Savage Surrender Read online

  "Cut him down," the Captain ordered brusquely. "He won't be tryin' to jump over the side again. If he goes it will be because I've thrown him over. Are those others watchin' this?" he barked. For the first time I noticed that a frightened group of slaves was observing this horror from a far corner of the deck. "Is he still conscious?"

  "No, Cap'n, he's passed out."

  "Jesus, some of them are hard to kill," the Captain snorted. "Tell Doc Hawthorne to get up here and see to him. I don't know if he's worth savin' or not. It'll keep these others from gettin' ideas."

  I wasn't sure about that. It seemed to me that death by drowning was infinitely preferable to this fate. The Captain and his crew dispersed, leaving their sport behind. I ran to the wounded man and knelt at his side. He lay huddled on the deck in pools of his own blood. He looked obscene, like the invention of a sick, artistic mind. But he was real, too real. I wanted to help him, but I hardly knew where to start.

  Doctor Hawthorne came up and knelt beside me. "Is he dead?" he asked wearily. Doctor Hawthorne was kindly and old and dizzy from drink most of the time, but he was the only man on the ship that I wasn't afraid of.

  "I—I can't tell. I don't know what to do."

  The Doctor flipped back a black eyelid and pressed his finger under the man's ear.

  "Poor devil," he muttered. "We might as well throw him over the side. He's bled gallons. Look out, you'll get your dress in it."

  "No, no, that's all right. It doesn't matter. Is he dead?"

  "Not yet. It's just a matter of hours."

  "Why can't we save him? Please, Doctor, can't we at least try?"

  The Doctor squinted at me. "Save him for what, Ma'am? For more of the same? You think their lives on those plantations are any better than they are here, on this death ship?"

  I shook my head. "I don't know. But he'd be alive, wouldn't he?"

  The old man sighed. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. I've no place to put him. If we leave him out he'll die of exposure. If we put him back in the hold he'll be dead before morning."

  I put a hand on his arm. "We'll put him in my cabin and I can take care of him."

  "But your husband—"

  I flushed and said quickly, "It's all right, he won't mind."

  "Well, I suppose we could do it. The Captain will raise holy hell, you know."

  "We don't have to tell him right away," I said. "If this man dies, we've lost nothing. If he lives, well, perhaps I can buy him myself. And then the Captain will get the best of the deal."

  We cleansed the terrible wounds as best we could and applied some ointment and a light dressing, just enough to keep the wounds clean. I went to find Garth. It took all my powers to persuade him to help us. Finally the three of us managed to drag the unconscious form into the cabin.

  The Doctor refused to put him on the berth. "The floor is good enough," he said to my protests. "They're not used to better, even in their own homes. We'll fix a pallet, and he'll be all right there, out of the sun and the rain. He'll probably be feverish tonight."

  Garth watched silently as the Doctor and I made our patient comfortable. When Hawthorne left us alone he said, "You don't really expect to get away with this."

  "But they were going to throw him overboard, Garth," I said. "I couldn't let them do that, I just couldn't. And it was the first time I felt that I could help one of them. I want so badly to do something. I know you can't understand, but it's very important to me."

  "The Captain—"

  I cut him short. "The Captain can be persuaded, really, he can. I have it all worked out. When we get to the Indies you can lend me a little money and I can buy Joseph—"

  "Who?"

  "Joseph. I have named him Joseph, after Joseph Bonaparte, you know. He was always very nice to me, and I think this Joseph resembles him a little, don't you agree?"

  Garth looked at the black man critically. "Only around the mouth. The rest of him looks like Jerome."

  "You think so? Oh—oh, you are teasing me! I should have known you would treat this whole thing as a joke. I should have known!"

  He shrugged. "I'm not interested in how you occupy yourself on this voyage, Elise, as long as you don't disobey my instructions and cause trouble for me." He turned to go.

  "I cannot believe you are as hard-hearted as you pretend to be. I cannot believe it!"

  His eyes burned into me. "Believe it. For your own sake, Elise," he said softly, "believe that I am everything you think I am."

  At the end of the third day Joseph's fever subsided and he was able to take some water. The wounds on his back healed a little and they did not seem to be infected. When he opened his eyes he shrank away from me. I tried to comfort him.

