The Burn Rose: Pirates to Privateers

By W.D. Currie

Flora Burn, female captain of the Burn Rose pirates, refuses to attack British ships. To do so invites annihilation by King George’s Royal Navy. But her protégé, Michael Wolfe, knows every tactic employed by the British. He is ready to sacrifice everything, including love, to avenge the violent murder of his parents by British soldiers. When Congress declares independence, the Burn Rose pirates become privateers. Wolfe’s destiny is fulfilled as he is sanctioned to attack the British. He unleashes a savage level of violence against his adversaries. One Founding Father is so thrilled with the results that he goes undercover to encourage the superstitious Burn Rose pirates to search for the long-dead remains of powerful spirit shifters. Congress hopes to retrieve them from the afterlife and use them as weapons against the enemy. The Royal Navy responds with indestructible warships, serial killers, and German mercenaries. The Burn Rose pirates love a good fight, but can they survive the onslaught when the most violent spirit shifter of all time defects to the British side? Expect the unexpected when an Oneida Clan Mother decides to intervene between the warring factions. (Book 1 of the Burn Rose Saga)

• Language: English
• Publisher: W.D. Currie
• Release date: Jul 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301629879

W.D. Currie

Pirate captain Flora Burn is the perfect centerpiece for novels by an author fascinated by the Golden Age of Pirates, the American Revolution, and Colonial life. She arrived on the Eastern Seaboard, as if from nowhere, following eradication of most pirates by the Royal Navy. Despite growing tensions, distrust, and spying between Americans and British, she shrouded the activities of her crew in near-total secrecy. With the American Revolution approaching, she and her crew vanished from history without leaving a trace. Captain Burn was a powerful and complicated woman; a female mix of Edmond Dantès (the Count of Monte Cristo) and Sir Francis Drake (explorer, pirate, warrior).

Book preview

Chapter One: The Buzzard’s Stone

You want us to go how many days without killing anyone? The captain, only a few years older than his passenger, was responding to a request that the pirates not kill anyone during their three day visit to Saint-Denis.

Their ship, the Phantom, approached the town along the northern tip of the Isle of Réunion in the Indian Ocean. A French flag flew from the mainmast. The sole passenger on the ship stood on deck beside Captain Guy Babineaux. The pirates had transported the young man from Boston one-third of the way around the globe. His goal was to attend the hanging of the pirate Olivier Levasseur, known as the Buzzard.

The truth was that the captain and crew of the Phantom would be well behaved on shore. They had no quarrel with the people of Saint-Denis, or with the French soldiers who were plentiful there. Perhaps, then, Captain, suggested his passenger, you should let the men go into town and celebrate our arrival, or at least begin to re-supply the ship. Today is July 4th, 1730. The French are punctual; the Buzzard will hang on the 7th.

The true identity of the young man to whom the captain spoke was unknown to the crew. They had been paid handsomely to get him here on time, and they would receive the same amount upon returning him safely to Boston. His financial backers controlled extraordinary wealth. As the young man carefully organized his activities each day, the pirates referred to him simply as the Planner. He had no disagreeable ways about him.

Will you grace us with your company in the nearest tavern, then, Planner? asked the captain.

The powerfully built Bostonian responded by being the first to scramble over the rail of the Phantom and down the rigging into the captain’s skiff. He was joined by the officer and half a dozen of his men. Babineaux admired the manner in which the Planner took hold of the oars and skillfully swung the rowboat in the direction of shore. The skiff picked up speed as it slid across the surface of the brilliant blue water. Three days, the Planner began to chant, no killing. The others in the boat quickly joined in, Three days, no killing, three days, no killing. In minutes, they reached shore. They pulled the skiff above the tide line, flipped it on its gunnels, and headed for the streets of Saint-Denis.

As they reached the row of shops closest to the water, they were met by a similarly sized group of French soldiers. Every man was heavily armed, soldier and pirate alike. But not a man drew a weapon.

Captain Babineaux was the first to speak. We’re here to see a hanging, he announced.

The French corporal responded, Have you not heard? You will have your wish this Friday evening. But promise me, Captain, you are not here to rescue the condemned man. It would be terrible if it became necessary for us to cross swords on a peaceful summer’s eve.

The Planner had seen how the pirates of the Phantom trained nearly constantly. He doubted that the French soldiers would stand much chance against them. He quickly exclaimed, The Phantom has simply delivered me here. I am a scientist here to study your magnificent Oiseaux Solitaire. Naturally, the crew has become excited at the prospect of a hanging. No doubt, the spectacle will draw an enormous crowd? As the Planner spoke, he retrieved a pouch from his jacket, from which he extracted a folded document. He handed it to the corporal, explaining, I have a letter of support for my studies from a French official.

The corporal spoke as he unfolded the letter. Every man and woman on Réunion will attend the hanging, and possibly every child. It will give your men something to look forward to while chasing your solitary bird about the island. But I warn you, sir, the Solitaire has not been seen near Réunion in several years. The corporal paused abruptly, becoming more formal as he recognized the signature on the letter the Planner had shared with him. Excuse me, Monsieur! If there is anything we may do to accommodate you during your visit, please ask any soldier in Saint-Denis for my whereabouts. I am Caporal Moreau.

