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Authors: Michele Torrey
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him out of savagery. After trying a dozen words on him and receiving no response, I set down my journal and nodded off, thankful nonetheless for the breeze.
For the rest of the day, amid thunderous squalls, we made our way to the mouth of the river Bonny, where we anchored for the night. Then, in the pale light of dawn, we up-anchored and navigated between the numerous sandbanks with the high tide, carried over the final bar by the moist land breeze.
Once we’d left the river Bonny, a calm settled, along with a pouring rain. We anchored and waited for the sea breeze. This was the most dangerous leg of our journey, for, as Jonas told me, the patrol squadron liked to lie in wait for slavers leaving the mouths of rivers, when the ships were filled to the gunwales with slaves. Unable to get rid of their cargo, the traders would be caught red-handed with the illegal goods.
Keeping a sharp lookout during the lull, we ate our breakfast. Afterward I studied my journal of languages and my catechismuntil Jonas called me to my medical station, for we’d several complaints of fever among the crew. Normally, we diagnosed and treated the crew where they lay in their hammocks, but today, because of the heat belowdecks, we’d set up a temporary infirmary for the crew on the deck, under an awning.
As I opened the medicine chest, the rain stopped. A minute later the cry “Sail ho!” resounded from the masthead.
Those of us gathered under the medical awning ducked our heads out and gazed upward. The lookout was peering through his spyglass directly out to sea.
“Where away?” came Uncle’s voice from aft.
“Four points off the port bow.”
“What flag?”
“Can’t tell. Wait … weather’s clearing off.” A minute later: “It’s the Union Jack. Britain.”
I heard Uncle say, “Run up the Stars and Stripes! What kind of vessel?”
“Uh—she appears to be a warship, Captain. She’s picked up the sea breeze and is headed straight for us.”
Uncle ran up the rigging, nimble as a lad. But before he could arrive at the masthead, the lookout cried again, his voice cracking with panic. “Sail ho!
Two
warships, Captain! One behind the other one! And this one appears to be American!”
“ A ll hands! All hands!”
The entire crew of the
Formidable
, save for those who lay groaning in their hammocks with fever, erupted into pandemonium. Like bees in a hive.
A clot of men circled the capstan, raising the anchor inch by blasted inch, cursing and praying aloud. Men slammed gunports open. Rolled out the long guns. Dumped ammunition, muskets, daggers, and swords on deck. Loaded and primed small arms, and jammed them into belts. Sailors swarmed the rigging, waiting for the signal to set sail.
“Jonas, pray tell me, what’s going to happen?” I kept asking, hurrying to take down the awning covering our medical supplies. “Are they going to sink us? Are they going to kill us? Are we going to have to fight?”
Jonas paused and clutched the pinrail, panting. “Blood and thunder, don’t ask so many questions, boy,” he finally gasped. “Of course they’re not going to sink us if they think we’ve got slaves aboard. Just know that if we get
caught
with a boatload of slaves, we’ll lose everything and have to face trial. Or worse, your uncle could be hanged as a pirate. You too. United States law.”
I stared at Jonas as if this were a jolly joke and he was about to burst into his donkey laugh and slap me on the back. “Did you say
hanged?”
“Indeed I did.”
“But—but—can’t we just raise the Spanish flag?”
“Too late for that, boy. And besides, British ships have permission from the Spanish government to board Spanish vessels. Either way, they’ve got us pinched.” He shoved me aside and began tugging on one of the awning’s knots. “Now shut your trap and do your duty or it’ll be an early end to your fine career.”
“Pea Soup!” I screamed, seeing him lounging against the bulwarks,
For the rest of the day, amid thunderous squalls, we made our way to the mouth of the river Bonny, where we anchored for the night. Then, in the pale light of dawn, we up-anchored and navigated between the numerous sandbanks with the high tide, carried over the final bar by the moist land breeze.
Once we’d left the river Bonny, a calm settled, along with a pouring rain. We anchored and waited for the sea breeze. This was the most dangerous leg of our journey, for, as Jonas told me, the patrol squadron liked to lie in wait for slavers leaving the mouths of rivers, when the ships were filled to the gunwales with slaves. Unable to get rid of their cargo, the traders would be caught red-handed with the illegal goods.
Keeping a sharp lookout during the lull, we ate our breakfast. Afterward I studied my journal of languages and my catechismuntil Jonas called me to my medical station, for we’d several complaints of fever among the crew. Normally, we diagnosed and treated the crew where they lay in their hammocks, but today, because of the heat belowdecks, we’d set up a temporary infirmary for the crew on the deck, under an awning.
As I opened the medicine chest, the rain stopped. A minute later the cry “Sail ho!” resounded from the masthead.
Those of us gathered under the medical awning ducked our heads out and gazed upward. The lookout was peering through his spyglass directly out to sea.
“Where away?” came Uncle’s voice from aft.
“Four points off the port bow.”
“What flag?”
“Can’t tell. Wait … weather’s clearing off.” A minute later: “It’s the Union Jack. Britain.”
I heard Uncle say, “Run up the Stars and Stripes! What kind of vessel?”
“Uh—she appears to be a warship, Captain. She’s picked up the sea breeze and is headed straight for us.”
Uncle ran up the rigging, nimble as a lad. But before he could arrive at the masthead, the lookout cried again, his voice cracking with panic. “Sail ho!
Two
warships, Captain! One behind the other one! And this one appears to be American!”
“ A ll hands! All hands!”
The entire crew of the
Formidable
, save for those who lay groaning in their hammocks with fever, erupted into pandemonium. Like bees in a hive.
A clot of men circled the capstan, raising the anchor inch by blasted inch, cursing and praying aloud. Men slammed gunports open. Rolled out the long guns. Dumped ammunition, muskets, daggers, and swords on deck. Loaded and primed small arms, and jammed them into belts. Sailors swarmed the rigging, waiting for the signal to set sail.
“Jonas, pray tell me, what’s going to happen?” I kept asking, hurrying to take down the awning covering our medical supplies. “Are they going to sink us? Are they going to kill us? Are we going to have to fight?”
Jonas paused and clutched the pinrail, panting. “Blood and thunder, don’t ask so many questions, boy,” he finally gasped. “Of course they’re not going to sink us if they think we’ve got slaves aboard. Just know that if we get
caught
with a boatload of slaves, we’ll lose everything and have to face trial. Or worse, your uncle could be hanged as a pirate. You too. United States law.”
I stared at Jonas as if this were a jolly joke and he was about to burst into his donkey laugh and slap me on the back. “Did you say
hanged?”
“Indeed I did.”
“But—but—can’t we just raise the Spanish flag?”
“Too late for that, boy. And besides, British ships have permission from the Spanish government to board Spanish vessels. Either way, they’ve got us pinched.” He shoved me aside and began tugging on one of the awning’s knots. “Now shut your trap and do your duty or it’ll be an early end to your fine career.”
“Pea Soup!” I screamed, seeing him lounging against the bulwarks,
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