Slavery to Freedom

By Michael Calpino

In book two of the Giovanni Bartolli Saga, Captain Bartolli and his pirate crew sail to the New World after stealing the HMS Tyger. Seeking fortune and revenge, Giovanni finds himself in a quandary when they take a ship loaded with slaves. After suffering involuntary servitude as a result of the press, he is loathe to condemn any man to slavery. But how can he guarantee the freedom of these men and women and still provide the gold his crew desires? A delicate balancing act ensues that will try friendships, test loyalties and put his two fold mission of love and revenge at risk as the threat of mutiny looms large. Along the way new bonds will be formed, old ones broken and he begins to navigate among the men and waters that make the Golden Age of Piracy such an intriguing era.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Nov 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9781794770768

Book preview

Slavery to Freedom

Slavery to Freedom

Book Two in the Giovanni Bartolli Series

Michael Calpino

For all who cherish freedom

and sacrifice to give it to others

© 2019   J&M publishing

ISBN   978-1-79477-076-8

cover art by the author

Other Books by the Author

An Inception of Piracy

Book one of the Giovanni Bartolli series

And Hashticharot Smiled

Conversations in Radical Liberty

Genesis, Zen and Quantum Physics

A New Look at the Theology and Science of Creation

Leave Me Alone

A Patriot’s Plan to Restore Pride and Prosperity to America

American Revolution

A Philosophical and Practical Guide

Authentic Christianity

Memoirs of a Former American

Israel, the Goyim and

the Eternal Destiny of Man

What Happened?

How Biblical Judaism Became Christianity

Art for the Revolution

Political Writings 2000-2010

Religious Writings

The Average Guy's (and Gal's)

Hiking guide to Acadia np

and Mount desert island

www.michaelcalpino.com

I

Giovanni Bartolli stood on the balcony overlooking the bright red tile roofs of the bustling city of Lisboa.  Placing his hands on the varnished wood railing, he looked out over the busy harbor a mere cable's length away.  Ships from many nations were anchored in the Rio Tejo or tied to the numerous wharves along the shore.  He inhaled deeply, enjoying the cool morning air, wishing he was doing so on the quarterdeck of one of those ships.  He had been stuck ashore for nearly a month and he longed to feel a deck rolling beneath his feet.

He stretched his right leg, contracting the muscles of his thigh.  Better today.  Two days previous a violent storm had come through and his leg always ached when the weather turned.  That pain reminded him of his great losses; his family, his wealth, his good name.  Out in the harbor a small merchantman was unfurling topsails and with it, the union jack, preparing to head out.  He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth.  Damn English!  Once upon a time he had had a good life.  He was the firstborn son of a wealthy Genoan merchant set to become his father's valued partner.  He was young, handsome and healthy with smooth olive skin and raven black hair.  All that changed the moment he set foot on the shores of England over two years ago.

A victim of the press, his once smooth back bore the twisted scars of two navy floggings.  His classic facial features were marred with faded evidence from fists, knotted ropes and bludgeons.  His hands bore the deformities of having had his thumbs tied to the rigging and his leg had been broken when he had been deliberately pushed into the path of a cannon as it fired.  His father had died trying to obtain his release and his mother and sister passed while he rotted in a Boston jail accused of piracy.  The rage that smoldered within him rose in his throat at the sight of that ensign, tempting him to scream curses at a ship that would never hear him...maybe.  Yes, the English had claimed he was a pirate when he was not but now that the moniker fit he had already fired the first shots in his personal war on their nation.

He shook his head.  He could hardly believe it was he who had done the things he had  over the last few months.  It was as if it was a dream or play and another actor had precipitated those horrible acts.  He had killed men; evil men yes, but he had never killed before.  He still saw their faces, the surprise of a bo'sun he ran through without warning, the pleading eyes of a captain as he was hung from the yardarm, the defiance of a mutinous crew mate after a fight with cutlasses.  They swam in his head at night, intruding on his dreams.  He can't say he felt remorse: the men were swine who did horrible things to others, deserving their fate in his mind.  But the images still haunted him.

A noise in the street below woke him from his thoughts.  A group of three young women, girls really, were walking below his window and giggling as they clutched cloth bags filled with fresh produce from the market nearby.  This brought more pleasant memories to mind, memories of a particular woman.  In his mind's eye he could see her, her lithe young body with budding breasts, her dark features, her almond eyes.  Those eyes, he sighed.  Filled with compassion and the twinkle of a quick wit.  She had a ready smile that showed perfect white teeth.  Sarah, he sighed again, dropping his head.  Sarah was a thousand leagues away in Boston unaware of what had become of him....or of what he had become.