As the groups parted company, Babineaux asked the Planner, What were the contents of the letter that turned the corporal into such an accommodating fellow?

It is an invitation in Governor Pierre Dumas’ own handwriting, forged, of course, explained the Planner. The forgery is so perfect that, on seeing it, even Dumas might believe he had written it. Fortunately, the governor is currently in French India, so the soldiers will not be able to question him about the legitimacy of our presence on the island. We will be long gone before anyone discovers that our invitation was a forgery.

The pirates proceeded to the nearest and loudest drinking establishment. With a mug of beer in his hand, Babineaux whispered to the Planner, Now you will have to hike about this bloody island pretending to be in search of birds. I will assign some men to accompany you tomorrow. While you are occupied, I will track down former members of Levasseur’s crew. There are bound to be some here to say a final goodbye to their captain.

July 7th arrived without incident and the weather was pleasant. The corporal was correct. All of Saint-Denis has turned out for the event, noted the Planner. He explained to Captain Babineaux the reason for the French pirate’s execution. Hangings are rare in a place such as this, where there is room for the soldiers and pirates to peacefully co-exist. But the fabulously wealthy Levasseur has refused to share his treasure with French authorities. Both the honest and corrupt officials have offered him concessions of every type, but he will give them no information, even if it means his life.

So, our mad friend has given the governor no choice but to proceed with the hanging, concluded Babineaux. Events progressed throughout the day until they became more festive than somber. Merchants were selling their wares among the crowd. Puppets were performing for the children. Musicians and jugglers were playing to impromptu audiences forming in every corner of the town square. Food was being sold directly from buckets, spits, grills, and hand driven carts.

Late in the afternoon, one of the pirates exclaimed, Look, Captain, they are bringing Levasseur from the jail. The man from Boston hastily pulled another paper from his jacket. He compared the prisoner to the sketch that he had examined countless times during the trip to Saint-Denis.

I can assure you, Planner, stated Babineaux, viewing the prisoner through a small spyglass, the man you see on the way to the gallows is the genuine Buzzard. Even from this distance I can see that he still suffers great madness. He is carrying on a most animated conversation with himself.

But I didn’t expect the real Levasseur. It makes no sense, whispered the Planner. The real Levasseur has the financial wherewithal to replace himself with a look-alike, or otherwise buy his way out of this predicament.

He does not believe the noose can end his life, explained Babineaux. The crowd remained silent while Levasseur gathered his final thoughts and prepared to speak. The hangman draped the noose around the Buzzard’s neck and tightened the knot in place.

Two other objects encircled Levasseur’s throat. Raising his gold neck chain, he kissed a medallion bearing the likeness of the patroness of pirates. He whispered to her, Courageous Saint Barbara, watch over my remains. The other object was a barrel-shaped stone, nearly half the size of a thumb. Levasseur carefully extricated the rawhide lace from beneath the noose, and tore the lace and stone from his neck. Throwing the stone among the spectators at the foot of the gallows, he challenged them, Solve the riddles of my treasure if you can.

Unlike the usual black cloth sack placed over the head of the condemned, the executioner slipped a red sack over Levasseur’s head, indicating that he was being punished for crimes of piracy. An instant before Levasseur dropped through the trap door in the floor of the gallows, the Bostonian was certain that Levasseur’s knees buckled. As Levasseur fell through the opening, his life ended with an audible snap of his cervical vertebrae. At the same instant, a young man standing near the foot of the gallows fainted. As the fluids drained from Levasseur’s lifeless body, members of the crowd fought for possession of the Buzzard’s stone.

The Planner and Captain Babineaux watched the proceedings with great interest. At the conclusion of the mêlée, the captain noted, It looks like a high ranking French officer now possesses your stone. They followed the officer, at a discreet distance, as he left the town square to join in the celebrations that were moving into the taverns for the evening. It was after midnight when Gitano Bonaparte emerged, alone, from Mon Petit Marseille. Moderately drunk, he was walking toward the officers’ barracks when he was accosted by the young Bostonian. Before Bonaparte could speak, his throat was squeezed in a powerful grip that cut off his air supply. Ou es la collier? The officer quickly pulled Levasseur’s necklace from his pocket and handed it to the younger man. The Planner maintained his grip on Bonaparte’s windpipe. Determining that he held Levasseur’s stone in his hand, he released the officer just in time to allow him to lose consciousness without losing his life.

Three Corsican pirates watched the attack from the shadows of a nearby alley. From a distance, Babineaux kept a watchful eye over the Corsicans whom he had hired to deal with Bonaparte following the departure of the Phantom. They joined the American at the spot where Bonaparte lay unconscious. These were brutal pirates, among the few who had not chosen amnesty from the French government. They had either not yet earned riches, they had squandered what riches they had, or they were addicted to the life of pirates. Despite their superior numbers and brutal nature, they had just witnessed a demonstration of the young man’s power. Stay out of arm’s reach of the American, they warned one another.

