"Do you know medicine? Can you act as a physician?" the translator asked me. His talking was fast.
"No," I replied honestly. "What is the matter?"
"Curse you! I allow you to help and showcase the many talents that you claim to have but you cannot even do this."
My ego and feelings were a little hurt by the translator's words. I told him I possessed many skills but I had not studied medicine or chemistry in great detail throughout my many years in the world of academia.
"Can your people not treat themselves?" I then asked.
It was at this juncture in the conversation when the translator told me what had unfolded and I knew that the winds of providence had blown in my favour. He told me that someone had tried to assassinate King Shaka Zulu and now the king was in a life or death situation. The translator said that he believed that Shaka Zulu's two half-brothers were behind the failed attempt but that he had no real evidence to support his theory. He was certain that the half-brothers were behind the attack as he surmised that they wanted to usurp the throne from their half-brother in an act of revenge because they didn't believe that he was the legitimate ruler of the kingdom.
"Family and revenge," I thought to myself. "The two things I've dwelled on now for many months and years might be the two things that will save me."
Once the translator asked me again if I could treat the injured king, I told him I could not. I did not have the experience, tools or medicines to even pretend to be of any use. Unsatisfied with my answer he told me that he would need my assistance in the form of another way. He and the other loyal subjects of King Shaka Zulu were all out of options so they now were left with no alternative but to turn to the white folk who had continued colonising along the border of King Shaka Zulu's land. The translator told me that I would aid him by using my language skills, white skin and diplomatic tongue to convince the white people to aid King Shaka Zulu.
So I was led out of my tent and the village in bondage. My hands were bound with rope. In front of me walked six warriors and behind me walked another six. By my side walked the translator and some other loyal subject who did not wield any weapons. I was told we were going to visit the nearest colony of white folk first. I was happy to hear that. My level of happiness soon doubled when I was told that it was an English settlement. I was being walked towards my fellow Englishmen. I felt that freedom was within my grasp.
Chapter 4 - Francis Farewell
The place where the people of King Shaka Zulu led me was Port Natal. It was a colony that was recently established and it contained no more than thirty people in total. It was an English colony and it was led by an honourable man called Francis Farewell. I learned this information when the Zulu tribe and I arrived at the colony.
Upon our arrival, Francis Farewell and his men were armed and weary about our presence, but they hesitantly welcomed us. They said that there had been some violence with natives so they wanted to confirm whether the people of King Shaka Zulu and his kingdom were friends or foes. I told Francis Farewell that they wanted friendship and they sought his immediate help. Francis Farewell then nodded at my words and said he wanted to speak with me alone. He said that the translators and the warriors, my captives, would be fed and watered after their trek, but Farewell wanted me to follow him to a private place to discuss the details of the aid that was required.
Francis Farewell was a tall and handsome man. He had well-maintained short hair that curled at the ends and although his face was white, his cheeks and nose were a pinkish colour. He walked with confidence and wielded his pistol weapon as if it was an extended part of his arm. He appeared to be a seasoned fighter. The pistol that he had in his right hand was a British Sea Service Pistol with a wooden frame and an iron barrel. It was a weapon that I had seen in pictures many times over the years and it was a standard weapon that was used by the British army during the Napoleonic Wars. If I had to guess, I would say Francis Farewell was in his late thirties. Despite his age, he still looked like a man who was ready for war.
"What is your name?" Farewell asked me once he brought me to a private area. "We are alone, you can speak freely."
"My name is William Underhill."
"You are an Englishman?" he enquired as he studied my attire and facial features.
"I am," I said and nodded proudly in response.
"Where in England are you from?"
"London," I replied.
"You are far from London, my dear fellow."
I then proceeded to tell Francis Farewell my story about how I set off from Dover on that early morning in May in search of treasure and how I came to be a captive. I told him about the harsh treatment I received from the nigger tribe and the brutality I saw from their leader. Francis listened intently to my words and occasionally nodded his head. He continually stroked his chin in thought.
"I am deeply sorry to hear about your misfortunes. Even more, I am sorry to tell you that you have been imprisoned for three years. You say you left Dover on the fifth of May in the year eighteen twenty-one, it pains me to tell you that it is the eleventh of September in the year eighteen twenty-four."
There was true compassion in the voice of Francis Farewell. I knew that he meant the words he spoke and he did feel sorry for me. The news about the duration of my captivity and the compassion that was being shown to me by Farewell made me fall to the ground and burst into tears. Extreme sorrow for my situation flowed out of me. It was not a respectable look and vulnerability should never be displayed by a man, but I was too overwhelmed to hold back my emotion.
Farewell came to my aid and helped raise me off of the ground, “Hold strong, William. Today you will be a free man once more. Freedom is your God-given right as an Englishman and these underdeveloped beasts have wronged you. I will personally see to it that your freedom is secured and your time as a prisoner is compensated in full for the harsh treatment that you have been subjected to."