He looked up at the clear sky; high, puffy clouds scudding toward the south.  He thought of her every day, it was her memory that kept him from being totally consumed with bitterness and rage.  Yet even that memory was marred.  He thought of how her guardians had drug her from the jail where she had been visiting him and the horrified look on her face as she saw him bludgeoned on the deck of the ship that was taking him to England to stand trial for piracy.  But he didn't think of that often.  Instead he though of their brief times together in the jail, their conversations, the fleeting touches, the unspoken yet deep connection they had made.  He had tried to forget her, to tell himself it was pointless to pine for her: but he couldn't convince himself of its futility.  His heart fairly ached for her.  He knew that somehow, someway, he was going to get to Boston and see her again and if she longed for him even half as much, they would be together.

But he had a problem.  He had no ship.  He could probably secure passage, money wasn't an issue, but there were actually two problems with that plan.  First, all of Boston knew him and the accusations for which he was sent to England to stand trial so he couldn't very well simply hop off a boat and look for Sarah.  Second, he had a group of men who had chosen to follow him into this life of villainy and he felt responsible for them.  Abandoning them was not an option.

A knock at the door diverted his attention.  He turned and tightened the sash of his opulent but thin dressing gown.

Come, he commanded.

The door opened and it was immediately filled by Jula's bulk.  He was a head taller than Giovanni, with a barrel chest and huge arms.  His enormous black hands held a silver tray with a steaming cup of tea, fresh bread and butter, ham and pastries.  Giovanni chuckled at the sight of the huge man with the dainty set then involuntarily licked his lips.  After almost two years of salt pork and hard tack, the last few weeks had been heaven for his pallet.

Sir, my deepest apologies, said the steward as he squeezed around Jula.  He straightened his white jacket, shot an angry look at the mammoth black man and reached for the tray.  Jula moved away and snarled, giving the steward pause.  He turned back to Giovanni and opened his mouth to speak.

Giovanni held up his hand.  Senior Tiago, it is I who must apologize for my enthusiastic companion.  He means no harm.

Jula moved into the room and carefully set the tray on a small table near the bed.  He then stood up to his full, imposing height and smiled widely, his teeth gleaming white against his dark face.

Grazie Jula, Giovanni said with a slight bow and Jula nodded his head in return.  He then went to a chest by his bed, removed a small bag and walked over to Tiago who was still glowering at Jula.  Senior Tiago, please allow Jula to bring these things to my room.  He placed a coin in the soft hand and smiled widely.  It is no reflection on your excellent service.  It is simply that Jula needs.....to be helpful.  I hope you understand.

As you wish Senior Bartolli.  He smiled slightly when he looked at the coin.  Please let me know if there is anything else I can do for you.

Giovanni nodded and the steward left the room, closing the door behind him.  Giovanni turned to Jula who was standing with his hands behind his back, smiling.

Jula, he began, walking up to him and placing a hand on his massive shoulder.  The brand of his owner marred the skin on his arm.  Giovanni looked up into the deep set dark eyes.  You are a free man, you do not have to serve anyone, including me.

Jula's smile faded from his face and he looked intently at Giovanni.  "I choose, I choose to....bless you," he stated pointing at his own chest.

Giovanni smiled and nodded.  It was no use, they had had this conversation before, there was no changing the man's mind.  Giovanni had found him tied to a mast, deprived of food and water, being punished for a mistake that wasn't even his.  It was Giovanni's first act of piracy.  He took the ship, killed the captain and ordered one of his men to nurse Jula back to health.  Jula felt a profound and unpayable debt to Giovanni as his savior.  He knew many pirates would have viewed him as just another piece of property to be sold but Giovanni told him he was free.  In fact, he had offered to take Jula to Africa so he could go back to his people.  But Jula informed him that his village was gone, destroyed, and all sold into slavery.  His wife and children had been distributed to different masters.  He had nothing to return to.  His situation was much like Giovanni's.  Family gone, a glorious past now a tortured memory.

Then, Giovanni began, turning to the table with a grand gesture.  Let us enjoy this together.

Jula's smile returned as he took a seat opposite Giovanni and they devoured the breakfast together.

