They sat there for hours making no sounds, not sleeping but watching and waiting. Angela felt herself going limp and tried to keep her eyes from closing. The more she struggled to keep them open the harder the battle became.
Rustling sounds woke her up and she noticed the Maroons were moving again. One-Eye took her arm heaving her to her feet and she made her weary feet follow. At the forest’s edge they halted and Angela knew where she was—Rosemont! It must be very late because the mansion was dark, no lights showing at the windows. So close to home if only she could escape now!
Sleepily her brain began functioning again. What could they be doing at Rosemont? The thought struck her like a blow and Angela opened her mouth to scream a warning but One-Eye’s hard hand closed it. Of course. What a fool she had been. It was a full-fledged revolt and Rosemont was the first target of the night. Would Bluehills be next? It was the closest.
Angela struggled to no avail, watching as other shadows moved in the fields, joining themselves to the Maroons. The slaves were creeping out of their quarters to join forces with the renegades. It had all been prearranged! No wonder they hadn’t been able to let her go when she had stumbled on them several days ago. There was too much at stake. And those terrifying ceremonies had been part of the magic to get their courage up for the raid.
Dogs began barking and lights went on in the great house but it was too late. Wave after black wave descended on Rosemont in a surprise attack that the inhabitants of the house were unprepared for. They had begun with the worst plantation first, many of them having fled to the Cockpit country away from Annee Wallace and her whip. Angela couldn’t blame them, not with the incident of Ezra’s flogging so fresh in her mind.
Shots were fired from the house and some Maroons fell wounded or dead but they had sheer force of numbers on their side. Rosemont was stormed and taken, and from her vantage point Angela watched as Annee Wallace was dragged kicking and screaming from her house.
One-Eye propelled her forward now that the fighting was virtually over. What would they do to her? She was white, a slave owner, just like Annee Wallace. Her chances were over. Whatever they did to Annee would probably happen to her also. She kicked and scratched but One-Eye had her by the throat just like that awful night. Only when she stopped fighting did he allow her tortured lungs enough air to breathe. Half dragging, half carrying Angela he made his way toward the house.
It was on fire already and a stream of slaves rushed out the door carrying all the plunder they could hold. Annee had been stripped naked and tied to a tree in front of the house. She dangled from her arms, her toes barely reaching the ground. The crowd was dense, excited, and Angela went unnoticed for the moment. The overseer was on the ground with ropes tied around each leg and wrist. Other white employees of the plantation were gathered and bound.
This would be no quickly staged battle; the Maroons were out for blood. They wanted to see Annee Wallace suffer as she had made so many of them suffer.
One-Eye held her tightly, avidly watching the drama unfold and Angela had absolutely no choice but to watch too. She tried to close her eyes but couldn’t and stared as the overseer was tied between four horses. Nausea rose in her throat but the restricting arm cut it off. They were going to torture them, tear them to pieces! A knife flashed and the man screamed like a woman as his intestines spilled from his belly. Then before the life had drained out of him the horses were whipped up, pulling tautly on his arms and legs. Still screaming the overseer was ripped apart into obscene, bleeding chunks of flesh.
Not a sound came from Angela as blood dripped down her chin from her bitten lip. It was ghastly, she couldn’t think of words bad enough to describe the Maroons. Stunned by what had happened, held upright by One-Eye and the tight press of the mob she couldn’t stir. A living nightmare was taking place right before her, a disgusting event the likes of which she had never seen before. Her temples pounded. What would happen when it was her turn?
Shouting broke out as they turned their attention to Annee. Her curses had died down since the overseer’s ugly death and she strained to keep her balance on tiptoe, relieving some of the weight on her arms. Angela jerked at the same time Annee did as the lead-tipped lash cut into her back. She was braver than her overseer not uttering a sound as the whip flayed the skin from her back. Only when the lash curled around her body, bursting open her breast like a ripe plum did she loose her screams.
