Cottonblood: An American Saga

By S.P. Zelinsky

Excerpt from Chapter Two ‘Some secrets keep well’

Subsequently, this afforded the titan Fergus Mackinac the ability to mask his sanctuary in Slave Trading. Although by this time his level of participation could be categorized as that of a minor player, non-the less, it still proved to be a very lucrative enterprise.

Fact was, after the Revolutionary War, the laws that passed throughout the northern states abolishing slavery only meant that Fergus chose to suppress his involvement even further. Between 1763-67 Colonial America had established the Mason-Dixon line, as a demarcation boundary defining the North from the South. Later, termed as ‘free’ Pennsylvania and that of ‘slave’ Delaware and Maryland. While the nation was polarizing Fergus preferred to capitalize, as many did, by operating both sides. As a respectable northern capitalist of considerable rank afforded him the invisibility he favored while stuffing his slave ships with African captives.

For this endeavor, he partnered with Odin Kydd, a vicious bole of a man from Tennessee who once teamed-up with Davy Crockett in Spanish-Florida during the War of 1812.

(Historical fiction)

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.P. Zelinsky
• Release date: Aug 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9780998195605

Book preview

Prologue

Since its inception, the wheel has thrust humans forward by harnessing the power of the horse. This majestic beast would slowly be challenged early in the 19th century by steam and eventually it would lead to the decline of hard labor as the primary means of advancement. Steam-powered machines would not only expand industry into new boundaries in the west, but it would also enable speeds never before imagined.

This story begins at that pivotal point of America's life when many found profit by the sweat of others. In the early 1800s, during the Antebellum period, America's vastness was expanding at a pace never before met on the hemisphere.

The East coast had established itself as an expanding frontier by utilizing its natural waterways. Thereby intensifying many through appendixes, which vastly improved the system with greater efficiency. By utilizing extraordinary engineering skills America was now able to serve the world's commerce.

This young nation with alluring magnetism had created a matchless governing structure that drew the attention of pining souls from across two oceans. It had meteorically become the place where dreamers from afar would find passage and begin anew with prosperity being their goal.

There were two northern ports, which nature had ideally shaped as imminent hubs for commerce. New York; with its major finance center, matched capitalists and industry to organize the ways and means to feedstuff the country's hunger for expansion, and Boston; the buckle of New England's ship building industries. Together these cities would anchor the nation's unprecedented growth. Over the previous 100 years Boston's magnetic history drew many trade and service immigrants from abroad. Sail and Rope makers, ships' plumbing and the provisioning of vessels with Blacksmiths and Ship smiths delivering the metal works and fittings. Woodcarvers created figureheads and decorative features that adorned ships, while companies of chandler profited greatly as competition mounted. At that time the growth of American shipping was without parallel in the commercial world. By having a vast supply of New England Oak available in such close proximity rendered the cost of building ships the wise choice. An example: a ship built of New England oak would cost twenty-four dollars per ton; a similar ship built of fir along the Baltic coast would cost thirty-five dollars per ton. Or, a vessel made of expensive live oak and cedar would cost thirty-six to thirty-eight dollars per ton. Whereas a similar vessel made of oak in England, France, or Holland would cost fifty-five dollars to sixty dollars per ton.

By utilizing the predominant ports of the north: Norwich, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and moving south along the Atlantic to Norfolk, Charleston, and Savannah was where the future Boston magnate, Fergus Mackinac would conduct business.

Born in 1770, he was christened Jacques Talbot out of Sault Ste. Marie. By his sixth birthday he had asked his father Simon, a French fur trapper, and Meoquanee his Chippewa mother not to use Jacques any longer. He favored to be called Jake. Their only son had also acquired a ferocious appetite; grew tall and bulky. By his fourteenth year he had inherited his father's fierce temper, which was verified when he stabbed to death a stranger. He took a skinning blade to the man who was attempting to rob some of his father's traps. As a hunter Simon thought Jake's action was justified but might not fare well at any provincial trial. To avoid arrest, and on Simon's coaxing, the red-haired teen would bid an immediate farewell to Sault Ste. Marie and was off to find his way.

Jake jumped aboard the first French Barque freighter that was hiring. Within a week the young, stout cabin boy with the oversized weathered hands had been promoted to 'deck hand'. Moving cargo on and off at the fur-trading post known as Detroit. During guard duty, Jake was handed a Blunderbuss to ward off any marauding Indian parties. The Iroquois Confederacy had dominated the region for decades and favored trading with the English while resisting the French.

