Hades's Revenge (2 page)

“If you’d be so kind. Thank you.”

“I’ll put them in the first room at the top
of the stairs. While you’re getting changed I’ll get you a plate of
food and have your horse brought to the stable.”

“You’re a very gracious host,” he said
gratefully. He guzzled the rest of his drink and did as his host
had advised.

* * *

It was a humble, bare room with a side table
and bed wider than it was long. One kerosene lamp emitting soot,
dulling the light from the flame sat on the tiny table. True to her
word, a set of breeches and a shirt were laid on the bed next to a
pair of stockings. The garments were quite large on Jessop and if
not for his belt he would surely have lost them when walking, but
they were dry and warm.

He made his way down the stairs to a waiting
bowl of meaty stew, a heel of bread and a full stein of flip. The
two who stared him down when he came in had resumed their
conversation and the man at the bar spoke between sips of cider
with the mistress of the inn. Jessop had been a little light headed
after not eating and guzzling his first drink so he dug into the
pottage of turnips, carrots, and venison. It was good but it had a
bitter taste underlying it. It was a familiar taste, but he
couldn’t place it. He shrugged it off as a bad tasting turnip or a
badly spiced stew, and washed the taste away with his flip. Half
way through his meal he felt incredibly tired. Taking his leave and
delivering a respectfully cordial goodnight to his hostess, he
stumbled up the stairs to his room.

Once behind closed doors, he kicked off his
shoes and plopped into the bed. It was lumpy, smelled rank and
sagged something terrible in the middle, but the blanket was warm
and his stomach was full and that was all his body needed. He
thought about the bitter taste that still lingered on his tongue
despite the tasty ale and as sleep won the battle over him and
there was no coming back he remembered what the bitter taste
reminded him of—Laudanum.

* * *

Jessop’s eyelids felt glued shut and were
hard to pry apart. His first indication that he was not in a
familiar place was the sounds around him. There was moaning and
stirring as if he was not alone and there was what sound of water
sloshing. He was quite sure his eyes were open but he couldn’t see
a thing. He tried to sit up and he bumped into something, no
someone. He heard someone wretch nearby and the smell was so
powerful that others followed suit.

Jessop had to concentrate not to heave as
his head pounded and stomach lurched in a gag. Where was he? Who
were these people he was with? There was thumping above starting
far away then passing just over head and away again—footsteps. He
could vaguely hear voices calling out what seemed to be commands
though they were muffled. More foot traffic above, maybe two or
three men this time.

What is this place? He thought. His mind
wandered back to the underlying sound of water slapping against the
walls and rocking—the incessant rocking. A boat. I must be on a
ship, but why? His head cleared away the drugged sleep he’d been
in. The more he thought, the more concerned he became and a fist of
fear hit his gut—it was his turn to heave. Sadly it didn’t make him
feel any better. It only forced him into the reality of his
predicament. His mouth was dry and he couldn’t seem to form a lick
of spit to swallow—and there was the bitter taste again.

His mind jumped to the meal he’d had and the
thought he recollected before falling asleep—Laudanum. He’d been
sick a few years back and had been given this medicine. It was
prescribed for all sorts of ailments from suppressing a cough to
extinguishing great pain. Anyone could buy it at a general
store.

I was drugged, he thought to himself.
Someone coughed to his left, yet still there was no light to see
his surroundings or get his bearings, just the constant pitching of
the ship.

A voice spoke to his right, “Do you know
where we are?”

Noting it was a man’s voice, Jessop
answered, “No, sir. I fear we are the unwilling captives on a
ship.”

“Conscripted,” said a raspy voice to
Jessop’s left. A sudden hush fell over the black grim belly of the
ship.

“Pray tell, good fellow?” Jessop
inquired.

“Conscripted more fully represents our
formidable situation. We’ve been deployed into servitude.”

“Bondage?” said the anxious voice on the
right.

“I’ve read of such ills in books. I never
contemplated such folly might find me,” Jessop said to the man on
his left.

