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  HADES’S REVENGE:

  Pirate to Patriot

  T. Lynne Tolles

  Foreshadowing possible war of independence with England, two young men from either ends of the political and financial spectrum are abducted by a pressgang and forced into service of King George’s Royal Navy. Fate deals them another blow when a pirate ship captures and destroys the British vessel killing everyone aboard, but our two heroes. William and Jessop are offered a choice—serve as pirates or die.

  Not willing to perish they pursue life as pirates, proving their worth and serving the colonial patriots by battling the British, Hessians, and any other foes who cross their paths.

  Copyright

  Troll Publishing

  Copyright 2015 T. Lynne Tolles

  April 1, 2015

  Smashwords Edition

  ISBN 978-0-9905589-0-3

  All Rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews, is illegal and punishable by law.

  Publisher’s Note:

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are the work of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, locales or events is coincidental.

  T. Lynne Tolles

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Special Thanks

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  The throaty sighing of a violin floated above the indecipherable murmur of conversations in the large room. Most everyone who was anyone in all of the thirteen colonies was here as well as some significant brethren from across the great sea. Maximilian Aster was known for his infamous parties both here and there. He was born into money and he set the model for high society in the New World whose numbers at last count exceeded 1.5 million.

  Extravagant gowns in colorful brocades rustled and swished against hoop skirts and panniers giving the illusion of wide hips to its wearer. Most everybody in the room wore a powdered wig in different heights and lengths. Not to be outdone by their female counterparts, the men wore elaborately patterned frocks and high stiff butterfly collars with neck scarves and lacy cravats.

  “Cease your fidgeting, Cornelius,” she said as she tapped her fan on his arm.

  “I despise these collars. Must they be so stifling?” he said his face contorted as he tugged at it one last time.

  She smiled as a guest passed then continued. “It is the price of your station in life. Do you think me commodious wearing a cage of whale bone, a binding corset under twelve yards of fabric, a four-pound wig and this white paste on my face? I do not. I do what is expected of me as the fiancé to the son of Maximilian Aster,” she said cooling herself with the hand painted silk fan she’d just reprimanded him with.

  “I am sympathetic to your plight. Forgive my insensitivity to your discomfort.” He paused for a moment and continued after he smiled and nodded to guest. “As for our engagement, I’ve not been informed of any unanimity among our parents. It seems barbaric that our destinies are not our own. We’re adults after all, shouldn’t we make up our own minds about who we marry?”

  Her eyes grew enormous telling him in no uncertain words to quiet himself. Cornelius looked around to see several heads quickly turn away.

  “Be wary what you say, for it cannot be unsaid. These are time tested tactics. Our parents know what’s best for us. If memory serves true, details of our matrimony was foretold…well,” she said rather exasperated, “since we were born.”

  “Truer words were never spoken, Penelope, but I fear you are better suited to wed my father than myself. Truth be told, I find it improbable that you find favor in me.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” she said, fanning herself frantically and looking around in hopes that no one heard him. He could see a blush flood across her bosom and arms, but the white makeup covered any hint of it on her face. “It is disheartening that you distrust my affections so, Cornelius.”

  “If you did, you’d know I’d rather be referred to as Jessop. I hate the name Cornelius.”

  He could see she was getting quite flustered with him as the fan waved faster. “Cornelius is your given name. You should be proud you’ve been given such a noble name. I grow weary of this conversation. It is neither the time nor place for such intimate tête-à-tête.”

  He mumbled something under his breath in response as he turned and headed for one of the open French doors that looked out over the veranda.

  * * *

  Jessop stood resting his hands on the balustrade, the cool breeze washing away his frustration and angst. A heavy hand found his shoulder and he turned, recognizing the familiar earnest face on the willowy aging man he knew as his father.

  “Penelope is quite distraught,” his sinewy voice bellowed.

  “Is she?” he responded pulling at his collar.

  “Look at your hands. Did you not bathe before dressing?”

  “Of course I did,” he said quickly hiding them behind him.

  “You frequented the smithies again. You’re testing my patience. No son of mine need labor like a commoner.”

  “I enjoy it, Father, and I’m good at it. In fact, I think I may have made a discovery today,” he said excitedly. “I was smelting pig iron with Big Tom and…”

  “Pig iron. What a distasteful term.” He held his son’s hands inspecting them. “It’s near impossible to scour coal from fingernails and callouses.”

  “I fear you’re right, Father, but as I was saying… I was working with the furnace, I noticed a piece of pig iron that hadn’t melted and remarkably I had the inclination to withdraw and examine it or I might never have determined…”

  “That’s fascinating, son, but I must get back to my guests,” he said heading into the ballroom. Jessop could see Penelope making her way towards them.

  “But don’t you see, Father, this is a fortuitous discovery. It could revolutionize the production of pig iron into steel. What currently takes hours to accomplish and unknown amounts of fuel to achieve, could be realized in mere minutes.”