The five Iroquois nations, embodying themselves as 'the people of the longhouse,' they were the Seneca, Onondaga, Cayuga, Oneida, and Mohawk. However, over time, many French-Canadian traders were dealing with the tribes of the Six Nations (the Tuscarora had joined later).

DURING THE COURSE OF THE FIRST YEAR Jake found his way to New Brunswick, then Nova Scotia, and began enjoying the life of a seaman. He had gotten to meet many a character in his expanded journeys aboard an array of trading vessels sailing south—in and out of the New England ports. All the while making sure to assist all the ships' cooks by performing favors like hauling trash, thus assuring sufficient helpings upon his tin. During an earlier excursion, he decided it would be beneficial to change his name so that his murderous deed could never be tracked back to him.

At twenty, as an accomplished seadog aboard the Galliot, he was going by the name Fergus Mackinac. Having borrowed Fergus from the cook and Mackinac from an obscure island located off the northern coast of Michigan. In addition, Fergus had an uncanny gift for picking out certain idiosyncrasies of how Canadians versus Americans enunciated the English language. As a result, none would easily detect this brawny bloke as anyone other than a tough Yank finding his way.

Nonetheless young Mackinac had dreams and was rapidly tiring of the continuance of sea life and sought change. Seeking a place with solid ground, where they built these magnificent vessels. Subsequently when making landfall at Portsmouth the decision was made. It would be there, in New Hampshire that destiny took hold, and a new life would begin.

CHAPTER ONE

It's here for the taking

IN 1787 two unrelated events took place. The first was in Philadelphia, where the United States Constitution would be signed. The second involved a Danish immigrant bachelor, Jarl Thorsten, who had chosen Portsmouth as the location for his shipbuilding venture. As the sole proprietor Jarl set upon establishing a reasonably large works that would prosper handsomely. His goal: build better vessels than the others operating throughout New England.

This hardened woodman was a master-builder, and a skinflint when it came to costs and wagers... especially with labor. He was shrewd at pillaging regional builders for their best, and most sought-after carpenters. Replicating that of their ancient Viking relatives—for Jarl it was the hearty Danes. His methods were sound and proved successful. He would bring to camp any and all loved ones that his craftsmen desired. And to sweeten the offer they would be allowed to erect cabins in the hillside near the yards for individual use.

The concept worked to Jarl's benefit. He had his main talent living within a stone toss of the operation where he could control them best. He also rounded out the work force with a dozen local Indians, and twenty or so negroes. Jarl Thorsten took full advantage of hiring negroes who never had been slaves or others who escaped the South and had made their way up to New England seeking work. All Jarl did was concentrate on methods to expand the business—for he lived simply with minimal help. There was the childless Swedish couple, Ingvar and Magda Hansen that took care of Jarl's house and his plentiful stables. He owned eight teams of Belgian Drafts bred for heavy pulling and proved excellent at hoisting timbers out from the forests and around the mills. In a separate stable he housed the four-prized Morgan's he imported from abroad at a premium price. In time he grew to appreciate his excessive investment and was amply rewarded with the stud monies his Arabian stallion 'Midnat' brought.

Two years later Jarl, a practicing Episcopalian, met a lovely young girl at a dinner party hosted by the church. Cupid's arrow struck Jarl that night. And, in a month, he married his newfound angel Helena, daughter of one of his shipyards master carpenters. She was petite, just an inch above five feet. This fragile asthmatic girl of fifteen brought with her nothing but sunshine and happiness. With marriage Jarl's persona had changed to such a degree that all took notice of his perpetual grin. And when Helena told Jarl of her pregnancy, Jarl's joy was nearly euphoric. The house and staff would be enlarged; carpenters were called in for alterations. Four new bedrooms would be needed. The roof was also lifted to accommodate two living quarters in the attic. One for the cook and his housekeeper's wife; another exclusively to quarter a midwife. The two other bedrooms bordering their bedroom were meant to accommodate any future children. All had to be completed as the day of delivery neared. Over the following months happiness filled the Thorsten residence.

That was until the second night of 1890, when a full moon shone through the cloudy sky and screams rang out. Helena was hemorrhaging. The midwife burst into the bedroom and after examining Helena she found that the baby had breached. Get more light in here! The midwife had taken charge. Jarl was in the hall when the Hansen's appeared on the landing—Magda holding an oil lamp alongside Ingvar.

