The Sword And The Dagger

by Brian Cain

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Will had inherited his father's sea legs. He helped the crew as much as he could but blisters formed on his palms and fingers as they were not used to heavy work. He quickly gained a healthy respect for the African members of the crew. Of the fifteen crew aboard four were African and two were from the Ghost, either one or the other never left Will’s side. The African crew chanted and sang, rhythms of their homeland resonated around the deck and the galleys below. Will did not understand them but could listen all day to the beautiful harmonies. Belgarde told Will if you can hear the chant of the black man as he works all is well, if you hear the beat of his drum prepare for war and beware of Vodun if they are silent.

  The crew came from far and wide. There was an Arab called Yasin, an American who spoke of a ship called the Philadelphia Queen, Hainan McGee an Irish patriot and a British seaman with one eye and a scared face whose name was Litchfield Boyd. They all worked together speaking many languages, the Angelina pressed on and the waves seemed to part as she cut the water’s surface. Will noticed no calculations were made with instruments of navigation. The crew would occasionally study the stars and land with a long glass and everything seemed to be part of everything else. Should the wind change then the direction of the Angelina changed but her speed never waned. They occasionally passed other ships at close quarters and the African crew were joined in song as they worked, raising the volume so it could be heard across the water, the passing ships’ crews lining the railings watching and listening as the Angelina whisked by.

  Will had already worked out a stark difference between the Angelina and the Ghost. The Ghost smelt of black powder pitch and death. She demanded respect for in her hull and on her deck was a fleeting dagger and she was followed by a mighty sword. The Angelina was serene, beautiful, an overpowering sight, a beauty that could be looked upon but not touched. She was a king's queen, she bore an aroma of sweet fragrances and exotic foods.

  Will’s first sight of Soyo was one of might and power, a line of warships anchored across the mouth of the river entrance. The Angelina raised the Irish ensign and a shot rang out from the ageing giant the Conquistador. Belgarde informed Will it was a sign all was well and the Angelina had been welcomed home. Warships in the harbour were sparse but merchant ships littered the water awaiting trade.

  Fial had established a blockade with ships of the fleet on the western cape of South Africa in 1815 preventing ships from the powerful Quwasem tribe of Ras al-Khaimah in the Persian Gulf from affecting trade in African ports. Fial had not forgotten what he had experienced there and the Quwasem had not forgotten the Ghost. This had assisted the British to sign a maritime treaty with Sheikh Sultan bin Saqr al-Qasimi in 1821. Its position en route to India had made it important enough to be recognised. Ships from Soyo still patrolled the area and trade had improved.

  The Angelina tied up at dock, work to extend the dockside structures was in progress and a throng of African workers chanted as they progressed. A gradual silence enthralled them as they saw Will. Number Four shouted a few words Will did not understand and they gradually returned to work. Belgarde hammered on a dockside door amid the humble buildings, a hatch was opened at eye level then the door latch clanked as it was released. Belgarde went inside and the door was closed. A few seconds saw the door burst open, Louis Zachariah and Lord Smithers came outside.

  Zachariah looked closely at Will. "Welcome to Soyo Monsieur, you are an image of your father if indeed you are his son."

  Number Four came between them and glared at Louis Zachariah then withdrew. "I understand Number Four. Pardon me Monsieur McMurrin but we have many enemies and I must be sure your father stays safe."

  "He is here?”

  "Yes but not right here. Welcome to a different world, this is the land of the black man. Here the black slave is free and your father is a helper of their one God. They have priests just like us called Mama, elder women of the village tribe. Do not underestimate or show disrespect to their religion. They are a warring people, nomadic with no land boundaries, they write nothing down but they have stories told as time goes on. We have set the people here free and in doing so caused a civil war. Here the BaKongo rule but beyond the river swamps it is every man for himself."

  "Does my father know of the Slavery Abolition Act and the end of the Spanish Inquisition?"

  "No."

  "Then he need be told; these things are important to him."

  "To see your father you will place your life in the hands of the BaKongo. I have never even seen where he is."

  "Who do I deal with?"

