Page 28 of A Fire in Their Hearts

Taking his time, the sailor climbs back up the ladder and the flow of people coming into the hold continues once more.

*?*?*

As ever, Calum is quick to get involved in any activity that might be useful and later that day he’s one of the men who carries up buckets to empty over the side.

‘We’re being treated like animals,’ he says upon his return. ‘Some bastard Edinburgh merchant called Paterson has got the king’s approval to do a deal with the Provost of Edinburgh for us to be transported to America or the West Indies to work on the plantations.’

‘But we can’t be sold like slaves,’ says Samuel. ‘We’re Scotsmen.’

‘No, not slaves. It’s our labour that will be sold, and it’ll simply be bought by the highest bidder. We’ll have no say in any of it, so we could even be split up.’

This unconsidered possibility fills me with such dread that I can’t stop the tears rolling down my cheeks. That we should have endured so much to then be separated .?.?. Is it not enough that I had to be parted from my mother, my father, my own twin, and now I may lose Samuel and Calum too?

‘But how long can we be forced to work?’ I ask.

‘Nobody knows,’ says Calum. ‘I’ve heard that prisoners of war can be held for as long as ten years and Parliament says we’re rebels, which they consider to be an even greater crime. And the king proudly declares that he’s showing mercy by not having us executed.’

‘I can’t do this,’ I say, openly crying.

‘Enough for now, Calum.’

‘No, it’s not, Sam. You need to hear the rest. We should have been split between two ships, but the other one hasn’t arrived, which is why we’re so overcrowded on this one.

Until that vessel gets here from London we’re going to remain in the harbour.

However, the Edinburgh authorities are scared there might be a rescue attempt, so they’re pressing for the Crown of London to sail. ’

‘If we’re meant to be distributed between two vessels, then this one alone can’t carry sufficient supplies for everyone,’ I say. ‘We wouldn’t survive a long journey.’

No one replies, for there is no denying the truth. We may yet die long before ever reaching a plantation.

*?*?*

It didn’t seem possible to us when we were held in Greyfriars Kirkyard that our conditions could possibly be worse, but being kept in the hold is beyond any horror we could have imagined.

Calum was correct when he said it was like entering a huge coffin.

Without enough room for everyone to lie down at the same time, there’s certainly no opportunity to walk or stretch.

A trip to the stinking buckets requires others to twist and lean their bodies over so that you can get through the mass.

No one has spoken openly about me being a woman, if anyone’s actually noticed, or even cares.

My new identity has been aided by the fact that I’ve not had a monthly bleed since Bothwell.

I know from other women that enormous grief or shock can cause such a sudden change, and I assume losing Father has done this to me.

Everyone suffers with terrible crushing headaches, while there’s no chance to get relief from the sores that cover our backs and legs.

Two poor souls have completely lost their wits and have had to be tightly bound to prevent them causing injury to those nearby.

Their constant whimpering and that of the wounded Covenanters is pitiful.

Without supporters to provide extra food as they did in Greyfriars our diet is so poor that we can’t possibly survive for long.

One man has died during the twelve days we’ve been here and there appears to be no sign of this second ship which is meant to take half of us on our journey across the Atlantic.

Despair eats away at our resolve and hope as sharply as the teeth of the rats that run about, biting unsuspecting victims when they can.

We’re also tormented by lice. During those last few weeks in Greyfriars Kirkyard they had been dying due to the cold, even upon the most intimate parts of our bodies, but in the heat of the cramped ship’s hold they’ve multiplied out of control.

On occasions news reaches us and we heard that five Covenanters were recently taken from an Edinburgh gaol to Magus Muir in Fife and executed at the site where Archbishop Sharp was murdered.

‘Never doubt that God is on our side!’

There are those who still preach that all of this misery is merely God testing our faith. I don’t know where they find the strength to give sermons. Most of us struggle just to stand up.

‘There will be greater glory in Heaven because of the suffering our earthly bodies endure in His name .?.?.’

I’ve got my head on Calum’s shoulder and I’m only half listening to what’s being said. I shift slightly and, though I try not to, I moan at the pain in my right leg.

‘It’s bad?’ asks Calum.

I lay my head back down and he puts an arm around me. ‘Not so bad.’

‘Liar.’

‘All right, it hurts a bit. How’s that sore on your thigh?’

‘Almost healed.’

‘Liar.’

‘I try not to think about it.’

Samuel sits on my other side. The cramped conditions are particularly restricting for someone so tall. ‘It’s difficult,’ he says, ‘not to think about things.’

We fall silent. The preacher is still speaking.

For some reason Hamish comes into my mind .

.?. our parting words, the terrible hurt and feelings of betrayal.

Yet now .?.?. now I wonder if he wasn’t right in signing the Black Bond and gaining his freedom.

Such doubts are not to be said aloud. I’m glad that Hamish, at least, is not having to endure this ordeal.

‘What are you thinking?’ asks Calum, well aware of Samuel’s morose mood.

‘Too many things from the past, brother .?.?. Rullion Green, Bothwell Bridge, the execution of George, Alexander and the others in Ayr. Father’s murder .?.?.’

I know from the cries he utters during his sleep that terrible images haunt Samuel’s dreams.

‘Father didn’t deserve to die as he did,’ says Samuel. ‘And I worry what’s happening to our mothers.’

‘Hamish should be with your mother, Violet. At least she’s not alone and between them they’ll make sure that our mother is as well as can be.’

An angry shout from somewhere on the other side of the hold grabs our attention. The light from the hanging lanterns is gloomy but we see a rat flying through the air. It hits someone on the head before dropping into his lap and scuttling over legs, resulting in more angry calls of alarm.

This is immediately overshadowed by footsteps running on the deck. Everyone falls silent, including the preacher, who is forgotten along with the rat. A murmur of shock runs through the hold as the creaking of the ship and the slapping of a sail are accompanied by a gentle movement.

‘Teddico can’t be serious!’ cries Calum. ‘He’s not waiting for the other ship!’

‘God help us now,’ says Samuel.

But God has not helped us much so far in our fight, and as the ship finally leaves the harbour for the unknown of the seas, I wonder if He ever will.