Your victim is a Bonaparte, Monsieur, one of the Corsicans began. He is related to a powerful family from whom we might extract favors in exchange for his safe return. But we will not ransom him if you feel it would violate our agreement. Quel destin vous aurait la chute sur cet homme?

The Planner responded, I do not care what you do with him, as long as you do not free him until our ship is long gone. The pirates approved of the foreigner’s faith in their ability to handle the situation. He left them in the process of tying a red cloth sack over the head of his victim. The American appreciated the pirates’ sense of justice. They were using the sack they had removed from Levasseur’s head earlier in the evening just before burying him, a task the French authorities had gladly relinquished.

As the Planner started toward the Phantom, Babineaux joined him from the shadows. So, mon ami, you seem to have ended our three day restriction on violence. I had not expected that from you. Are you sure you don’t want to kill him?

I should have killed him, shouldn’t I? asked the Planner.

I might have killed him. Of course, he did nothing wrong. We can go back if you would like. I am sure I could work out an agreement with our Corsican friends, suggested Babineaux.

No, not now, we are close to the ship. Let’s get safely on board and set sail for Massachusetts. The two men rejoined the crew, all of whom were already waiting on the Phantom. With the ship under way for America, the Planner felt comfortable enough to investigate Levasseur’s barrel-shaped stone. He had been afforded the spacious admiral’s cabin where he worked with simple but practical instruments. A large magnifying lens revealed the lines of miniaturized cuneiform-like characters carved on the stone. The characters spiraled continuously around and down the stone. The cylindrical shape had allowed the artist to engrave an impressive number of characters. Reversed characters, integral to the messages, appeared to have been used to separate character sequences. The sequences were most likely phrases.

A second more powerful lens revealed the specific nature of each character. The Planner immediately recognized the handiwork of a freemason. Such a man must not only have been a member of Levasseur’s crew, but also within his most trusted circle of friends. Over a dozen messages appeared to have been engraved on the stone. The young man assumed that some of the messages referred to specific burial locations at which enormous treasures might be found. Other messages appeared to contain numbers coded in base sixty. They might be dates, geographical coordinates, or historical references. Still others were engraved more boldly, perhaps conveying warnings. It would be decades before he would fully decipher the exact locations, events, and warnings to which the stone referred.

Chapter Two: Stolen Childhood

Another winter Sunday was approaching and Michael, an only child of pre-school age, was thrilled. He would spend an entire day with his parents, who would be free from the distractions of business. The boy hung on every word his father spoke. Your mother and I will both be at home with you all day long. We will cook a wonderful meal and we will not be rushed. We will be here to watch the fire all day, and keep the house snug and warm. We might even make time to read a story or play one of the games your mother remembers from her childhood.

Michael also heard his parents discussing their concerns about sending Michael to school. Do we dare send him to a school with children of British officers and officials of the Crown? You know they are the privileged. Michael is bright. I hate the thought of sending him to a place where he will be bullied and told he is less clever than the British-born children. They might not even play with him.

I know, said Michael’s father. That is exactly why so many of our acquaintances teach their children at home rather than send them to school. At the schoolhouse, their children do the chores. They fetch the water, stoke the coal stoves, and sweep the schoolrooms while the children of the British have time to play. They consider our children to be second class citizens. Most highly regarded student, and most feared bully status inevitably fall to sons of the British officers. His parents made the decision to educate Michael themselves.

As an only child, an unusual circumstance in Colonial America, Michael was extremely close to his parents. They showered him with attention and affection. While they spent a great deal of time working at their business, they spent every available moment with Michael. They played with him, and took him with them when they traveled. When he was at their workshop, Michael trailed everywhere behind them. Mother, will you let me help you enter the numbers in the accounting book?

Michael, you are doing such a wonderful job with the arithmetic we are giving you. You are learning so quickly! When you are a little bit older, you will definitely be the first person we hire to help us do the bookkeeping for the shop. Having assured Michael that he would one day become part of the family business, his mother gave him a hug and a kiss on his forehead. Michael’s father noticed how his son beamed from ear to ear as he took his pencil in hand and leaned into a new set of math problems.

The people of New Haven had a long history of opposition to regulation and taxation by the British. Some had moved into the area to remove themselves from the sphere of British influence. Along with Michael’s parents, they soon found that the British would follow them and seek to rule them no matter where the colonists settled. While many were frustrated by the situation, Michael’s parents spoke boldly and frequently against British intrusion into their affairs. As such, they were well known to the British. Michael watched as his parents’ acquaintances divided into loyalist and patriot camps, with the majority of their friends counting themselves among the patriots.