Angela lay half fainting against One-Eye, his grip loosened in the wild exhilaration that shook him as he watched the flogging. She had wished not long ago to see Annee Wallace whipped but this was beyond believing. How could that shredded, lacerated thing be still alive? Could it have once been a woman? She fell onto the ground forgotten by One-Eye and the fact that she was free revived her. This was her chance, maybe the only chance she had to free herself.
Wriggling on her stomach, Angela crawled between the legs of the rabble. Clawing with her fingers, digging into the earth with her elbows she made her painful progress at a snail’s pace. Thank heavens the Maroons were so occupied with the torture that she went unnoticed. But how long would it be before One-Eye discovered her gone? Speed was of the essence now and she concentrated all her energy on the task ahead.
She was out of the press but still wary. There was a lot of open space between where she crouched behind a rose bush and the dark concealing forest. A cloud of black smoke choked her, causing tears to run down her cheeks. Angela could feel the heat from the fire and sparks flew perilously around her. Another gust of wind encompassed her in smoke, and she realized it rendered her almost invisible. Doubled over with another coughing fit she made her way running and falling into the beckoning safety of the forest.
Just a moment to rest and breathe fresh air and she was up again racing in the direction of Bluehills. The territory was familiar and Angela wondered why in the world she had allowed herself to get lost. It had been stupid of her to wander off not thinking and she had paid the consequences of her absentmindedness. Breaking into a clearing she fell down beside the pool that the waterfall emptied into. Immersing her face she lapped up the energizing cold water.
Shouts broke out and Angela was on her feet again running as fast as she could away from Rosemont and destruction. She had to escape, had to reach home and warn them of what was happening. If Bluehills was next then Lorna and Robert were in imminent danger. Her mother’s protective instinct lent wings to her feet and she fairly flew out of the woods and through the empty fields.
Horses! She crouched between the tall entangled sugar cane praying that no snakes lurked near. They were closer now and she backed into the sharp swaying leaves listening. There was more than one rider, that she could tell from the sound of the hooves on the dirt-packed road. The shadows became visible and the moon peeped shyly from between the clouds.
“Angus! Ezra! Matthew!” Angela popped out of her hiding place frightening one of the horses and startling all of the men.
“Good God, lassie! Where ’ave ye been?”
“I got lost and wandered into Cockpit country and was held by the Maroons! They are at Rosemont now and the house is on fire and they killed Annee Wallace and the overseer!”
“We were just going to investigate the fire,” said Matthew. “Maroons! I had better ride and get word to the other planters and the governor.”
“Be as quick as you can, Matthew,” Angela pleaded, the sickening sight of Annee hanging from the tree before her eyes. “We have to evacuate Bluehills. I think they plan to attack here next and they are on a killing rampage!”
Matthew was off like a shot and Angela rode behind Ezra to the house. She could see the churning smoke and the red glow as the fire took complete hold and raced through Rosemont. It would be all too easy to collapse now from the ordeal she had been through but she braced herself for more to come. Not until everyone at Bluehills was safe in Kingston could she relax. Never would she allow what had occurred there to happen to the people she loved; not while there wa
s a breath left in her body.
Molly almost didn’t recognize her bedraggled, filthy mistress and stood open-mouthed as she marched in the door. Only the snapping aqua eyes gave her away and Angela issued a dozen brisk commands alerting the servants of what was taking place. Robert and Lorna were roused from their beds and dressed while Ezra saw that horses were saddled and waiting. Angus galloped madly to Matthew’s house to alert his mistress and children and round up all who wanted to flee.
They were a strange-looking bunch when finally they galloped away from the house. The men held the sleepy-eyed children in front of them urging the women on. Angela felt the stiff crackle of the paper she had thrust hastily into her bodice. As long as they got away with their lives and the precious pardon for Scott nothing else was important.