Ingvar, hurry! Get more lamps quickly. Jarl turns to Magda, There's blood everywhere. Please, go in and help.

Jarl remained stationary, his eyes darting left and right as Magda scurries pass toward the screams.

A minute later she's headed for the stairs. Oh my God, oh my God. The Missus... I need to get water and cloths.

The screaming went on for more than twenty minutes then silence. Jarl and Ingvar looked at one another when they heard a baby crying. The men smiled and hugged. Seconds later the new cook exited with the child, a daughter, wrapped in linen. Jarl was focused on the baby while Ingvar noticed the cook's eyes. She was motioning with head movements that they were needed inside. The midwife was applying cold compresses, and cleaning up as best she could, as Jarl took a firm hold of Helena's hand. He barely heard the words through the labored wheezing. Jarl promise me; you'll name her Lillian... after my mother.

Yes, my love, she will be Lillian.

HELENA'S WAKE lasted a week giving Tess, Jarl's only sibling, enough time to navigate up from Providence. After the burial a morbid loneness set in and Jarl locked himself in the bedroom. For two whole days Tess attempted to talk to him from the hall. All that was uttered was that she take his infant daughter back to Rhode Island and raise her as her own. Helena's passing turned Jarl into a semi-recluse. Emotionally he withdrew completely from most communal concerns.

It took a couple of years for him to regain his mental equilibrium and again function—but only halfheartedly. He never stopped attending services, praying privately among empty pews. The entire congregation let him mourn alone. Aside from annual visits from Tess, with her extended family, Jarl paid little attention to his daughter until she reached her third year. It was then, at her annual visit that the invisible veil of mourning that had shrouded his emotions, vanished. He was in awe of this tiny likeness of his lost love. That visit instantly turned into a celebration for all. For Jarl a renewed brightest entered his soul. In that moment it was decided that Lilly would remain with her father.

NOVEMBER 1808 — Twelve years had passed when Lillian returned from a ten-month European sabbatical. The elite finishing school was located in the French canton of Switzerland. With the change of culture, Lilly had matured, and a new demeanor seemed to embrace her conduct. She loved her time abroad and hadn't missed home much especially that uncouth, non-practicing Catholic brute Fergus. During the previous three years Fergus had worked his way up from an apprentice carpenter to foreman by exerting brute force. Fergus was an intimidator. A trait Jarl recognized and had found value in whenever workman problems surfaced. Fergus' rapid elevation at the Thorsten Ship Works was evident once he proved he could handle himself. Especially with the assistance of that ever-present leather sheathed blackjack. A good portion of the robust labor force took to carrying blades and flasks, so his persuader came in handy— principally if the rowdy was of mammoth size. Fergus would slide his bare hand through its wrist strap that hung from his back pocket and extract it in a flash. He wielded it like a gunslinger would his sidearm. Once he ordered the latest knocked-out removed, the work of the day, which was shipbuilding, resumed. Every so often a glance by a new worker of the wrist strap protruding from Fergus' back pocket would prove plenty that he mind-his-keep, or else?

Lilly absolutely loved horses and the joys and liveliness of equestrian life. Although highly allergic to a multitude of things—the hay in the barns were not one. During her visits to Providence with Aunt Tess and cousin Clara, the trio would frequently ride the hilly northwest sector beyond the estate. On special occasions, unbeknownst to the foxhunters, they would follow far enough behind yet capture the excitement of the chase. Lilly was very strong minded in many ways— definitely a family trait, much like Aunt Tess. Once she set her mind to something it would develop into a goal. She soon focused and did not hide her infatuation with Fergus.

Once, shortly after lunch was taken, she strolled up to Fergus in the yard and invited him to go horseback riding. As the proprietor's daughter she was still taking a chance on rejection considering his responsibilities to the job. But no, the invitation would only be postponed until Sunday next.

Her forwardness came as no surprise to Fergus, though twenty years her senior, he possessed keen desires for Lilly and she had seen his clues peek out. It wasn't but a few days after her return from abroad that he began hanging around the stables. Acting his foreman role, ordering Ingvar around as if he were a greenhorn at the chores. It didn't bother the Swede . he caught the gleam in Fergus' eyes. So, he simply smiled while picturing Magda's contour in his mind.

