In The Belly Of The Bloodhound (16 page)

“That will drift in, to the rocks over there, and be wrecked. They will find that and various of your personal belongings—and they will find a body—but your dear bodies will never be found. All will surmise that your heavy dresses dragged you down and you were pulled out to sea. How sad.”

I think about toeing off my shoes and making a break for the side and diving over, hoping to make it to the shore of that island and so raise the alarm, but the sailors are standing too close about us for me to break through, and there’s no telling what these dogs would do if they saw me making good my escape. They might just throw the girls overboard and then get the hell out of here. And then the girls would drown for real. I’m sure there’s not a one of them who can swim. No, I’ll have to stick around to see how this plays out.

“Well, if you’re gonna make a dead body outta one of em,” says Dobbs, “I’d say you kill that one there, as she’s a real troublemaker, she is.” He says this and points directly at my forehead.

“Thank you for the suggestion,” says Simon. “We shall act upon it. Bo’sun Chubbuck, if you would be so good?”

A man, a very solid-looking man with a short, thick neck, black brows, and scarred face, has been hanging back by the ship’s rail, behind the crowd. He now comes forward and he has a massive club in his right hand.

“Elspeth! Rebecca! Stand away from me!” I hiss, but they only clutch me tighter. “Give me room!”

But I will not be able to fight for my life, for a hand comes from behind me and grabs my neck and holds me fast.[_ And he’ll hold me thus till the club comes down and smashes my skull, oh, Lord, no!_]

The Bo’sun takes his club in both hands and swings it like a batsman swinging at a cricket ball and brings it down…But not on me, oh no, not on me, but on the back of Dobbs’s head, and it hits with a great, squishy thud. Dobbs looks surprised for a moment, then his eyes roll back in his head and he crumples to the deck.

Simon leans down and picks up the bag of coins. “Fool,” he says. “Throw him overboard.”

A man takes what’s left of handyman Dobbs by the wrists and another by the ankles and they swing him over the rail. There is a splash and it is over. I’m sure he was dead before he hit the water. The man holding my neck lets go and the thumping of my heart begins to slow back down.

The girls are quiet now, as they have just seen a man killed and it was not a pretty thing. It’s true that Dobbs was vile and he had it coming, but still, it was an awful sight to see.

Blackman Bart, the self-styled Colonel Bartholomew Simon, now raises his voice and addresses the crew of the[_ Bloodhound:
] “You men listen to me! I am leaving now and I direct you to set sail to make this delivery. You will deliver this cargo intact in all ways,[
all ways,_] do you mark me on that? Captain Blodgett here has orders to shoot any man who so much as touches one of these girls. They are worth a great deal of money in their current condition and I will not have money lost as a result of your lust! Do you hear?”

There is a low murmur of assent, but one sailor speaks up. It is plain that discipline here is nothing like that of a warship. “What about them three servin’ girls?” he says, and points at Annie and Sylvie and Katy, who stand together. “They ain’t ladies. Surely we can have our sport with them?” The boy I had seen jumping about before is avidly nodding his head up and down in support of the sailor’s proposal.

Both Annie and Sylvie cross themselves and put their hands together in prayer, but their faces are without hope. The girl Katy doesn’t do anything except just stand there, her face totally without expression.

“Colonel Simon, Sir,” I call out. He turns to look at me. “I know these girls personally. I know them and I know their families. They are all good girls and I can vouch for them as to their character and virtue. They will bring as good a price as any of us.”

Simon smiles upon me. “Now, there’s a good, practical one. I like that in a girl, and I like that even better in a captive.” He turns again to the crew. “So be it. Those three shall be treated as the others are treated. And think on this, you dogs: You are getting[_ twice_] the pay on this voyage. When you’re through, you’ll be able to buy all the women you could possibly want for months on end. Think on that.”

Shuddering, Annie and Sylvie relax a little. The crew is not pleased.

“Besides, in two months, this bunch will be off and sold and a whole new cargo of black women will be brought on board and you can have all the sport you want with them! Are we agreed?”

This time the sounds of agreement are louder.