Stop blowing great guns mate!  Robert Williams put his head in his hands, elbows on the table.

Smitty laughed.  Quite a bender...again.

Williams just grunted.

Aye, added Dabney Moyers.  Doubt he 'members t'e whore 'e was wit'.

A right fine one she was, winked Smitty.

Worth t'e rhino fer sure! added O'Riely, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head.  Might 'ave t' go lookin' fer her meself.

Giovanni shook his head.  Almost every afternoon for a week his fellow pirates had been coming to his salon.  A few weeks ago it was just John Thomas who frequented his apartment.  Thomas had formed a bond with Jula, having been the one originally charged with his care, and the two big men enjoyed each others company.  Then Jackson and O'Riely began stopping by every few days.  Now most of the crew was making it a habit.  They were getting listless and sometimes rowdy.  After talking to Smitty, the man they had elected quartermaster, he found out that two of the men had already blown through their shares and several others were nearing that end as well.  Giovanni found it difficult to believe.  With the sale of the goods and then the ship, each man had received a small fortune.  But they drank and gambled and bought carnal pleasures as if they had the purse of Midas.  Soon they would all be penniless again and probably end up dependent on him.

He walked out on the balcony as the Irish and English began one of their incessant arguments.  After the first one ended in a drunken brawl he prohibited drink in his salon.  That seemed to keep things toned down....a little.  Jula was the other thing they argued about, although not in front of either of them.  He placed his hands on the balcony and looked out over the harbor.  They couldn't stay here, he couldn't stay here.  They needed a ship.  He scanned the harbor.  Fat, slow merchantmen, huge galleons, none of them would do.  He sighed deeply.  He needed to cross the ocean...get to Boston. 

He set his face to the sky, closed his eyes, and thought of Sarah.  He could picture her, remember the electricity that passed between them when their hands touched as she passed bread between the bars.  He thought of how he could just lose himself in those dark eyes.  He sighed again.  He needed a ship and he needed to get to Boston.  A distant boom intruded on his thoughts.  Cannon fire.  He opened his eyes again and scanned the harbor.  His gaze settled on a small ship just rounding the headland beyond the fort.  She was a two masted vessel, limping in under fore topsail alone.  Looked like she was missing the main topmast.  He fairly ran back into the room and grabbed his glass, catching Jula's quizzical look as he headed back out onto the balcony.

Yes, he said to himself, eye to the glass, turning the cylinder to to bring the ship into focus.  Topmast gone...no sails furled on the main or fore yards.  The Union Jack billowing from the stern was tattered.  I do believe you caught the worst of that storm.  Hmmm.  He counted six guns run out on the port side, it was too far to see if she had swivel guns on the rails.  She had nice lines, probably a fast sailer.  Suddenly Jula was beside him.

Captain, you're smiling, he observed.

Yes, my friend, he replied, lowering the glass.  I do believe I have found us a ship.

She's a snaouw, or what you English call....a snow.  The crew had gathered in his salon to hear the news.  The snow had docked at a wharf he could see from his balcony and he had observed her for several days.  She carries twelve guns, four pounders by the looks of it.  Six swivel guns on the rail. A pair of bronze chasers at the bow.  Nice lines, she should be fast.

Aye, jonnick cap'n, added Grey.  One of 'em sailed with the squadron I was wit', kept up with the ships o' the line just fine.  Points better too.

Several other men grunted agreement.

She's in for repairs.  Probably caught in the storm the other night with too much sail.  Lost a topmast, and most likely a few sails.  Separated from the squadron, she came in here.  She'd make a good vessel for...our purposes.

Aye, all well an' good, but she's navy, probably over a hun'rend men aboard.  O'Donnel crossed his tattooed arms and smirked.  Never gonna get near her, lotta guff talking about it.

Jonnick, turkeys be watchin' everyt'ing, agreed O'Riely. 

Giovanni sighed.  The Irish always stuck together.

Men, he began again.  Half the men are pressed, under guard every night, kept below decks.  Most of the crew, including the officers, are on leave almost every evening.

Bang on, intoned Williams.  Cap'n's always loaded.  Even the snotties be poodle fakin' every night!  Sometimes Williams was like a tattered flag flapping whichever way the wind would blow.

At night there are two marines on the wharf, two on deck, perhaps another one or two below decks.  I've never seen more than eight.  Add a handful of sailors and there are fewer men aboard than us.

