Barrens

By Donald G. Williams

Barrens is a historical fiction saga of a young lad's travails into manhood set in the turbulent times of mid-eighteenth-century colonial America. Through the desperate and violent era of the colonial frontier, external events, and circumstances, either by fate or Providence, help fashion the mind and soul of a man left searching for answers.

John Scott is a young Welsh boy when he is thrust into indentured servitude on the frontier of colonial Virginia. Unexpected events leave him with questions only caused, he deems, by the hand of fate. John embarks on a journey into young manhood on a search for freedom and purpose. John finds purpose when reacquainted with a family who befriended him years ago. John Scott's quest leads him further into the western frontier, where he finds the adventure to satisfy his need to be free from the control of choices of others that marred his youth but led him afoul of the law. In the Virginia frontier, he thrives on dangers that confront him and the freedom of his own choices.

Follow John into the land named Barrens as he searches for answers or, at least, peace for his barren heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: May 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798888510537

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Prologue

Part 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Part 2

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Part 3

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Epilogue

The End

About the Author

cover.jpg

Barrens

Donald G. Williams

ISBN 979-8-88851-052-0 (Paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88851-053-7 (Digital)

Copyright © 2023 Donald G. Williams

All rights reserved

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Covenant Books

11661 Hwy 707

Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

www.covenantbooks.com

Prologue

Luck—there is no such thing. That can prove to be a difficult truth to fathom or accept for most men. Without luck, then we must look elsewhere for our triumphs and failures. There must be some other factors at work that intervene with our lives. How else could we rationalize the unforeseen events that daily shape our lives for good or bad? If not luck, how can we explain fortune or misfortune, tragedy or success?

Many a man will fervently cling to the idea of luck throughout his lifetime. It is the only possible way to account for his shortcomings without accepting any of the responsibility for the consequences of his behavior. He may be quicker to acknowledge his role, whether pertinent or not, in any of his victories. Even when seemingly fortunate events come his way, he may protest good luck in his defense, but in his heart, he credits the good to himself.

This line of thought brings to mind that a cousin of luck may come into play. Its name is fate. If luck is the resolve given to a shallow man of his destiny, fate is the answer to unexplained happenings for the man who believes someone or something is in control of these events, that it is just not him. He does not see them coming, nor can he control them. Fate is a matter beyond his powers. He realizes that truth. If fate brings him good fortune, he is happy. If fate allows tragedy, he has no choice but to accept it. A man who believes fate is in control of his life events will proceed with caution, coated with skeptic pessimism. The bad events overshadowing the belief that fate will bring him good tidings. Fate seems to be the bearer of ill events more than the giver of good fortune.

This leaves our man of faith. He cannot allow himself to entertain the existence of luck; this is completely contrary to faith. He may, especially in difficult times, allow his thoughts to turn to fate, but inwardly, he knows his fate has a name and a purpose. He just, as the believer of fate, realizes he is not in control of the event. He does believe it has a purpose, although he may not know or understand it.

One major difference between our man of fate and our man of faith is the belief that our actions yield consequences, good and bad. Men of fate strive to resist, struggle, or manipulate events occurring in their life. Men of faith, when submitted to their belief, hope in time of trouble and give thanks in time of plenty. The heart of man, like the land, may be seared many times in a lifetime and, from all appearances, may be labeled barren from the experience. This does not preclude the opportunity for new growth of either land or heart to be even more tender and fruitful in time. This story is about one such boy—the events that occurred to shape his life, his experiences, and his evolution into manhood, whether by luck, fate, or faith.

Part 1

Chapter 1

Shallow men believe in luck.

