H.M.S Valor: Treachery And Triumph: A war time adventure on the high seas

quickly outpaced Anaya who stumbled again. He slowed momentarily to scoop up his little sister to carry her and took off again, this time with everything he had. Omibwe was a powerful runner and strong enough to carry his sister for miles, if he could get far enough away that the guns couldn't hit him, he knew he could lose the following men. As he sprinted to the shore, he could already tell he was opening a gap from his followers. Cresting over a small ridge, Omibwe came within sight of the sea and the ships. What he hadn’t seen before was the inhabitants of his village, all sitting, surrounded by several men with guns. There were small boats laden with people from the village being ferried off to the large ships. Omibwe was shocked, he almost froze at the sight, but he turned and kept his sprint up the shore hoping none of the men down on the beach had seen him. His legs burning from the pace, shoulders already aching from carrying Anaya, Omibwe searched desperately in his mind for a plan. He could hear yelling behind him, a piercing shot rang out and snapped in the air over his head. A shrill voice screamed out his name, then Anaya’s! Omibwe turned his head to see the source of the screams. His mother was crying out for them from the group of villagers, upon seeing her fleeing children she panicked, inconsolably crying and trying to leave the group to protect her children.

Omibwe heard the shot, he stumbled down to the sand, instantly coating his sweat soaked body, the sand cushioned his fall. Anaya scrambled to her feet, Omibwe could hear her gasp and start to cry and then her cries turned to screams. He rolled to his back, trying to command his feet to lift them both and carry them away, but they would not obey. He felt a strange, sudden rush of cold, a chill he had never experienced, and a nausea swept over him. He struggled to sit up, his head felt like a boulder. He had heard the shot, he saw three of the pursuing men now just moments from getting to him, his head swooned, and his vision was failing. In the distance Omibwe could see his mother, struggling against their captors, fighting to get to her children, a man raised up a musket and struck her with it. Omibwe, filled with rage, attempted to muster strength that seemed to be slipping through his fingers again trying to stand. His right leg would not obey, it lay crooked and as he looked at it Omibwe saw the wound. Just below the knee, a massive hole with blood running out soaking into the white sand. His head swam, feeling heavier by the second. The men approached, now walking, looking over him with disdain. Anaya’s screams and cries faded from hearing and he could no longer sit up. His torso crashing back into the sand, he watched helplessly as one of the men grabbed Anaya’s arm and drug her back away towards the rest of the captive villagers. Then Omibwe’s vision finally succumbed and unconsciousness swept over him.

4 August 1808

Haiti, Near Port-Au-Prince

In the past few months, Lilith Gereau had suffered trauma upon tragedy. She was the illegitimate daughter of a French slave owner in Port-Au-Prince, Haiti. The result of his salacious and depraved acts against her mother. Lilith had grown up never knowing that the man whom she feared more than anyone, the man whose volatile temper caused so much pain and torment to her mother, was actually her father. Learning this truth was difficult, but when Lilith’s mother told her that she would soon likely have to endure the same type of abuse, she could not stand the thought. Her mother had, up until then, attempted to shield her daughter from the wicked realities of life on the plantation. But having just reached sixteen years of age and due to her beautiful features and lighter complexion, Lilith was told she would be given “inside work”. Her mother could not stand to see her daughter go into the estate home unknowing of some very hard truths. Lilith’s mother came to her the evening before she was to begin working in the kitchen of the estate owner.

“I don’t wish this for you my darling, but in some ways, it will be better than working cane in the fields.” Lilith’s mother lamented. She was braiding Lilith’s long hair as they sat by the only lantern in the long bunkhouse. The building that housed all the slaves of the French estate sat situated near cane fields, at the bottom of the hill the estate house was on. It was a low, long building with dirt floors, no windows, poor ventilation and a slant roof that did little to keep out water in the rainy seasons.

“Mama, I don’t want to be near him.” Lilith said, struggling to see through the tears welling in her eyes.

“Baby, we have no choices here. It will be okay, but you need to keep busy and try not to be caught alone by him,” her mother said through a deep sigh, knowing how impossible that endeavor would be.

“No, mama. I don’t want this. I don’t want the kitchen or cleaning or the cane fields. I want to leave. We need to leave.” Lilith said, a spark kindled in her eyes with the thought of even the possibility of a future away from here.

“Lilith, we have spoken about this. There is only one way that path ends. Baby, I cannot watch you hang…” her mother’s voice trailed off. Lilith could see tears running down her mother’s cheeks when she looked back at her and felt a wave of sadness over their situation. It seemed hopeless, but Lilith was desperate to avoid the same fate her mother had suffered for years. The night found her in restless fits, sleep elusive until the wee morning hours when exhaustion