Moseley and Flashby stand regarding me.
"You, too, Allen," says Moseley. "Out."
"What?" asks Captain Allen, incredulous.
"What will go on here is an Intelligence matter and of no concern to the Regular Army."
"What are you going to do to her?"
"We will conduct an interrogation. There is reason to believe this girl has turned traitor and gone over to the American side..."
Here I shake my head vigorously back and forth. "No, it's not true!"
"...and we mean to find out the truth of the matter."
"I remind you, Allen, that this girl is my capture and I'll do what I want with her," says Flashby. "She is nothing more than gallows bait, after all, and as such, she has absolutely no rights."
"And I remind you, Lieutenant Flashby, that I outrank you and, as such, am the Officer in Charge of military operations on this expedition!"
"We are merely going to ask her some questions, Captain Allen, that is all. Now if you would kindly step outside, we will get on with it."
Allen, furious, says, "Very well, Mr. Moseley. You have one hour. My men must be fed and put to their rest without disruption. One hour, no more."
And with great emphasis on his last utterance, he leaves the hold, and with him goes any hope I might have had of some protection.
Flashby grins at me and pulls a cigar out of his pocket. He licks the end of it and then steps over to the stove behind me. There is a rattling of metal and when he comes back into my sight, the cigar is lit. He pulls up a chair next to me and puffs a great cloud of smoke in my face.
"Do you mind if I smoke?"
I don't answer. The acrid smoke gets in my eyes and makes them leak tears all the more.
Mr. Moseley shuffles through some papers till he finds the one he wants. "It says here that you are wanted for piracy. What do you say to that?"
"Not true. I was a privateer, in the service of King George. I had a Letter of Marque."
"One that was revoked."
"They didn't tell me, when they revoked it. How was I to know? I was at sea, doing what I thought was my duty," I say, my voice full of honest resentment.
"Hmmm. What about the charge of misappropriating one of His Majesty's ships?"
"It wasn't his; it was mine. It was my share of the prize money from those ships I took as commander of the Wolverine."
"Well, I'll let you settle that with His Majesty. Now, this business of your involvement in a French spy ring..."
"I uncovered the spy ring; I wasn't involved in it. I know I saved many lives by my actions, and I take comfort in that," I say. "Not like you, who seek to pay the Indians to murder innocent men, women, and children. How could you be so vile?"
"Ah, so you know about that? You are good at sneaking about," says Flashby. He takes a few more hard puffs on his cigar and then knocks off the gray ash, exposing the end, glowing red-hot. He reaches over with his other hand and flips my skirt back from my knees, exposing my legs to mid thigh. Seemingly by accident, he brings the glowing ember close to one knee. I can feel the heat of it and terror grips me, as I know his intent.
"Very well," says Moseley. "That takes care of your past actions, actions for which you will surely swing, after Naval Intelligence gets done interrogating you concerning the spy ring. Now, as to the present. How came you to be here, and what are you up to?"
"I ain't up to nothin'. I was taken prisoner by Captain Rutherford of the Juno. I escaped, and having no place to hide, I ran for the interior and met up with Lightfoot. I had some money and I hired him to take me down to New Orleans, where I have friends. That's all there is to it."
"Ah. You'll have to do better than that," he says, reaching over to slap me hard across the face.
I cry out, shocked by the suddenness of the blow, and then I blubber out, "I can't tell you anything else! God help me, I don't know anything else! Please believe me! Oh, please don't hurt me!"
"It's reported that, as La Belle Jeune Fille sans Merci, you tortured prisoners on board the Wolverine," says Flashby, leering into my face. "How do you like it done to you, hmmm?" And he puts the hot tip of the cigar to my leg.
"EEEEEE-eeee!" I screech, and thrash about in my bonds. "No, no! Please, no more, oh please, God, save me!"
Flashby blows on the tip of his cigar and again brings it down on me.
"EEEEE-eeeee oh God! No, please, not again! EEEEEE-eeeee!"
Through my pain I hear the hatch door thrust open and the heavy boots of Captain Allen come into the room. Flashby hurriedly pulls my skirt down over my knees to hide the burn marks. I hang my head and sob.
Allen, furious, demands, "What the hell are you doing to her?"
"Now, now, Captain Allen, she is just overreacting to our simple questions," says Moseley. "She sees you are sympathetic and seeks to prey upon your emotions. Can't you see?"
"What I see is that the interrogation for today is over," states Allen, flatly, looking at Flashby with murder in his eye.
"Who are you to be telling us that, Captain?" says Moseley, his toad face turning bright red. "I remind you that I am the head of this expedition, Sir!"
Allen turns on him and says coldly, "Look outside this hold, Sir... You will find nine soldiers dressed in red uniforms, very much like mine. They owe their loyalty to me, Sir; they take their orders from me, Sir; and as hardened as they are, they are very distressed over the shrieks they hear coming from a young girl held down here by the likes of you. If you want us to abandon you and Flashbutt out here in the wilderness to fend for yourselves, just say the word, and we will be gone, Sir."