Her eyes met Ezra’s in the darkness as he held Robert securely. There had been no time for talking but from the few hurried words she had had from Molly and Ruby she discovered that he had been indefatigable in the search for her. Practically the whole island had looked for her but Angus and Ezra continued on long after the others ceased, searching long into the night with lanterns.
It was a hard ride in the night, the dirt road twisting down from the mountains. A brief rain shower drenched them to the skin and left them shivering. Angela noticed a bulging pouch hanging around Ezra’s neck and wondered what it was but there was no time for questions.
They met others on the road fleeing from unknown danger, mostly women and children. Alerted by Matthew as he raced past some had decided to stay and fight it out, others ran for their lives or sent their wives to safety with the children.
They reached the town and everyone dispersed seeking out the homes of friends to stay with for the night. Sherry McNab the plump friendly widow Angela had met not long ago insisted that everyone from Bluehills should stay with her. While she bustled off with the children Matthew approached to say that the governor wanted to talk with Angela. With a resigned sigh she decided she wouldn’t see a bath or a bed until dawn and checking to see that her papers were safe trailed wearily after Matthew.
She was right, the morning sun was just washing over the island, sparkling on the sea when she returned to Sherry’s. The brisk little woman was still awake waiting for her with a smile and a cup of hot chocolate. Apologizing for having to stuff the children, Molly, and Angela into one room she ordered a hot bath for her drooping guest.
“After you arrived,” Sherry explained, “the Murrays and the Baldwins came. My little house is packed to the ceiling with people. If there is anything you need just ask and I’ll see if it can be had. You poor thing, everyone thought you had met with an untimely accident.”
“I would love a brandy,” said Angela pushing back her hair with a trembling hand.
“Of course—after all you have been through!” Sherry poured her the drink and a maid announced that Angela’s bath was ready. “Just run along, dear, and take your brandy with you. Sleep as late as you want. I think you will find everything you need upstairs.”
Sherry was right, although Molly and the children slept on cots, the narrow bed looked so inviting Angela almost flopped down on it fully dressed. But a glimpse of herself in the mirror was so appalling she couldn’t. Behind a screen in a corner of the room was a steaming bath and a clean nightgown and robe.
The hot water was just the tonic she needed and she luxuriated in the bath scrubbing herself several times and washing her hair. By the time she had finished, the water was a dirty gray and she wrinkled her nose in disgust, stifling a giggle. No wonder the governor and his wife hadn’t recognized her. What a mess she had been. The nightgown was too big, trailing onto the floor, having been made for a taller woman. Just as she was about to collapse on the bed a quiet knock sounded and she rolled her eyes heavenward wondering what else she would be required to do.
Belting the voluminous robe about her slender waist she opened the door a crack to find an exhausted Ezra. Slipping into the vacant hallway and closing the door behind her Angela looked at the bag he held in one hand.
“I had to give this to you, my lady,” he explained putting the leather bag into her hands.
It was heavy and she pulled the drawstring to find a jumble of sparkling jewels inside. The aquamarines, opals, gold locket, and her wedding ring; everything she had forgotten in her jewel case in the pandemonium of the night. Angela closed it and looked up into his amber eyes. They were worth a lot of money—enough to make him rich for the rest of his life—yet instead of keeping them, with no one the wiser, he had returned the gems that held a special value because of the events in her life that they commemorated.
“Oh, Ezra,” she whispered, tears starting in her eyes. “Thank you!”
Reaching up on tiptoe she brushed a soft kiss against his cheek and he quickly stepped back, his face a study in turmoil.
“Don’t,” he said, “don’t thank me. I would do anything for you! When I thought you were dead I wanted to die, but instead I vowed to see your children safely to their father—to take the pardon Molly told me about and free him the way you freed me!”
The soldiers arrived at Bluehills as it was being ransacked and quickly doused the small fire that had been started. Some of the slaves had run off with the retreating Maroons but the majority stayed in the only home they had ever known. Several days later Angela returned home fully rested from her stay with Sherry and set about reorganizing the house. Fortunately the soldiers had arrived soon after the Maroons and not much destruction had occurred. It was mostly a matter of putting everything back in its proper place and setting men to work repairing the partially burned sitting room. Since the house was small the task was easily accomplished.
