Raging, the Africans tossed as many slavers as they could into the waiting waters.
“Send them to Yemoja and let the fish feast on their white flesh today!” Ijeoma cried.
Three white men armed with rifles rose up from the port side of the ship. Ijeoma dove to deck as shots flew over her head.
Kwame charged.
A steel ball hit him in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground.
Ijeoma squeezed behind a hogshead, trying to figure out how to fire the rifle she wrested out of a white man’s hands.
Kalif jumped up to confront the men. He grabbed one of the guns and engaged the man in a struggle for it.
Another man aimed his rifle at Kalif. He fired, blowing Kalif over the side of the ship.
Kalif’s murderer reloaded and then aimed at another African, but before he could fire another shot, he was overtaken by five gaunt captives.
Captain Alonso stood on the quarterdeck shooting Africans with his pistol. Ijeoma and Kwame watched, trying to figure how to get to him without being killed.
Kwame pressed his palm against his bleeding shoulder. He shook his head at Ijeoma. She pointed, motioning toward a long piece of wood.
“Go fishing Kwame!” Ijeoma yelled.
The wood was long and sharp just like his brother’s fishing pole.
Kwame grabbed the wooden pole, stood up and then hurled it through Captain Alonso’s chest. As Alonzo fell into the ship’s steering wheel, the remaining Africans stood up and cheered.
Three
“Search the ship! Find my sister! Make sure we have killed all the devils!” Ijeoma said, as she finished wrapping Kwame’s shoulder. “This should hold you.”
“I can’t believe something like this has happened!” Kwame exclaimed. He stood up and looked out into the open water. “Where are we, and where were they taking us?”
“I don’t know. We are so far out in this water, I cannot see land. We need to get back to our villages and warn others,”
She choked back a sob. Aneesa, where are you?
Two Africans dragged William Clarkson out to the main deck. He was dropped in front of Ijeoma and Kwame.
“He says he can help us,” one of the Africans said. “He had no weapon. We found him hiding in a room under the captain’s room.”
Ijeoma looked into Clarkson’s sky-colored eyes. It reminded her of her first meeting with a white person – and of how her mother cured their disease. She remembered, too, the blue-eyed man who taught all of the children English.
“You are not like the other sicklings are you?”
“No I am not. My name is William Clarkson. I was on this ship to document the treatment of Caribbean labor transfer.”
Kwame stood and walked over to him. He grabbed William by the shoulder and lifted him up. “I heard you talking to the men who guarded us. I believe you. Do you know where they were taking us?”
“You were being transported to a trading port on the island of Hispaniola?”
“Do you know how to get us back to our villages?” Ijeoma said.
“I am not a sailor. Or a navy officer. But if we can decipher the captain’s charts, we should be able to figure out how to get back to Africa.”
“Where will they be? These charts of the captain,” Ijeoma asked.
William pointed behind the wheel. “Please follow me. I’m sure captain Alonzo kept them in his quarters.”
Ijeoma and Kwame went with William to the captain’s quarters. She asked another African to count how many survivors there were, and get an overall report on the ship while they were gone.
The Captain’s room was fitted with a desk and a cushioned chair; embroidered with Adinkra symbols and precious gems. There was also a large rug from Persia, copper pots, Arabian clothes and other European items.
“May I ask how is it that you know how to speak English so well?” William asked.
“There are white people who were given land near our village. They taught us,” Ijeoma said. “They were very sick when they came to us. That is why we call them sicklings.”
“I know how to speak English, because many of the traders who came to our village spoke it,” Kwame added. “Can you speak Ga or Yoruba?”
“No,” William replied. “I am not familiar with your native tongues. However, I am aware that in the colonies, the laborers have created a patois, of both the Spanish and English languages.”
Ijeoma finished her search of the room. “I see no charts. There are valuables from everywhere, but no charts. What would these water directions look like?”
“They should be large, rolled papers,” William said.
