48
At last we reach our destination, at least I believe we have by way of shouted commands and the increasing glee of sailors too long cramped on board.
We are manacled again and chained to each other, front and back. The ship has docked in a bonny bay with strange vegetation and a merciless sun that has us quickly dripping.
“Look sharp,” comes a command from behind me and I turn to see a b****y red-coated English soldier.
“Damn Brits,” someone whispers.
We are loaded, eight to each open wagon, with a mounted soldier beside us. We are all sweating under a brutal sun; even the horse is lathered beneath the reins.
I look around for Tom and think I spot him in one of the other wagons. We start out, wagons bumping down a pitted road.
“Water,” an old man in our wagon groans. After so lon