None of Lilly's flirtatious behavior escaped her father. Jarl wasn't that old to recognize their interactions. Plus, those casual conversations he had with Magda fortified the fact that he could expect a visit from his foreman soon.

Asking for Lilly's hand did occur, and Jarl was shocked when it came. Not so much as to when, but where Fergus approached him. It was before services on Sunday. Surprise would have best described Jarl's reaction to his yard foreman that morning. For Fergus was neither a churchgoer or by any stretch a Beau Brummel. However, there he stood in black suit and a meticulously tied linen cloth about his throat. Both new and very uncomfortable. Jarl held the temptation to laugh while turning to his daughter who was simply nodding while Fergus reached back for a hankie. In doing so Jarl spots the leather handle and says, It's time to lose that persuader.

Fergus was 39, Lilly a sweet 19 when they wed right after the 1809 New Year. Followed by a honeymoon spent in a new luxurious house. It was grand by Portsmouth standards— Jarl's gift had become the talk of the town.

As fate would have it less than a year later Lillian was nearing the delivery of their first child when tragedy struck. Climbing a ladder to inspect his newest Clipper's corking a sudden pain seized Jarl's chest. Falling backwards he was dead before his body met the ground. As might be expected the death stunned everyone and none more cruelly then Lillian. For now, she would inherit Jarl's entire fortune including the timberland properties up in northern corridor of Maine and two shipyards. Expectedly, it would be husband Fergus who will now be running operations.

The shock of losing her dear father had brought Lillian much duress and a premature natal. One month earlier than expected she miraculously found the strength to deliver twin sons. First came Vaughn, followed three minutes later by Aaron—proving 1810 to be a laden year, one to never forget.

At first managing had proved hectic for Fergus, yet by the spring of '26 he had a firm grip on both the operations of shipbuilding and the handling of profits. Slowly, Fergus proved himself up to the task of leadership. Enshrining not only his father-in-law's means and methods, but his own 'no-nonsense' reputation of enforcing uniformity.

SOON AFTER the twins fourth birthday Lillian had decided that the time had come for a serious talk with Fergus about their sons' education. Portsmouth's commerce had grown rapidly and had taken on the aura of gruffness—it was time for a change. Thorsten holdings had prospered under her husband's leadership and she desired a nobler city, one of superior social enrichments for her boys. She would demand they move to Boston if for no other reason than to take advantage of that city's institutes of higher learning. Lillian wanted the boys to find their own destiny—maybe medicine— or high finance, but certainly not 'ship building'. Besides her father's nephew Hugh Thorsten was a graduate of Harvard and had managed everything Thorsten for two years—plus the company now had offices in Boston. Surely that would be enough to persuade Fergus that a move would be prudent for the family. However, that discussion hadn't happened for Fergus was rarely present. Immediately after Christmas he took off saying there was new pressing business that needed his attendance. Lately his traveling was becoming more recurrent. Often up and back, hugging the Atlantic coast, with Savannah being the location he most haunted.

Lillian had distant cousins that she would often exchange letters with. In March a letter arrived from Agatha, her cousin twice removed, begging her to bring the boys to Boston for a visit where that side of the family resided. She wrestled with the invitation for two weeks until Fergus abruptly rolled in as she was about to take dinner. After soup was served, she mentioned Agatha's letter to him and waited for a reaction.

Good! Was his immediate response while lifting his mug and swigging a gulp. Sounds like a great idea. Why don't you take her up on it? With a firm thud he slams the mug down and begins sawing the next chunk from his steak. Chomping away as Lillian ponders his response he suddenly lifts his knife adding, I've also been thinking about Boston. Putting the knife down he lifts the mug, Maybe we should move there? A smile creases Lillian's mouth lifting the napkin from her lap to conceal her expression. You know the boys are close to school age and. well, they're going to need better than what is offered here. What do you say to that dear wife?"

The timing was right, for Thorsten was no longer building ships solely for others. They had aggressively expanded to shipping which involved both importing and exporting. This progress developed into a great success and over the past three years Fergus was now operating his own fleet. It was time to change the companies' name to reflect the growth and success to Thorsten Enterprises.

CHAPTER TWO

Some secrets keep well

HIS FLEET grew and was readily able to accommodate the great demand. Fergus Mackinac's fortune amplified by transporting tobacco and cotton in three-mast Barques up and down the east coast, and eventually across the Atlantic.

