by Rima Jean
As Howel disappeared into the smoke that rose from the gates of the fort, I turned and looked at the pirates on the dinghy with me. They had their backs turned to me, and they spoke to each other in a strange language. Both were African. I had noticed that Levasseur’s crew was nearly half African, while the other half was mostly French. That was a hell of a lot of African pirates, and I was too afraid of them to try and figure out if one of them was the black pirate. My black pirate. My key back to 2011. Now, as I sat in the dinghy, I was afraid, and I felt for my pistol beneath my jacket. Who were these two men that Howel trusted enough to send me back with?
That was when one of the men, the larger one of the two, turned to look at me, a wide smile on his black face. One side of his face was lined with uniform scars from his hairline to his cheek, and he bore clear marks about his neck from an iron collar that had dug into his flesh repeatedly.
“Allo, nwanyi,” he said in his deep, sing-song voice.
I gasped. “Sam! Holy shit! Sam!” I tried to stand, but the rocking of the boat knocked me back onto my rear.
Sam laughed. “Stay seated, silly woman,” he said. “Lest you end up as a meal for the sharks.”
Sam. My last image of him was on Barbados as he was led, naked and shackled, by his new master off the wharf and into an open cart with the other slaves, bound for some sugar cane plantation. Despite his injuries at the hands of the slavers, he’d been straight-backed and fearless, bringing tears to my eyes as I’d prayed for him silently. Now he stood before me, a free man, or as free as an African could be in the white man’s world, dressed in a calico shirt, petticoat breeches, a kerchief about his neck, and a brace of pistols slung across his chest. I felt myself choke up.
He was my black pirate. He had to be.
I couldn’t wait for the dinghy to reach the ship, so that I could find out for sure. I nearly tackled Sam once we were finally on board. I flung my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek to his big chest. “Sam! Thank God you’re okay! What are you doing here? How did you get here?”
Sam laughed again, uneasily, taken slightly aback by the emotion in my actions, in my voice. “Easy, nwanyi. I will answer all of your questions.” We sat on the deck and shared a bottle of looted rum as Sam began to explain. “I escaped the plantation in Barbados. There were fifteen of us. We knew our only chance was to find a pirate ship – it was the only place where we would be free. And I had to be free, or die. There was no other option for me.” He swallowed some rum. “We stole a sloop, sailed to Nassau. That was when we found Levasseur and his crew, and they took us on without question.”
I stared at him in wonder, my mouth open. “You make it sound so easy. You escaped the plantation and found a pirate ship, just like that.”
Sam chuckled. “It was not easy. I was shot, we had to hide and steal… No, it was not easy. But even a horrible death was preferable to slavery.”
“And now?” I asked. “You are back in Africa. Why don’t you go back to your people?”
He grinned. “Africa is a big place, nwanyi. And I am not yet at my home. But even so, I would not leave this life.”
I was startled. “Why not?”
He shrugged. “It is hard to explain. I have taken to this life. And there is a certain freedom here, a certain… kinship that I feel with these pirates. We have a common enemy.”
I was silent for a moment, then said, “Levasseur’s men are brutal.”
Sam nodded. “Yes. But life is brutal, is it not? I have no sympathy for my fellow men, least of all the white men. They can kill each other all they want.” He rolled the bottle between his enormous hands, thinking for a moment. “I would like to join Howel Davis. He was good to me on the slave ship, and now we are brothers-at-arms. I would like to fight alongside him.”
I became breathless. “Sam, you… Are you like me? Do you come from the same place?”
Sam tilted his head, looking at me inquisitively. “I do not understand.”
I practically whispered it. “Are you from a different time? From the future? From a time that has not happened yet?”
Sam digested this question for a moment, and I wondered suddenly if his native language had such a concept. Finally, he asked, “You are from a time that has not yet happened?”
I nodded. “Yes. I am from the future. I was in a storm, and I found myself here, in the past.” I leaned forward, excitedly. “I was told by a… sorceress, a witch, that I would be able to get back with the help of a black pirate, who was also from the future. She said this black pirate would come to me.”