  His father turned taking the hand of Penelope and kissing it sweetly then directed his attention to Jessop. “What pray tell, do you think you’ve discovered,” he said accentuating the word ‘discovered,’ practically yelling the question to everyone within hearing distance.

  Jessop fumbled a moment with the added attention his father had drawn to their conversation, but confident in his theory he retorted, “I believe that by forcing air through the molten pig iron that the impurities are burned off making the steel stronger.”

  His father smiled and started to chuckle. He turned to Penelope and she followed him in suit with a few chortles of her own. “You’re saying, son, that blowing cool air through molten iron actually burns off impurities in the metal?” He shook his head and continued. “That’s absolutely ludicrous. How can you possibly burn something off by cooling it down?” He laughed annoyingly loud and long, while Penelope practically fainted from lack of air from laughing so hard.

  Jessop reddened in embarrassment and anger at such a display of blatant humiliation his father had tossed
before him. He turned, ripping the itchy powdered wig from his head and the cravat from his neck. He could still hear the laughing behind him as he stormed from the house. He tossed the expensive wig and lace into the mud as he made his way towards the stables. His father called to him between tears of laughter for him to come back.

  * * *

  His father’s laughter became contagious to his guests and Jessop heard the crowd roar. A boy was tending to the horses, watering and brushing them and pulling the ones less agreeable out of the crowd to separate posts. It was one of these that Jessop grabbed, tearing the reins from the boy’s fingers. With both hands on the horn of the saddle, he flung himself onto the horse without planting a foot in the stirrup. The stable boy protested a word or two until he saw who was seated and then fell silent.

  A click of his tongue and a jab of his heels into the horse and they were off. The horse’s hooves entered and left the muddy road making a rhythmic slap and slurp that finally drowned out the sound of the maddening laughter. He felt clumps of mud hitting his stockings and britches and he knew he would be a mess when he was done, but that made no matter to him. The brisk breeze on his face dampened his anger after a while and the melodic clopping of the horse was comforting. He did not know where he was going, just away from the degradation of his father and the cruelty of Penelope’s giggles.

  The horse fell into an easy cantor as the rain began. Due to his hasty exit, he’d not prepared for such weather and was quickly drenched to the bone. A kerosene lantern swaying in the breeze beneath a wooden sign beckoned as he made his way around a long wide curve in the road. Jessop slowed the horse and approached the establishment cautiously noting the name—The Ruddy Knuckle Tavern. He wasn’t sure where he was and with all the talk about patriots brutalizing the loyalists it was a bit unnerving. Jessop had never been very political, he left that to his father, but given his lifestyle and the fact he was overdressed for a ride in the rain, the general public would assume he was loyal to King George, as many of the wealthy among the colonist were.

  Luckily the inn was not very populated, and it might serve as a way to wait out the rain and dry off a bit. Jessop dismounted, finding himself up to his ankles in mud. The chilly wetness seeped into his uncomfortable shoes, soaking his stockings and giving him a squish with each step. He wiped his feet as best he could before entering. All eyes were upon him as he entered the large room of long tables and benches surrounding an L-shaped bar. Shedding his fancy frock he made his way towards the bar and the rotund woman manning it.

  “How do you fare this evening, kind madam?” Jessop greeted.

  “Good, thank you, sir. How may I help you?”

  “Might I partake in a serving of flip?”

  “My pleasure,” the woman smiled displaying very bad teeth and eyeing him from head to toe. He suddenly felt naked despite all his wet clothes. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a Spanish dollar.

  “Might you be wanting a room for the night? It’s raining cats and dogs out there,” she asked quickly, snagging the coin off the counter.

  “So be it, my good woman,” he said seating himself near the hearth and draping his frock inside out over a chair hoping those leering at him wouldn’t notice the intricate finery. He tried to ignore the customers who burned a hole in the back of his head with their eyes.

  The bar mistress concocted the flip from their tap beer, molasses, and a bit of rum in a large pewter stein and headed to him. As a final additive to the flip, she pulled a large iron poker from the red hot coals of the hearth and submerged the tip into the mug. It hissed and steamed the mixture within, then she handed it to him. He nodded his thanks and took a large draw from the brew noting the lovely burnt flavor the poker had added to its flavor. It was just what he needed—something to warm him on the inside. He relaxed a bit from the gratifying drink, though it was quite impossible to be very comfortable when the customers still had not resumed their conversation since he entered.

  “Might I fetch up some dry clothes?”

  “If you’d be so kind. Thank you.”

  “I’ll put them in the first room at the top of the stairs. While you’re getting changed I’ll get you a plate of food and have your horse brought to the stable.”

  “You’re a very gracious host,” he said gratefully. He guzzled the rest of his drink and did as his host had advised.