Next, after concurring with the shipyard's builder that his 'well-appointed' Clipper would prove to be a desirable success, Fergus then ordered a line of them built. He then instructed his chief architect to duplicate its design with some minor modifications. They were all to be comfort-fitted and made enticing, specifically to attract the social elite from the major ports of Europe. The Clippers staterooms would be large and comfortable all resembling the type expected on the pleasure yachts of the day. Each would have two fully furnished saloons—one for each gender. Thus, satisfying the gentlemen, who were the spenders, with the same luxury they would expect at their Men's Clubs—only now relaxing at-sea.

Aside from the master suite all other compartments were to be 'interchangeable' in order to personalize the passenger catalog for each sailing. This meant that several of the rooms could be 'customized', and furnishings altered to suit the sexes. The women's quarters were entirely distinct from that of the men. A mother/daughter pair would have lace curtains covering the portholes, a dressing table with a large mirror, possibly an additional gaslight, and their towels and sheets proved softer and smoother. For the affording gent who might be making the voyage alone—a 'bachelor suite' equipped with humidor, cut crystal ashtrays, and most certainly an expandable bed for the longer or larger male frame. Word spread quickly that if you were crossing the Atlantic you must book on one of Mackinac's hotel ships. These luxuries commanded higher fares.

Fergus' ships sailed on schedule when they had loaded enough cargo to justify a voyage—mainly from spring through summer. Immigrant travelers choosing other company vessels could be delayed days waiting for their hulls to fill. Life aboard those ships for immigrants was much harsher and sometimes deadly. Ship owners would jam as many people as they could on board to maximize profits while very little government oversight existed to ensure they received proper care during the voyage. Back in 1803, the Passenger Vessel Act in Britain limited occupancy to one person per two tons of the ship's register. Later on, America issued stricter laws limiting ships to a 'one-to-five' ratio with fines levied should an overcrowded ship arrive at port. From that point on Fergus Mackinac began to gobble up entire transporting companies, line-by-line, all around Europe. Restoring those that needed attention and instituting a more modern fleet that displayed his colors, so it would be recognized in any port. His name was associated with luxury and recognized widely as the carrier of choice.

WITH THE EARLIER introduction of the Cotton Engine, America's processing methods had increased fivefold. Making cotton the country's chief export product. Whitney's invention of the Cotton-Gin provided a much more proficient way to produce and harvest cotton, and with this abundance of cotton more hands were needed—inadvertently proliferating the slave trade, which had been on the wane. His device had transformed the American economy. Smaller Gins could be cranked by hand; larger ones could be powered by a horse and, later, thanks to Robert Fulton, by a Steam Engine. Whitney's hand-cranked machine could remove the seeds from 50 pounds of cotton in a single day. Although the cotton gin made cotton processing less labor-intensive, it helped planters earn greater profits, prompting them to develop larger crops, which in turn required additional workers. Because slavery was the cheapest form of labor, cotton farmers simply acquired more slaves to toil the expanded fields.

None of this plagued the magnate's mind. For the titan Mackinac, his fleet of Clippers had elevated his status within the exclusive class of Atlantic shipping. Aiding that position was the acquisitions of half of his competitors.

Subsequently this afforded Fergus the ability to mask his sanctuary in Slave Trading. Although by this time his level of participation could be categorized as that of a minor player, non-the-less, it still proved to be a very lucrative enterprise.

Fact was, after the Revolutionary War, the laws that passed throughout the northern states abolishing slavery only meant that Fergus chose to suppress his involvement even further. Earlier, the powers-that-be had established the Mason-Dixon line, as that distinct boundary of free' Pennsylvania and that of 'slave' Delaware and Maryland. Nevertheless, while the nation was polarizing Fergus preferred to capitalize, as many did, by operating both sides. As a respectable northern capitalist of considerable rank afforded him the invisibility he favored while stuffing his slave ships with African captives.

For this endeavor he partnered with Odin Kydd, a vicious bole of a man from Tennessee who once teamed-up with Davy Crockett in Spanish-Florida during the War of 1812. Crockett served as a sergeant, Odin a corporal and an expert knife wielder—fighting side-by-side until 1815. Odin was branded for his accuracy with both knife and tomahawk. He once split a man's skull using his tomahawk from a distance of twenty yards. He earned the moniker 'My Butcher'... a title bestowed on him by Crockett himself.

