"There's going to be a war here, and soon. And we don't want any part of it. So right now we'd best head back over to the Point. That spot's going to be ours, or hell will hear the reason why. John's been off-loading my culverin and he should have the guns in place by now. We don't need these cannon any more. Get your lads and let's be gone."
"I'd just as soon be out of here, I'll tell you that. I don't fancy the looks of this, sir, not one bit." With an exhale of relief, Bartholomew signaled up to the breastwork, then headed back. "God be praised."
As Winston waved him on, he spotted Atiba approaching
across the clearing, Serina at his side. The Yoruba still had his cutlass at his waist, and Serina, her white shift torn and stained from the underbrush, was now carrying a Spanish flintlock. When she saw Briggs, she hesitated a second, startled, then advanced on him.
"My damnd Niger!" The planter abruptly recognized them and started to reach for his pistol. "The very one who tried to kill me, then made off with my mulata . . ."
Serina lifted her musket and cocked it, not missing a step. "Leave your gun where it is, Master Briggs, unless you want me to kill you. He is free now."
"He's a damn'd runaway." Briggs halted. "And I take it you're in with him now. Well, I'll not be having the two of you loose on this island, that much I promise you."
Serina strode directly to where he stood. "I am free now too." Her voice was unwavering. "You can never take me back, if that's what you have come here to do."
"We'll damn'd well see about that. I laid out good money for the both . . ."
"There are many free preto on this island. To be black here does not mean I have to be slave. It is not like an Ingles settlement. I have learned that already. The Spaniard at the vigia told me there is a free nation of my people here."