—Ralph Waldo Emerson

Winters in Newport could be especially bitter. The north westerly winds blew frigid up the Bristol Channel, bringing clouds and a surplus of moisture in the form of rain and snow. The few hours of daylight appropriated during this season in southeastern Wales were usually shrouded in low overhanging clouds, allowing little warmth from the sun lingering above. This cloak of moisture-enriched air produced a gray sullenness to the natural hue of daylight hours. There were a few shadows discernible in a dull mixture of murky daylight. Any color otherwise brilliant in the summer sun was muted to a bland tone of browns and grays, one barely recognizable from the other. And the winds, they never rested. Like a funnel rapidly speeding its contents through a smaller aperture, so the wind streaked up the channel to the narrow harbor of Newport. Wintertime blew with an incessant buff upon all who would venture outdoors. Rising at times to a full gale, winds howled stout enough to waver the step of even the most compact of men. Wind-driven projectiles of rain or snow splattered bluntly against any open surface inanimate or not, increasing the image of starkness to the surroundings. The dullness of daylight hours, coupled with frigid moisture-laced winds, dampened all exposed. Successive exposure day after day would soon dampen even the spirits of men. Newport winters could be especially bitter.

This December morning in the year 1751 was another of those bitter winter days in the streets of Newport surrounding the harbor where the Usk River emptied into the Bristol Channel. It was early, darkness prevailing, just after daylight if one could actually use the term correctly in the cloak of fog hugging the ground. The dampness only enhanced the chill of blustering winds coming off the channel waters. An occasional snowflake added only further insult to any exposed surface.

Three figures entered a street running perpendicular to the water's edge of the wharf, exiting a large two-story clap-wood building. The curve of the river as it emptied into the sea formed a banana-shaped port for the city of Newport. The wharf and docks lined with ships and warehouses followed the curve of the river for several furlongs till the deep harbor gave way to the grassy marshland at the mouth of the river. The streets of Newport resembled the spokes of a huge wheel striking out in perpendicular fashion from the riverbanks. Those buildings located nearest the wharf of each street housed the storehouses, ship owners, merchants, and shipping magistrates that controlled the goods and people passing through the city. As each street spoke traversed away from the wharf, the array of brick and wooden buildings housed the commerce that sustained the town. The lawyers and accountants of the shipping industry were housed near the wharves for their trade.

Next in line were the necessary taverns and inns to supply the ebb of travelers through the city. These establishments, by far, contained the majority of the transient population on any given day or night. Seamen coming in or out of their ships, sailors waiting for their next voyage, travelers entering the city for trade or booking passage—all gathered at the numerous hostels offering food, drink, and shelter from a winter day. Beyond the inns, the more normal makings of a city were found, including shops, stores, and homes for the residents of Newport. The city fanned out from its center until it gently blended into the countryside.

The large wooden door of the public house slammed shut to preserve the interior warmth from the bitter cold outside. Once outside the door, the three huddled tightly together, the larger one taking opportunity to make sure his two sons were wrapped as securely from the frigid gust of snow and wind as their meager coverings would allow. Taking a boy under each arm, the man cloaked a heavy wool blanket about his shoulders, enveloping them as a bird covered her younglings with her wings. He gathered a large bag in each hand and turned from the door of the inn toward the street heading south to the sea.

He guided them along the slushy gravel mud street, clinging to the exterior walls of each succeeding building, seeking the protection it afforded from the winds darting through the streets of town. The morning streets found few stragglers willing to brave the bluster which ruled the day. Only those with necessity found courage to leave their shelter this day. The howl of the wind muted any sounds uttered by a passerby. What few encountered along his path edged away from the shadowy blur made by this seeming giant. The man and his sons, hidden beneath the wool covering, made for a vision of huge girth to anyone struggling to walk in the street. Nature had provided ample opposition to any travelers today; none sought further confrontation on his way.

The trio's path wavering only to avoid the largest puddles of icy water gathered in the street, the man led them steadily ahead toward the wharf. Each step closer to the water's edge brought a deeper bite of freezing wind. The man stopped to clear his eyes from the icy mix which buffeted his exposed face, assuring himself that his course remained true. This brief pause also afforded the opportunity to scour the shadows hung about the buildings for those who sought to prey on others under nature's covering. In the port cities of England, much mischief was to be found in the city shadows. A quick glance gave him the assurance his wards were safe.

Father, where are we going? I can't see anything! a voice from under the blanket shouted. An ensuing head popped out of the crease of protective covering, striving to get a view of what lay ahead.

Are we headed to the ship? I can't tell, the taller of the two boys continued.

Yes, now tuck your head back inside. You'll freeze your ears off. I'll let you know when we get closer.

The father's reply was assuring enough for now, and besides, the wind was plenty cold. The older lad complied with his father's command and returned to the shelter of the extended blanket.