Seemed as though Odin was destining for slave mastering. His captives couldn't run from his special brand of brutality. He possessed a hatred for anyone born brown or red skinned. Kydd brought that hatred with him into the war of 1812 fighting 'them Indian savages'. That aside, he also fulfilled the role of chief purchaser when at Bissau, Sierra Leone or Dakar.

Loading the cache aboard one of Fergus' customized slave ships, which were built of various sizes—each serving explicit requirements to maximize profits. The largest, termed 'tight packing', was fitted to hold 388 adults and 53 children—while the few lesser-sized 'loose packing' vessels were capable of transporting about 150 of human cargo. Those ships were primarily used for higher-paying plantation owners who demanded the healthiest stock, free of all disease.

Occupancy Laws for maritime travel would change. Later, the U.S. Congress outlawed slave trading. Like most slave traders, neither Mackinac nor Kydd chose to take heed.

Puerto Rico and Haiti were the primary islands in the Caribbean dealing in the auctioning of slaves—many were allotted for the harvesting of sugar throughout Central and South America. A typical printed; posted announcement of an upcoming auction would be hung along public thoroughfares:

TO BE SOLD

On Wednesday the fifth day of October next,

A CARGO OF SEVENTY-THREE

Healthy, Prime NEGROES JUST ARRIVED!

Consisting of Thirty-two Men, Fourteen Women,

and Twenty Girls from Bissau, Sierra Leone and Dakar.

In the meantime, the next major commodity was starting up in Costa Rica. Dozens of plantations were dedicated solely to growing coffee beans and were drawing American attention.

'Backra' was the hushed word slaves used describing men like Kydd. Who, on his own, had established two carefully chosen alternate ports of entry for his cargo when sailing west. The less profitable of the two was Freeport. It would be chosen only if, he lost too many captives to sickness during the voyage. The competition was fierce. Bidding clashes amongst the larger brokers prevented the usual pricing to sink lower, so profits suffered. Freeport worked fine for the volume of trade he and Fergus had undertaken—however Odin preferred another location. That of Big Tybee Island, hugging the coast of Georgia. Tybee was the word for 'salt' that the native Euchee used for the vast contents that covered the island.

Plain to site from miles out at sea was its Lighthouse, which was built in 1736 during Georgia's early settlement period. Its position, near the mouth of the Savannah River made the islands northern tips an ideal location. The tower was constructed of brick and wood and stood 90 feet tall, making it the highest structure in America at that time. Neighboring the lighthouse was an abandoned fort, built a century earlier by the Spanish. The locale proved the most lucrative for filling larger quotas demanded by the southern plantation owners.

In less than a decade Fergus, with Kydd isolated in the shadows, had taken Thorsten Enterprises into dark waters. The profits were too prodigious not to reap. They had a perfect partnership dealing in the brown-money trade. Kydd enjoyed his built-in barbarism, while Mackinac swaggered around in custom-tailored clothing. Odin preferred handling sharp-edged objects while Fergus' possessed the acrid tongue.

Not long after docking on Tybee Island Kydd, and his crew of twenty, slaughtered the remaining Euchee Indians and took over the site. The grounds outside the fort doubled as a burial ground for the slaves that hadn't survived the voyage due to disease or had died after arrival. It suited their operation well as a temporary depot. Their assets were held at the fortification, and at the appropriate time marched several miles across a bridge, built for that very purpose, and on to Queen Island for auction. Though larger than the less profitable Freeport, Kydd had chosen Queen instead of Puerto Rico or Haiti simply because it functioned in the shadows as a lesser than central conduit that also had a reputation of attracting adventurers. Men like Henri Caesar, also known as 'Black Caesar', the legendary Haitian pirate of the time.

On September 12th of 1818, Fergus Mackinac's operation down Savannah way would take a mighty hit. After docking, upon its return trip from Africa, the vessel Wolfhound carrying 366 on to Tybee Island, a rebellion broke out led by a fifteen-year-old slave named Kissi Koofrey. He and his small band overpowered and killed the Backra holding the keys. They then dragged Odin, into the foliage yards from the fort and strangled him using their chains. Kydd's body lay near the barn and was buried that night after a search for the culprits failed—the killers had vanished. The next morning all but one was captured and hung. After all, how far could a naked fifteen-year-old negro with wrist and ankle manacles ramble before being discovered?