Farewell's pistol once again caught my eye and I asked him if he planned to kill my captors. He told me that although he was once in the British navy, he was now a merchant in the Merchant Marine. Instead of violence, his new mission was trade and commerce. He hoped to make a deal with King Shaka Zulu that would benefit his colony, England, and himself. Although I had told Farewell about Shaka Zulu's brutality he said that the fact that Shaka had made diplomatic deals with nearby tribes meant that he was not a complete barbarian and that he could be reasoned and traded with.
With the conversation between myself and Francis Farewell considered finished, he led me back to the other members of the colony and my captors who were given food and water. Francis told me to translate in Dutch to the translator that in return for medical assistance I would need to be released immediately and put into Francis Farewell's care. The translator nodded and said that he accepted this term. Farewell then went on to say that he wanted King Shaka Zulu to make reparations to be paid to me in exchange for three years of illegal imprisonment. Again the translator nodded to the request but this time he visibly ground his teeth in agitation. Lastly, Francis Farewell said that he would accompany the tribe back to their king with three of his medics and a myriad of supplies, but in return for this kind favour he wanted to meet and discuss potential trade deals with King Shaka Zulu. The translator agreed to the third term that was put before him and Francis Farewell confirmed that he and his people would assist the wounded King Shaka Zulu.
"Mr. William Underhill, It seems that your freedom has been granted and you are now a free man," Francis Farewell said to me. "Can you please come with us to see King Shaka Zulu and we can conclude this nasty business of yours forever?"
I nodded at the request from Farewell, my saviour. I felt overjoyed when I heard that my time in captivity had come to an end. A smile filled my face and I could feel my mouth grinning from ear to ear. The translator looked less pleased which made me enjoy my new-found freedom even more.
Once the terms had been agreed upon and the savages had enjoyed the good
hospitality shown to them by Francis Farewell, we left the colony and walked to aid King Shaka Zulu. Farewell brought with him three of his men and numerous medical supplies that were placed in dry cotton bags.
"The mighty Zulus,” Farewell told me. “That is what the kingdom of your captors is named."
"My old captors," I corrected him and he apologised for the blunder.
The translator and the Zulu warriors walked ahead of the rest of us and when none of the savages were looking at us, Farewell handed me his pistol. He told me to tuck it into my trousers and hide it from sight. He said that I should carry a weapon for safety, although he said that he doubted I would need to use it. I tried to explain to him that I didn't know how to use the weapon and that I had only ever read about them in books and journals, but he told me that firing a weapon was the easiest thing in the world. I begged him to take the pistol back from my possession but he said that he had another weapon hidden at his waist. He told me to calm my nerves and not to over-think.
"The weapon is already loaded, so you just need to point and shoot," he advised me.
When we arrived at the palace of the abhorrent King Shaka, we were led immediately into his private area where he lay flat on cushions on the ground. He had a blanket around him and sweat ran profusely down his face. Inside Shaka's room there where the two soldiers that were seemingly always with him and an elderly woman who kept touching his forehead. The translator quickly knelt near King Shaka and began speaking to him. Although I didn't know what he said I assumed the translator told the king all the terms that Francis Farewell had made. King Shaka Zulu nodded his head and returned a response. The translator then stood up and faced us.
"King Shaka Zulu had recruited this Englishman to make weapons for us. He has been useless in this endeavour. King Shaka Zulu is happy to part with this useless man, but he does not feel that any of his hard-fought-for rewards should be given to this fellow."
I felt my anger rising as ill-words were being spoken against me and in my presence. It stung my pride even more since I was being used as the vessel to deliver the message detailing my inadequacy.
"He was not recruited to serve you and he was here, imprisoned, against his will. His success or failure is not relevant. A sizeable payment must be made. This is non-negotiable." Farewell responded firmly, which I then translated.
"We have no weapons. This Englishmen produced nothing for us. How can we put a value on nothing?"
The conversation went back and forth between the two stubborn leaders for a considerable time. The translator's anger and my own were steadily rising. I figured the translator wanted just as little to do with me now as I wanted to do with him. Finally, the deadlock was broken and both leaders changed their tactics from being stubborn hardheads to diplomats with their own particular goals achievable if they negotiated well.
"You want weapons, I have weapons. I want ivory, you have ivory. A partnership between our two people can be beneficial to us both," Farewell announced.
King Shaka agreed and said that if his wounds healed then the trade deal would be accepted. He also said that I would receive gold in compensation for my captivity. Finally, he said that the colony set up at Port Natal would be welcomed by King Shaka Zulu and the Zulu people, meaning that the English could use the port as they willed and there would be no argument or fights over land ownership.
Francis Farewell then ordered his men to inspect King Shaka Zulu and give him the required treatment. Following their orders, Farewell's men gently approached the injured king and upon inspection found that he had a wound in his torso. It looked like the damage could have been inflicted by an arrow or a spear, but the injury was worsened due to an infection in the wound. White cloth for bandages, water, and an amount of morphine was produced to treat the wound. I was told to translate that all three items were necessary for King Shaka to recover from his wound. The fourth thing that he needed if he was to make a complete recovery was time.
