New York - The Novel

seeing his father and mother again, back in New York. And with such a rich prize, he could be quite certain that Master would put down some money to his account.
    When they saw the other vessel, it was coming from the mouth of the Chesapeake, and it was gaining on them fast. The mate put a spyglass to his eye and cursed. “Pirates,” he said. “They’re flying the Stars and Stripes.”
    Solomon reckoned afterward that the mate probably saved his life that day. Thrusting a pistol into his hand he told him: “Take the damn Frenchies below. We can’t trust ’em on deck. Shoot any one of ’em that tries to move.”
    So he was below deck a while later when he heard the rattle of musket fire followed by the roar of cannon sweeping the deck with grapeshot. After this, there was a series of bumps, followed by a loud knocking on the hatch and a rough voice telling him to open up. Reluctantly he did so, and clambered on deck.
    The scene before him was grim. Most of the New York crew were dead, or close to it. The mate had blood all over one leg, but was alive. A dozen Patriots had boarded the ship, including a thickset, red-haired man who carried a bullwhip and had two pistols stuffed into his belt. Solomon assumed he was their captain. As the Frenchmen emerged, and saw the Patriots, they broke out into a voluble welcome in their native tongue. The red-haired captain quickly moved them to one side of the deck and sent two fellows to search below. Two of the blacks were lying dead already, but the other slave was the cook, and they soon found him and brought him up. “That’s all, Cap’n,” they reported.
    The captain turned to the wounded mate. “So this is a French prize you took?” The mate nodded. “You outta New York?” The mate nodded again. “So these”—he indicated the Frenchmen—“are the French crew?”
    “Right,” said the mate.
    “Hmm. These Frenchies are our friends, boys,” he called to his men.“Treat ’em nice.” He turned his attention to the cook. “He a slave?” At the mate’s nod, “Galley?”
    “Cooks good.”
    “I can use him. And this one?” He turned to Solomon.
    “Crew. Good hand,” said the mate, “very.”
    The red-haired captain fixed Solomon with a pair of fierce blue eyes.
    “What’re you, boy?” he demanded. “Slave or free?”
    And now Solomon had to think fast.
    “I’s a slave, Boss,” he said eagerly. “I belongs to the Patriot Captain James Master, sir, that is serving with General Washington.”
    “How so?”
    “I was forced upon this vessel to prevent me joinin’ Captain Master, sir. An’ if you make inquiries of him, he will answer for me.”
    It was a good try, and the pirate considered it, but not for long.
    “Captain James Master. Don’t know the name. But it don’t signify, anyhow. If you’re his slave, then you must’ve run away to the damn British to get your freedom. Which makes you the enemy, far as I’m concerned. An’ you sure as hell are a slave again now, boy. An’ you’re a lyin’, thievin’ treacherous slave too, that needs a whippin’.” But before dealing with Solomon further, he turned to glance around the deck and, indicating the bodies that were lying there, he called to his men. “Over the side with all these.” Then he went across to the mate. “You don’t look good, my friend,” he remarked.
    “I’ll live,” said the mate.
    “I don’t think so,” said the captain. And pulling out one of his pistols, he shot the mate in the head. “Throw him over too,” he ordered.
    Having completed this business, he came back to Solomon again and, standing with his legs wide apart, eyed him, fingering the bullwhip thoughtfully as he did so.
    “Like I said, you need a whippin’.” He paused, considering, then nodded to himself. “But though I should, I reckon I ain’t goin’ to whip you. No, I believe I’m goin’ to lie instead. I’m goin’ to say that you never been whipped because you are the most humble, obedient, hard-workin’, God-fearin’ nigger that ever walked the face of the earth. That’s what I’m goin’ to say.” He nodded. “An’ you know why?”
    “No, Boss.”
    “Because, you lyin’ Loyalist, son-of-a-bitch runaway, I’m goin’ to sell you.”

    It was only when her father’s captain returned, expecting to find the French vessel already in New York, that Master realized that he had lost his prize, and had to tell Hudson that his son was missing. “I don’t think our