To prevent an encore presentation by his younger son through the folds of the blanket on his other side, the father lifted his arm, exposing the top of a wooly headed boy beneath and spoke.

John, we are almost there. Just stay tucked under the blanket. I'll get us there safely, trust me.

With a slight pull toward himself of his small precious cargo, the intended assurance was delivered. No reply was needed from the package beneath.

As Collen Wyne Scott again stepped forward with determination down the streets of Newport with sons in tow, he could faintly hear the sounds of the activity of the wharf. The sound of ship bells marking time or boatswain's whistle chirping orders, piercing the continuous roar of the wind, gave proof of the nearness of his destination. The trodden mud streets were also giving way to the stones of the cobble streets adjacent to the wharf. The smell of the sea soon began to accost his senses, bringing the odor of saltwater and marine life. Through the mask of fog and swirling snow, he could faintly make out the dim light of a ship lantern. With each indicator along his path, Collen's resolve strengthened to complete his task. He had chosen this path for him and his sons after much deliberation and the turn of circumstances dealt them. He not only was committed to it, he felt it was the only option remaining for his family. With head down and eyes forward, he took each deliberate step, his mind replaying the events of the past few days.

It had only been three days since Collen Scott and his two sons had arrived in Newport. In that brief period, actions and events would take place that would forever change their lives and remove them from all they had previously known. In a manner of desperation, Collen had sought out and agreed to personal contract-service agreements for himself and his two sons in exchange for passage aboard a ship from Wales to the colonies. They were now indentured servants, their contracts to be sold to buyers in the British colonies of America.

One week earlier, the remaining Scott family had packed all their portable worldly possessions into three canvas duffel bags and one leather tote for trade tools. The only home his family had ever known left empty for the next renters. Collen had booked passage on a keel down the River Usk to the seaport at the river's end. The finality of a one-way passage brought bitter sorrow for a life left behind.

Collen Wyne Scott had been a lifelong resident of the village of Caerleon, a small farming community some three leagues upriver from the city of Newport. There he had apprenticed as a harness maker and applied his trade for a little over twenty years. His harness and leatherworking services were predominately procured by the large manor estates surrounding the area. Their teams of horse and oxen for carriage and farming afforded great demand for his services. He had married and made his home for their two sons in the same village of his youth.

The past few years had brought much trouble into the life of the Scott family. The economy of the area had been crippled greatly by weather patterns not favorable to farming. The ensuing famine and influx of city dwellers hoping to escape the disease and destitution of their urban homes brought further calamity to the rural areas. There was less work and food for more people. Then the hardest blow of all, smallpox, claimed the mother of his two sons. Left to raise his young boys on his own, Collen tried earnestly to find enough work to provide shelter and food for his family. The struggle to survive methodically became overwhelming, each month bringing a new low of sustenance. He had sold nearly all his family's possessions piece by piece to sustain them.

Finally, in the past month, Collen had to make a very difficult decision to leave his home and seek a better life for his family. Down to his last few guineas, he knew he must act or starve. He had heard of many of his countrymen booking passage to the colonies by agreeing to work for landowners and the noblemen in the new land. He had also heard the stories of ample land, space, and food to be found there. With some hope of a brighter future and a sorrow he could barely endure, Collen had made the choice to uproot his family and sail to America.

The two-day boat ride down the Usk River to Newport had given Collen time to explain the existing circumstances and pending decisions to his sons. In his efforts to answer their questions and be encouraging to them, he had found greater confidence in this adventure himself. Collen was, by nature, a quiet man, given to a temperate disposition, resolved in his work, normally confident in his ability to maintain what was his. The most recent life events had shaken some of that confidence, the realization that he could not predict or prevent some of the circumstances he now endured. Those same events had forced him to engage more often and more intimately with his motherless boys. He had turned inward for deeper reflection of who he was but found himself projecting more outwardly his resolve and hope toward his sons.

