High on a Mountain (24 page)

“Make sure they’re clean. No one will want to
buy them stinking like they do,” he heard one of the crewmen say.
Ailean understood some of the words but didn’t know what the
sailors meant.

They pulled Ailean from the water and swung
him onto the deck. The ragged shreds of his once-white tunic were
stained and still looked dirty, but his body felt clean for the
first time in a year. He saw the first group of men from the hold
sitting on the deck on the other side of the ship, the shackles on
their ankles fastened to a long chain.

A sailor untied the rope from around Ailean
and led him, tottering and shuffling, to the other side of the ship
where the first group of men brought out of the hold sat in the
shade cast by the sails. He told Ailean to sit, and he attached the
chain between Ailean’s ankle bands to the chain which linked the
men to each other.

Ruairidh was next to be dipped in the water.
Ailean didn’t recognize him at first. When he realized the gaunt
skeletal form with the mass of tangled gray hair belonged to
Ruairidh, Ailean was stunned. He turned his eyes downward and
stared at his own body, at the knobby knees and bone-thin shins
beneath them. He looked at his ribs through the holes in his tunic,
felt the hard, bony protuberances that ridged his sides. He could
scarcely believe that a body such as his own could yet be
alive.

Ruairidh was brought and fastened to the
chain next to Ailean after his dip in the water. The two men got
their first clear look at one another since they’d been placed in
the darkness of the hold. Ruairidh slowly passed his gaze over
Ailean’s body from his head to his feet.

“I don’t understand how we are still alive,”
Ruairidh whispered.

“How, in the name of heaven, could they do
such as this to a man, to
any
man,” Ailean croaked as he
regarded Ruairidh’s sunken eyes, bony body and bleeding ankles.

“Quiet! And stop that Irish jabbering! If you
have something to say, say it in the King’s English!”

Ailean fell silent. He stared at Ruairidh’s
ruined body for a moment, and returned his scrutiny to his own
pale, spindly legs.

Heavenly Father, why have You forsaken us and
turned Your back on us? Why have You allowed our enemies to treat
us this way? I’ve always obeyed You the best I knew how and always
worshipped You. Why have You let our enemies trample us like
this?

Ailean’s outrage and sorrow over all he’d
gone through, which he had buried deep within himself, threatened
to break free and overwhelm him. With his inner questioning, he
began to build a shell around his distress, constructing it bit by
bit to isolate his pain, to contain it, to form it into a small
hard knot deep in his soul.

And within the knot was a core of anger and
resentment toward God.

____________

After all the men had been dipped in the
water and fastened to the chain, they each received a large piece
of bread and a cup of water. Ailean held the bread in his hand, his
stomach cramping and rumbling as he anticipated eating.

“Cap’n wants you to be able to walk off the
ship,” the sailor told them as he went down the line handing out
the bread. “Eat it up. Nobody’ll buy you if you can’t at least
walk. And if nobody buys you, the cap’n might just dip you in the
water. Permanently.”

The chunk of bread was more than the weekly
amount Ailean had been given the entire time he’d been on the ship.
He took a small bite, unable to swallow more than a nibble. He
closed his eyes as the bit of bread traveled from his mouth to his
stomach, savoring the taste and the sensation of eating.

He opened his eyes to take another bite and
saw Ruairidh raise his own piece of bread to his lips with
trembling hands. Ruairidh took a large bite and tried to chew it,
but choked. He coughed and gagged. While he tried to get his
breath, he dropped his bread and it fell onto droppings from the
sea gulls.

Ruairidh regarded the ruined bread for a
moment, then retrieved it. He raised it to his mouth, but Ailean
took the bread from him and tossed it away. He took one more bite
from his own bread and handed the rest to Ruairidh.

“Take small bites,” Ailean said.

“But you need your food—”

“I’ve had enough. Eat slowly, and it won’t
choke you.”

Ruairidh nodded, and began eating again, one
nibble at a time, resting between bites.

