Authors: Lorain O'Neil
Angelique Rising (47 page)
“Nobody got none, Senor,” African Hunter boomed out too loudly, too strong. “Nobody. You tol’ me not to give ’em no more, an’ Senor, not me.”
“Dr. Turnbull, your people here are good British subjects--” Father Camps interjected hopelessly.
“British!”
Turnbull roared, the word slamming through the priest and ricocheting into the crowd.
Father Camps tensed knowing once again Turnbull was accusing him of plotting with the Spaniards in their unceasing attempts to regain Florida. Father Camps spoke again, cautiously.
“Sir, African Hunter is a good--”
At that moment Turnbull spit on the priest, kicked him squarely in the mouth, and sent him sprawling into the sand before the crowd.
“You do not talk back to me, Papist! Not ever!” Turnbull yelled, hurling his whip at Flynt, the chief overseer of New Smyrna.
CRACK!
Flynt opened a deep red slash across African Hunter’s back.
“Names,” Flynt sniffed, enjoying the inevitability of what was to come.
“Senor,”
African Hunter shrieked,
“no one!”
Turnbull nodded to Flynt, turned his horse, and rode away. The crowd of Minorcans stood transfixed in the balmy Florida morning, watching as Flynt’s whip methodically cut African Hunter into bloody agonized shreds. And with each strike of Flynt’s whip and each wail of pain from African Hunter, they all prayed he would die before telling Flynt what he wanted to know.
They’re going to kill you, African Hunter, Toria wanted to shout at him. Don’t tell! Don’t kill us, too! You know it won’t save you, you disobeyed them, they’re going to kill you anyway! She glared at Father Camps kneeling silently, saying prayers. How can any priest just stand by while a good man is hacked into pieces, she thought in miserable disgust.
How can I?
How can all of us, when as a group we could overrun them and save you, African Hunter. We won’t though, not with that British garrison of soldiers stationed here ever since the riot. We’ll let you die because the truth is, in the end, we can’t save you any more than we’ve been able to save ourselves. Forgive me my friend. Forgive us all.
It took African Hunter over an hour to die. When it was over Flynt threw his whip at one of the black slaves standing nearby, ordering the blood washed off. Father Camps continued to pray over the now dead, fly-covered body. Silently the Minorcans walked away to their workstations. African Hunter had died without revealing any of their names, saving twenty people, including Toria Brighton, from the same death as his.