“What if we don’t find these papers?” asked Kwame.
William whipped his head around toward them. He was shaking. He was clearly afraid of telling them his answer.
“It is quite possible that Captain Alonzo was so experienced, that he no longer required charts,” William said. “And if that is true, then we must set our sails, say a prayer, and hope we drift to land and not into another slave ship.”
####
Just before dawn, across the ocean, a dark skinned crewman climbed the mainmast of another ship. He hooked his legs around the thick pole and looked over the water through a long copper telescope. Something sparkled on the horizon. Another dark-skinned crewman stood below him on the deck, holding a back-staff and looking out in the same direction.
“Oh, oh! I see a ship! Tell Captain this morning brings us English booty,” the man hanging from the mainmast exclaimed.
The crewman ran across the deck to the captain’s cabin. It was an elaborate room with flashy cups and huge gold picture frames on the walls. A large chaise lounge lined the wall, giving the room the feel of a miniature castle.
“Caesar, Caesar! There be booty at sea!” the crewman announced.
“Why, why, why do you address me as such?” Shouted a voice from the behind the shadow cast by the morning sun. “And who is this Caesar you keep asking for?”
“Excuse me captain! Caesar be the great ruler of the Roman Empire. But you…you be Black Caesar, sir – the one and only free man of the high seas. Feared by all who dare to sail the salty waters.”
“Aye,” the voice boomed. “Caesar is for Rome; Black Caesar is for the sea.”
Out stepped a block-shaped man almost as wide as he was tall, with skin as black as the night sea. Though Black Caesar stood a little over six feet, he was without doubt a monster of a man. He flashed bright, white teeth with a wide grin in stark contrast to his ebon skin.
“Where is this booty you speak of?” Black Caesar demanded.
The crewman led him to the quarterdeck, where they were both able to see the ship using the telescope.
A smile of excitement and eagerness spread across Black Caesar’s face. He threw back his arm holding the telescope into the chest of the crewman. “Well make haste and ready the crew for it’s booty we be getting today!”
The crewman smiled, and quickly walked down to the ship’s lower levels to rally the other men.
Adams Brown was playing a game of chess with another crewman as Black Caesar approached him.
“Why do you teach my crew these games of conquest, rather than enjoy the real conquest we pursue?” Black Caesar asked.
Adams was clothed in a worn sweater vest, made in his birth place of Virginia. He looked up directly into Black Caesar’s eyes. “I play these games with my fellow crewmen so it will sharpen their strategic minds. This game is a game of moves. You cannot simply win it with one move. You must plan three and four moves ahead in order to trap your opponent. You learn to use your pawns to…”
Black Caesar took in a deep breath and, let out a laugh full of bass. “You are no different than the day you joined our crew! The time you endured as a war captive on that slave plantation has served you well! But listen up…on my ship we have no room for pawns! Now, take your mind away from the artificial and ready yourself for reality. We are preparing to take a ship which seems
to be adrift. ”
“Captain we are going to seize a ship in the day?” the crewman playing with Adams asked.
“Why not? Do you think we need the cover of darkness to pirate these waters? We cannot limit our actions to the cover of night, whatever we encounter!” Black Caesar bellowed. “We must be able to handle it if we are to truly be the source of fear of these waters.”
Black Caesar looked Adams up and down.
“Adams, I see you still wear that ragged vest of yours,” he said. “Why don’t you put on something more battle-ready, like that black leather coat we took from the last royal ship we sank?”
“This is what my father was wearing the night we ran away from that prison the Europeans call a plantation,” Adams replied. “It is all the armor I need in any battle with traders of human flesh.”
The crewmen all stood ready as Caesar’s ship cruised up alongside the adrift ship.
The ship appeared abandoned. No life was visible on it. There was rope tied to the wheel. And all of the sails were drawn, leaving the ship drifting.
“Caesar, the ship looks to be empty. I see no life aboard,” Adams said, as he held the wheel of Black Caesar’s ship.