Ailean’s stomach churned and growled,
clamoring for more bread. He closed his eyes and leaned back
against the bulwark. Although he would have enjoyed another bite of
bread, he was more grateful for the fresh air of the open deck than
for the food. He could still smell the noisome reek of the hold,
but it was endurable.

TWENTY-NINE

George Town, South Carolina, April 1747

The sun passed its zenith and descended
toward the western horizon, and the ship’s crew began lowering the
sails. They scurried around performing other chores in preparation
for bringing the ship into port, and before sunset, it docked in
the harbor of a small town. The crew tied the ship to the pier and
let down a ramp.

Before sunset, a crewman brought bread and
water to feed the prisoners again. They slept that night in the
open air of the deck.

The next morning, near midday, after the
prisoners had eaten, a crewman passed down the line of chained men,
ordering them to stand. When all of them managed to get to their
feet, he and another seaman led them down the ramp to the pier to
which the ship was tied.

For the first time in weeks, Ailean was on a
solid footing, not on a moving, rocking boat, and the effect was
disconcerting. Dizziness made his head spin, and he almost fell.
The line of fettered men staggered and stumbled their way to the
end of the pier where the sailors stopped them, made them turn and
stand side by side.

A group of obviously wealthy men stood
talking to the captain of the ship. Ailean could only understand
bits of what he heard.

“But these are wild Scotsmen,” said one of
the men. “I wouldn’t pay that much for three of them, much less
one.”

“They’d likely die before I got them home.
Look at them! They’re half-starved! No. I don’t want any of them,”
said another man, and he turned and walked away.

“Maybe we can work something out,” the
captain wheedled. “I’m losing money as it is, even if you pay what
I’m asking. I’ve only done this as a service to the king. You’ll be
doing a service, too, if you take some of them.”

“They’re not in any shape to work. I’d be
losing money,” a third man said.

“They’re Highland men. Give them a good meal
or two and they’ll be ready to work,” the captain said. “The only
reason we fed them so little was to tame them, make them docile.
They are accustomed to hard work and little food. It would take no
time at all to get them back in shape.”

A man standing to the side watching and
listening, but who had not yet spoken, approached the shackled men
and looked them over as he walked slowly down the line.

“Captain,” he said, “you are in luck. I lost
a number of field workers to the fever last summer, and I’m pressed
for time to get the rice planted.” He gestured to the prisoners.
“I’ll take ten of these wild men off your hands.” He turned to the
captain. “But not at your price.”

“I’m only trying to recover my expenses for
transporting them,” said the captain. “You certainly pay many times
that much for African slaves. These men would be a bargain for
you.”

“These are indentured men, so you can’t
expect me to pay what I would pay for a black slave.”

“No, you don’t understand. I was informed
that this group of men were to be sold as slaves. And besides,” the
captain continued, “at this price, you can use them to do whatever
dangerous work you need done instead of risking your African
slaves.” He laughed. “You wouldn’t be losing much if one of these
men died.”

Mr. Hollingsworth ran his gaze down the line
of chained men once more, appraising them, and turned back to the
captain to haggle. Neither man made any concessions toward a
compromise.

“That’s my final offer. I will pay no more
for them,” Mr. Hollingsworth said. “However, I will give you an
opportunity to increase your profit.”

“And what would that be?”

“I’ll pay you to convey these men across the
Sampit to the other bank,” he said, gesturing to the opposite bank
of the river.

Captain Hawsey frowned, but he assented. He
turned to other potential customers who stepped forward, ready to
make purchases as well. After a long period of negotiation, the
captain and two customers agreed on a price for the remaining
men.

“At that paltry sum, you’ll have to provide
your own shackles,” the captain growled, and he ordered the sailors
guarding the prisoners to remove their manacles and chains.

He stalked from the wharf, leaving the first
mate to complete the paper work. The amount of profit for this
cargo would be far short of what had been promised. So many of the
Highlanders died during the voyage, and now, the purchasers refused
to pay a fair price for the ones who were left. If he hadn’t had
the foresight to feed the prisoners on short rations, he would have
made no profit at all.