  * * *

  It was a humble, bare room with a side table and bed wider than it was long. One kerosene lamp emitting soot, dulling the light from the flame sat on the tiny table. True to her word, a set of breeches and a shirt were laid on the bed next to a pair of stockings. The garments were quite large on Jessop and if not for his belt he would surely have lost them when walking, but they were dry and warm.

  He made his way down the stairs to a waiting bowl of meaty stew, a heel of bread and a full stein of flip. The two who stared him down when he came in had resumed their conversation and the man at the bar spoke between sips of cider with the mistress of the inn. Jessop had been a little light headed after not eating and guzzling his first drink so he dug into the pottage of turnips, carrots, and venison. It was good but it had a bitter taste underlying it. It was a familiar taste, but he couldn’t place it. He shrugged it off as a bad tasting turnip or a badly spiced stew, and washed the taste away with his flip. Half way through his meal he felt incredibly tired. Taking his leave and delivering a respectfully cordial goodnight to his hostess, he stumbled up the stairs to his room.

  Once behind closed doors, he kicked off his shoes and plopped into the bed. It was lumpy, smelled rank and sagged something terrible in the middle, but the blanket was warm and his stomach was full and that was all his body needed. He thought about the bitter taste that still lingered on his tongue despite the tasty ale and as sleep won the battle over him and there was no coming back he remembered what the bitter taste reminded him of—Laudanum.

  * * *

  Jessop’s eyelids felt glued shut and were hard to pry apart. His first indication that he was not in a familiar place was the sounds around him. There was moaning and stirring as if he was not alone and there was what sound of water sloshing. He was quite sure his eyes were open but he couldn’t see a thing. He tried to sit up and he bumped into something, no someone. He heard someone wretch nearby and the smell was so powerful that others followed suit.

  Jessop had to concentrate not to heave as his head pounded and stomach lurched in a gag. Where was he? Who were these people he was with? There was thumping above starting far away then passing just over head and away again—footsteps. He could vaguely hear voices calling out what seemed to be commands though they were muffled. More foot traffic above, maybe two or three men this time.

  What is this place? He thought. His mind wandered back to the underlying sound of water slapping against the walls and rocking—the incessant rocking. A boat. I must be on a ship, but why? His head cleared away the drugged sleep he’d been in. The more he thought, the more concerned he became and a fist of fear hit his gut—it was his turn to heave. Sadly it didn’t make him feel any better. It only forced him into the reality of his predicament. His mouth was dry and he couldn’t seem to form a lick of spit to swallow—and there was the bitter taste again.

  His mind jumped to the meal he’d had and the thought he recollected before falling asleep—Laudanum. He’d been sick a few years back and had been given this medicine. It was prescribed for all sorts of ailments from suppressing a cough to extinguishing great pain. Anyone could buy it at a general store.

  I was drugged, he thought to himself. Someone coughed to his left, yet still there was no light to see his surroundings or get his bearings, just the constant pitching of the ship.

  A voice spoke to his right, “Do you know where we are?”

  Noting it was a man’s voice, Jessop answered, “No, sir. I fear we are the unwilling captives on a ship.”

  “Conscripted,” said a raspy voice to Jessop’s left. A sudden hush fell over the black grim b
elly of the ship.

  “Pray tell, good fellow?” Jessop inquired.

  “Conscripted more fully represents our formidable situation. We’ve been deployed into servitude.”

  “Bondage?” said the anxious voice on the right.

  “I’ve read of such ills in books. I never contemplated such folly might find me,” Jessop said to the man on his left.

  “Seems King George’s aspirations of easily manning his ships were greatly rebuffed. The officers are then forced to acquire recruitments by other means,” the old man to the left said.

  “But surely this is unlawful,” Jessop rebuked.

  “Sadly no. Trafficking of humans has been happening since the dawn of civilization, at least some form of it. Likely our vendor has given the proper authorities all the signed documents needed, making the transaction appear presentable to any authority that might asking for logistics of the agreement.”

  “I signed no such document,” the man to his right said.

  “Nor I,” said another voice.

  “Agreement? I agreed to no such proceedings,” Jessop said.

  “I dare say no one here has. Our purveyor on the other hand, most certainly has safeguarded his dastardly deeds.”

  “That is forgery, sir,” an indignant voice said from the looming darkness.

  “Indeed, but the Royal Navy is in need of men. How they get them is of no consequence,” the old man explained. Above their heads more commands were shouted and many footfalls were heard.

  Jessop was dumbfounded by what the old man relayed. He thought of the patriots and their animosity towards the loyalists and he wondered who was in the right here. Surely a monarch and his officers who allowed such atrocities to happen under their noses were unworthy of such admiration and loyalty. How could they allow slavery on their naval ships? Maybe his father was wrong about being loyal to the crown.