Not long after his eighth birthday, British soldiers visited Michael’s house in the middle of the night. He awoke to hear loud pounding and the voice of his mother screaming, Michael, climb out your window and run to the neighbor’s. Don’t slow down for anything. Go! Hurry! Michael did exactly as he was told. In the light of the lamps by the front door he saw his father and, a minute later, his mother dragged from the house. A soldier was shaking his mother like a rag doll. As his father struggled to protect her, he was repeatedly struck in the head with musket stocks until he no longer moved. Michael was grabbed up by a neighbor while he watched in horror as a soldier broke a gunstock across his mother’s face, knocking her to the ground alongside his father. The neighbor’s wife urged him, Michael, you must be quiet as a mouse until all of the lights are extinguished and the soldiers are gone from your house. But the lights were never extinguished. Behind darkened windows, Michael watched with his neighbors. Shortly before dawn, through the trees and across the gardens, they saw the Wolfe house go up in flames. By the time neighbors arrived carrying buckets, it was too late. The authorities claimed that Michael’s parents had perished in the fire, but Michael knew otherwise.

The following day, Michael spoke up when the authorities, more soldiers, asked him to describe the assailants. They were British soldiers!

You are a lying half-wit, he was told by a British officer on horseback. The man got off his horse just long enough to strike Michael across the face with a riding crop. Michael had never before been separated from his parents. He had never before been struck by an adult. His parents had often told him how proud they were of him for always being honest. Now, for telling the truth, he was accused of lying. He closed his eyes and felt the searing pain of the whip slowly pass. He stopped talking. For the first time in his life, Michael felt completely alone, and scared. He needed to hear the comforting voices of his mother and father. His rapidly beating heart was breaking.

Michael was declared an orphan and quickly adopted by Colonel Richard Westcott. The boy was terrified at the thought of living with the man who had struck him with a whip. It seemed strange to Michael that a widower with two young sons would want the added burden of a third son in his home. But it turned out that Michael’s station in the family was more similar to that of an indentured servant, an unpaid one, than an adopted son. No sooner had he arrived at his new home than he was put to work as an assistant to the kitchen maid and the stable groom.

Michael’s work hours precluded any chance of attending school. He did not sleep on the second floor of the house with Colonel Westcott’s sons. This will be your room, here, where we store things beneath the house, explained the maid. There’s no heat, but you’ll be warmer under the house than in the barn. We can save the flour sacks from the kitchen and the feed sacks from the barn and layer them on your bed to keep you warm. Westcott’s biological sons were Robert, the older of the two, and Percy. They were both older than Michael and they considered Michael to be an idiot. They mistreated him at every opportunity, as did their father, who rarely bothered to speak with the American boy. Michael thought about running away but decided to stay. He hoped, one day, to learn the details of his parents’ disappearance from Colonel Westcott.

Michael rarely spoke directly to the Colonel, but after several weeks of hard work, he gathered up his courage. Sir, I would like to be able to go to school. My parents started to teach me at home, but I know you are far too busy. I want to go to school along with Robert and Percy.

At the mention of Michael’s parents, Westcott flew into a rage. Assuming that Michael was not yet able to read, Westcott told him, You will never set foot in a schoolroom with my sons. Feel free to teach yourself how to read using the books in my study, but make sure I never find you there unless your chores have been completed. Although he was terrified of Westcott, Michael took the Colonel at his word and began reading books he borrowed from the study.

Michael told the other servants about Westcott’s offer to use the study. One servant was primarily the cook, but also the maid. The second was the stable groom, but also the grounds keeper. Both were terrified of Westcott. The stable groom warned Michael, Be careful never to be caught in the study. The Colonel did not really intend for you to read his books. If he catches you there, there is no telling how harsh your punishment will be.

The maid was sympathetic. Michael, I’ll try to sneak books out of the study for you, but only one at a time, and I’ll have to be careful never to take a book that the Colonel is reading. Despite this favor, she tried not to become attached to the boy, knowing it would infuriate Westcott. Don’t ever ask me to get you a book when the Colonel is in the house. At least you won’t have to fight with Robert and Percy over the books, she continued. I don’t think they have ever set foot in the study, and I’ve never seen either of them open a book. The maid took one additional risk. Michael, she said, I siphoned off this whale oil for you from the household supply. You can use it to keep your lamp burning at night when you read. But use it sparingly!

Thank you, Grace! I promise to extinguish it every night before I fall asleep! Each night, no matter how late he finished his chores, Michael lit his oil lantern and read until he could barely hold his eyes open. He extinguished his lamp, conserving oil, before falling asleep. Isolated from nearly all human contact, Michael became mesmerized by the books he was reading. There were books on military protocol and military life. Several dealt with combat strategies specific to the British Royal Army and Navy. The majority dealt with military events and history. Many of the books were bound. Others were manuscripts in various states of preparation. Some were composed of loose sheaves of paper in thin boxes. Still others were hand-written officers’ logs on bound blank paper.

