Standard disclaimer applies. Etc. Blah.
The White Streak
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Chapter I -
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The harsh morning light broke through the barred windows,, waking Benjamin Barker. The guards would come to retrieve him soon, he realized with despair as he sat up, stiff from sleeping on the hard bench. He stood, aware of the fact that it was his last day in London. Stepping onto the bench, he looked forlornly out of the window onto the fog filled city. From his perspective in the Bridewell Prison, he could see the River Thames. The sun blazed red as it rose into the clouds, and despite its brightness he remained at the window, squinting through the glare at the city that was his home. London. The sun's color reflected off of the water, the ships in the wharf, and the surrounding buildings, making London appear to be covered in blood. This disturbing illusion only added to Barker's ghastly mood until he finally forced himself to look away.
As he sat on the hard stone bench once more, he closed his eyes, the ghost image flickering before his shut off vision, that moment burning itself into his mind. He sat in this manner until the sound of footsteps fell on his ears. His eyes opened slowly as the guards approached. The imprinted vision had cleared and he now watched the guards as they unlocked his cell.
"Come on, you," one of the two guards commanded him in a gravelly voice. The other said nothing, only signaled for Barker to step forward.
Barker stood. "Is there any way that I might see my wife and child?" He asked evenly. Benjamin Barker was always known for his calm and benevolent temperament.
"Judge 'urpin warned us abou' yeh. Slippery dog, says 'e," the second guard piped up in thick Cockney. "Ye won' get 'ny chances te 'scape, see, 'e'll be shor'ff tha'."
Despair seized Barker. "Please gentlemen, I implore you," he said, raising his hands in an almost begging manner. How could any person have been so cruel?
The first guard, the less talkative of the two, took advantage of his upraised hands and shackled Barker's wrists roughly, dragging the now limp man through the door.
"Please, please, I beg! Show mercy—Show mercy..." Barker repeated weakly as the guards pulled him through the hall.
"Stop yer croonin' won't yeh? Such troublin' 'o us may make times 'arder fer yeh." The Cockney guard demanded as he brusquely dragged Barker by his arms.
Barker's please only softened in time with the hope that he lost.
Barker woke, dazed. He felt himself being dragged by the arms and the wooden floor beneath him seemed to move. The last thing he had remembered was being told to "Shu' i'." The back of his head ached as the world swam before him. Upon looking up, he suddenly he felt ill. He was on a ship. The ship that would take him from his life, his home, everything he knew. He shifted, dazedly delusioned in to thinking of an escape attempt.
"Come to, 'ave we?" he heard the Cockney ask. "Good. Now we can be rid o' yeh."
Barker didn't understand the man's words to their full extent until he saw the floor disappear into darkness beneath him as he was hauled up into to standing. He was now standing before the opening of the cargo hold of the vessel, he realized.
"The brig's a bi' full, so wul be droppin' yeh off 'ere."
He plummeted into the darkness, his stomach wrenching, unable to brace himself due to his arms being shackled together. Impact was hard. He lay still, trying to assess how injured he was from the fall.
Whatever he had landed on was fairly hard, but flat without sharp edges. Whatever it was--being softer than the floor--had provided Barker with a bit of a cushion. He sneezed as it let off a white dust. The sneeze made his body spasm in pain. His ribs were definitely the worst off, along with his head. Both would bruise fairly badly, he could tell, but it didn't seem that he had broken anything. For a time he lay there, feeling the movement of the ship as it carried him within its bowels. He supposed that it was a merchant ship, since it seemed that the bags he had landed on contained flour.
He briefly wondered how life on the sea would be for him, before giving up on thought to resign himself to listening and feeling the waves.