Sam studied my face. “I felt you were different, from the beginning.” He rubbed his chin. “And you think I am the black pirate she spoke of, eh?” He sighed. “I am sorry to disappoint you, nwanyi, but I am not.”
I stared. It was impossible. He had to be the one. Who else would it be? “Are you certain?” I asked.
He grinned. “Yes, I am certain that I am not from the future.” His grin slowly disappeared as he saw the despair in my face. “You want to go back to your home, and I am sorry that I cannot help you. But if the witch said he would come to you, then you have only to wait.”
I paused before saying, “You seem… to believe me, Sam.”
“Why would I not believe you?”
I let out a laugh. “Well, because I’m telling you something pretty unbelievable. And I haven’t given you any proof. You should think I’m crazy.”
Sam shook his head. “The white men think you are crazy because they do not believe in the things they cannot explain.”
“Can you explain it?” I asked.
“No, ‘tis beyond the understanding of man,” he replied. “But I can tell you that Chukwu is testing you.”
I sighed heavily. “Fabulous.” I had no idea who Chukwu was, but I was too exhausted to even ask. Besides, if the test was anything beyond survival, I didn’t want to know. Once again, I felt immersed in the realm of the supernatural, in the realm of magic.
We sat on the deck quietly together then, the sun setting behind us as we watched the pirates set fire to the fort. It began to crumble amidst the flames and smoke that consumed it. It was a stark contrast, this gorgeous pink and purple sky as a backdrop to the devastation of the fort.
I suddenly said, “That day, back on the Cadogan, when Howel had the men remove your shackles. You said something to him in Igbo that made him think. What was it?”
Sam stared at me. “I do not remember.”
I bit my lip and thought back. “He said, ‘You’ll make some rich landowner all the richer,’ and you replied with ‘You and I together.’ Then you said something to him in Igbo.”
“Ah,” Sam said, his eyes widening as he remembered. “I said, ‘If men are denied the chance to live in freedom, they will make their own freedom.’”
“Wow,” I replied softly, watching some pirates dance drunkenly on the beach of Bunce Island in the distance, wearing some dandy clothes they had found in the fort. If only all the pirates had such lofty ideals.
Chapter Thirty-Two
What followed was effortless capture of ship after unsuspecting ship, as each sailed into the harbor at Sierra Leone, not knowing that the fort was now under pirate control. Levasseur took a new ship for himself, while Howel and Cocklyn careened and cleaned theirs. They captured thirteen ships over two months.
Those were a dark two months, as little by little Levasseur and Cocklyn revealed themselves to be the savage brutes I feared they were, and Howel Davis found himself virtually alone, trying to protect the captives of the prizes they had caught.
The tension between the pirate captains reached a peak after Cocklyn’s capture of the Bird, a London slaver that had unwittingly come into the harbor at Sierra Leone. The captain, William Snelgrave and his crew were badly beaten by Cocklyn and his pirates for attempting to defend themselves. By the time Howel arrived aboard the Bird, its precious cargo had been wasted – the livestock slaughtered and half-eaten, the decks washed with the valua
ble liquor, and the books tossed into the sea.
Unbeknownst to Howel, I had come aboard the prize with Sam. I was tired of being left behind, and Sam agreed to take me with him. He and I both knew that no one would mess with me when he was by my side. I watched as a sailor from the Bird who’d been forced to join the pirates told Howel hurriedly what had transpired in his absence.
The sailor couldn’t have been older than eighteen, and his dark eyes were brimming with fear as he described the fate of one of his fellow sailors at the hands of Cocklyn. “Cap’n Cocklyn ordered ‘im to climb into the shrouds and let out the fore topsail sheet, and when ‘e wasn’t quick enough about it, the Cap’n had ‘im shot, and then sent the boatswain into the shrouds after ‘im to finish ‘im off with a cutlass.”
Howel swore violently, his jaw clenched in a fury. With his cutlass drawn, he bellowed for his comrade. “Cocklyn, you barbarous villain! Show yourself!”