Upon arrival in Newport, the trio had found board at one of the numerous tavern hostels near the city wharves. For three shillings a day he and his sons could bed in the inn above the tavern with two meals a day provided. The rooms upstairs each contained three or four beds usually with two adults per bed. Collen and his sons would occupy one bed for themselves with their gear stowed beneath the bed. The inn was clean enough given the circumstances, and it was warm shelter from the bitter weather outside. Collen encouraged his boys to stay vigilant in watch and not to engage with strangers any more than necessary. He was not so much concerned with their safety as he was present, but he remained leery of those who also shared his habitat.

On the day after their arrival, Collen had stationed his boys on their bunk with their belongings stashed beneath them following the morning meal downstairs. There were others remaining in the room also, but Collen perceived no threat from those present. He instructed his boys to remain there, not to leave the room, until his return. He would be back as soon as possible, probably a few hours. He was going to make the arrangements necessary for them to travel on the ship to their new home across the sea.

Father, spoke Charles, the eldest boy. When do we leave on the ship?

John, the younger son, looked upward to his father standing beside the bed awaiting the answer.

Soon, I'm sure, boys, was their father's reply. I will certainly know more when I return later this morning from making our arrangements. Now you lads sit tight, and I will be back soon, before the next mealtime. Charles, mind your watch on your brother. You are in charge while I am gone.

With a nod from Charles, all was agreed.

Collen gave a quick kiss on the forehead of each and a rub of the shoulder for assurance as he turned to exit the room. Descending the stairwell, he made preparation for the winter that awaited him outside. He buttoned tight his heavy wool coat, slipped on his gloves, and pulled his brown woolen ribbed watch cap down over his ears. The stairway ended on the level of the tavern floor along an outer wall with a separate exit onto the street. As he shoved hard on the huge wooden door, it creaked open with the burden of frozen hinges and the gale of wind pushing it closed. The door slammed tightly shut with little help upon his exit.

Being past midmorning, the daily fog had lifted, allowing scattered rays of sunshine to penetrate the lingering clouds. It was cold and windy, blowing in from the sea, but for now, there was no snow. Bundled snuggly, Collen turned into the wind and set off down the street toward the wharf. There he hoped to find the necessary opportunity to book their passage. He had heard talk in the inn that three ships were now in the harbor awaiting passengers before setting sail. As he drew near to the seaside offices and warehouses, he saw a large wooden sign hanging over a doorway. It read New London Trading & Carriage Company. As he reached for the door handle, he took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

Ho there, man, enter, be quick—the warmth travels fast! came a shout from across the room. A short stout man with bushy eyebrows and a balding head peered up from his papers to see who entered. Quickly returning his eyes to the scattered logbooks on his desk, he left the visitor to stew.

Collen shook from the first wave of warmer air that surrounded him as he entered the office. Pulling off his hat and gloves, he brushed back his brown wavy hair away from his face before speaking.

Taking one step in the direction of the proprietor of the room, Collen spoke, Excuse me, sir, I seek to book passage on a sailing ship headed to the American colonies for myself and two sons. I saw your sign outside. Am I in the correct place?

A short pause ensued before the man behind the desk looked upward to gauge the inquirer. He rose from his seat but did not offer a hand of greeting or move from behind the desk to welcome. A brief surveillance of the man in front of the desk gave the experienced agent ample information to proceed.

So you want passage to the colonies, sir? Do you have funds to pay for this request? The query was spoken smart and tort from the man in control.

Well, no, sir, was the muted reply from Collen.

You see, sir, I had heard of some people who had been given passage in exchange for working it off as hired help in the colonies. I was hoping that I, uh, we, my sons might be able to obtain such passage also, hastily spoke Collen.

The man abruptly raised his hand to signal Collen to stop speaking. Proceeding, he said, So you want to sign a personal contract-service agreement for you and your sons to pay for your voyage. Well, well, let me see what I can arrange for you.

The agent sat down in his chair and began fumbling through a set of book-type ledgers. Collen remained standing where he was unsure if he should move or approach the desk. Finally, the man came upon the book of his search and, following his finger, began reading to himself the information on the page.

Okay, now give me the particulars of your situation—your names, ages, skills, trades, health issues, home, and anything else of importance. The man looked up to Collen for answers and picked up a pen to write his responses on a page in the ledger.