Still gonna be a right hard horse, said Smitty, squinting his dark eyes and rubbing the stubble on his chin, beginning to contemplate the problem.  Smitty was smart, had been a warrant officer in the navy once upon a time.

I didn't say it was going to be easy, argued Giovanni, looking each man in the eye.  This isn't some fat merchantman who will cower at our colors.  This is a warship.  But if its ours, few will dare oppose us at sea.

No guff there, agreed Grey.  Several others nodded agreement.  Giovanni could see their minds racing with the thought of plundered ships, riches beyond their wildest dreams.

Then we must agree, stated Giovanni.  All in favor say aye.

All agreed with varying levels of enthusiasm.

Giovanni looked at Rodger Jackson.  He was the youngest of the group, short and lanky, known for his keen eye in the crows nest.  He had joined from their last prize but his enthusiasm had occasionally waned.  His blue eyes were looking at the floor.  "No one must participate.  Any who chooses can go their own way now.  You all have your share, you can go.  You should go."

There was an uneasy silence.  This was not the first time Giovanni had encouraged them to make a life for themselves with their shares, to leave the pirate's life behind and live a comfortable, honest life.  Only one had taken that path.  At this point the vast majority had spent their share and had few other prospects.  Going back to the poor pay and sometimes brutal conditions on a merchantman held little appeal.  And they couldn't go home, chances were most of their names would have been circulated by the authorities by now.  So the pirate's life was their only real option.

Everyone's in then.  Now we need a plan.

Giovanni sat in the tavern, nursing a fine wine and keeping an eye on the captain of the snow.  He looked to be twice Giovanni's age, fat and slovenly with fleshy cheeks and beady eyes.  His nose was red and bulbous, no doubt the result of years of heavy drinking.  He was a loud, obnoxious drunk, hurling abuse at anyone who came within spitting distance.  Giovanni had seen him bring damnation down on the tavern's staff for being too slow, too attentive, or not attentive enough.  He had punched one of the women when she dropped a mug next to him as she cleared the table.  He was the embodiment of everything Giovanni hated about the English.

He sat back and wondered how such men ever ended up in command.  He sighed, because he knew.  Patronage and influence were the requirements, not ability, not competence, certainly not character.  This man must know some very powerful people to still have a command after the war, albeit a minor one.  Giovanni had been watching him for over a week and he knew his longevity was definitely not a result of competence.  Aboard ship, when he did make an appearance, he made up in volume what he lacked in ability.  He abused the crew horribly.  He had seen three floggings already, and several dunkings.  But on that ship he was god and removed from any supervision the squadron may have provided, he behaved like the devil himself.

Next to him sat his first officer, an ugly, cadaverous man with a nasty scar running from the bridge of his beak-like nose to below his left ear.  He wore a tattered wig and his clothing was equally worn.  He was not a heavy drinker like the captain, choosing to sip beer most evenings.  Aboard, however, he faithfully followed the captain's example, motivating the crew by terrorizing them. 

One midshipman usually joined them, although it was clearly not by choice.  Every evening a different young man would sit at the table, take their abuse, follow foolish orders and hope the captain would pass out sooner rather than later so he could join his compatriots at another establishment.  Smitty was at the pub they frequented where they usually enjoyed a riotous time.  Discipline was an act of abuse on this ship, not a proper military state, and out from under the captain's heavy boot they let loose.

Giovanni started when the captain slammed his cup down on the table, shattering it and spraying its contents on everyone seated with him.  The first officer scowled at him.  He lifted his bulk from his chair and began screaming at the midshipman who cowered like a beaten puppy.  Then he grabbed one of the women who had been serving their table and screamed at her for not cleaning the mess up quickly enough.  Giovanni could feel his heart begin to race and the bile rise in his throat.  He wanted nothing more than to run the man through, to see the look on his face as his innards spilled onto his boots, to watch the life drain from his face.  But he needed to maintain discipline, he needed to stick to the plan.

Rorty one he is, stated Peters, shaking his head.  Right bad hat.  Snottie don't deserve that.  He leaned back, folding his hands across his ample belly.

Bang on, replied Williams.  Then he leaned into the table conspiratorially.  Griff is the lot can't wait to get paid off.  Doused my jib wit' the gunner las' night, aye the tales he told.  Landsmen locked below unless 'e needs 'em.  Rest of the crew worked near to death.

How many? asked Giovanni.

Three score, maybe less.

Giovanni scowled.  Sixty men were a lot when they