Spirited Away - A Novel of the Stolen Irish Read Online Free PDF Page B

driver mumbled under his breath.
           Her
heart pounding, Freddy fastened her eyes on her sister. They'd known they might
be separated, but not to different islands. " Aileen! " she
screamed, desperately pulling against the chain. Her sister looked back.
Freddy's shrieks echoed off the pastel buildings around the square. All eyes
turned toward her.
           Master
nodded again to the driver.
           "Silence!"
the mulatto barked. He unchained her, threw her over his shoulder, and carried
her to a waiting wagon. He dropped her into it, alongside three Irishmen.
           " No!
Aileen! " Freddy thrashed and kicked.
           "Hush
now, or it's flogged ye'll be," one of the young men in the wagon
whispered.
           But
Freddy was beyond caring about that. 
           The
driver locked her into the wagon bed by her neck ring.
           " Aileen! "
She struggled to sit up. 
           "We
gon' gag her, boss?" the mulatto asked as Master walked up.
           "I
think not," the planter replied in a nasal voice, reaching into the wagon
to lightly tap Freddy's lips with the handle of his riding whip. "Another
proud Irish wench who must be taught her place. I shall watch as you are
thoroughly punished." The planter traced the line of her jaw with his whip
handle, turned away, and again drank from the flask. 
            Freddy's
green eyes streamed tears that reflected the gold of the slanting Barbados sun.
Her chest heaved with silent sobs and her heart pounded more wildly as she
watched her little sister being lifted into a dinghy. As Aileen's small boat
began to make its way toward a schooner anchored near the Three Brothers ,
the wagon jolted into motion. Freddy focused keenly on her sister's silhouette
against the glittering bay until the wagon rounded a curve in the lane and she
lost sight of her. 
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER
6
     
    July
1653
     
    Captain
Anton Lacoste sailed the Alize ́ into
Oistins Bay and anchored close to the fishing village. A few miles southeast of
Bridgetown, this was an ideal place to wait for the storms he knew would come.
           He
raised his spyglass and scanned the white beach.
           Dozens
of fishermen sat in their beached boats, fixing their nets for the next day's
catch. Lacoste lowered the spyglass and aimed his brown eyes seaward. Where
were the rains? Here it was July and still dry.
           He
had promised his Irish crew vengeance against their former English masters here
on Barbados. It was a dangerous business, but on a buccaneer ship the crew
elected their captain.
           They
could also depose him.
           The
crew, mostly escaped slaves, was Hell-bent on raiding several of the island's
sugar plantations.
           Lacoste
understood, having suffered in Hispaniola before escaping to Tortuga. And of
course, being French, he appreciated their hatred of the English.
           The
embittered Irish told tales of brutality far worse than anything he'd seen. One
of the men had trouble walking because the English planter had held a torch
flame to the bottoms of his feet for the crime of oversleeping. Another watched
his brother die of starvation and overwork in the cane field, then had to watch
again, helpless, as his brother’s body was dumped into a swamp like garbage.
           Yes,
the men would have their night of retribution. But the time must be right, and
chosen wisely.
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER
7
     
    July
1653
     
    Freddy
lay curled on a pallet of burlap rags, a blanket, and a faded rug. The uneven
dirt floor of the pantry was damp. Fading light from the tall cookhouse windows
filtered through sacking that had been hung to separate the alcove from the
main kitchen. As a warm breeze wafted in, the drape swayed slightly. Freddy
pulled up her gown to cool her legs as best she could. It was so hot, she was
tempted to take it off. But she wasn't sure who was