A Slave Amongst Equals

The coat was hot and stank of stale sweat but she couldn't do anything about it. The seams were untrimmed and pressed into her sore skin as she was led through the forestry back towards the port, her house, her husband. She could not allow herself to be taken there, it was but one step to a prison for the insane. Alice decided to bide her time, there might be a chance to escape but only if the men were inattentive. So she relaxed and walked willingly with them across the hillside. Her shoulders were tender from sunburn and the heavy garment was most uncomfortable but she pretended not to notice.

When night began to fall the commander called a halt and the group rested in a small clearing near to a brook. Someone lit a fire and water was boiled, food was prepared. The bindings on her wrists were released to allow her to eat and she was handed a plate of sausage and bread. She noticed that two of her Negro friends who had been similarly captured were not allowed the freedom to eat. Not long afterwards people were settling down near to the babbling water to sleep where they lay.

She curled up under a bush and stealthily unfastened the coat. Once everyone was looking elsewhere she slowly rolled out of the garment and crept away through the gloom.

Stealthily, she tip-toed downhill between the trees. Every step took her further towards freedom, towards her baby. Then in the darkness, there was a crack of wood beneath her foot and a curse rang out behind her. Alice broke into a run once more.

Recklessly now, she rushed through the undergrowth. Branches scraped against her unprotected skin, a thorn cruelly scraped across her left breast but she shielded her eyes with a hand as she tried to restrain her heavy, flopping chest with her other arm. She fell into the stream and slipped onto her back, sliding down the mountainside. She was out of control, being washed crazily from side to side from gravel bed to bedrock with the current. At least she was moving swiftly away from the militia.

Then she crashed into a sharp rock that numbed a buttock before tumbling her around in rapids. Disorientated, she then found herself held by the flow against a crag as the shouts behind her gained ground.

Alice pushed back away from the rock, scrambled to her feet and onto a wet slippery rock. She peered around but there was nothing except darkness. The water was pouring over the edge of a cliff, there were pursuers behind her and only a life in a locked padded cell to look forward to. She stood on the precipice, took a deep breath and leapt into the black void.

She was free. Flying through the air like a bird, with the wind in her face. No clothes to flap in the wind, no more clamour behind. Even her breasts were weightless on her chest. Her descent was silent until she struck the water below. The impact knocked the stuffing out of her, the automatic gasp of her lungs stifled by the swirling, bubbling, deep, cold, beautiful water. Then she was washed up against a fallen tree trunk and as she instinctively hung on, coughing violently she realised that she was still alive, at liberty once more.

* * * *

When Ndulue returned from his patrol he found the camp in disarray. There had been a raid and Alice had been captured. This was frustrating; he had lost an opportunity to prove himself in battle. Omolade had escaped with the children by running into the forestry so even if Alice was lost, at least the babies were safe. How they could manage to feed them both though was worrisome, but hopefully, there was another woman in the camp who could assist.

Several people had been killed, the soldiers had fired their guns indiscriminately at men, women and children alike. Only a small number had actually been taken prisoner and Alice had obviously been treated differently because of her colour.

At last, he might have a decent night's sleep, he thought uncharitably. Alice was insatiable. Morning, noon and night - several times a night - she wanted sex. As soon as he fell asleep, she'd wake him again for another session. It was exhausting and he had found himself getting irritable. He even found himself struggling over the last fuck of the night - or the first of the day, whichever way he looked at it. His morning woody, normally so reliable was soon consumed.

A couple of times he had woken refreshed and found that Omolade had taken his place and was buried between her thighs. Lovely Omolade, always willing to help out when required. She wasn't jealous, it was normal and expected for a senior member of a tribe to have more than one wife. The first spouse always maintained superiority though, Alice would never be the one with the highest status. At least now he would be able to devote all of his efforts to his first love.

However two days later to his surprise Alice returned, having broken free from her captors. She was covered in scratches and bruises but had made it. He was quietly impressed, Alice may have fallen for his seduction but she had shown a determination to be with her child and had beaten overwhelming odds to achieve that aim. He may have underestimated this horny wife of an English gentleman.

The issue of how the children would be fed was relieved but the camp was no longer secure and would now be abandoned. The survivors were busy clearing land elsewhere and as those who had run away gradually returned, scouts led them to the new campsite. After some deliberation, Ndulue considered that a more permanent resolution had to be found.

As long as they remained on this small island this experience would be repeated until everyone was killed or recaptured, so he made his way down to the coast to try his luck with the ships that he had seen sheltering behind the headland. He had watched them during his spells on guard, at anchor with the crew in rowing boats fetching water in barrels. There seemed some reason why they couldn't do this in the port. Clearly these were not normal sailors.

He was in luck, there was a sloop at anchor in the bay. Quietly he observed the men, some of whom were ashore. They were dressed roughly, not like the usual white people. The barrels were being loaded as usual into a rowing boat and ferried to the small ship.

Ndulue took careful note of escape routes from the beach up the hillside in case he might need them, then warily stepped onto the sandy shore. Soon he was striking a deal with the man in charge; in return for general work during the passage, the crew would take Ndulue and his family away from that island. Their destination was unknown, these men were privateers, sailing the oceans freely.

So later they all climbed a rope ladder from the boat and boarded the vessel. By the end of the day, all that Ndulue, Omolade, Alice and the two children could see of the island was the top of the mountains showing over the horizon.

A space in the hold was allocated for their accommodation and they slept on bundles of sailcloth. The captain issued them all clothing, for protection against the colder winds of the oceans as much as for modesty. The adults were each given a pair of ill-fitting men's trousers, a jacket, and heavy sea-boots. The infants were given garments as would fit them; they were growing quickly and could now run and scamper about.