This murderous and rebellious act had to have been an offshoot of the incident week's prior at sea. Midway across the Atlantic the same group of five attempted to free themselves by prying out the iron clamp that held fast their ankle shackles. The tool, a spike extracted from a soggy rotted rib beam. It came from below the racking where the cargo was confined. When the gnawed area was discovered, brutal whippings commenced. The deck guard ordered fresh lashings to be applied over the existing slashings. Their cries of agony paid no concern to Captain Odin Kydd. Applying the whip unmercifully, eventually lashing the ringleader to death. His beaten body sagged absent of breath, followed by his executioner dropping to the deck on one knee exhausted. The others miraculously lived from lesser lashings administered by another who was instructed to: Lay hard, but not to death.

Upon arrival, the warden of the fort, a fella named Strauss, immediately dispatched the company's fastest Braque. Half loaded with cotton bails, it was to sail north on the next high tide, to notify Fergus of the horrific incident resulting in the slaughter of his partner Odin.

TWENTY HOURS LATER, and many miles south, a naked teenager falls to the sand under a large grove of trees just yards from the ocean. The sand burnt his skin but it barely registered. for he wasn't sure if his beating heart would stay put. Feverous and terrified, Koofrey's drained skeletal frame would be safe by simply lying there absorbing the sounds of the gulls and waves. He closed his eyes and after a minute or, so his hurried breathing subsided, but his stomach began to gurgle. Stretched out, resting on his back, he lifted his eyelids a tad and saw red berries hanging from the Yaupon Holly shrubs above. Hunger overtook him and swiftly as he reached upward his chains clanked.

WHO'S IN THERE?

The voice speaking foreign words startled Koofrey. Dropping the berries, he instantly turned on all four and scampered deeper into the grove—crouching low hidden among the Palmettos. He alertly scanned left, right and behind for the fastest possible escape route. Not knowing he had reached Cabbage Island: also known as Little Tybee—a large appendage of Tybee, only accessible by crossing a river.

His head stopped twisting when he heard, No good will come to you hiding in there. It be best if you come on out.

The voice was mellow, not like his stern, ever bellowing, captors had constantly brandished.

Come on out from there youngster... it's safe.

Koofrey didn't comprehend what the words meant, but the voice sounded old like his grandfather causing his breathing to slow a bit. He leaned forward on his palms and peered about to find a slot that would reveal the stranger.

There, small and dark, like old... like Babu.

The fisherman was shabby in appearance; his broad brimmed hat shadowed his eyes. There'd be no basis for Koofrey to comprehend that negroes here spoke as clearly as this old man. Fact was that most didn't, nor few knew how to read the written word. The difference here was that this dark-skinned Jamaican had been taught to read and write by Missionaries as a child.

There, standing barefooted in the hot sand, was an educated negro holding on to his bamboo pole and bucket bent at the waist. He spoke, I know who you are boy, because of you being bare assed. Remaining slightly bent, the old man crab steps forward and motions with his hand, Come on out from them scrubs... away from those 'sqeetas before they eat you alive. Come out from there boy. Straightening upright the fisherman tilts his head to one side—then bends forward once again... hand extended, patiently waiting.

The naked one isn't moving a muscle, just breathing and squinting hard scanning his area, watching the old fisherman standing in the hot sand. The voice is friendly, but what tongue does he speak?

Look a here. Setting the pole and bucket down he pulls a fish from the bucket, it's the size of a child's foot. Then sidestepping toward some large plants, he breaks a leaf off and moves toward Koofrey. Placing the fish on the leaf, he then sets the coupling on to the sand. See here. this is for you boy. I'd bet you're having a hunger and a thirst about now? The old man withdraws backwards to his gear, I'll be going now? Retrieving his pole, he extends the bucket outward adding, I live yonder, in that there shack with the thatched roof. Then shrugging his shoulders, turns and walks away. I have drinking water over there boy.

CHAPTER THREE

Entering the Metropolis

CHARLESTOWN, September 26th. It's been two weeks since Odin's demise. Before leaving the Kydd residence Fergus had accomplished what his visit was intended to do. First was to communicate a revised version of his partner's death to the toughened widow Lou-Issa Lafon-Kydd. Also present in the parlor were all her six children—four boys, and twin girls.

