Braxton eyed her uncle carefully. Even though Braxton was strong and an experienced fighter, Sarah’s uncle Wilford was a blacksmith and had a reputation of his own for settling issues.
“That’s blood on the ground below her. She’s bleeding from her insides. She may be seriously hurt by that concoction your witch of a wife gave her. If she dies, I will accuse the two of you of murder and I will have more than enough witnesses to satisfy a court, even a British one. For God’s sake, Sheriff, you’ve proved your point.”
There was silence and she felt hands fumbling at her wrists and ankles. Sarah fell free of the stocks. Hands eased her to a lying position on the ground. She cried out as her muscles protested and her stomach spasmed again. She was lifted up and placed on something firm, wooden. She felt motion as her uncle’s wagon took her away.
* * *
Will held the bowl of broth in his hand and savored the warmth and the exquisite odor. It was chicken. He loved it. It was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. He held it to his lips and drew in a swallow. It was his third bowl of the day and he felt his strength returning with each sip.
It had been a week since his escape. Homer, the middle-aged colored man who had rescued him had fed him a steady diet of broth and vegetables with an occasional piece of fruit. Not only was Will’s strength returning, but his teeth were no longer loose and aching. He felt he could walk for miles although he knew that was a fantasy. It would be a long time before he could hike anywhere. He relished his freedom even though he was a fugitive in hiding and had even less space in Homer’s basement than when he’d been in the hold of the Suffolk. He concluded that freedom was a state of mind, of the spirit, and had nothing to do with wealth or the size of a dwelling. Homer lived in little more than a hovel and seemed to be quite content. For the moment, so too was Will.
They were in the basement of a building that had burned during the great fire that had ravaged much of New York when the British took it over in the early years of the war. If he looked out through a crack in the building’s foundation, he could see the charred remains of old Trinity Church, which helped him place himself. He’d been to New York on a number of occasions both before and during the war. Before the war, it had been on business or pleasure, but during the war it was to gather intelligence from the occupying British.
Even though he was an officer in the Continental Army, his real skill was as a spy.
Homer usually disappeared during the day and occasionally at night. Once he returned with a collection of clothing that more or less fit Will. It included several pair of boots that Will tried on before finding a pair that were comfortable.
“What do you do for a living?” Will asked.
“I fix things. I’m very handy. I don’t take work from carpenters and such so they leave me alone, except sometimes when I help them with carrying and lifting. But if some old lady needs a leaking roof fixed, or somebody needs a stable cleaned, or something like that, I fix it.”
Will fingered his shirt. It was a little large, but maybe he’d gain weight and grow into it. “Do they pay you in clothing?”
Homer shrugged. “Sometimes they don’t pay me at all. Sometimes they think they can just fuck the nigger because the British aren’t going to make them pay up.”
Will grinned. “So you take what’s owed you?”
“Yes.”
“So that makes you a thief, doesn’t it?”
Homer grinned back. “Not in my book. Besides, you want me to return them clothes and maybe turn you in just as naked as they day I found you?”
Will returned to his broth. “So why didn’t you? Turn me in, that is. After all, didn’t the British abolish slavery? I would’ve thought you would be a supporter of theirs.”
“I was never a slave, so they didn’t do nothing to free me. They couldn’t give me something I already had. All they can do is take it away-and that concerns me. See, I was born of free blacks, who were also born free. Nobody in my family was ever a slave, at least not that I know of. I even served in the British Army along with a lot of other colored men because we thought the British would be better for us then you rebel people. Of course, the British lied. Now they’re trying to forget every promise they made to colored folk, and they’re even letting slave catchers from the south look for so-called escaped slaves. The British are gonna keep peace with the southern planters by ignoring the existence of slavery. The slave catchers ain’t too particular who they catch. I ain’t gonna be caught.” He smiled grimly as he patted the hilts of the large knives he had in his belt and his boot. “I’ve defended myself before and will do it again. In my world, killing to keep your freedom ain’t a crime.”
Will was not surprised by Homer’s statement that he had served the king. The British had raised several detachments of militia consisting of black soldiers, but with white officers, of course.
“So why did I save you? Because what they was doing to you prisoners was as wrong as slavery is to black people. I saw how they jammed you all into them big boats and I saw how they carried dead people out. That was wrong, evil. They call themselves Christians, but they aren’t if they do that to other people.”
“So you’re a Christian?”
Homer shook his head. “Didn’t say that. I am what I want to be and I ain’t seen nothing in Christianity that makes me want to be one.”
Will put down the now empty bowl. His hunger was satisfied for a while. Perhaps soon he could try some meat. His body had begun craving it. “All right. What do we do now?”
“They’ve stopped looking for escaped prisoners. Good news is they’ve taken them all off the other boats and put them in warehouses. I’ve heard that General Cornwallis is furious that so much of the money intended for the prisoners has been stolen. At least warehouses don’t sink. Still the prisoners are starving, just not as badly. But they don’t know who’s missing because they don’t know who was on the Suffolk in the first place.”
Will exulted. They weren’t looking for him. Hell, they didn’t even know what he looked like, much less what is name was. “I want to get out of New York.”
Homer laughed. “Can’t say as I blame you. I do have an idea. When you’re stronger and things are really quiet, we will rent a horse and wagon like I’d done when I picked you up, and take it north across the Harlem River. You need a pass to get out of this town, but that’s no problem. After that there’s no British patrols, at least none that will pay any attention to a white man and his slave. You will pretend to be my master and I will be the lowly slave riding in the back of the wagon. No one will suspect a thing.”
Will thought the plan had the virtue of simplicity. But he had been caught by a random patrol. The letter “R,” for rebel, had been branded on his buttocks, and if caught and stripped, he’d be hanged. And so would Homer who was willing to risk his life to help him.
And who was to say that the same wouldn’t occur even across the Harlem River after the two of them had parted and he was alone.
“Homer, just suppose I do get caught. They would realize that someone helped me. They would force me to tell them everything and lead them to you.”
“Do you know where you are right now?”
“Enough to lead someone back here if I was forced to.”
“Then don’t worry about it because I won’t be here. There’s no reason for me to stay here. I’ll move.”
“But I know your name.”
Homer laughed hugely. “Do you?”
* * *
Owen Wells liked climbing the rigging of a great sailing ship, and the HMS Victory was the greatest of them all. Only a few years old, the massive ship of the line still seemed shiny and new. She’d entered the fleet in 1778 and taken part in the two battles of the Ushant where Owen’s skills as a sniper had gained him recognition. The Victory carried upwards of a hundred great guns and was the pride of the Royal Navy. She displaced 3,500 tonnes and had a crew of almost nine hundred men. She had patrolled off Boston during the revolution and had acquitted herself well fighting the French, although some thought it a shame that she had missed the climactic battle off Virginia that had ended the revolution. Owen didn’t care. People had a nasty habit of dying during battles. He’d already lost a number of mates.