Pirate Souls

I - Chapter 12 - The mate

Eight days. We are supposed to dock in New Orleans in eight days.

Eight days without seeing the light, without breathing fresh air, without being able to walk.

Eight days cloistered behind bars, with only rats for company.

Jaime did not attempt to stop Nick when he took me away. My negative shake of the head clearly made him see that I did not wish him to intervene. He is more useful to me alive than dead.

The only positive thing in all this is that I do not suffer from hunger or thirst. Léon, Jaime or Cook come down at regular hours to bring me what I need.

A tiny gap between two planks of wood which make up part of the ship's hull enable me to see if it is night time.

My second day at the bottom of this hellhole.

Down here sound travels differently than on the rest of the brig. The bumps are more stifled. I have devised a little game to pass the time. I listen to everything. I analyse and try to imagine what is happening up there. Those steps are those of the guard. That is easy; he had a slight limp when he came on board. Ah and that one, heavier, I would wager belongs to Monsieur Mustelier, come to ascertain that his cargo is doing well. He must be blind not to realize that he is slowly killing them. Now I hear a scratching noise and then a sort of whistle. I do not recognize the sound.

In the darkness, I can only count on my ears. The sound is coming from the stern of the boat.

"Tsss, tsss, tsss."

A human voice. Someone is calling me.

"Who is there?" I am alarmed.

"Tsss, tsss, tsss."

It may be only a rat. Concentrate, idiot! You must disregard this hissing if you want to identify the other sounds. Have I just begun a conversation with myself?

"Tsss, tsss, tsss."

"When are you going to hold your tongue," I shout to myself.

This is it; I have gone mad.

"Me want thank you, for water."

I am hearing voices. One day and one night in the hold have been enough to make me lose my mind. I hoped to hold out a bit longer before going mad.

"Water. Good. You slave, like us."

So, someone is talking to me. Why would I have chosen such a language to talk to myself?

"Megwewa."

"I do not understand," I reply, distressed.

"Me Gwewa, you?"

"Gwewa?"

"Yes, and you?"

I am slow. I have an excuse. I have just spent two days at the bottom of a ship's hold.

"My name is..."

The word escapes me.

"Sirena," I decide.

"Sillena," the voice repeats.

"Yes, and you Gwewa."

That is all. My only conversation during my second day without light. But it was real. Gwewa replaces a plank in the floor and nothing more. I am alone once more.

On the third day, I learn the names of the people accompanying my new friend. I retain Adjo, Umi, Kuumba and Jawara. Gwewa speaks a little French. He explains that he was a house negro. Everything was going well for him until there was an incident with his master. I was not to learn more. He does not wish to talk about it. His owner decided to take him to Louisiana with the others to work the land. His home on Tortuga was only his secondary residence. Mustelier owns fields of indigo and tobacco. There is a lack of manpower and according to him, the slaves must be renewed all the time.