Alice and Omolade were tasked with helping with the preparation of the food in the galley and keeping watch, whilst Ndulue pulled on ropes as directed.

It was the first time that Alice had ever worked in a kitchen and now she found herself responsible for keeping a fire going, cleaning and other menial tasks whilst under the direction of her old house-slave.

Three days out they sighted a ship travelling in the opposite direction. The captain gave instructions for their vessel to approach the larger one, then suddenly a cannon was fired across its bows - certainly the loudest noise that Alice had ever heard by a considerable margin. She cowered at the sudden report whose effect was to make the trader suddenly stop. The sloop pulled alongside and some of the crew clambered across. Soon they were returning with cases of supplies whilst Alice watched, fascinated.

Long days passed, the sun stayed behind the ship and Alice found that she enjoyed standing in the bow of the vessel. As the prow dipped down, a cloud of spray from the waves splashed repeatedly over her body. Again and again, the bracing spume fell over her hair, flying in the wind. It was exhilarating and refreshing, and the noise blocked out all the thoughts of the future from her head.

It was pointless having soaked clothes so she always removed her borrowed garments, meagre as they were. Some of the crew gawked as her fine breasts rose and fell with the movement of the ship, shedding saltwater in the breeze but she was unconcerned at the attention and had even learned to enjoy it. It was amusing to feel the power that she had over the men who found such entertainment in their cheap thrill.

Her rear was now flawlessly tanned and shone in the bright sun. When she was done with the splashes she shook her golden hair free of the droplets, causing her chest to swing violently but she disregarded the open mouths and raised eyebrows of the watchers. She was not aware that they whispered 'hermit crab' amongst themselves whenever they glimpsed her clitoris peeking out.

As time went on Ndulue and Omolade were glad of their borrowed clothes; it was the first time that they had ever felt cold. Finally even Alice wore her coat whenever she was on deck and admitted that when the waves burst over the bow it was no longer refreshing but perishing.

Eventually they saw land again and found themselves following the coast. The weather in this region was distinctly chilly and the captain ordered a turn into a tree-lined inlet that he seemed to recognise but that Ndulue hadn't even noticed. The sloop was navigated up the narrow estuary with the assistance of some of the crew, who guided the vessel with ropes to keep it from running aground. A light rain was falling steadily and the men wore hoods manufactured from waxed canvas in a vain attempt to keep dry. When the coast was no longer visible through the trees, the anchor was dropped.

Ndulue led the others along a wooden plank to the shore, leaving the ship behind. They followed the muddy riverbank away from the coast of this strange land; Idaramfon and Maduka soon tired and had to be carried, but they had no other possessions apart from the few items of clothing that covered them.

Alice paused and leaned against a tree for a moment. Was it her imagination or were her breasts feeling even heavier than normal? Was she due for her period? It must have been several weeks now since her last one. She shrugged off the thoughts and continued along the river-bank.

After a time they came upon a township nestling in the valley. There were neatly painted wooden buildings, horses harnessed to carts and ladies wearing long dresses. It all seemed peaceful and familiar but was different, for the master of their vessel had assured them that in this place there were no slaves; everyone was free. Here they could make a life without fear of whips, branding irons and shackles. This would be a fine location to raise a family, even found a dynasty. Perhaps he would one day be presented with his own grandchild.

Ndulue looked at Alice who had a beaming smile on her face. He asked her what in particular made her happy and in reply, she pointed at the damp mist drifting through the trees on the hillside. Two words summed up her reason.

"Yorkshire weather."

* * * *

Postscript: An extract of an article published in the Territories And Island Gazette:

We have to report on two of the most curious incidents of recent times. It has come to our notice that this last week an English lady was found living with feral escaped slaves in the unmapped mountainous region at the North of this very island. A party of the militia had been engaged in routing Maroons and returning them to their rightful owners when they encountered the woman. She was living naked with the savages and appears to have convinced herself that she was a member of their tribe.

One of the militiamen told our reporter that he surmised at first that the woman may have been a quadroon, but later was astonished to ascertain that she was in fact English. She appears to have engaged in unnatural relations with the slaves and may have had as many as two children during the period that she had been residing there.

The woman was taken from a collection of mud huts with a view to being returned to civilisation but showed a clear propensity to return to the wilderness. Then before arrival back in Georgeport and even before her true name was verified, she bolted back to the hills. Despite a rescue attempt being immediately launched, she was not relocated and a search party has been dispatched to find her once again.

The other unsettling occurrence was reported by the master of the Caroline, a brig trading out of Bristol with a mixed cargo. This vessel was intercepted by pirates whilst approaching this island, a not uncommon event in these dangerous waters during these times. Once the outlaws had discharged a cannon at the vessel the master ordered an immediate submission in order to save the lives of those souls on board. As expected, the pirates boarded and helped themselves to provisions and a quantity of small arms before all continued their voyages without major harm being done. The interesting item of note being that one of the pirates was reported to be a European woman who was carelessly garbed with an open jacket, thus with her breasts most shamelessly displayed. The origin of this brazen female and the cause of her descent to a life of debauchery and crime is a mystery and a matter of conjecture for us all.

* * * *

Announcement of Sale:

The sale by auction of the splendid property known as 'Bellebay Plantation' including the house, 278 acres of fine quality cane, 115 slaves being a mixture of skilled and unskilled males and females, cabins, tools and equipment, and all manner of chattels too numerous and varied to list will take place next Saturday at the dockside flagpole at Georgeport to begin at 10 o'clock of the morning sharp.

This liquidation of the estate is subsequent to the tragic passing of the owner Mr. Henry Hetherington-Smythe who (our regular readers will recall) recently took his own life in unclear circumstances. The benefit of the sale to be Mr. George Hetherington-Smythe of Harrowgate England, brother of the deceased.

* * * *