  "It's all right, Joseph," I said soothingly, "you're safe here. You are going to live."

  As if he understood what I was saying, he smiled weakly and closed his eyes. At that moment the cabin door flew open.

  "You goddamn thievin' little wench!" The Captain stood on the threshold. "What in hell do you think you're doing!"

  "How dare you enter this cabin without knocking," I said angrily. "Don't you know how to behave like a human being instead of an animal?"

  His eyes gleamed and he wet his lips with his tongue. Although I was fully clad I had an urge to cover my body, to hide myself from those small, red-rimmed eyes and those wet pink lips.

  "You have somethin' that belongs to me, wench. I've come to take it back."

  I stared at him stupidly for a second or two before I realized that he was referring to Joseph. "Why, this man was near death, Captain. The Doctor was about to give up on him, and I asked if he could bring him here. That's all. I meant no harm, I just didn't want to see him die. You may have him back when he is strong and fit, and I shall buy him from you when we get to Jamaica."

  Fowler prodded the sick man with his boot and said sneeringly, "You've taken quite a liking to him, haven't you, wench? Well, I'll be goddamned if I'm going to let you keep him here just because that husband of yours is too stupid to know how to keep a female like you in line. I know how to treat a bitch like you, and you need a lesson."

  I jumped up. "How dare you talk to me that way. Get out of here this instant before I scream this ship down. Get out!"

  I flew at his face, shrieking like a tricoteuse at a guillotining. He backed away a step and shouted over his shoulder for two sailors who were waiting in the passage. They came in, and without saying a word picked the black man up and carried him out of the cabin. Joseph groaned audibly and the Captain chuckled.

  "Finally got some noise out of that fellow," he grunted. "Thanks to you, Ma'am." His eyes lingered on my bosom a moment longer, then he snorted disgustedly and followed his men out of the cabin.

  Throwing caution aside, I ran after him and caught his sleeve. My heart was racing, and I was filled with anger that I could hardly speak. "Don't you have any pity in your heart at all?" I demanded. "Doesn't a human life mean anything to you?"

  "No," he said in a low, lascivious whisper, "only when there's a hot-fleshed little woman connected to it." He locked his heavy arms around my waist and kissed me clumsily. He reeked of whiskey and tobacco. I squirmed and kicked until he released me. "What's the matter," he asked, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, "don't you like the way a real man kisses, whore? I notice that half-man of yours is spending his nights up on deck, lookin' at the stars." He grabbed at me again and squeezed my breasts painfully with his hands. "I'm thinkin' that I ought to take his place in that bed of yours. He won't care—"

  "You—you filth!" I spat in his face. My voice and expression must have revealed the deep revulsion I felt, for suddenly hatred as well as lust shone in his eyes. I felt afraid of him, truly afraid.

  "Good afternoon, Captain. There's no trouble here, I hope?"

  Garth appeared in the narrow passage. I nearly sobbed with relief when I saw him.

  "Trouble?" the Captain snarled, releasing me. "Yes, there's trouble, McClelland. This bitch of yours is nothing but tr
ouble. You know, it surprises me, McClelland, that a big fellow like you would leave his wife alone with one of those filthy slaves. He's been with her two nights, while you've been topside star-gazin'."

  Garth laughed and said smoothly, "Really, Captain, the man was hardly in any condition—"

  I didn't want to hear any more. I ran into the cabin and slammed the door. Pressing my hands over my eyes I breathed deeply and tried to force down the feelings of rage and nausea that rose up within me.

  Garth came in. "What happened?"

  "He—he burst in here and took Joseph, and when I tried to reason with him—"

  "I can just imagine how you tried to reason with him," Garth said dryly. "Next time it will be worse. I tried to warn you and you wouldn't listen to me. You had to go your own stupid, headstrong way." Even though he spoke calmly I could hear the rage in his voice. "I was the fool this time, though. I never should have allowed you to bring that man in here."

  I whirled on him in a fury. "'Never should have allowed!'" I raged. "You make me sick, Garth McClelland. If I hadn't brought him here he would have died, and you know it. Not that he won't die now. That Fowler is an unspeakable villain, an inhuman monster. Oh, I would cheerfully kill him if I could. And you are no better. You make me sick, the two of you."