Over the nine years since the oldest birth, Fergus and Zayne's relationship had developed into an uncle-nephew like bond—maybe it was because of the way the youngster would mimic Odin. Whatever it was that coaxed Fergus he felt financially responsible for the Kydd's. Making that second point clear and receiving a kiss on his cheek from the indebted widow, Fergus left.

Lou-Issa came from a family of eight down New Orleans way. She and Odin met there after his service in Florida had ended. Lou-Issa preferred to keep her southern customs up here in Yankee Land. It was Odin's stronger will that provoked the decision to move and stay close to the moneymaking Fergus. Though she didn't much take to northern ways she did enjoy her sizeable Townhouse and the vegetable garden encased in that greenhouse out back where she and her tiny daughters tinkered. Apart from those factors Lou-Issa made damn sure to graft her rebellious attitude into all her children—especially her sons Zayne, Trevor, Yates, and Blade. The twin girls being the youngest of her brood would remain shy and fearful.

THE WEATHER AROUND NOON remained quite pleasant. A puff of wind blew down Winthrop Street in front of Mackinac Manor, which comprised the entire frontage of the way.

Three years earlier Fergus had made a special trip to Boston for the purpose of acquiring property on which his Mansion be built. During that trip he was drawn to the grandeur of the State House set above Beacon, and the lesser yet vital, Federal Street Theater. Once discovering the designer, he set out to personally persuade famed Boston architect Charles Bulfinch to take on a commission to design an imposing residential project that he and his family would be proud to inhabit. Both parties agreed on the fees and the timetable set once the property's deed and title were secured. All work was completed on time, as scheduled, and to Mackinac's glee the Mansion became the talk of Charlestown.

The staff of maids and cooks were made up exclusively of Irish emigrants. Not a single Italian was considered. Fergus hated the greasy breed that carried shives and loved to use them. No, the Irish were his choice, for they would settle disagreements with batons and blackjacks. Wood, leather and lead yes—sharpened blades, nay.

Negroes would tend to the stables and the gardens. They weren't allowed in the mansion except for heavy moving and the likes. They took their meals in a hut next to the stables. It had a fireplace and it satisfied their needs. There was one exemption to that rule. Wilburt. His butler and valet who was brought down from Portsmouth. Back in '98, Fergus found Wilburt asleep in a shed while he was looking for pick-axes. The dusty negro's physique was small and looked to be nearing sixty, so Fergus took pity and he was put to work.

Stepping from the carriage his snuffed-out cigar enabling Fergus' nostrils to snag a full whiff of the breeze carrying its salty scent. He was returning from visiting the recent widow at the Kydd Townhouse, north of Bunker Hill on Polk. He hadn't stayed long, just shy of twenty minutes. His onus was to explain to Lou-Issa, in variable detail, her husband's drowning off the coast of Charleston. Also came his assurances that her husband's interests would be transferred to the bank in her name. Before arriving, Fergus had already designated a considerable hunk of cash for that very goal. Having dissipated all of the widow's concerns regarding Odin's holdings, Fergus withdrew from sitting longer. He was tired, and his feet ached. The new boots had made his feet swell.

Good afternoon Master Mac. Was Wilburt's greeting to Fergus, in turn being handed the master's coat.

Yes, yes... good afternoon. Any visitors?

Affixing the carriage door, No Sir. None so far. The 2-year-old Rottweiler 'Samson' greets the duo walking up under the portico and entering the foyer. As Wilburt disappears momentarily to closet the master's coat Fergus bends forward and grabs hold of Samson's ears and begins massaging. Fergus was given Samson as a pup from Ghint, the German ship captain whose bitch had dropped a litter returning from Europe. How's my Samson doing? Huh boy? Straightening, he heads for the library for some brandy with his faithful companion following behind.

Wilburt asks, May I ask sir, how Mrs. Kydd is faring?

Falling into his favorite chair answers, No you may not. What you can do is help me out of these God-fangled boots. In an instant Samson is in the mix sniffing away as Wilburt tries to wrestle off the boot. And where are my sons? They knew I wouldn't be gone very long.

Having removed one boot, he answers, Being tutored sir.

Well. hurry. wincing while the other was pulled away rubbing on his freshly blistered ankle. HUH! Damn things need more stretching. You make sure they get back to that imbecile cobbler, but for now, get me some brandy.

Rising, Wilburt shimmy's the first boot loose from under Samson's huge frame. Clutching both he's five strides absent while Fergus is examining the blister he shouts, Wilburt. Without turning asks,