“Mr. Sprague, the boy, well, an amputation is a serio…” LeMeux stammered to respond, trying to illicit some leniency.
“Enough! The boy goes into a cell! Or so help me, I will make you throw his entire family overboard while he watches! Do you understand me Frenchman? Is the King’s English plain enough for you or should I draw you an illustration? Put that one-legged slave boy into a god damned cell like the rest of those animals!” Sprague shouted. LeMeux took his leave back out into the storm, fighting against wind and wave to make his way back below deck. As he walked the passageway, he couldn’t help but steal a somber glimpse into the cell with Omibwe’s family. They looked hollowed and weak from their time at sea. Horrid conditions, sea sickness and stomach-turning rations barely able to sustain children had taken their toll. LeMeux was beside himself, unable to process. He knew Omibwe’s condition would deteriorate rapidly, his father had been the picture of strength for the first few days at sea. Without the benefit of LeMeux giving the boy part of his rations, he would lose strength. Strength he needed to cope with his life’s new reality and the conditions his future would hold.
Reaching his cabin’s door, LeMeux paused momentarily, bracing himself for the unpleasant task ahead. LeMeux opened the door to find Omibwe struggling to stand with the help of his makeshift crutch. He stepped into the little cabin and began to shut the door when a hand wrapped around the door’s edge holding it in place. LeMeux turned to see the rough face of the sailor who had come to get him earlier and who had also saved him from a grim and watery fate.
“Mr. Sprague says I’m to see to it you move gimpy out to a cell, he says the boy can’t be within sight of his family,” the sailor said. Lemeux could see he was less than enthusiastic about his orders.
“Sir. Suppose we just allow the boy a night here and move him after the storm?” LeMeux asked.
“What are you saying? Sprague told you Frenchy, he will ‘ave you shovin’ the boy’s family over and make ‘im watch! You want that? I’m no saint, but I won’t be a party to it. Give him over,” the sailor snapped at LeMeux and then grabbed Omibwe’s arm. Omibwe, unaware of what was going on resisted the sailor pulling away from his grip. The sailor struggled to keep the boy’s arm, but Omibwe wriggled his arm free.
“Come here, you shit!” the sailor shouted, stumbling with a pitch of the deck and Omibwe’s pull he fell forward onto his face. Without thinking, LeMeux reared back his right arm and hit the sailor square in the jaw as he turned to get up, crumpling him into an unconscious pile. LeMeux shook his hand after the hit, it hurt worse than he’d thought. The Gazelle heaved as if she knew what was occurring within her bowels, throwing LeMeux and Omibwe against the door. LeMeux started to realize the perilous folly he’d made.
“I’ve struck a crewman! Jesus, God, what in heavens name was I thinking? I mean, I’d planned to do something, but now? In a storm? Even if we take the ship, we’re doomed in this storm without someone who knows how to sail her!” LeMeux said aloud, to Omibwe and to himself.
“We will be ok doctor. Open the cells. We will fight the crew, they can’t beat all of us.” Omibwe said, a stubborn bravery in his eyes.
“Oh, my dear friend. You have no idea. There are so many fewer and all so weak, everyone out there is too weak! No, it won’t work.” LeMeux rebutted. He saw a leather strap hanging from the sailor’s waistband with several keys attached. “We are committed now, I suppose, for better or worse. Damn it.” LeMeux said, leaning down and retrieving the keys from the unconscious sailor. He helped Omibwe to stand.
“Omi, we are going out to the passageway. You and I will figure out which of these keys will open the cells. Then I will take the rest to see if I can find arms, they must have a weapons locker somewhere in the hold. We must work quickly Omi. Come now.” LeMeux said, steeling himself for their perilous task. He opened the door to the passageway slightly and peered out, seeing nothing but shadows dancing across the wooden bulkheads of the ship from the swaying lanterns. LeMeux opened the door farther and he and Omibwe edged out into the passageway, steadying themselves against the bulkhead as the ship heaved. They came to the first cell, mostly occupied by grown men, though they were all in about the same shape, gaunt and tired looking. LeMeux fumbled through the keys, checking over his shoulder with each try to open the cell lock. There were three keys on the leather strap, LeMeux tried the first two keys, swearing each time they did not fit. On the third key, the thought crossed LeMeux’s mind that the key for the cells might not be on this set. The click of the lock dispelled his fears and he swung the iron bars of the cell door open. The faces of the men inside were riddled with confusion and fear, until Omibwe crossed behind LeMeux and appeared into