  I tried to push my way past him. He stepped in front of me. "Where do you think you're going?"

  "I need some air. The stink of your cowardice is making me sick."

  "Listen to me, Elise—"

  "No." I stepped back a pace and faced him squarely. "No, you listen. I will not be penned up in this cabin for another minute. I can defend myself against that disgusting man, better than you can defend me, I'm sure. He doesn't frighten me for a moment, and neither do you. I hate you and I hate this death ship. There isn't a day since I've been here that I haven't wished that I was blind and deaf and dead. This is hateful to me, do you understand? Hateful! The moaning and crying, day after day, it tears my heart out, and we, civilized people, we sit and do nothing. Well, I'm not sorry that I tried to help one of them, and if the opportunity arises I will do it again and again and again. I'm sick of being pushed around by you and the Captain. Let me pass."

  To my surprise he walked away from the door and stood staring out the window. "Do you honestly believe that I enjoy this? Can you honestly believe that a day passes when I don't want to shove my fists into his stupid face and make him bleed? Go on, then. Get the hell out of here. I don't care what happens to you." He turned and shouted, "Go on, get out!"

  I was rooted to the spot. I stood staring into his fathomless eyes, wishing that I could see into his soul. The ship rolled heavily and I had to clutch at the table for support. The dreadful keening from the hold seemed to permeate the ship. I put my hands over my ears and still I heard it, that wrenching, sorrowful sound.

  "Oh, dear. God," I said, "make them stop. For the love of God, make them stop."

  Garth strode over to me and pulled my hands away from my ears. The moaning grew louder again. He dug his fingers into my flesh. The harder I struggled to get away from him the tighter he held me. The fire in his eyes made me tremble.

  "Stop it," he said sharply. "Stop fighting me, Elise."

  "No," I panted, "Never. Not until I die!"

  "You'd be no good to me dead," he said roughly. He slid his arms around my waist and kissed me over and over again until I was breathless and exhausted. I could feel the old weakness creeping over me and I sagged against the table. I could feel his hands on my bodice, unfastening it, unlacing the ribbons that closed the top of my chemise, fondling my breasts. "You're so beautiful," he murmured. "So soft, so lovely."

  Not five minutes earlier that animal Fowler had behaved almost identically and I had loathed it, but now—It was different with Garth, much, much different. I tried to suppress the rising tide of longing that was sweeping over me, but I might as well have commanded the sea to stop its strong, incessant movement. With a despairing groan I lay back in his arms and let him move his scalding lips over my face and neck and breasts. I couldn't fight him any more. I didn't want to. My resolve was being destroyed by the slow fire he had ignited in my depths. I knew that the fire would have to rage until I was consumed.

  I closed my eyes while he undressed me and ran his hands over every inch of me. I was sharply conscious of our two bodies, of the powerful sensations that engulfed us. He stripped his clothes off and guided my hands over his body. I marveled again at the muscular hardness of his arms, his back, his buttocks. I raked my fingers through his hair and returned his kisses eagerly.

  He picked me up and bore me to the berth, and I gave myself to him freely, hungrily, without hesitation and without struggle. His fiery blade pierced me to the quick, but the anguish I felt was beautiful and thrilling. I ceased to be aware of anything else: the cries of the slaves, the Captain's horrible lust, the woman-starved men working on the ship only a few feet away from us. I let Garth take me into the dark sensual caverns of love where pleasure ruled and pain and distress were soon forgotten.

  When we lay spent and breathless in each other's arms he nuzzled my hair and said, "No more nights on the floor, Hellcat. We've wasted too much time as it is."

  Passion's blinding, deafening spell faded away. The dismal sounds of the ship reached my ears once again. I raised myself up on my elbow and looked into his face. I saw him once again not as the bearer of pleasure and forgetfulness, but as the man who had beaten and violated and humiliated me. I was furious with myself for yielding to him, but I knew that I was powerless to refuse him now. He repulsed and attracted me. I drew away from him.

  "I hate you," I said, gritting my teeth. "More than ever. Nothing has changed between us, nothing!"