Yes, sir, Collen said, taking one step forward in agreement. My name is Collen Wyne Scott, age thirty-eight, widowed, harness maker, leather worker by trade for over twenty years, and in ample good health, sir. We hail from the village of Caerleon.

Aye, a tradesman, that will help your cause a great deal, spoke the man from behind the desk with a little more satisfaction. Now, Mr. Scott, tell me about these lads of yours?

Yes, sir, my eldest boy, Charles Collen Scott, age fourteen years, he is my apprentice in the harness making trade, strong and healthy, tall for his age. My youngest son is twelve years of age. His name is John Wyne Scott. He is a good lad, not lazy. He got the pox when his mother did, but his case was mild, and he survived. The boys' mother did not. It left a few small scars on his face, but otherwise, he is okay.

Okay, ho, I think I got it. Let me finish my entry in the ledger. I'll do some calculation and come up with a contract for you to sign to make it all official. The agent thumbed through some other papers scattered about his desk, all the while mumbling to himself. After several minutes and lots of figuring, he gathered a few papers together in a group, tapped them on the desk to align them, and signal the end to his efforts.

Now, Mr. Scott, can you read? he peered up over the papers for a response.

Collen nodded.

Excellent, that makes my job so much easier. My name is Oscar Jones. I am a duly certified agent for the trading company, and these papers I prepare for you are binding on you and the company. Now, I have two copies of each document, one document for each of you and a copy for the ship's captain, who is our agent in complete charge until the contracts are sold to your prospective employers in the colonies. The contract information will also be entered into my company ledger for a permanent record. I will read them aloud to you while you read along silently one at a time. If you have something to say or ask, do it at the time, because once the paper is signed by each of us, it is a legal contract under British law. Do you understand?

Again, Collen responded with a nod.

With that response, the agent handed the top copy to Collen and held the other in his hand. Peering up, to assure his listener was ready, he began to read aloud, "This contract is between New London Trading & Carriage Company and Collen Wyne Scott, age thirty-eight years old, male, tradesman harness maker of sound mind and body for the passage voyage and provisions necessary from Newport, Wales, to Norfolk, Virginia colony, aboard the sailing ship Molly Queen, under the command of Captain Owen Collins. In exchange for passage, I agree to indentured-service contract as a tradesman harness maker for the period of four years' service to the owner of this contract. This agreement has no freedom buyout clause. Signed, now put your signature on both pages, Mr. Scott, if you agree."

Collen took the quill from the agent and signed both papers. The agent set those aside and picked up the next two papers, handing one copy again to Collen. Next is the contract for the elder boy, Charles. I will read, and you follow along.

The agent began to read the contract for passage for Charles. It stated his age, apprenticeship with his father, health, and terms of service agreement. The service indenture for Charles was for seven years with a fifty-pound freedom buyout available.

There was a quiet pause from Collen after the reading of the service contract. Looking down at the agent, he spoke, So Charles will have a service of seven years, not four like mine? Why is his different, Mr. Jones?

The agent sat upright in his chair, taking a more authoritative manner, and cleared his throat before speaking. The boy is only an apprentice, not fully equipped in his trade as yet. It will require a few more years for him to work off the value of his passage. Besides, there is a freedom buyout available to you if you desire to shorten his term.

Collen continued to stare at the paper in front of him, his mind tumbling with the words on the page. After a moment, he sighed with an exhale of surrender and reached for the quill pen once more.

Scott, it's a square deal. I am bound by the regulations of the company and ship owners to deliver a fair agreement to cover their costs. It's the same for all in the boy's circumstance. There was no sympathy in his tone, only the abruptness of business.

Now the last contract for the younger boy, John. Again, the agent handed Collen a copy to read.

Collen quickly read through the all the legal jargon to view the blank spaces with inked terms within them. His demeanor changed as he read the terms written on this contract. His brow creased, and with a turn of his head, he stared down to the man behind the desk.

Wait, why John's contract is until he is twenty-one years old? That's nine years total. He is only twelve now!

Yes, and that's why. He is just a boy. He can't do a man's work yet. And besides, he has no trade or skills to offer the owner of the contract. I am afraid that is the best I can offer, and it is in line with the customary terms offered a child. The boy's contract also has a fifty-pound buyout available. The agent stared up at Collen as to say, That's how it is, no choice in the matter.