Living in coastal New England, British soldiers and sailors were a common sight throughout Michael’s childhood. He was upset to learn that human history consisted of men in uniforms engaged in a never-ending series of battles and wars. But as he read more and more, he became fascinated by the evolution of battle strategies and the outcomes of those strategies. You can’t be done with this book already, Master Michael! exclaimed Grace. It is the third book you have completed this week! Within a year, Michael found himself reading about the preparation of opposing armies on battlefields around the world and correctly predicting the outcome of those preparations in nearly every instance. As Michael read more, the stable groom became more distant, angry that Michael was putting the maid at risk by reading so much.

As Michael worked his way through the volumes in the study, Colonel Westcott continued to add to his collection of military volumes. Westcott had no idea that his adopted servant was avidly committing to memory the contents of his prized military library. I wonder if he has any idea that his real sons have no interest in his great military collection? wondered Michael. Westcott had been unable to interest them in any aspect of military life other than the appearance of the officers’ uniforms they might one day wear. Michael, on the other hand, learned to develop increasingly complex mental images of the battlegrounds and the armies he was studying. His fervent imagination allowed him to close his eyes and watch the battles as they were fought.

Michael daydreamed his way through every major battle for which there was a record, extending back to the earliest Egyptian pharaohs and Roman emperors. He watched Caesar battle his way from end to end of the Roman Empire. He watched the Vikings and Barbarians terrorize Western Europe. He watched great Eastern kings expand their holdings across unimaginable distances. While performing chores, he mentally ranked the greatest military leaders and evaluated the greatest military strategies.

Month followed month as Michael worked his way through the most extensive part of Westcott’s collection. This was the material dealing with the recent military history of Europe, beginning with Western European expansion into the New World. How can there be so many wars? wondered Michael. There must be battles taking place somewhere in the world every day. In addition to the battles of Europe, he studied the British naval tactics used to nearly eradicate pirates from the east coast of America, killing many, and driving others to the Caribbean. The ones who were captured, he thought, were captured like common criminals, through informants, drunkenness, and carelessness. Others were untrained, unprepared, disorganized, and overconfident. No wonder they were caught, he concluded. He read about a pirate named Blackbeard, whose downfall was precipitated by his extreme brutality and resultant notoriety.

On rare occasions, when he thought he could do so safely, Michael snuck to the harbor and daydreamed of escaping on one of the giant ships docked there. On one occasion, he saw a magnificent woman, accompanied by two men, disembark from a small ship he believed to be a corvette. She was dressed in black leather, with clothing like a man’s, but there was no doubt in Michael’s mind that she was a woman of great beauty. On her hip she wore a saber, and Michael clearly saw the barrel of a pistol hanging beneath her jacket. She has the confidence of an admiral, thought Michael. The tall, broad man on her left wore the loose-fitting clothes that Michael associated with pirate images. He looks very dangerous, decided Michael. The man on her right wore snug, utilitarian clothing, and looked like a carpenter or tradesman. He wears clothing like my father’s, remembered Michael.

There was no animosity between the three shipmates and those parting to allow them to pass. They had cordial exchanges with everyone they encountered as they walked the length of the dock. Michael followed them as they made their way among the harbor front shops. Before returning home, Michael felt a pang of jealousy. Looking at the three he thought, You can get on board your ship and leave this horrible place at will. On the stern of their ship, painted in crimson red and outlined in dark yellow, was a single word: Phantom.

Michael continued to find freedom in the contents of the library. He studied schematics and descriptions of weapons used around the world from the dawn of combat. He read and re-read details of military and maritime law, including the nature of punishments and executions. His mind’s eye saw details of battles fought on land and sea. With time, he imagined that he could see individual combatants pairing off against one another, or sometimes fighting in tightly organized units in which soldiers became similar to parts of a machine. He identified the men he considered to be heroes, some for their military genius, others for the strength with which they defended their people. He frequently dreamed that he had spoken directly with his long dead heroes. These dreams were nearly all the human contact he had. His greatest heroes were those who fought fearlessly on the oceans, particularly those like Sir Francis Drake, whose devil-may-care attitude was backed up by their military genius. Their genius was brightest when the odds against them were at their most overwhelming.

Finally, he read through the most recent documents Westcott had obtained. These documents discussed the threat posed to England by increasing American dissatisfaction with British rule. Various strategies to break the spirit of colonists not loyal to the crown were discussed, including arson and public execution. The names of many Americans were listed in the papers. My parents! thought Michael when he saw their names in the list. Westcott knows exactly what became of my parents. He returned the documents quickly, fearing that he would be in interminable trouble if Westcott were to catch him with these particular papers. The truth was that Westcott’s collection was intended more for show than as actual reading material. Westcott had little reason to suspect that Michael would actually study the materials that he failed to read himself. Michael valued the materials as reading them made him feel less isolated, and nearly human. What he had just read infuriated him, but caused him to be even more careful with the books and documents. By remaining as inconspicuous as possible, he could continue to use the study.

Michael had now spent a few years in the Westcott home, surviving by taking care of the Westcott household. His two adoptive brothers continued to progress at school, and Michael increasingly suffered at their hands. Finding Michael tending to the gardens upon returning from school one day, Percy shoved him headlong into the dirt. Look, Robert, he is the imbecile of the manor, said Percy. Do you remember if he has a name?