  "Number Four will take you to the old slave factory. Bongo is the king here. He is from the crew of the Ghost as is Number Four. Good luck Monsieur."

  Will followed Number Four through thick swamp jungle crossing a tidal tributary across a sturdy rope and wooden bridge, he could see a settlement amongst the undergrowth and children swam in the river below the bridge. It was hot and steamy and Will saw insects and animals unfamiliar to him. He had a strange feeling of both of excitement and fear but knew his father must have crossed this bridge many times.

  Will found Bongo an anticlimax for his first view of a king. Bongo was dressed in nothing but a loin cloth, a massive powerful man with jet black skin, sparkling eyes and a wide nose. His short, black, wiry hair was tinted with grey. He was flanked by natives of equal stature. A feature of the modern world was musket pistols in holsters hung from either side of their loin cloths. They appeared shocked to see Will and after speaking with Number Four they dropped to the ground and Bongo kissed Will’s shoes. He did not speak until back on his feet.

  "Welcome son of Bwana Fial." Bongo offered Will his hand and Will shook its firm grip.

  "My name is Will. Can you take me to my father?"

  "First we see Mama Queen; she may think you are an evil spirit. She does not speak in white tongues." Will remembered the advice of Zachariah and followed Bongo through the settlement. Women were making things amongst the neat wood and thatch huts, children ran and played everywhere and Will could smell food cooking, strange but appealing to his palate.

  An old woman sitting outside a hut was spoken to by Bongo. She was wearing an ornate, floral dress, distinctly western and in stark contrast to the rest of the surroundings. She looked at Will glumly with no changing emotion. This lasted for a while then her face brightened. She spoke briefly to Bongo who translated for Will. "Mama Queen says you are crossroad spirit from Legba, good medicine, we take you to Bwana Fial."

  Will smiled with relief, the old lady rose from her seat, placed a necklace of shells from her neck around his and put both hands on Will, one on each shoulder; she muttered some words then entered her hut.

  "She asks the river spirit to protect you from evil, big medicine. We eat then go," added Bongo.

  Will sat in a circle with his legs crossed with Bongo and his guards. The women served them white meat. Will did not know what it was but it had a strong flavor and was rather like rabbit. This was followed by a tacky, white pap, very sweet with the texture of a banana but a distinctly different flavor; Will couldn’t match it with anything, it was unique. Will was hungry and had his fair share, washing it down with a sweet, clear fluid offered to him which was not much thicker than water. He gradually felt a euphoria he attributed to the liquid and as they made their way through the jungle to the river he agreed with himself that he could take on the world. Bongo did not say much and Will asked about the distinct lack of men in the camp, Bongo said only one word, “War”.

  He was helped aboard a longboat, the oars manned by powerful, expressionless natives who thrust the boat up river at an alarming rate. The boat was familiar, as if it had come from a British ship, but the oars were short, used without oar restraints along the edge of the boat as Will had read about in African lands. One thing was standard, they were all armed with musket pistols.

  The boat followed the edge of the river and veered off into one of the many tributaries amongst the jun
gle under the guns of an anchored man of war. The overhanging trees were filled with birds and animals such as small monkeys. Will found the sights and sounds unfamiliar but exciting. A small monkey, startled by the boat’s presence, fell into the water and was immediately taken by a crocodile as they passed. Will shook his head as he looked up from the disappearing monkey.

  "Evil river spirit, here yesterday, here today, here tomorrow," said Bongo. The boat twisted and turned among the tidal water and Will, sitting at the bow of the ship, could see the tip of a black mast above the jungle growth. He lost sight of it as they rounded a curve, clipping the corner of the jungle’s edge. The backwater opened up into a clearing about three hundred yards round and there before him, anchored in the centre as if asleep, was the Ghost. The oarsmen began to chant in song and as they neared the port side of the Ghost. A man dressed in black with frilled, white cuffs and collar came to the railing; he studied the white face as it approached him until when he had reached just below where he stood. He knew it could be no other. As Will climbed the boarding-net draped over the edge of the Ghost's railing with Bongo and his guard, then stood on the deck, Fial McMurrin fell to his knees, head in hands, and wept.