Flashby is on his feet, glaring at Allen.
"Anytime, Flashbutt, anytime," says Allen, holding his gaze.
"You just want that bit of quim for yourself, admit it," snarls Flashby.
"Anytime, any weapons, Flashboy. Right now is fine with me." His eyes have not wavered from Flashby's. I do my job by continuing to gasp and sob, which ain't hard, given that my face still smarts, my leg still burns, and I despair of my future.
Moseley pulls Flashby to the side and whispers something to him, and then says to Allen, "We were through for the day, anyway. Let's lock her up and see how she likes spending the night in the dark with no food or water. That should make her more cooperative tomorrow. Captain, call down three of your men."
Captain Allen, with a final black look at Flashby, goes to the hatchway and calls out, "Sergeant, come down here with Jackson and McMann."
In a moment the men are in the hold, awaiting orders.
"Empty that closet of its contents," says Moseley. "Here's the key."
Sergeant Bailey takes the key and walks behind me with the other two men. There is a click as the door is unlocked, and then there is the sound of goods being moved.
"Done, Sir," says Private McMann.
"Make sure there's absolutely nothing left in there," warns Flashby. "This female is extremely clever and has twice escaped custody, and I'll be damned if it's going to happen on my watch."
"Nothin' in there, Sir," says Bailey. "Kind o' small, though."
"We'll be the judge of that," Moseley snaps. "Untie her feet. Just her feet."
The one named Jackson squats down and does it.
"All right, now tie her ankles together. Good."
I have not stopped bawling this whole time, and I think it's getting to the soldiers.
"If ... if you tie me too tightly, my hands and feet will go numb and then turn black and fall off and I'll d-d-die," I sob. And I won't be worth so much then, you bastards.
"Make sure the bonds are firm, but don't cut off her circulation."
Sergeant Bailey slides a finger between the ropes and my ankles, then my wrists. "Should be all right," he says.
"Then lift her up and put her in."
Strong hands take me up and turn me around, and I get to see what will be my prison while I am here: a box three feet wide and four feet long, not even big enough for me to stretch out in.
"Oh, how could you beeeeee so cruuuuuel?" I wail, shaking my head back and forth, making my pigtails flail about my face.
"I must protest this treatment of a prisoner," says Captain Allen. "You can be sure that both my superiors and yours will be informed of this when we get back."
"Captain Allen, you may report all you wish. I think my superiors would be most pleased with my actions in this matter," says Mr. Moseley, tersely. "The female will be uncomfortable, yes, but in pain, no. Now direct your men to put her in the closet."
A pause, then, "Do it."
I am lifted from the chair and carried to the box and put in.
"Please, please, don't, pleeeeease...," I scream as the door shuts and blackness surrounds me. The key turns and the lock is secured. I hear low voices from outside and then nothing.
I keep up my caterwauling for a while and then taper off into groans of despair, followed by mere sniveling and whining over where cruel fate has cast poor me. Then I take stock of my situation.
I'm lying on my side, facing away from the door. I twist around to reverse myself and ... good. There's a crack of light at the edge of the door. I can see the lock's lug where it enters the jamb—I won't be able to jimmy it, having no tools, but at least I'll know when it is withdrawn.
First things first. With my fingers, I work the rope binding my wrists down as far as I can toward my hands. Then I slide my bound hands under my rump and down to behind my knees. Now for the hard part. I try to work my hands farther down, but I can only reach to my ankles. That's all right, 'cause now I can get my fingers on the clumsy granny knot that I saw the landlubber Private McMann tie previously. Thank God it wasn't tied by a sailor or I'd be havin' a lot harder time of it. No time to lose, though—I've got to have a look at the knot on my wrist binding before they turn out the light over there.
There! My feet are free. Now I can slide my wrist rope up to my right heel, over and into my arch, then over my toes. That's one leg, now for the other. I make short work of that and... at last!... now my hands are in front of me and I can hold them up to the dim light of the crack to check out the knot. Good! A simple set of half-hitches.
I set to work with my teeth.
"Worst watch I ever stood in me life, Archy," I hear from outside my box two hours later. It seems the watch over me is to be changed. "She cried the whole time, poor thing. But, remember, you can't even talk to 'er or you'll get the whip. And you'll want to talk, believe me, but don't do it."
"Still don't believe she done all those things they say she's done," says Archy MacDuff, plainly plopping himself down in the spot just vacated by Private Quimby. "No way to treat a girl, no matter what she done."
I've got my nose planted right up against the crack so as to suck in what fresh air I can, and I let out a low moan, followed by a few gasps and sobs.
"There she goes again, Arch. I don't envy you your time here."
"Ach, 'twill be a hard night, Willie. Get you off. See you in the morning."
Inside the box, I listen. Quimby has left the hold. I've loosely retied the bonds on my feet again, and I am ready to throw my hands behind me should I be inspected during the night, but no such inspection comes. I softly cry some more and then...