He has a name, Yorick, for he is a fool, said Robert. As Michael stood to brush off the dirt, Robert shoved the smaller boy over once more. The bullying and cruelty were endless. The Westcott’s completely failed to realize Michael’s true intelligence, his analytical skills, and his ability to commit to memory everything he read or encountered. After prolonged emotional isolation in Westcott’s house, and unable to gain further information regarding the fate of his parents, Michael again contemplated running away. Two instances of extreme cruelty, involving Westcott and his sons, helped Michael make his decision.

The first involved his adoptive father’s horse. Michael had put the horse in the corral nearest the house. Westcott’s sons decided to see if they could make the horse jump over the stone wall of the corral. They did so by pelting the horse with rocks. As the horse jumped over the wall to escape, its lower leg struck the stone wall, doing considerable internal damage. The horse was initially thought to have been permanently lamed. When the Colonel spotted the horse limping in the pasture, Robert and Percy began yelling, We saw Michael throwing rocks at your horse! The Colonel spotted Michael trying to administer first aid to the animal. In anger, Colonel Westcott marched to where Michael stood and whipped his legs with a horse whip until Michael could not stand. I will make you permanently lame, you pathetic little bugger! Michael lay outside as darkness fell, legs bleeding, until he was dragged into the barn by the stable groom. Although he was more afraid than ever to become attached to Michael, he could not help but feel sorry for the boy.

Some months after this incident, the Westcott sons were caught fighting by their father. He berated them. You look foppish, as if you have no brawling experience. Do you never fight at school? It is time you learned to defend yourselves. The colonel called Michael away from his chores in the barn. Michael was physically exhausted from a long day’s work. Westcott grabbed Michael by his right wrist and encircled it tightly with both of his hands. Hit him! he ordered his sons.

Michael was stunned, and scared. Let me go! he yelled as he fought desperately to pull away from Colonel Westcott’s two-handed grip.

Despite the fact that the brothers felt no love for Michael, they were reluctant to strike the defenseless boy. Hit him, or I will come after you next! threatened the father. As their father’s anger increased at their lack of action, the brothers began to pummel Michael. Their victim did his level best to defend himself with one arm while the boys attacked him from all sides. Their father yelled encouragement to them, Strike him in his stomach and back until he is unable to breathe! Strike his eyes, and his ears, and his nose! Hurt him! Hurt him! Whenever Michael came close to hitting one of the Westcotts, the colonel forcefully jerked back on his arm. The brothers circled Michael like jackals, and began to enjoy themselves as they wore Michael down.

Even when Michael fell to the ground, the Colonel maintained his grip on his arm. The punches became kicks, and Robert and Percy kicked Michael’s legs mercilessly each time he tried to regain his footing. They beat his head, back, and ribs until Michael lay helplessly on the ground, barely able to breathe. His nose, mouth, and eyes were bloodied. With their father joining in, they delivered a few more kicks to Michael’s motionless body. Feeling a rib break in response to his boot, Colonel Westcott realized just how much he was going to prefer Michael dead. He was comfortably certain the boy would not survive the night. He would tell his fellow officers that Michael had been kicked to death by the very horse he had abused.

As Michael drifted in and out of consciousness, he watched through swollen eyelids as the father and sons walked toward the house. As if teaching his sons a valuable lesson, Colonel Westcott told them, Once you have an opponent underfoot, never allow him to regain his ground. At least it’s not as bad as what his parents got.

On this occasion, the other servants left Michael in the dirt, fearing serious reprisals if they helped him. Michael’s body lapsed into total unconsciousness from pain, exhaustion, and injury. His subconscious noted, I was right, Westcott knows what happened to my parents! Michael’s heart was completely broken, but it continued to beat.

Chapter Three: Refugee

Michael regained enough strength to regain consciousness, but little more. After darkness fell, he willed himself up off the ground. I have to get to the woods, he thought, far enough to hide myself. He collapsed at the base of a giant elm. As he lay there, he thought of all of the famous generals he had studied. Many of you lost battles, but went on to win the war. Some of you had to retreat to save your armies to fight another day. Following the beating I took today, I must do the same thing. I will never again set foot inside the Westcott house! I have to run if I am to survive, he thought, but I am not able to run!

Michael tried to think clearly. I must have at least one broken rib. Each breath was agonizing. He finally dozed off, giving him some respite from the pain. It was the middle of the night when his body was discovered by two young Oneida hunters, not much older than himself. The Oneida frequented the forests between the towns of New England. A royal proclamation in 1763 had banned the British from contacting indigenous people. But the remaining Original People, those who had survived exposure to European diseases such as smallpox, used the forests and rivers to travel freely throughout their traditional lands in New England. The youngsters spoke English well.

Gently shaking Michael awake, they asked, Why are you alone in the woods, on such a dark and cold night? Colonel Westcott had told Michael that, if he ever saw Indians, he was not to try to communicate with them and that he should alert Westcott right away. But at this moment, Westcott’s instructions made no sense. The hunters were asking him to show them all of the places he had been hurt.

