Black Sam - Prince of Pirates

Twenty Eight - PUNISHMENT

 Twenty-Eight - PUNISHMENT

 November 1716

 Sam remained in the same corner of the hold, unable to eat the runny rice that sat in a bowl near his feet. His head hung low, his hair down around his face hiding it from view. Angry thoughts filled his mind. He was further from his dream now than ever. Maria was slipping from his memory, and if Cyprian had his way, from his life as well. Short as it now was.

 “Sam, are you all right?” Paulgrave asked.

 Sam lifted his head just enough to speak. “Forgive me Paul.”

 Two soldiers entered the hold. They followed a slave who carried a small gunnysack and a wooden bucket into the chamber. The soldiers stood by as the slave stepped to the bars of the cell. He set the bucket down, opened the sack and pulled out a loaf of half eaten bread. He set the bread inside of the bars.

 “Come get your water, scum,” one of the soldiers said.

 The slave pulled a scoop of water out and waited for the prisoners to come.

 “Maybe they’re not hungry or thirsty,” the other soldier said.

 Sam was both, and if he was going to do anything to escape imprisonment, he needed energy. He slowly got to his feet. Paulgrave was already at the bars taking a drink. He broke off some bread and took a bite, but spit it right back out. He dropped the loaf at Sam’s feet. It was mold-infested.

 The guards laughed. “Come now, don’t make a fuss, pirate.”

 Sam’s stare caught the eye of one of the soldiers; the bigger of the two, with medium length scraggly brown hair. Sam’s face, half covered with his own black hair, held no emotion but for his eyes, which boiled with fire.

 The big soldier moved to the iron door. “What does it feel like to know you’re going to die?”

 Sam did not speak or move, just stared at the soldier.

 “Hanging is a torturous way to go; if your neck doesn’t break from the drop, it stretches to its limits. Then your eyes pop out of your skull, and you will bite off your own tongue. Piss and shit will run down your leg as your body kicks and jerks.” He turned and laughed with the other soldier. Like a light, Sam was at the cell door with his hands around the big man’s neck.

 He squeezed then yanked the soldiers face into the iron bars repeatedly. The other soldier standing by grabbed his fellow and pulled him from Sam’s grip. The beaten man fell loosely to the wood floor; blood covered his face, and gushed from his nose. For a moment, it looked as though Sam had killed him, until he groaned and spit up blood. The other soldier helped the big man to his feet and walked him out of the hold.

 “What have you done?” Paulgrave asked. “Cyprian’s going to kill you.”

 Sam shrugged. “He was already going to kill me.”

 “Not right here and now.”

 “He’s not going to kill me here. He would rather take me back to Boston and make a spectacle of me in front of Maria.”

 A line of six soldiers marched into the hold. One of them unlocked the cell door, and the others stormed in and grabbed Sam.

 “Be right back,” Sam said to Paulgrave as they pushed Sam out of the cell, and up to the top deck.

 The burning sun hit Sam’s eyes forcing them shut. He opened them intermittently as they adjusted to the light of day. His captors shoved him against the main mast and tied Sam’s hands high up on a protruding nail, back facing away. Sam was finally able to keep his eyes open. A crowd of men had gathered to watch, slaves apart from the rest of the crew. On their faces were a variety of expressions, most were in good spirits, as if ready to see a show. The slaves showed no expression.

 “Good to see you again, Sam,” Cyprian stood at Sam’s back.

 Sam tried to turn, but could not. “Afraid to look me in the eye Cyprian?”

 Sam’s head jerked backward as Cyprian grabbed his hair and pulled his face into view.

 “I’m going to enjoy every minute of this.” He pushed Sam’s head back against the pole, and then readied his whip.

 The first lash struck across Sam’s back with an enormous crack. A surge of violent pain rushed through his body. He lost his breath and gasped trying to regain it. The second crack was even more painful, and he felt droplets of blood run down his skin. Tears fell from Sam’s eyes, and sweat covered his body straining against such immense pain. Another crack and his back was a wash of blood and sweat.

 He looked around the slaves’ faces, and was shocked to see a familiar one. John Julian, the slave he had rescued from Nigel, stood with tears in his eyes. Another lash hit and Sam’s body trembled, but he managed to keep his eyes on John. Somehow, this distraction helped. The two stared at each other until Cyprian finished his twelve lashings. John had a look of empathy on his face, and Sam guessed that he had probably been in this same situation before. Maybe even in this same spot.

 Sam’s feet had given out in the middle of the barrage, and his hands were completely numb from the ropes cutting into his skin. Cyprian shouted orders, and a man cut his bindings, sending him crashing to the hard wood deck. More orders and two slaves helped Sam to his feet.

 “Hang on, my friend,” the man under his left shoulder whispered. Sam turned to see that it was John. He tried to talk, but could not utter a single sound. His body was weak, and the image of John faded to black.

 ***

 Paulgrave knelt at Sam’s side opening his eyes for the first time in two days. Sam tried to get up, but Paulgrave put his hand on Sam’s arm. “That’s not a good idea.”

 Sam got to his knees, and gasped. “I see,” he said as Paulgrave helped him back down.

 “The slave who helped you last night will be back later to tend to the wounds.”

 Sam nodded. “Paul?”

 “Yes?”

 “I have a tingling sensation all over my back.”

 Paulgrave lifted up a corner of the cheesecloth covering Sam’s back. There were many long grooves carved deep by Cyprian's whip. Inside each one, several maggots kept the wounds clean. “The slave applied medicine to your wounds. The tingling means it is working.”

“I need to speak to John; will you wake me when he returns?”

 "Who?" Paulgrave asked.

 "The slave who helped me," Sam said, looking at Paulgrave. "I’ll explain later."

 “Of course, now get some sleep.”

 Paulgrave put a cool hand on Sam’s face, covering his eyes, and just like that, he was asleep again.