Collen stood upright and returned the stare. He was aware he had no choice at this point, but he would not show defeat or pleasure in signing this paper. It might have been business for Mr. Jones, but it was a cruel stroke of the pen for Collen. As he reluctantly reached for the pen one more time, Collen made his signature. Mr. Jones gathered all the papers signed by Collen and duly affixed his signature to each of the six papers. He followed this step with a red-wax seal across the lower margins of each page stamped with the logo of the trading company. Without looking up, he proceeded to transcribe all the information into a hardbound ledger lying on the desk.

Reaching into a file from a drawer of the desk, Mr. Jones pulled out a wax-paper packet. He proceeded to fold and place three of the signed copies into the packet. He extended the packet across the desk in the direction of Collen, who had been standing there quiet and subdued.

Mr. Scott, this packet contains a copy of each contract we signed today. You are to keep these with you at all times. They serve as your identification to the ship's crew, as well as permission to board the vessel. They also serve to identify the provisions allotted to you and each of your sons on the voyage. Do not lose them! The terms of your contracts are written there for your protection and the new owner's obligation as well.

Pushing his chair back from the desk to rise, the agent continued addressing Collen with further instructions as he delivered the package. The entire time the agent was speaking, Collen was glad to see him stand up finally. The opportunity to look down on this agent of menace gave Collen some satisfaction. He had done what he came to do to preserve his family, but the terms rested heavy on his heart.

"You and your sons are to be present to board the Molly Queen before nine o'clock tomorrow morning. She is tied off at the pier directly down this street. Have your belongings and papers ready, and be there on time. The crew will not take kindly to anyone who delays setting sail. Do you understand? And do you have any questions?" The agent looked to Collen for a reply.

No, sir, I understand your directions, and we will be ready to board on time as ordered, Collen spoke with firmness.

Then good day to you, Mr. Scott, and good luck, were the final words of the agent before returning to his desk.

Collen slipped the packet inside his coat pocket for safety and turned to the door. He took one quick glance over his shoulder just to refresh his memory of the face that sold hope for a high price.

Collen briskly walked up the street back toward the safety and sanctum of his family waiting for him. There would be many questions from his sons about the life-changing adventure ahead of them. Collen resolved to encourage and assure his sons that they would be okay and that a better future lay ahead for each of them. He also decided that the terms of this brighter future need not be fully disclosed to young hearts and minds at this time. There would be ample days crossing the sea to reveal what was awaiting them at their destination.

For now, he had done what he thought best, the best he could, and he would not let his troubled heart be shown to those depending on him for everything. He had traded their tomorrow for what he deemed necessary today. He hoped the price was not too great to pay.

The shrill whistle from a boatswain's pipe and a hail from beneath the lantern swinging on a pole in the blustering wind snapped Collen from his mind's replay of the events prior to this morning. He had traversed the length of the street to the wharf where their vessel lay moored. Coming out of his thoughts, he quickly inspected his precious cargo. All was well. He had even managed to forget about the bitter cold now that they had safely reached their destination.

"Ho, stranger, are you seeking to board the Molly Queen before she sets sail to the colonies? Be quick about you. The captain waits for no man!"

Chapter 2

At length the morn and cold indifference came.

—Nicholas Rowe

Charles, John, we are here! It's time to board the ship! Collen pulled back the wool blanket protecting his boys from the bitter winds. A brief glance upward revealed the marking Molly Queen on the side of the ship. They had reached their destination safely.

Ahoy, mate, so you have two stowaways beneath that covering. Up the plank you go, lads, and be quick about it! barked the sailor standing beneath the lantern on the wharf. On up to the top deck with the three of you. The ship's mate will check your papers there! The crusty old seaman yelled his orders over the roar of the wind coming off the sea. He pointed up the wooden gangplank secured to the side of the ship above. Drawing the hood of his canvas slicker tightly about his head, the sailor piped two more blows on the whistle to mark the first hour of the morning watch. The piping also served as a warning to any late boarders that the Molly Queen would soon set sail.

Boys, hold tight to your bag and be careful. That walk is slick!