Angela was still uneasy, wondering if the Maroons dared to come back and finish the job they had started. Sometimes she was sure she saw One-Eye lurking, waiting to capture her again. But the nightmares she had were the worst of all, a repetition of the atrocities at Rosemont and the night she had been the unwilling victim in the voodoo ceremony. The slaves avoided the burned-out shell of Rosemont like the plague claiming it was haunted by the people massacred, and even Angela couldn’t bring herself to ride over and inspect the scene.
Soldiers were searching the Land-of-Look-Behind for the Maroons, helped only slightly by Angela’s description of the valley and the access to it. But the renegade slaves had a way of melting into that territory like dew evaporating on a sunny morning. It was very unlikely they would ever be found and brought to justice which only added to the armed camp feeling of the whole island. Slave revolts were serious business and even if no one mourned the death of Annee Wallace a repeat would not be tolerated.
As the weeks passed and nothing else happened everyone settled back into the slow easy pace of Jamaica and things returned to normal. Angela was delighted when Ezra took over the duties as the children’s tutor and they took to him like fish to water. She was anxious to be off to New South Wales and every day rode down to Kingston accompanied by Angus to see if the Dark Lady had put in. It should arrive any day and she could be ready to leave within hours. Of course the ship would have to be provisioned for the long journey and that would take several days at least. So she fretted and fumed at each day that slipped by and tried to contain the trepidation she felt. The sooner they were gone from the Caribbean the better she would feel. There were too many hidden perils, and she didn’t want to be around when the situation became dangerous. It was like sitting on top of a powder keg, only a matter of time before the Maroons exploded out of their inaccessible valley again.
On the morning that Angela slept late the Dark Lady put in. An exuberant Angus burst in while she ate breakfast and the meal was immediately forgotten in the excitement. Angela quickly dressed for the ride into town. Angus led the horses to the front of the house just as she went out the door eager to be off. Mounting a bay mare, she mused that in a matter of a few months she had gone through more horses than she ever had in England. At least she hadn’t grown to
o attached to any of them the way she was to Pegasus.
She didn’t notice the heat or the dusty rutted road as they wound their way down through the foothills. The horses were fresh and she set Angus a brisk pace. He rode slightly behind her cursing the humid weather that he had hoped never to experience again. But for Scott’s sake he would have faced anything and besides Angela needed protection. Trouble followed her like a bloodhound and she always managed to get into the worst scrapes. Grudgingly he admitted to himself that he admired her spunk and courage, at the same time swearing not to let her out of his sight again. Her encounter with the Maroons had rattled him and he wanted nothing more than to deliver her to her husband in one piece and let Scott take over the job of keeping her out of danger. So between him and Ezra they managed to trail after her like benevolent shadows, his regard for the big man increasing with each day.
At the dock Angela gazed in dismay at the wounded, bedraggled ship that had limped into port. The rigging was riddled with shot, the sails hanging limply, a large hole near the waterline had been hastily but temporarily repaired.
“Captain Darnell!” Angela caught sight of him issuing orders farther down the dock and started after him. “What happened?” She noticed his arm was in a sling.
“Pirates!” he barked applying a few choice words to the breed in general. “Look what they did to her!” The tone of his voice indicated he thought of the ship as a person—or lover. For him the sea and his ship meant more than any woman ever could, encompassing his whole life.
“How long will it take to repair her?”
“At least a month. Damn that little scar-faced Frenchy! He has had it in for the Dark Lady ever since our first encounter. This is the second time we have slipped through his fingers. The way he fought I almost thought he didn’t care about booty only about sending us to the bottom as efficiently as possible. We escaped but by the skin of our teeth. I wouldn’t want to run into him again!”
Across Captive Seas Page 24