Cocklyn emerged from the cabin, cutlass in hand, his fat face nearly purple with rage. Levasseur came out behind him, his eyes darting between the two pirate captains as they approached each other. Cocklyn grimaced, revealing gaps where there should have been teeth. “What do ye dare call me, Davies? A barbarous villain, am I?”
Howel glared at Cocklyn, a deadly expression on his face. “‘Tis the law of the sea, that those who do not fight will be given good quarter, and those prisoners will not be abused after quarter given.”
Cocklyn spat on the deck, wiped his mouth with his hand, and replied, “The dogs tried to defend their ship. I had it in me right to punish ‘em.”
Howel fumed, “Am I not commodore here? You should have come to me, for only I have the right to decide if one of our captives has done wrong.”
Cocklyn, who was already purple in the face, became livid at this. He held out his cutlass, ready to fight. “Davies, ye cockerel, ye overstep the bounds of yer authority…”
I saw Howel’s grip tighten around his cutlass while Cocklyn came closer, and the two pirates began to circle each other as their crews cleared a way for the fight. I felt myself struggling to breathe, and Sam clamped a hand down on my shoulder.
It was Levasseur who intervened, pushing Cocklyn’s cutlass aside and draping an arm around him. He flashed his oily smile at Howel, his hand outstretched in supplication. “Come now, mes amis, mes frères! There is no need for this animosity among us.” He tightened his grip around Cocklyn’s shoulders in warning, looking at Cocklyn meaningfully. “We fight for the same things, no?”
Cocklyn lowered his weapon grudgingly, and Howel lowered his in turn, his face solemn. “I think not, La Buse,” Howel said, calling Levasseur by his nickname. He turned to Cocklyn’s men. “Where are the prisoners? Where is this Captain Snelgrave?”
The prisoners were brought before Howel, and standing before Captain Snelgrave, Howel said gravely, “I am ashamed, Captain, at how you have been used by Captain Cocklyn and his men.” He cast a disapproving eye on the pirates who stood by, lingering on Levasseur and Cocklyn. “They forget that our reasons for going on the account are to revenge ourselves on base merchants and cruel commanders of ships. As for you, Captain Snelgrave, there is not one of your crew, even those who have joined us, that speaks ill of you, and it is clear from the respect they show you that they love you. I believe the reason for your ill-usage is because you attempted to defend your ship against Cocklyn, and I blame him entirely for it. Had I been the one to take your ship, and had you defended your ship against me, I would have doubly valued you for it.”
Howel paused, looking directly at his fellow pirate captains, even though he still spoke to Snelgrave. “I am not in partnership with them. I will say no more at present, but I hope they will now use you kindly, give you necessities, and return what of yours is left undestroyed.”
I was surprised to see Levasseur and Cocklyn swallow Howel’s harsh words against them without a peep. I thought for sure he would find himself in a stand-off with the two brutal pirate captains. When Levasseur invited Howel and Snelgrave to join Cocklyn and him for drinks in the cabin, I turned to Sam in confusion.
“Why do they tolerate this? They could destroy him,” I whispered urgently to Sam.
Sam looked down at me and smiled. “In their hearts, they hate Howel Davis, but they dread his resentment, for they know how valuable he is to them. They believe tolerating him will bring them many more riches.”
I glanced at the closed door of the cabin. “I’m going in.”
“I do not think that is a good idea, nwanyi,” Sam replied.
“What if I go in under the guise of taking something to them?” I asked. “Give me some liquor, something to take in with me.”
Sam found me two bottles of wine to take in to the captains, and while he shook his head and muttered something in Igbo, I crept to the door, opened it slowly, and slipped in.
They hardly noticed me, the slight cabin boy who stood in the shadows along the bulkhead. Levasseur briefly glanced in my direction, seeing nothing but a pirate lad bringing more liquor, and turned back to his colleagues. They had opened a bottle of French brandy and were toasting each other, particularly Howel, who was looking somewhat appeased by Levasseur and Cocklyn’s deference to him. They also drank to James Stuart the “Pretender” and cursed King George, calling him a “cuckoldy dog.”