“Maybe a case of scurvy?” another crewman cried.
“Just bring us up close. Everyone stay ready,” Black Caesar ordered.
No crew suffering from scurvy would tie rope to their wheel, he thought. Something is wrong. They wanted the rudder steady.
Caesar’s ship bumped the side of the adrift ship. His men threw anchors connected to thick ropes onto the ship’s deck and then pulled the two ships together.
The captain was the first to board the main-deck of the barren ship. He held a flintlock pistol in each hand. Following him were several crewmen holding a variety of daggers, cutlasses and muskets. The deck was stained with blood. They explored the ship, creeping with heightened caution.
Adams – a wiry figure, not as burly as Black Caesar but standing a little taller than the menacing Captain – tiptoed toward the door to the captain’s quarters.
Adams motioned with his knife toward a crewman holding a short-barreled musket.
Although Adams was thin he had what he called “a country boy strength,” which all of Caesar’s crew learned to respect. Caesar often relied on it himself when he needed it. This was one of those times. So, Adams leaned back and kicked the door with the heel of his foot.
The door flung open, revealing an empty captain’s room.
Adams stepped in, looking around as he entered the room. The cabinets were open and a variety of charts lay scattered on the floor. A desk with a large gold chair sat in the corner. There was no sign of life.
Adams turned back to announce his findings when an arm wrapped around his neck and a knife’s blade pressed against his groin.
“Drop the knife and put the gun down,” said a female voice.
Four
Ijeoma walked Adams out onto the quarterdeck.
She stared down Black Caesar and the rest of his crew.
“All of you put down your weapons! Or else I will cut this man so he will never have descendants!”
The ship decks filled with Kwame, William and all the other Africans who had overthrown their European kidnappers. They surrounded Black Caesar and his crewmen. Shivers slithered up many of their spines, but they still held their ground.
Ijeoma twisted Adams’ tall, lanky body down and sideways in order to hold him in her grip. Even twisted he managed to smile at Black Caesar. He turned a little and Ijeoma tightened her grip.
“Hey, sister, ease up!” Adams said. “We’re not here to hurt you!”
“You want not to be pointing your weapons at my men,” Black Caesar growled. “See, we be pirates. The threat of a conflict is only a turn on for us. You’d be a smart girl to release my first mate and let us go about serving you some food.”
Black Caesar gave one of his broad smiles. “It’s obvious you liberated yourselves from your captives. And it is also obvious you are lost and rationing your food. So, my dear, put down your gun so no one gets hurt.”
Kwame threw his machete down, and walked toward Ijeoma. “Let’s see what they have to offer. If we slay them, we will be in no better position.”
“Well…” Ijeoma hesitated, “let’s all put down our weapons.”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” Adams added. “You can start by pulling your knife away from my baby maker.”
Black Caesar looked around at his men. “Very well then, on three…one; two; three…”
They all dropped their weapons on the floor of the ship.
Ijeoma released Adams.
He grabbed his groin, and stretched out his shoulders, as he stood upright. Then he shook his head and let out a laugh.
Ijeoma stared at him. “What are you laughing at?”
“I haven’t been touched by a woman in so long,” Adams replied. “I was enjoying your grasp. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Adams Brown, a free man of the sea.”
“And who is that?” Ijeoma pointed her gun toward Black Caesar.
“I be the one and only Caesar of the sea,” Black Caesar growled. “I be known as Black Caesar ― terror of all who trade in my waters. My crew here are liberated booty. They are all men like me, taken from their own families to be used to work as slaves. Just as you here freed yourselves, so did these men.”
“Where did you come from and where are we?” Kwame asked.
“By the look of your ship, you were being taken to Santiago, a port on the Island of Ayiti.” Adams replied.
“Excuse me but wouldn’t that be in Hispaniola and Port-au-Prince be in Ayiti?” William said, as he stepped into visibility of Black Caesar.