The first mate wrote a bill of sale for each
prisoner and dutifully recorded the sales in the ship’s log
book.

Mr. Hollingsworth turned to a black man who
stood at his elbow. “James, see that the men are transported across
the river safely. I’ll be waiting there with the wagon.”

James supervised the ship’s crewmen as they
removed the shackles from the ankles and wrists of Ailean, Ruairidh
and eight other men. Ailean had never seen a person with skin so
dark, and he wondered if exposure to the oppressive sunlight and
heat in this place darkened the man’s skin. He looked at his own
sickly, pale flesh, then at the black man again, and wondered if
he, too, would become black-skinned.

The sailors lowered one of the ship’s
dinghies into the water and rowed it to a ladder which descended
from the pier to the level of the water. James directed the
Highlanders to climb down the ladder into the dinghy, using
gestures to communicate with them. When they were in the boat, he
climbed into it.

The two sailors who manned the oars rowed
with a will and deposited their cargo on the west bank of the
Sampit River, where Mr. Hollingsworth waited with a large wagon
belonging to his neighbor. He sat astride a roan horse which he had
also borrowed.

The Oaks, Mr. Hollingsworth’s plantation, was
located on the western bank of the Santee River. For short trips
into George Town on business matters or to buy supplies, John, the
slave captain of The Oaks’ periagua, rowed his master across the
river in a small skiff to the dock of a neighboring plantation on
the east bank. Mr. Hollingsworth used his neighbor’s horse for the
twelve-mile trip to George Town. He also borrowed a wagon if he had
to buy supplies. In exchange for this convenience, he lent his
neighbor the periagua and its crew for an occasional trip down the
coast to Charles Town or up to Pawley’s Island.

James supervised the Highlanders as they
climbed into the wagon, and Mr. Hollingsworth moved to James’ side
to speak to him. A white man on horseback, holding a musket,
followed Mr. Hollingsworth.

“James, this is one of Mr. Bentley’s men.
I’ve arranged to have him ride alongside the wagon. He’ll make sure
none of these men give you any trouble. Although,” Hollingsworth
said, with a shake of his head, “they look so weak, I doubt they’re
able to cause trouble.”

James nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m going to ride ahead. I’ll have John
bring the periagua across and have it ready so we can take these
men and the supplies across the river with one trip. It would take
too long in the skiff.”

“Yes, sir, master,” James said.

Mr. Hollingsworth rode away, and Mr.
Bentley’s man walked his horse to the back of the wagon. James
climbed onto the driver’s seat. He gathered the reins, shook them
and clucked to the team. The wagon jolted to a start and moved
slowly westward along the dirt road.

Ailean watched the small town and the docked
ship recede into the distance as the wagon rattled over the rutted
road. Bordering the road, a flat tract, covered with a bristly
blanket of sea marsh grass and tufts of scrub growth, stretched to
a bay where water sparkled in the sunlight.

Beyond the bay was the sea, and across its
watery expanse lay his homeland, far away, out of his reach. He
thought of the hours he’d spent on the mountaintop, looking at the
silver ribbon of water which snaked from the ocean, meandered
between the mountains and became Loch Fyne.

That same ocean had borne the ship on its
surface, its wind and waves had pushed the ship to this strange
land, had carried Ailean far away from everything he’d ever known.
He leaned to one side for a final glimpse of the water that was his
last connection with home. But trees and bushes blocked his view as
the road became enshrouded in a shaded narrow passage, walled by a
tangle of vegetation growing along its edges.

THIRTY

The Oaks Plantation, South Carolina, April
1747

The wagon reached the Santee River, and James
drew it to a stop next to a set of steps leading down the riverbank
to a wharf. A large boat awaited their arrival. The crewmen of the
vessel loaded the supplies Mr. Hollingsworth had purchased in
George Town, and then James brought the Highlanders on board.

The crew rowed the craft upstream a short
distance and brought it to dock at a wharf on the west bank of the
river. James led the men off the periagua and up to a wagon. As he
climbed onto the wagon, Ailean got a glimpse of the open area which
lay beyond the landing.