruby and Sam, the butler. Angela scrambled to her feet dismissing the distraught house slaves with a wave of her hand.

  “What are you doing up? Your back will start bleeding again!” She stood with both hands on her hips, a frown of disapproval on her face.

  “It is bleeding, Mama,” piped up Robert from behind him as the dark patches spread on Ezra’s white shirt.

  “You know what I’m doing here!” shouted Ezra waving an important looking document under her nose. “Why did you do it?”

  “Because I wanted to, and I usually get my way! Children—run off and play for a while.” She watched as they obeyed promptly and turned her attention back to the man towering over her.

  Angela looked at him with a slight smile playing about her lips, just a hint of her dimples evident. His amber eyes stared back at her trying to understand her, searching for something to say. How could she have done it? It was no trick; he had the evidence of that in his hand, delivered two hours ago. He had spent both of those ensuing hours studying every word.

  “What do you want me to say?” Ezra burst out.

  “I didn’t ask you to come here and say anything, but you came. Obviously you had something in mind.”

  He was half angry, totally elated; with just a few strokes of ink Angela had freed him, given him back the most important thing in the world—himself. By saving his life she had bound him to her with invisible chains; by freeing him she had enslaved him for life.

  With a groan he fell to his knees before Angela’s startled aquamarine eyes. “I don’t know whether to thank you or curse you.” But Ezra grasped her hand and kissed it like a French courtier. “You gave me what I would have died for and you gave me back my life too! I didn’t really belong to you before, but now this has changed everything.” His voice became a hoarse whisper. “No matter what happens I will always be your slave in my heart!”