Each boy clutched a canvas bag of his personal belongings. Collen gathered his two bags in one hand and, with the other, helped guide the boys up the plank. The narrow bridge to safety was crisscrossed with horizontal wood stakes for traction on the steep incline, but the blowing snow and sleet gave it a slippery frozen layer. One slender rope strung on the side of the gangplank provided little protection from the icy waters swirling below. Both boys struggled to keep their footing, each step resulting in a slip, but with a solid push from behind, they were finally able to reach the safety of the ship's deck. The two boys tumbled onto the deck with the last push from their father behind them.

You boys okay? Collen asked as he reached down to help them gain their footing once more.

He grabbed Charles by the arm with one hand and John by the collar of his coat with the other hand. With strong arms, he soon had them both stable once more. Once upright, each boy turned their heads, eyes capturing images never seen before to recall later. There were so many parts to a sailing ship, and it was massive from aboard its deck. After dusting some of the snow and ice from his boys' coats, Collen also peered about the ship deck and upward along the tall mast.

They were met immediately by a young sailor donning a heavy rain slicker with hood. His attire and demeanor gave notice that he was more than a seaman aboard the ship but an officer. His trousers were clean and not torn. He wore heavy leather boots for protection from the cold and wet. He spoke with authority not gruffness. Follow me. Let's get below deck out of this weather. He motioned with the wooden cleat he carried in his hand for them to come along.

He led them midway across the top deck to an area just in front of the massive main mast of the ship. There he entered a doorway leading down a series of steps to the upper deck of the ship. Watch your step and your top deck! he shouted to those trailing.

The trio followed him down the steps. Collen closed the door behind them, shutting out the cold howl of the wind sweeping over the deck.

Each of them shook in place to dispel the cold water dripping from their clothing. A puddle of water began to pool on the wooden deck floor beneath their feet. The boys and their dad began to curiously look around. None of them had ever seen the inside of a sailing ship, and the awe was evident on their faces to their guide.

A beauty, isn't she! remarked the sailor, shucking back his hood, exposing a head full of wavy brown hair and stunted beard. A young man of four and twenty years, well-groomed and articulate, stood before them. He was tall and thin with a big smile. "A true seaworthy craft is our Molly Queen, a two-mast, square-rigged schooner who's made many a voyage across the Atlantic Ocean. I am second mate aboard the Molly Queen, Owasn Thomas, under the ship's captain, Owen Collins. I will be managing your berth and provisions on the voyage under the captain's orders. Now, sir, may I have your name and papers."

Collen unbuttoned the top of his woolen coat and reached inside to the inner pocket to retrieve the packet of papers given to him yesterday by the agent Jones.

My name is Collen Scott, and my two sons, Charles and John, stated Collen as he handed over the packet.

Very good, sir, said the mate, taking possession of the papers. Now step over there with your boys while I look over your papers. The ship's doctor has orders to examine all who board the ship before we sail, the mate said, pointing to a doorway nearby toward the stern.

Presently a short chubby fellow poked his head out the door. He was older, well past middle age. He wore fine woolen knee breeches with white stockings, black buckled shoes, topped off with a cotton shirt and waistcoat. With not much more than a grunt, he pulled John up close.

Come, boy, do not tarry, said the doctor. Looking over his thick spectacles, he snatched off the boy's hat and, using his hair as a steering mechanism, began to turn the boy all around. He looked him up and down. The doctor then grabbed an ear in each hand and peeked in each orifice. With another grunt, the old physician grasped the boy's face, pulled open his jaw, and took a peek inside his mouth. John reeled backward from the stench of liquor propelling from the mouth of his examiner.

Pushing him aside, he reached for the other boy. Come here, boy. It's your turn.

Charles took one step back after seeing the treatment John had just endured, hoping to escape, but was suddenly halted when he met the wall of father behind him. With a firm hand on Charles's shoulder, Collen guided him back to the clutches of the doctor. Following the same routine with the same rough hand, Charles received his brief examination. Pushing the older boy aside, the doctor turned his attention to the adult waiting his turn.

Now good, sir, come forward and let me look at you also, the doctor said, motioning for Collen to step forward. He took a hurried look with very little contact then, motioning for Collen to step back, spoke in the direction of the ship's mate. Each of them looks healthy enough, Mr. Thomas. I allow passage aboard this ship, stated the doctor, retreating back through the doorway, which he had appeared not needing or waiting a reply from the officer.

