Chain Gang
The heat on the ship baked the backs of his eyelids when he blinked. Ward never meant to follow through with indentured servitude once he got to the New World. Not before he boarded the tumbling core of the ship. It was a way to get out of England, to work his way into a different class. Perhaps to make his name.
But, two weeks of continuous movement, of constant retching, of sleepless fury, broke the most determined mind. As the ship entered the calmer waters of Charleston Harbor, he glimpsed the familiar spires of a steeple or two, pieces of jolly old England replicated anew.
The ship slammed into land with a force that jarred his teeth inside his skull. Outside, on the dock, his owner would be waiting to claim his pound of flesh, his two years of ceaseless labor. Breathing in the rancid moisture that hung in the air, he wondered how he would stand two years of wading in a rice paddy, two years of mucking out horse shit, two years of beheading tufts of cotton. He was an educated man, but he still imagined the glee his owner would find in grinding him below his place.
Know your place, and stay in it. He could hear the snarled words bounce over the lapping water.
The coils of chain wrapped around his soul, crushing him under two years of weight. Would he even live through two years of mosquitoes and New World diseases, of simmering unrest, of insults?
His eyes lit on the silty, opaque harbor, a foreign greenish-brown that stank of salt and sulfur. When he crashed into it, he did not realize he had jumped. It was only when he was flailing through the thickness of it, fighting to swim away from the side of the ship, that someone shouted, “Arrest that man!”
This post is part of the series Jailhouse Rock, set in and around the Old Charleston Jail. If this is your first visit to the series, please click here to read the first installment. And, if you’re ever in Charleston, do not miss the Old Jail.
Already being thrown in the pokey. Hasn’t even set foot on dry land. Poor guy.
I shudder to think where your mind may take him next.
And I’m sure they are cowering under the whip of President Andra… most presidents use gavels…
Stunning write. I have often wondered what it might be like for those who came to America in this capacity. So atmospheric, Andra.
My first boss out of college had an indenture framed in his office. I used to study it. Such a lovely piece of paper for a harsh thing.
And he became Capt Blackbeard, scourge of the Caribbean, only to be overthrown by Capt Jack Sparrow…..
No pirates in this write, I am afraid.
AAARRRGGGGHHH!!
Except for you, Lou. We will make you the honorary pirate commenter. How’s that?
The fear of being under the boot of the man…scary. I hope he makes it (either the two years – or to shore away from the boot of the man).
It had to be frightening to come to America under these circumstances, never knowing what you would be forced to do to earn your freedom.
Great introduction to this new series, Andra. I really like the imagery you use here and the desperation of Ward comes starkly through. What a horrible plight it must have been for indentured servants. I remember first hearing the term in grade school history when I was about 10 or 11.
In my research, we had indentures into the early 1900s, a thing that boggles my mind, but the practice fell out of favor with the popularity of slavery.
Oh my! And he hasn’t even met them yet. Methinks he’s headed for the jail. Also, great connector between the music series and the jail series. Sam Cooke is singing in my head now.
Sam Cooke is one of my all-time favorites. I could write a music series for a year, probably.
Andra, did indentured servitude get quashed after the Revolution? I know it was the way that many gained their way here in the early colonial days, but am not familiar with what happened after the Revolution.
According to my research, indentured servitude existed until the early 1900s. It fell off precipitously when slavery became an easier way to get cheap labor. (IE Why own someone’s time for two or three years when you can own them as a whole for life?) So, it was never quashed, but it did die out by the beginning of last century.
That is very interesting! I had no idea that it continued so long.
I am fascinated and quite intrigued with the stories of people willing to leave their native lands to take on the emotional shackles of indentured servitude. My mind can’t quite grasp the enormity of the strength it took to survive at all. I am going to really enjoy this series, Andra. I am already rooting for this character and concerned about the indignity of what comes next! Debra
It’s always been interesting to me to read about the kinds of people who ended up in these prisons, some of them of the wicked sort, and others just scared. I cannot imagine the enormity of signing a portion of one’s life away, having time to ponder it on a long voyage, and ultimately have a change of heart about the whole thing.
Exciting! I’ll be interested to see if he gets away. I’m guessing no, or at least not right now.
I feel like indentured servitude is one of those things that often gets forgotten in the larger focus on slavery. Must have been a heck of a thing to commit to.
Maybe because many of them could move on after their time of service, much of it has been forgotten. But, they did a lot of the same grueling tasks.
Mmm… love the beginning of a new fiction… taptaptap.
I’m doing so much new fiction in private right now that new fiction in public is rather intimidating. But, sometimes the voices must have their way……..
I’ve enjoyed this new beginning, Andra, looking forward to more!
I hope the story weaves itself well, Tom. Tomorrow’s post is done, but I do these by day, as the characters dictate. It is a very Aquatom-ish process, I’m afraid.
I think that makes it all the more fun, Andra! You know what’s happening only slightly before the rest of us!
I’m sure it will weave fabulously!
God, that first sentence is stunning, Andra!
Hugs,
Kathy
Thanks, Kathy.
And then a local fisherman pulled him out of the water, threw him under his nets, at told him to lie down and keep quiet….
Kind of reminds me of the beginning of Sweeny Todd. Of course London vs Charleston, but similarities exist….
We will have no straight edge razors in the story, Carnell. Those things frighten the bejesus out of me.
I suppose there were local fishermen in 1803……..
Of course there were! And crabbers too. Of course no self-powered trains till about 30 years after that.
Of course, all fish were local then, right?
Maybe he’ll be food for the fishes before he’s fished out of the harbor?
Great start for your tale, Andra!