Two of Black Caesar’s men grabbed William.
“Who is this?” one of Black Caesar’s men said.
“My name is William Clarkston, I am a journalist from London. I am of no threat to you ―please believe me!”
“Let him go! He’s telling the truth!” Ijeoma said. “If he were with these kidnappers, we would have already fed him to the sharks!” The men released William.
Adams put his arm around Ijeoma’s shoulder. “Dear lady, the more you speak the more I want to know about you.”
Ijeoma shook out of Adams embrace. “So, Caesar…”
“Ah, ah that be Black Caesar to all,” Black Caesar corrected.
“Black Caesar, we want to get back to Ghana to our families,” Ijeoma said. “We just need you to show us how to steer this ship in the right direction.”
“That be no problem, but first let us feed your crew and I will have my men ready your vessel.” Black Caesar motioned for his men to do his wishes then he walked up onto the quarterdeck and took in the full view of the ship. “This is a fine vessel! You need come and join me in the captain’s quarters and I will tell you what you need to know.”
Ijeoma, Kwame and William joined Black Caesar and Adams Brown in the cabin, while the crew got to work.
####
Black Caesar stood looking out the window into the sunlight. It was a clear day and the ocean was calm.
“You are days from the African coast,” Black Caesar said to Ijeoma. The current has taken you to the Caribbean Sea. In fact, you are lucky we found you first, or else your revolt would have been in vain. It is best you come with me to The Black Island. There, we can stock your ship and find you a navigator for your journey home.”
“Caesar, you would do this for us?” Ijeoma asked.
“Black Caesar it is. And yes Black Caesar would be happy to aid you. We will arrive in the morning. This will give you enough time to learn about what’s going on in these waters.”
“Black Caesar what is this war we are involved in?” Kwame asked passionately. “My village fought no war with Europeans. We’ve only encountered Arabs and Moors from across the sands, seeking conquest. How did these Europeans come to go to war with us?”
“I am also curious to know who it is that you are at war with
.” William added. “It is not a war we know of in London.”
Black Caesar cleared his throat to begin his story “It is a shame that the details of this war are not known in Africa. But the explanation is simple. There is no war in Africa. The war is in the Caribbean. That is where the crimes are being committed.”
“I think perhaps the investors in Europe,” the captain went on, “like these Lloyds of London, turn a blind eye, that is to say if they care at all. What I do know is that ships have been transporting we Black people for as long as I can remember.”
“They are working us in these death camps, which they call plantations, from America down to Brazil,” Adams chimed in. “And every kind of European is involved – Dutch; Portuguese; English; Spanish and French. They are all involved in this war. My ancestors were brought to Virginia from Africa. And I would love to go back and visit…just to see what it’s like. But I could not stay, because I have left friends on the plantations that are still being tortured.”
“Mr. William, I have met several men like you,” Adams continued. White men like you who could not understand the actions of their own kind. If you are true to your heart, you will join us and help end this war. There are many pirates who fought in your country’s Royal Navy, but once they see what their government is doing, they can no longer participate.”
“Well, if righting this wrong will have me called a pirate,” William said, “then a pirate I’ll be.”
One of Black Caesar’s crewmen brought in a bottle of rum and mugs, and passed them out.
“Here, here then! Let it be resolved!” Black Caesar bellowed. “Adams, we have ourselves a new army. Let’s drink, with full cups, some of Jamaica’s finest rum to this new ship of soldiers.”
Ijeoma raised her glass and drank the rum. She thought about all that had happened to her and Kwame. She pictured Kwame laughing with Kojo while fishing on waters of the Niger river. She felt the warmth and love they had for each other.
Then she pictured Aneesa running and laughing and began to daydream. Aneesa smiled and ran toward her, but before Aneesa reached her, the old white man who traded goods out of the fort near her village grabbed Aneesa around the neck. The old man was not strong enough to hold her. But somehow she could not get loose.
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