Then Levasseur said, “Come, gentlemen! Let us go ashore and visit some native ladies, shall we?” He turned to Snelgrave. “You have a chest of coats here that we wish to use, Captain. If you would be so kind as to retrieve it for us.”
Snelgrave pulled a chest from under the bunk, which the pirates opened. Inside were three embroidered coats, and Levasseur pulled them out and handed one each to Cocklyn and Howel. The three pirates then slipped into the coats and laughed, complimenting each other and jesting. Only Cocklyn, whose coat was clearly too big for him and hung down to his ankles, seemed unhappy, saying, “Here now! Me coat is too long for me. Davies, trade with me, will ye?”
Howel’s expression was fiendish as he said, “Nay, Cocklyn, and why would you want to? The native ladies have no knowledge of white men’s fashion, so ‘tis of no consequence. Besides, your coat is by far the most beautiful, so you will have your pick of them, no?”
“Aye,” Levasseur agreed, glancing at Howel in conspiracy. “Look at how the scarlet color and the beautiful silver embroideries compliment you… The ladies will swarm you!”
Cocklyn grumbled a bit as the three of them began to leave the cabin. I stood still against the bulkhead, hardly breathing, wondering if Howel truly intended to visit the local brothels, when he turned to me, motioning to me.
He had known I was there all the long.
I stepped forward, and he took my arm, leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Will you meet me on the beach in half a glass?”
I nodded mutely and he turned to follow Levasseur and Cocklyn off the ship. Shortly after they left, I convinced Sam to come with me to the shore. It was dark now, and the air was thick with the African steam as Sam and I rowed a small boat past the mangrove swamps to the beach. Once there, I scanned the horizon anxiously for Howel while Sam relaxed against a palm. I heard him chuckle.
“So the nwanyi from the future and the cunning pirate are in love, then?” he said, smiling in the dark at me, his teeth flashing.
I glanced at Sam then quickly looked away, a lump in my throat. I was thinking how I should answer when I saw a shadowy figure standing in the palm groves. I knew it was him, and with a wave to Sam I began to trudge up the beach. Under the palms, I squinted to see his face as I approached him. His breathing came softly and his eyes glistened at me as he reached for me. With his arms tight around me, Howel groaned and buried his face in my neck.
“Sabrina,” he said, almost in a whisper. I could hear the agony in his voice, the torment. “I need you.”
I bit my lip, squeezed my eyes shut, inhaled his scent. I wanted to tell him that working with Levasseur and Cocklyn was destroying him, that he had t
o end his partnership with them. I wanted to remind him that he was creeping further and further down the African coast, closer and closer to Prince Island. I wanted to beg him to stop, to run away with me…
But I said none of those things. Instead, I held his head against me, caressed his face. I let him pull me down into the sand and make love to me, his kisses demanding, desperate. I curled against him in the hot, muggy night, our skin sticking together, and listened to his even breathing, the beat of his heart, feeling helplessly pulled along by something so much bigger than the both of us.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I had no way of knowing what would happen. The space between the beginning and the end of Howel’s pirate career was filled with vague references of notoriety and successful captures by deceit, and I found myself cursing the author of Rovers of the Sea for not having written more about Howel’s life.
That being said, I didn’t know whether any of it would have been accurate anymore, since I hoped I affected the events of his life enough to change the ultimate outcome.
I hoped.
In the meantime, I kept myself out of the way, watching as Howel fought to keep discipline among his ever-growing crew. He had no control over the men of Levasseur or Cocklyn, but tried his damnedest to maintain control over his gang of pirates. I could see the stress in his face as, with each capture, he struggled to ensure that the captives were not abused, that the cargo not wasted. I worried for him, feeling helpless, impotent. On certain evenings, when the three pirate captains would dress up and go ashore to find local women, I would secretly meet Howel on some isolated strand of beach. Concealed by the shadows of the palms, we would come together impatiently, unable to get enough of each other, knowing that until such an opportunity presented itself again, we would have to ignore one another, act as though the other didn’t exist.