Despite the pain, Michael chuckled as he responded, It hurts everywhere. Pointing back toward the Westcott house, he told the new arrivals, That is where they have kept me, underneath that house. The man who lives there killed my parents, and now he wants to kill me!

It was decided. One of the hunters said, You need to leave, but you will not make it on your own. Let us take you to our village where there are healers. The boys’ names were Keto and Ahnital. Michael was anxious for their help. I will stay here, with you, while Ahnital gets a mule from your stable, said Keto. You have earned it, so Ahnital will get it for you! Once Michael was secured on the mule, they traveled as quickly as they could. The boys selected the ground on which they traveled carefully, causing Michael as little pain as possible while leaving almost no evidence of their passing.

The hunters tried to keep Michael awake, thinking it would help keep him alive. Michael listened to them as they traveled. We are brothers and members of one of the southern Oneida clans. Michael learned that their clan lived in a tenuous peace with all of the Original People that shared the dwindling resources east of the Catskill Mountains. Other hunters rarely travel as close to the coastal towns as we do, bragged Ahnital, but for us, it is a point of honor. The woods around the towns belong to no one. The boys were kind to Michael. They did not expect him to survive the journey, especially after they saw the extent of his injuries more clearly in the morning light.

Miraculously, Michael lived through the first night, surviving on shallow, painful breaths. Keto and Ahnital were exhausted. Knowing they must keep going in case they were being followed, Keto suggested, Let’s stop long enough to build a travois. It will make it easier for Michael to breathe and we won’t have to work so hard to keep him on the mule’s back. When it was completed, they stretched Michael out on the framework of branches and vines.

Listen, said Ahnital, his breathing is easier now. With the mule pulling the travois, and Michael sleeping, Keto and Ahnital traveled for the remainder of the day. We need to maintain a steady pace, or he may not survive.

When they stopped on the second night, they were able to wake Michael only long enough for him to take a few sips of water. This pattern of travel continued for two more days. Just before arriving at the village, Keto touched Michael to make sure he was still alive. His skin is very cold. He must be near death. But he is still breathing.

When they arrived at the village, the healers rushed the injured boy into the central longhouse. They treated his wounds with salves made from extracts from the bark of fir, dogwood, birch, and willow trees. They added extracts from the roots of blue flag, and pokeberry. When he regained consciousness, one of the healers encouraged him, It is important that you try to breathe more deeply and more slowly. At first, this caused his chest to ache, but soon he found that much of the pain radiating from his broken ribs was relieved. His caretakers wrapped him in blankets and burned powerful, dream-inducing herbs on a fire near where he lay. Michael was resting comfortably but, like Keto and Ahnital, his caregivers were not certain he would survive.

He is badly damaged on the inside. He may have no more will to survive, stated another healer. But in the most primitive part of Michael’s brain, where survival instincts are inextricably tied with the need for revenge, sparks of activity were growing into a small flame. In his dreams, a British soldier broke a musket stock across his mother’s face. Michael screamed at the coward to show his face. As the soldier in his dream turned to face him, Michael saw that it was Colonel Westcott.

As the others drifted off to their own longhouses to sleep, the greatest healer among them, Slay Ohdistoko, approached Michael. She would not rest while there remained any chance that Michael might survive. Ohdistoko continued to add herbs to the fire. She boiled water and made medicinal tea, some of which she drank, and some of which she dripped on Michael’s open lips. She watched over him throughout the entire night. When there remained only one option to save his body, and thus his spirit, she used that final option. If he survived, she would explain to him what she had done.

By morning, to everyone’s surprise, the badly beaten and traumatized boy showed early signs of recovery. He had regained consciousness and was trying to sit up and talk. But they also learned that, during the night, one of the elders had slipped into a coma. The elder was so advanced in years that almost no one among the Clan was able to remember his youth. Although completely unresponsive, the elder continued to breathe. Ohdistoko rested her hands on the elder and assured everyone, He will not wake again. His spirit has departed, and he will stop breathing soon. The remaining elders saw to it that the mourning rituals were followed with utmost precision, even though the dying elder had no living family members.

Michael had slept fitfully during his first night in the central longhouse. Although injured, he felt renewed strength flowing within his body. He could feel the fear of death he had experienced the night before melting away. The village healers discussed his condition with Ohdistoko. We must continue to treat him with healing teas. Add the comforting herbs to the fire, and let him sleep all day if he wishes. Michael was in pain, but comforted by the people and activity around him. Even those he could not understand noticed that he smiled when they spoke to him.

When he saw his new friends enter the longhouse, Michael called out, Keto! Ahnital! Please stay and visit with me! Their long visit made Michael’s first day of recovery more pleasant. By afternoon, he was exhausted. Ohdistoko added more herbs to the fire to help him relax, to forget the present, and to remember his past. He dreamed that his parents were with him and he could hear their voices. As their faces faded, they were replaced by the faces of his battle-hardened heroes from across history, and they spoke with him also.