“Good, then. I’ll be off. Godspeed to you all!” Simon goes to the side, where a small boat is waiting to take him ashore, probably somewhere on the south shore, where he’ll take a coach back to Virginia. As he goes over the side, he tips his broad-brimmed hat to us and says, “And ladies, I[_ do_] hope you’ll enjoy the extraordinary adventure I have so meticulously planned for you!”

“Awright, get ‘em below!” bellows Captain Blodgett, and down below we go, the very minute Simon leaves. After the few remaining bonnets and shawls are taken from us and thrown overboard, we are shoved roughly down the hatch—very roughly, with rude hands pushing us between our shoulder blades, down the hatchway stairs, through a barred door, and into the very belly of the[_ Bloodhound,_] down into the very pit of Hell, itself.

To the horrified young ladies of the Lawson Peabody, the darkness and the vastness of the Hold are not the most fearsome things, nor is the suddenness of their abduction or the hopelessness of their condition. No, it is the stench that is the worst—the stench of a slaver, the stench from too many human beings packed over and over again into too small a space and denied even the most basic of human needs: the need for fresh air, the need for movement, the need even to turn over on the shelf on which you are confined, and the need to care for and protect your family.

The girls of the Lawson Peabody find, upon entry into this Hell, this nether world, a broad and empty Hold, so broad and so empty as to echo even the smallest, most timorous sound the girls make.

I am about the last one thrown down and it takes my eyes a while to accustom themselves to the gloom. As my vision clears, I am able to see that, in addition to the great hold, there are shelves built around the perimeter of the space, one being about eight feet wide, made of open wood slatting on which we all now stand. This shelf gets much wider, maybe by ten more feet, up where it meets the front part of the ship.

Probably that’s where they cram the women and children on a regular run. Above us, at shoulder height, is another shelf, about six foot deep, made of the same open slatting. I know why it is made in such a way and I know the girls are going to find out the why of it for themselves real soon—the[_ Bloodhound_] has heeled over and is heading for open water, and the ship is starting to rock and reel. It will not be long, as the smell is enough to get them gagging already.

The great Hold is like a huge theater, really, with the wide shelf area in the middle being the stage, its narrower portion going around the sides being like the regular seats, the shelf above that being like the balcony, and the dark massive hold below, the pit. There are ladders—stairs, actually—on either side of this stage, leading up to the balcony, and from the center of this stage, a larger, single set of stairs goes down into the pit. Light is coming from somewhere above the balcony and my eyes have adjusted enough for me to see that the great Hold is absolutely empty, except for two large cone-shaped containers that are about four foot in diameter at the bottom and have a hole at top, about ten inches across. I know what they are for and I know they are made that way so they won’t tip over in rough seas.

And everywhere, everywhere—on every shelf, on every bulkhead, on every deck—hang chains, all of them clinking and clanking with each roll of the ship.

There are some chains that do not clank. They lie there on the bottom, stretched straight out along the sides of the hull. They’re simple long chains with an iron neck collar every three or four feet. Even in my despair, I know what they’re for—they’re the chain train—they are for leading the captives in a line from the African slave pens to the ship,

and eventually from the ship to the American auction blocks. I can stand no more, and I look away.

Down there and to the right is my seabag.[_ Good._] My kick must have sent it flying down the stairs to roll across the “Stage” and over its edge and into the “Pit.” I’ll have to go down and stow it someplace safe soon. But for now, I stand on the Stage and gather my wits, which are a bit hard to collect since, not only have I been kidnapped, I have also been twice personally threatened with violent death—first with a pistol, then with a club. Even for me, that is not an easy thing. And even for me, one who is used to cruel Fate sneaking up behind me and giving me a whack every time things seem calm and settled, the suddenness of the day’s events is shocking, and I have to sit down and put my head in my hands.

For a while I let myself wallow in deep despair like the rest of the girls, and I add my wails and cries to theirs…[_ and Jaimy was gonna come over soon and get me and now, oh, God, now…the Black Cloud…_]

I sit there, stunned, my head hanging, and my soul bereft of all hope for what seems like a long, long while. But, eventually, I force the Black Cloud back to the far side of my mind and rouse myself. I slap my face twice, once on each side, and say to the timid mouse that really is my innermost self,[_ Ah, well, best get things going, girl, and first things first._]

“Elspeth. Rebecca. Let me go. Move away from me for a while. I’ve got to go do some things. Here, cling to each other.” They do it, very reluctantly, and I rise and go to the steps that lead to the bottom of the Hold and I descend into the gloom below.

