Rough Passage to London(116)

“Do you hear that, Taylor? They’re starting to squeak with pleasure in anticipation of their feast. They can smell the grease. I reckon there are scores of rats in this ship. We’re going to leave you here now, alone, so you can meet your new friends.”

The blindfolded man struggled spasmodically to get free of the rope that bound him to the chair. Even with the gag, he was making terrible sounds as he tried to scream. Within minutes, a dozen rats appeared and began crawling over his body, starting at his feet and working their way up to his face, squeaking and snarling as they gorged themselves. Their bodies and tails wiggled and twisted as they happily bit into the man’s slushy face, his head, and open neck. Taylor’s body was in convulsions. He grunted and heaved, struggling to breathe as he tried to shake off his attackers.

Soon the man’s face and arms were covered with squirming and squeaking rodents, hungrily nipping and tearing into the exposed flesh. After five minutes of listening to his muffled screams, Morgan reappeared, swatting away the rodents, kicking the persistent ones that were reluctant to leave their feast. He pulled off the man’s gag. Taylor screamed, loud and long, his body still twitching with terror.

“Mercy. Have mercy,” he gasped. “It was Blackwood. He told me to do it,” cried out the still-blindfolded man. “For the love of God, set me free.”

At the mention of Blackwood’s name, Morgan was silent. He still made no move to untie the man or remove the blindfold.

“Is he the one giving you opium?”

“He promised me if I did this one job for him I could spend my days chasing the dragon.”

Morgan glared at Taylor.

“Why? Why are you doing this?”

“Have mercy, Captain. The pipe is the only thing that helps me. Liquor was my salvation at first, but then I fell into the terrors and I began having horrible visions. Then I heard voices. They wouldn’t stop. The pipe gave me a way to forget. When I smoke the voices go away.”

“Where is Blackwood?” Morgan asked sharply. He pulled off the blindfold. Taylor’s eyes blinked rapidly as he tried to adjust to his surroundings.

“I don’t know. He finds me. I don’t find him.”

Morgan slowly took a Havana cigar out of his pocket, rolling it in his mouth. He picked up the lantern and lit it. After the first puff, he began speaking in a more strident voice.

“Well, Taylor, you are not leaving this ship until you tell me what you alone know. What happened to my brother all those years ago? He was your friend and you betrayed him. I already know that the Charon was a slave ship. Most of the crew were blind and the captain was losing his eyesight. Abraham was put in the hold. Why? Did he die there?”

Taylor looked shocked, but said nothing, lowering his head at first as if refusing to speak. His hands were noticeably trembling as he began speaking slowly with great hesitation.

“We were in the middle of the Atlantic. The captain ordered the hatches battened down. Those Africans in the lower hold got no air, only a little bit of hard biscuit thrown down at them. No one wanted to go down into that dark cavern. It reeked of sickness and death. Blackwood and his mate, Tom Edgars, we called him Big Red, they were having a discussion about what to do. Blackwood ordered us to get those sick Negroes up on deck. He kept telling Abraham and me that we Yankee seal pups needed to get to know the ship’s cargo. He would laugh and tell us, ‘Learn the trade, boys. Ye ’ave to learn the skill of handlin’ black ebony.’”

Taylor paused as he gulped several times and pulled nervously at his stringy, dirty hair.

“It was too awful a sight to look at. Most of them Africans were infected, their eyes already crusty and closed. They were diseased. They couldn’t see. The women were moaning and shrieking. Blackwood took a whip to them, prodding the noisy ones in their privates. ‘That’s ’ow ye make ’em respect yer,’ he said. They were all manacled together, chains clanking away on their ankles and their wrists. He separated the healthier ones, but kept them up on deck. He summoned Abraham over and told him to shackle all two hundred slaves who were going blind to the anchor hawse line.”

“He did what?” Morgan asked, his voice shocked and horrified.

“Abraham refused. Blackwood grabbed him and picked him up by the neck. ‘Ye follow orders ye Yankee pig-dog,’ he said. Those were his very words, Captain. Then it got worse.”

Taylor looked up at Morgan with pleading eyes.

“Go on,” said Morgan coldly as he braced himself for gruesome details he knew he didn’t want to hear.

“He threw your brother down on the deck and drew his clenched fist back and slammed it into his face, telling him to crawl on his knees like an animal. ‘Filthy Guinea lover,’ he called him. Abraham struggled, but Blackwood kicked him and then brought out a rope with a knot at the end of it and started to beat and thrash him until he passed out. He fell flat on the deck. Blackwood ordered two of the men to take Abraham below deck and lock him in the hold.”