“Seems King George’s aspirations of easily
manning his ships were greatly rebuffed. The officers are then
forced to acquire recruitments by other means,” the old man to the
left said.

“But surely this is unlawful,” Jessop
rebuked.

“Sadly no. Trafficking of humans has been
happening since the dawn of civilization, at least some form of it.
Likely our vendor has given the proper authorities all the signed
documents needed, making the transaction appear presentable to any
authority that might asking for logistics of the agreement.”

“I signed no such document,” the man to his
right said.

“Nor I,” said another voice.

“Agreement? I agreed to no such
proceedings,” Jessop said.

“I dare say no one here has. Our purveyor on
the other hand, most certainly has safeguarded his dastardly
deeds.”

“That is forgery, sir,” an indignant voice
said from the looming darkness.

“Indeed, but the Royal Navy is in need of
men. How they get them is of no consequence,” the old man
explained. Above their heads more commands were shouted and many
footfalls were heard.

Jessop was dumbfounded by what the old man
relayed. He thought of the patriots and their animosity towards the
loyalists and he wondered who was in the right here. Surely a
monarch and his officers who allowed such atrocities to happen
under their noses were unworthy of such admiration and loyalty. How
could they allow slavery on their naval ships? Maybe his father was
wrong about being loyal to the crown.

His father…he hadn’t thought of him until
just now. He wondered if his father was looking for him. Of course
he was, wasn’t he? And Penelope, was she weeping for him—distraught
and regretting her act of humiliating him? He’d always known her
adoration for his father but how could she have been so callous to
one whom she’d been so close to betrothing?

A metallic rod slid above them, shrieking
its reluctance to budge. A second later blinding white light
streamed into the gloom of their pitch black dungeon. Their hands
protected and filtered the painful glare of daylight from their
eyes as an officer addressed them.

“You are aboard the vessel
Victory
of
his majesty’s royal navy. King George thanks you for your voluntary
acceptance to aid us in our endeavors. Per your signed agreement
you may not leave this ship for any reason until this voyage has
ended or you have been instructed to do so by myself or a higher
officer. You will be imprisoned if you attempt to disembark this
vessel without authority,” he said. The feather in his tricorn hat
fluttered in the breeze against the blue sky.

He tugged on his red coat with both hands,
making the golden buttons twinkle in the sunlight. The fresh breeze
was a godsend from the foul stench of their hold, and Jessop found
himself closing his eyes and breathing it in to savor its salty
sweetness.

The officer continued while several other
officers dropped down a stout wooden ladder for the men to ascend
out of their hole.

“I am Lieutenant Damian Crock serving as
first mate and quartermaster to Captain William Kramer on this
ship. You will take your orders from me or any other officer of
rank. Failure to do so will find you in the brig until punishment
is decided. Discipline is at the discretion of the arresting
officer and deemed prudent with my final consent.

“My subordinates are less cruel than I and
often seek menial punishment for insubordination. That is why I
have the final say in all matters for those who take the privilege
of serving their king with disobedience. They should be severely
punished as I see it,” he said with a snake hissing smile and a
twinkle of delight in his eye.

Jessop could see this scrawny self-absorbed
man with his nasally voice enjoyed his position and the undertaking
of inflicting punishment. The look on his face made Jessop’s skin
crawl and a chill ran up his spine.

The men one by one climbed the ladder and
stood surrounded by redcoats and men of simple dress. This was the
first real view of the abducted group of men now his brothers.
There were ten of them ranging in age from fourteen to fifty but
the bulk of them including himself were eighteen to thirty. It was
apparent by their injuries that some were not kidnapped as
pleasantly as he had been.

Black eyes, split lips, bruises, and blood
covered four of them and one even appeared to have a dislocated
shoulder. Thankfully the older man he assumed was the raspy older
voice he’d heard in the bowels of the ship, and the boy were not
among the bloodied and broken.

