Will had lost many pounds from his once sturdy frame, and the fact that his teeth were loosening meant that scurvy was on its way. If nothing happened to save him soon, he would die a painful and lingering death and join so many of his comrades in either the river or a shallow grave. It did not appear that the victorious king and his Parliament had any intention of freeing the prisoners they’d swept up during and after the war. Will wondered if anyone even remembered that the prisoners existed. Will had heard that as many as ten thousand American soldiers had died in the hulks. He feared that someday someone would strip his own cadaver naked and drop it into the filthy bilge. The thought of his bones sliding into the river sickened him even further. He wanted to weep in despair, but decided not to waste the energy. Stay alive. Survive. There was always a chance of life until the moment of death.
Along with physical imprisonment, there was the maddening lack of knowledge of events in the outside world. He could look longingly out the gun ports at rural life in New Jersey. Farms like the one he once owned were being worked and life was going on very pleasantly for people who were either Tories or who had made peace with their conquerors. Will wondered if they even gave a thought to the wretches in the Suffolk.
Every now and then a new prisoner would arrive, and be pumped for information. The British were strong everywhere, they said, but there were rumors of rebel colonies out in the west. In particular, there was one that was apparently called “Liberty.” It made sense, Will thought. The vastness of the continent would attract many people who would trade space to get away from the claws of Mother England.
Once upon a time, he’d had a family and a profession, but his parents were dead of smallpox, and a brother had been killed at Brandywine. He had cousins, but they were Tories. He was thankful that he didn’t have a wife and children outside somewhere waiting and wondering if he was dead or alive. Widows and children faced a life almost as miserable as his. They could starve, or, including children, be forced into prostitution. Or they could die of the pox or a hundred other diseases that afflicted the weak. No, he was thankful he was alone. Of course, he thought ruefully, that meant he would die unlamented and unmissed if he didn’t get off this damned ship.
At least he could move about in the innards of the Suffolk. At first, he and all the others had been chained to the hull, but the chains had pulled away from the rotting wood, and splinters had been used to pick the locks and free the men. The guards made no effort to rechain them. Whatever happened in the dangerous world below decks was none of their business. Live and let live was the guard’s motto, or was it live and let the rebel bastards die?
He felt it again. The ship was moving, trembling, groaning. What the hell was happening? The others were talking nervously. The ship shuddered, this time strongly and a couple of the men who were standing, fell down.
Will dropped to his knees as the ship slowly began to tilt towards the river. A loud sound like a screaming animal was heard as rotten wood gave way. On deck he heard the guards yelling and running around in confusion. It dawned on him-the Suffolk was falling apart and capsizing.
The list grew worse and the ship shook violently as the sounds grew louder. Prisoners began to scream as they recognized their peril. Suddenly, the ship fractured herself and Will glimpsed the blessed glare of sunlight before torrents of green water rushed in through the hole. As others ran from the gaping hole in her hull, Will moved toward it. He had an idea. It was desperate, but what did he have to lose besides his life?
When the inward rush of water slowed, Will took a deep breath and dived underwater and through the hole. He brushed against the wooden side of the hole and felt pain as his skin was scraped, but nothing stopped him. His lungs ached from the exertion and his own weakness, but he forced himself to stay underwater and not to surface where he could be seen. In agony and with his vision turning red, he pushed himself away from the slimy hull of the dying ship.
He could hold his breath no more. He rose to the surface, gasped and gulped welcome fresh air. He quickly looked around. There was pandemonium on board the sinking Suffolk and on the shore beside her. The hulk had broken in half, spewing prisoners and dropping guards into the river. Gunfire crackled as guards shot at prisoners floating in the water. The two halves of the Suffolk were on their sides and breaking up into smaller chunks.
A good-sized piece of her deck floated by and Will grabbed at it. He held onto it and sank below it. There was a pocket of air and he sucked it. He could feel the current taking him downstream and away from the shore. He was free of the prison ship, but for how long? He willed himself to make no movement, no splashes, nothing that would attract attention. He wanted to be a part of the slowly moving planking.
He drifted. The sounds seemed to fade away. He realized that he was naked. The rags he’d once called clothing had fallen apart in the river. He was cold and it dawned on him that he would freeze to death before he drowned. He was already having difficulty feeling his legs and his grip on the planking was weakening.
His makeshift raft bumped against something and he looked out from under. He’d collided with a small and decrepit wooden dock and was well within the city of New York. There was no one on the dock. Will decided he had to take his chances and get out of the water. With the last of his strength, he ripped off a piece of sodden and rotting wood to use as a knife. He would use it on himself before going back to another prison ship.
Will’s chances of escaping were negligible. He was a naked, weak, and cold rebel in a Tory city. He was gaunt and his long hair and beard made him look frightening. His wooden knife was a puny weapon that probably wouldn’t break a man’s skin, much less kill him. He laughed bitterly as he thought about using it to commit suicide. He climbed on to the dock and rested on his hands and knees. He vomited water on the dock. He was doomed. A kitten could take him prisoner.
“What you gonna do with that little bitty thing, rebel?”
Will turned towards the sound. He was so disoriented that a man with a wagon full of hay had gotten within a few feet of him. Almost idly, his mind in a daze, he noted that the driver was a Negro.
“You from that ship that sunk up there, ain’t you?” The Negro laughed. “Them English is going crazy tryin’ to catch everybody.” He gestured to the pile of hay. “You want them to catch you?”
“No,” Will managed to say through shaking and blue lips. He was too tired to even try to cover his nakedness.
“Didn’t think so. My name is Homer and I ain’t Greek. Now get your skinny ass up there in the wagon and cover up under the hay. And don’t make no noise, either.”
Will did as he was told.
* * *
A few hours later, Will was in paradise, busy scrubbing himself with soap made from ash and dirt after being drenched with buckets of sun-warmed river water. Not even his prolonged swim in the Hudson River had removed more than a year’s worth of filth. Nor had it done anything to his long and matted beard and hair, which Homer first cut off and then shaved. When they were done, Will was raw all over, but he was clean.
Homer pointed to a welt on Will’s left buttock. “What the devil’s that?”
Will laughed wryly. “The bastard British branded me. That’s supposed to be an “R” for rebel, but I screamed and squealed and twisted so much that ugly blob is what resulted.”
Homer nodded. “I thought that’s what it was. Somehow I thought that only black people got branded and then only slaves, although I guess you were a slave of the British. Either way it’s a vile way to treat a man.”
Will sat down on a rickety chair and wrapped himself in a blanket. He was freezing and, as his condition improved, he didn’t want to be naked in front of his new companion. He was also completely spent.