Michael imagined that Caesar himself was with him, telling him, No matter how badly you feel now, you will be better, stronger, and ready to fight another day.

Finally, a young warrior spoke to him as he slept. Michael did not recognize him, although he knew the face did not belong to either Keto or Ahnital. He wore a battle club on his belt, and kastoweh with feathers on his head. Michael, the warrior said, for now, put aside your feelings of revenge. In order to heal completely, you must find other reasons to live. If you wish to seek revenge when you are older, your feelings will not be far beneath the surface. When he awoke, he could not even guess how long he had slept. For the first time in three years, he felt safe under a warm blanket, resting in the glow of the longhouse fire. He dreamily listened to his caregivers whispering near where he lay. The kindness and concern in their voices warmed him further, and he drifted back to sleep once again. He had not heard such sweet voices since listening to bedtime stories in his childhood home. He had no idea how it was possible, but he felt as if he were able to understand some of the words the healers spoke in the difficult Oneida language.

Keto and Ahnital woke him briefly, bursting into the longhouse yelling, How is he? Is he awake? They were still not certain that Michael would survive, but Keto told Ohdistoko, We know that our friend’s recovery depends on your magic.

Ohdistoko, the most powerful Clan Mother in the village, informed the others, I will supervise Michael’s care. His recovery will be complete. Her name, Slay Ohdistoko, meant Follows Stars. She was directly descended from travelers who had arrived on foot from lands far to the south. The travelers had joined the Oneida hundreds of years earlier, and brought with them a great deal of knowledge of healing and navigation. Ohdistoko’s husband and son had lost their lives in a past tribal war. Her husband had been killed on the battlefield. Her son had died in her arms just hours after being injured in battle. She thought, Michael is not much younger than my son was when I last saw him alive.

Michael awoke with Ohdistoko at his side. He looked at her expectantly, and so she explained to him, I am a widow, and Clan Mother, and so I live here in the central longhouse. There are orphans, widows, and elders who live together here. The orphans don’t usually stay long. Families want to adopt them. Outside, on all sides of us, there are more longhouses where the families of the Bear Clan live. The families that live outside contribute to those of us in the central longhouse. They provide the orphans and elders with food, firewood, clothing, blankets, structural materials, and labor toward the upkeep of the central longhouse. This longhouse is not only home to some of us, but we use the large common area to hold many of our annual celebrations and ceremonies.

As he listened to Ohdistoko’s musical voice, Michael drifted back to sleep. He continued to dream. Ohdistoko could sense the pain he had experienced through the dream energy emanating from him. She closed her eyes and she also began to dream. She willed the spirit of her son to again awaken within Michael’s dreams where they could share their energy and greatly increase Michael’s strength. Despite the cruelty that Michael had endured, Ohdistoko sensed kindness in him. When his sleep became restless, Ohdistoko was unaware that Michael was reviewing barbaric methods of execution. These were methods that the greatest military leaders had reserved for their most reviled enemies. Michael dreamed that Colonel Westcott was drawn and quartered between powerful horses from Westcott’s own stables. When the young hunter appeared once more in his dreams, Michael ignored his pleas to stop thinking of revenge.

The following morning, Michael rose from his bed. Now, the healers could see even more clearly the signs of physical abuse on the boy. Ohdistoko fussed over each decision the healers made as they continued Michael’s treatment with salves, poultices, and healing smoke. It would be several more days until his wounds would start to fade. Over the next several weeks, his most obvious wounds, his physical wounds, appeared to heal. Ohdistoko knew there was a risk that his emotional wounds would never heal. But the village took Michael in as one of their own. He learned the basics of their language within the brief span of his physical recovery. He felt a strong bond with Ohdistoko, and almost unconsciously began to refer to her as Mother.

Chapter Four: Child of the Bear Clan

After much discussion with Michael, Ohdistoko announced to the elders, I would like to adopt Michael, and make him a member of the Bear Clan. Normally, orphans were fostered out of the central longhouse, but Ohdistoko held an esteemed position among the Clan, and so all were agreeable. The decision was partly due to her special status as a Clan Mother, and partly because her husband and son had sacrificed their lives defending the village. She also had an excellent knowledge of herbal medicines, she was physically strong, and she was beautiful by any standard. It was believed that her spirit was powerful enough to ward off witches and demons. Her favor was sought by established tribal leaders. Her approval was essential for any man seeking to establish power in the Clan beyond their own village. For these reasons, everyone supported her decision to adopt Michael.

Ohdistoko and Michael had long discussions regarding their decision to become mother and son. She openly discussed the powers she possessed. Michael accepted that Ohdistoko was very knowledgeable about herbal medicines. However, he found her discussion of encounters with witches, demons, and spirits unbelievable. Ohdistoko tried again, but Michael was uncomfortable discussing such topics. As a result, she made no further attempts to explain these aspects of her life to Michael.

She did speak with him about her greatest concern for his health. "Michael, you are overly concerned with