Lieutenant Crock studied them as he
encircled his captives, walking slowly with his hands behind his
back, when suddenly he brought them forward dropping one fist into
the cup of his other hand as he did so. Jessop presumed he was
sizing the situation.

His father had a similar act though he did
not circle his prey as this predator did. He would instead nod his
head as if agreeing with some unseen consultant and cluck his
tongue in a disapproving manner.

Yes. That’s what Crock was doing. Jessop was
sure of it. He was assessing them; reading their facial expressions
and the way they held themselves in front of him. Were they
cowardly or strong willed? Would they be defiant or dutiful?

He wondered though, why Crock kept eyeing
him. It was as if Crock couldn’t quite decipher his thoughts about
him. After another circle of dead silence, Crock pointed to the
young boy and several officers scuttled him off. This worried
Jessop. What would they do with such a lad? He couldn’t be used for
hard labor. Maybe they would groom him for a cabin boy or something
less brutal.

Next Crock pointed to the man with the
injured arm. “Take him to the cook,” he said, then turned to
Jessop. He must have read the concern on his face and wondered if
he might speak out of turn against his command. Jessop knew he was
being tested and refused to let the lieutenant win at this game.
When Crock could see he wasn’t going to say anything, he
continued.

“As for the rest of you, I suggest you clean
up that filth below.” He motioned towards the pit they had just
climbed out of. “We keep a clean and tidy ship on the Victory and
that,” he pointed towards the hole, “is your new home until we
depart ways—one way or another,” he said as he stepped away and out
of sight.

Jessop wasn’t sure if the last part was
actually meant to be said or a scare tactic, but he wasn’t going to
make waves the first day. Several officers appeared with buckets
and hand brushes dispersing them to the closest recipient. Another
officer handed the older gentleman two lanterns and two others
plopped bedding and other supplies within the arms of the
remainder.

* * *

Down into the hollow in the deck they crept.
With light, the space had a different feel. The supplies were
deposited in a clean high area while Jessop and some others cleaned
up the vomit. This was a little tricky since the smell made them
gag and some were still having trouble with the swaying of the
ship. But after the worst of it was gone, the smell dissipated and
they picked out a place to call their own.

Once they were pleased with the condition of
their new accommodations, they ventured out once again to the open
sea air. They walked around the boat and watched what the officers
and men did. Some were quite friendly and struck up quiet
conversations. Other’s quickly took to mastering rope tying or how
to caulk the deck. Jessop noticed Crock hadn’t brought them out of
their hole until there was no sight of land. It was a scary feeling
knowing the only thing keeping you from drowning was the ship and
it made Jessop all that more determined to become a proficient
sailor so he could treat the ship with the utmost respect.

They quickly learned the key players on the
ship, though it seemed she required a great many able bodied
sailors to keep her running smoothly. The captain also held the
title of Sailing Master—this kept him very busy. He tended to the
maps and graphs of navigation as swell as drilling the men for
attack.

Crock was the next in command and he made it
his mission to scrutinize everything under him. He fancied himself
on long leisurely walks about the ship, listening, and observing
all matters. It was quite disturbing to most and he made his
subordinates nervous. The “go to” man was the boatswain—his name
was Noah Bartley. He was in charge of all deck activity, sails and
rigging, and the anchor. If you were on his deck he knew about
it.

The master gunner took his orders officially
from Crock, but Day worked closely with the captain on a regular
basis with drills for the men. From what Jessop could gather, Day
bypassed Crock on the day to day items, but to keep Crock’s ego
intact, Day did make an effort to include him in the reporting of
what, where, and when they were drilling.

The carpenter, Walter Simmons, was in charge
of everything pertaining to wood—exterior decking and masts. The
master gunner controlled the cannons, their firing, maintenance,
and supplies.

There were several mates and they served as
apprentices to the masters of their expertise. Though it would seem
the “able bodied sailor” might serve at the bottom of the ranks, he
was quite respected. A sailor filled in for any position that was
lacking and was the backbone of the
Victory
, despite what
Crock might tell one.