Very well, here are your papers, Mr. Scott. Everything seems to be in order. Again, please follow me, and I will take to your berth on the lower deck with the other passengers. I will be the person on this ship with which you will have direct contact. I will be on your deck daily to manage the provisions, oversee all the passengers, and relay any orders from the captain. If you have questions or concerns, I will be the one you must see. There will be some of the regular crew about, but they will not be any assistance to you without my orders. Is that understood, Mr. Scott?

Yes, sir. That was Officer Thomas, wasn't it? asked Collen.

Second Mate Thomas, replied the officer. Without looking back for an affirmative answer, Mr. Thomas proceeded through another doorway on the upper deck leading down another flight of wooden steps. This doorway remained open to the deck above, but there was a marked decrease in the available light as they descended the stairway. Charles, who was immediately following the mate, looked back up the stairs to his father. Collen, sensing his son's hesitation of entering into the ill-lighted space beyond the steps, spoke up. It is most certainly darker on this deck than the other, Mr. Thomas, remarked Collen.

Collen placed his hand on John's shoulder for assurance. As they neared the bottom of the stairway, John placed his hand over his nose and mouth. There was also a foul smell lingering in these shadows that was not present in the deck above them. The stench did not escape the senses of Charles or Collen either. The mate passed on to the lower deck without noticing either the darkness or smell; he had grown to either expect it or become accustomed to what was here.

At the bottom of the steps, Collen collected his sons near him and hesitated in his forward steps. Unsure of what lay ahead, he paused to evaluate his surroundings. Slowly his eyes began to adjust to the dimmer light found on this deck, and his nostrils ceased to rebel to the odor engulfing this deck.

The upper deck, though having few portals to the outside, did have more stairwells leading to the top deck. There was also the hatch on the top deck which opened for moving cargo in and out of the ship's hold at the bottom level of the ship. The most obvious reason for the better lighting and odor of the upper deck was the comforts allotted for the passage-paying voyagers and officers who resided on that deck. The lower deck was the berth given to the nonpaying passengers. There were fewer lanterns, no portals, and less air about to whisk away the odors of confinement of many more persons berthed there.

Collen continued to slowly survey his surroundings. He scanned on both sides in the field of his vision. Along each of the ship's walls ran a line of double-stacked beds for about three rods. Each berth was roughly six by six feet and was occupied by anywhere from three to six occupants each. There must have been well over one hundred people on this deck.

Both boys also began to turn about in place to see their present surroundings. Neither son spoke, but Charles peered upward to his dad with an expression of cautious, inquisitive concern. John looked about, and then huddled closer to his dad while continuing to cover his nose with both hands. What he could see and smell wasn't inviting. The grandeur of a mighty sailing vessel John had envisioned was lost in the environment of a lower deck.

There are more people on board the ship than I expected, Mr. Thomas, stated Collen, his surprise culminating into words.

Collen well understood that their current situation did not merit the finest of onboard accommodations, but even he had hoped for some normalcy in their berth arrangements. Perhaps a room with others as at the hostel they had left earlier that day. He had no onboard experience of a sailing ship on which to base his expectations, but nevertheless, he was disappointed. He had no warning that he and his sons would be hoarded below deck with others of the same plight as would so many beasts of burden. His statement to the ship's mate well hid his disappointment, sounding more enthusiastic than his heart was feeling.

"Yes, the Molly Queen is a big ship, a surprise to anyone never having been aboard a ship before. She is a two-hundred-fifty-ton brig with fourteen six-pound guns to ward off any intruders. We carry a crew of fifteen berthed in the forecastle, six officers and about forty passengers on the upper deck, and up to one hundred thirty passengers on this lower deck. Mate Thomas turned to face his followers. His smile was as wide as his arms expanding in huge circles to imitate the girth of his ship. Pointing downward, the mate continued, The hold below us is for cargo and storage of provisions."

Now follow me as we go aft to your berth in the stern of the ship. Watch your step about the stove. It's usually well stoked on a cold day. The officer turned to the rear of the ship and motioned for them