It was decided that the medics, along with Farewell, would travel between Port Natal and King Shaka's Palace regularly to treat the injured king until he was mended. This gesture was well received and it cemented the partnership between King Shaka Zulu and Francis Farewell. Once the water was poured on the wound and the dried blood was scraped away and the opening was cleaned, the bandage was put securely around the wound and then the morphine was administered to the king. King Shaka Zulu fell asleep within minutes of the morphine entering his system. It was when he fell asleep that we decided to leave the palace. That was the last time I ever stepped foot in it and as I walked down the path and away from the palace my spirit felt as if it was flying.
In the weeks that followed that first introduction between King Shaka Zulu and Francis Farewell, they met each other six times. Each time Farewell left the colony to go to Shaka's palace with medical supplies and some of his men he left me behind with the other members of the colony. He said one of his men spoke Dutch fluently and that my skill set was not required. He told me to enjoy my freedom in Port Natal anyway I could. I spent the majority of my time reading.
During the first few weeks of my freedom in Port Natal, the colony was quiet and there was not much action. Everyone, myself included, cut timber and made fences, houses and tried to create an easily accessible harbour for ships to dock at. Francis Farewell's ship had been able to safely navigate itself into the Port Natal with nothing more than an old-fashioned wooden walkway, with support beams planted into the ground and a gangplank, but now he wanted to make the colony more accessible to other vessels.
By the fourth week, three different vessels docked at the colony. They came from England and they were on their way to India. Francis Farewell was a pragmatic man and he was happy with the work he was accomplishing. He said everything he was doing and achieving was in the name and honour of King George and God. Farewell's father was a reverend, so Francis had grown up a very religious child.
One day during that fourth week, Farewell approached me and began to speak, "In a month, possibly two, some vessels will dock here on their return journey from India back to England. You will be on the first ship back to England, my friend."
It took three months before a ship heading for England docked at Port Natal. Francis Farewell was adamant that I go on it and return to the civilised world. He said that he too would make a return visit back to England in the coming months and that he would be happy to see me return to my friends and my family.
"I have no words to say but thank you for everything, Mr. Farewell. You are my saviour."
King Shaka Zulu had begun trading ivory in exchange for muskets but he had so far not made the demanded reparations for my captivity. Therefore, Francis Farewell gave me a purse full of gold coins as a substitute for the reparations. I briefly opened the purse and looked at the coins within it. There was no question in my mind that the value within the purse was more than the average of three years of wages. The purse contained more money than I perhaps would have made working for ten years in England. I objected to the large sum that he had handed over to me but he refused to take it back. He said it was no less than I deserved for my captivity and it was only a small sum compared to the worth of the newly formed trade-deal with King Shaka Zulu, a trade-deal that he attributed to me.
Another parting gift that Francis Farewell bestowed upon me was one of his pistols. He handed me the same British Sea Service Pistol that he had lent me during the day he was first introduced to King Shaka. I liked the aesthetic look of the pistol with its perfectly varnished wooden frame and shiny iron barrel so I was less reluctant to refuse this gift. He also gave me a pouch that contained a little gun-powder and eight ammunition balls. I looked at him and he said they were a parting gift to ensure I made it home safely. He told me he had many supplies and other weapons, so they would not be missed. Francis Farewell was a generous man with a wealth of supplies.
"Now, dear fellow, board this ship which is about to set sail for England and leave all thoughts of t
his place behind forever. Think only about home, about London and your future."
I bowed and said goodbye to my saviour. I then boarded the ship.
I shouted to Farewell after I crossed the gangplank and was on the deck of the ship, "I hope to see you again. I certainly intend to write to you and about you. I want all of England to know about your greatness."
Following the advice of Farewell, once the ship's sails had been unfurled and the journey to England had begun, I turned my thoughts to London and my future. My thoughts turned to the three conspirators who had forsaken me and left me for dead. For all they knew, I was dead. Like a ghost, I planned to reappear in their lives and haunt them for it was no less than they deserved. Farewell had given me a purse full of coins and a weapon, two items I could use in getting my revenge against the wrongdoers. By the time Port Natal was out of sight my first plan for revenge had been hatched.
Chapter 5 – Plymouth City
The waves in the sea were rough throughout the voyage. There were days when I felt ill in the afternoon after entire mornings of rocky seas and there were days when I felt ill from dawn to dusk. During my time on the vessel, I longed for steady land where I could plant my two feet on the ground and feel settled. That having been said, I was shown great hospitality while on the trading ship.
The ship was a member of The Farewell Trading Company and the name of the merchant's vessel was 'Frances Charlotte', though it was normally just referred to as 'Charlotte' by the crewmen of the vessel. The ship was by far the largest ship I had ever been on, although I had pretty much no experience of such things, and it was one of the biggest ships I had ever seen.
Revenge of an Englishman Page 3