  He rubbed my cheek with the back of his hand. "No, you're wrong about that, Elise. Everything has changed."

  And with that he rolled over and went to sleep.

  Chapter 5

  Josiah Fowler

  The Charleston Belle had weathered the severest storms the older sailors had ever seen, storms that had set the ancient tub nearly on her side and swamped her decks with waves that swelled to fifty feet and higher. Her human cargo shrieked and cried with terror as the ship bucketed and tossed, and the water rose in the hold as fast as the sailors could bale it out. Even though we were near the equator, the storms brought icy winds that felt like blasts from the heart of Hell. Even seasoned mariners couldn't stay on deck for long periods of time, and the slaves, who had never known any but tropical temperatures, suffered as much from the cold as they did from the unceasing violent pitching of the ship.

  I rattled around in the cabin like a pea in a pail, looking desperately for a stable surface that I could cling to in the madly tilting chamber, wondering at the utter madness that possessed men who sailed the seas. During occasional lulls I would collapse on my berth, bruised and battered and seasick.

  "What's the matter with you, Elise?" Garth asked as I lay clutching my stomach and groaning during one terrible siege of illness. "You used to be a pretty fair sailor, but now you're no better than those poor wretches in the hold."

  "Thank you for your kind solicitude, Monsieur," I moaned sarcastically. "Sometimes I find your goodness overwhelming. Oh, God, why can't I just die? Kill me, Garth, and put an end to my suffering."

  He laughed callously. I shot him a withering glance.

  "You'll get over it," he said. "The sea will probably be calmer tomorrow. I'll take you up on deck and let the sun put the roses back in your cheeks."

  "I wish you would just go away. You can't even allow me the dignity of being ill in private. Oh, God," I gasped as the ship rolled heavily. The table skittered from one side of the cabin to the other, the kegs we used for chairs rolled around the floor like marbles, but Garth McClelland stood next to the berth grinning down at me, as solid and secure as a mountain. "I wish you would take your ugly face away from here," I said. "Just looking at you makes me feel a thousand times worse."

  He laughed
and went out whistling. I clung to the sides of the berth to keep from falling out, calling him every kind of name I could think of.

  The storm abated during the night and I crept up on deck the next morning for a breath of fresh air. The seas were still heavy, and when I glanced up at the masts and saw them careening against the gray sky my stomach heaved and I ran for the rail. I heard a shout over my head and saw Garth climbing down from the mizzenmast.

  "Feeling better?" he asked with no real evidence of concern. "You behaved very badly last night. I could hardly sleep a wink."

  "That's too bad," I said, straightening up and wiping my mouth with my handkerchief. "Why didn't you go someplace else?"

  "Why, Elise," he sounded disappointed, "you know there's no better place to be in the world than by your side. And I couldn't desert you in your hour of need, could I?"

  "I hope you fall out of the rigging and break your stupid neck," I said with feeling. "Nothing would give me more pleasure than to see your wretched body sprawled all over the deck, broken and bloody. I want to see your brains scattered to the four winds, your arms and legs fed to the sharks, your—"

  He stood against my back and kissed my neck. A thrill of pleasure traveled up and down my spine. "Death is very final and very dull, my dear Elise," he murmured. "Remember that."

  I flushed angrily and slipped away from him. "I pray hourly for death, Garth. Yours or mine. It wouldn't make any difference. Either way I would be free of you."

  I made my way below once again. The cabin reeked of sweat and vomit and stale lovemaking. I threw the small window open and pulled the covers off the berth to air, then I got down on my hands and knees with a pail of salt water and a rag and started to scrub the floor.

  "Meet Mademoiselle Elise Lesconflair," I grumbled as I worked. "Charwoman, whore, adventuress. Born of noble blood, educated at the finest schools in England and France, darling of the court and of the Emperor himself—and now, reduced to this! Oh, I hate him. God knows how much I hate him."

  A wave of nausea passed over me and I had to stop momentarily and close my eyes. What was the matter with me? I had been a good sailor, but lately—Perhaps I was dying, I thought ruefully. Not that it mattered. Death was infinitely preferable to the kind of degrading life I was being forced to lead.