I search about and my eyes pick out my seabag lying there in the shadows, but I do not move toward it till I scan the lit bars high above me to make sure none of the crew is peering down. None appears to be doing that, so, picking my way across the long neck chains lying on the deck, I make my way to my bag. I lay my hands upon it and haul it back under the platform that presently holds the very unhappy girls of the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls.

I am grateful that my seabag is made of deep navy blue canvas, instead of the white duck that contains many a sailor’s worldly goods. It is therefore not easily spotted in this dim light, as I hurry it to a place next to one of the heavy, thick oak knees that hold the planks of the hull together. It is the knee closest to the forward wall of the Hold and so it forms a bit of a cave between itself and the bulkhead. It is there that I tuck in my seabag.

There,
I think with a small bit of satisfaction. Someone would have to actually come down here under the platform to spot it, and even then it might escape notice. I think about taking my shiv from the bag and sliding it into my sleeve, but then I think better of it: We might well be strip-searched tomorrow and I can’t afford the loss of that knife.

Now to plan.
I sit myself down on the rough boards of this lower deck and make myself think.[_ Think, dammit! This is a profound mess we find ourselves in, and I’m afraid it’s up to you and to no other to figure a way out. Let’s see…well, we’ve got to get organized first…there’s thirty-one, no, thirty-two girls, divide roughly by three, yes, three divisions, that’s it, and…_]

After I’ve thought and plotted and planned for maybe an hour, I get to my feet, find the ladder back up, and go stand straight before the weeping and recumbent throng, and raise my voice.

“Listen to me, oh you, my sisters.” My words echo through the Hold and crying eyes open and look to me. “We must begin to take control of ourselves here. We do ourselves no good by sinking into mindless panic. We have to organize. We must take things one thing at a time. It is about to get very rough and we must be ready for it. We need to get through one day at a time. Right now, we should plan to get through this afternoon and the coming night.” I’m keeping the sentences short and simple on purpose, so they get it.

They quiet down some at this, and then Abigail Pierce steps forward and asks, “But what should we do?” She moves her hands nervously in a helpless way.

“Some of you know I have been to sea and thus know how things go out here. By dint of my experience, I think we should divide into three groups, so that we can be organized into fighting units and not be just a jumble of frightened girls, easy for those lousy bastards to push around and manage as they like.”

I find I have their full attention and I go on. “I have thought about it and think it should be thus: Division One will be led by Clarissa Howe and will consist of Lissette, Hermione, Abigail, Helen, Judith, Caroline, Hepzibah, Ruth, Christina, and Cloris.”

I look out over their upturned faces as I pick out the particular girls. “Dolley Frazier will lead Division Two. In her group will be Minerva, Priscilla, Dorothea, Constance, Martha, Barbara, Catherine, Wilhelmina, and Julia.” I hear no complaints, so I continue.

“In the Third Division, with me at the head, will be Rebecca, Elspeth, Annie, Sylvie, Katy, Frances, Sally, Rose, Beatrice, and Hyacinth.”

I pause for breath and look about to see how this is taken. I really wanted to stand up and say that I was in charge of everything and this was the way things were going to be, but I knew that Clarissa and her crew would never follow me. So, putting Clarissa at the head of a division was the best way I could see to get things in some sort of order. And with Dolley as a counterbalance twixt Clarissa and me, well…so far, so good, so I go on.

“I have tried to group particular friends together in these divisions, but that does not really matter—you do not have to group together in these divisions all the time, only when we muster to give out information or to take action. Is that understood?” Not only did I put girls I knew to be friends together, I also tried to balance out who I felt to be the strong and the weak across the divisions.

There are general murmurs of agreement. Then Clarissa steps forward and puts her fists on her hips and her face in mine and says, “What I don’t understand is who made you boss? I know I sure as hell didn’t!”