God Walks The Dark Hills: Book I & II

By B. L. Blankenship

Beneath the earthen clay of America's southern forests, the shattered bones and charred remains of brave men lie entombed amid traces of long coagulated blood and shrapnel from a time long passed that many have forgotten. History's dark secrets rest deep beneath the surface of a pool comprised of carefully fabricated lies and warped distortions

• Language: English
• Publisher: Benjamin Blankenship
• Release date: Oct 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781087914930

B. L. Blankenship

About the AuthorB. L. BlankenshipBenjamin Lee Blankenship was born in Toledo, Ohio in 1981 to his two southern parents Larry Brown Blankenship of Giles County, Tennessee & Jonelle Blankenship of Harlan, Kentucky. During his youth in the mid-1990s, he moved to Roane County, Tennessee. Having a deep love for literature and history, he's studied many aspects of the American Civil War.Like many Americans his ancestors fought on both sides of the war. Each of his direct bloodline kindred that fought for the Federal Government (i.e. Union Army) lived in the Republican stronghold of Harlan County, Kentucky. They were: • James H. Ticky Howard (1832-1922)• Leonard Samuel Scott (1825-1889)• David E. Lee (1824-1905)• Elijah G. Helton (1829-1904)• William Burton "Gabby Burt" Hensley (1832-1906)Each of these willingly submitted to the federal draft under the direction of Robert Hays, Prevost Martial of the 8th Kentucky District.Likewise, his family housed many proud Democrats who fought for the Confederate States of America. Unlike the array of Harlan Co. Union Soldiers within his bloodline, those who chose to serve as Confederates were spread abroad; they were:CONFEDERATE HERITAGE:Richard Pierce Stracener (1843-1906)7th Reg. Georgia Infantry--------------------------James W. Farmer (1834-1910)Company C, North Carolina 3rd Light Artillery Battalion--------------------------Jefferson Pack (1830-1864)35th Regiment Tennessee Infantry, 5th Infantry,1st Mountain Rifle Regiment--------------------------Granville Smith (1843-1923)60th Regiment Virginia Infantry3rd Regiment Wise Legion, Company A--------------------------Gabrial "Rial" Smith (1820-1912)4th Regiment, Virginia Reserves, Company F--------------------------William Riley Thurman (1816-1907)2nd Battalion, Arkansas Infantry--------------------------All of B. L. Blankenship's direct bloodline ancestors lived through the American Civil War except for the confederate Jefferson Pack. He was born in Stokes, North Carolina (1830) and died on November 12th, 1864 while imprisoned at Camp Douglas, Illinois.

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COPYRIGHT 2020

GOD WALKS THE DARK HILLS

Dedication

  I’d first like to dedicate this book to the readers and lovers of American History, specifically the periods of the Antebellum, American Civil War, and Western eras, as that’s where the novel and series God Walks The Dark Hills is fixed. Likewise, this is for those who enjoy the genres of horror, specifically the sort that has a lightly Lovecraft, Victorian, or Western branding of it.

  Ideally, I’d imagine that the combined two novels within this book are for those who love Southern Gothic literature. These books and the subsequent series of books within the God Walks The Dark Hills franchise are to be like men, exceedingly brutal, macabre, and too close to reality for more some to digest. And yet, amidst a world filled with people who are blinded to the darkened corners of reality, there you are, our intended readers. You know who you are, and this book was written with you in mind.

  Additionally, I’d also like to dedicate this book to all of those who have fought and died for freedom. This is for those who honor the past, it’s insights, and enjoy the journey that life brings.

  While the God Walks The Dark Hills series is a work of fiction there are an extreme amount of real people, places, battles, weather conditions, ships, weaponry, and world history carefully sewn into the fabric of its creation to render a world that some have all but forgotten.

  As it’s author, I’m exceedingly grateful to God for the gifts that He has given me, and the love and light He has bestowed upon this fallen world.

We live in a world where we have to hide to make love, while violence is practiced in broad daylight.

- John Lennon

Contents

DEDICATION

pg. 4

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EPIGRAPH

pg. 5

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PREFACE

pg. 12

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

pg. 15

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INTRODUCTION

pg. 16

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BOOK I:

God Walks The Dark Hills

CHAPTER 1: Tiger, Tiger Burning Bright 

pg. 18

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CHAPTER 2: In What Distant Deeps Or Skies

pg. 27

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CHAPTER 3: Dare It’s Deadly Terror Clasp

pg. 40

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CHAPTER 4: What Immortal Hand Or Eye

pg. 50

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CHAPTER 5: Did He Smile His Work To See

pg. 59

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CHAPTER 6: Did He Who Made The Lamb Make Thee

pg. 68

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CHAPTER 7: And When Thy Heart Began To Beat

pg. 78

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CHAPTER 8: Burn The Fire Of Thine Eyes

pg. 88

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CHAPTER 9: Frame Thy Fearful Symmetry

pg. 98

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CHAPTER 10: Twist The Sinews Of Thy Heart

pg. 106

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CHAPTER 11: What Hand Dare Seize The Fire

pg. 115

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CHAPTER 12: When The Stars Threw Down Their Spears

pg. 125

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CHAPTER 13: In The Forests Of The Night

pg. 133

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BOOK I:

God Walks The Dark Hills

CHAPTER 14: Not With A Howl, But A Whimper

pg. 141

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CHAPTER 15: Sun Of The Morning

pg. 157

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CHAPTER 16: The Great Speckled Bird

pg. 166

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CHAPTER 17: He Sent Forth A Raven

pg. 173

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CHAPTER 18: Watch And Prey

pg. 182

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CHAPTER 19: Farewell, My Friend

pg. 192

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CHAPTER 20: Pittsburg Landing

pg. 208

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CHAPTER 21: Shiloh

pg. 219

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CHAPTER 22: Fallen Timber

pg. 227

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BOOK II:

Here Among The Shadows in a Lonely Land:

God Walks The Dark Hills II

CHAPTER 1: Milk & Blood

pg. 237

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CHAPTER 2: The Crossing

pg. 247

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CHAPTER 3: Glen or Glenda

pg. 255

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CHAPTER 4: A Time To Kill

pg. 262

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CHAPTER 5: Eye of the Beholder

pg. 269

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CHAPTER 6: Bitches of the Devil

pg. 275

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CHAPTER 7: The Road to Corinth

pg. 282

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CHAPTER 8: Men & Monsters

pg. 288

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CHAPTER 9: The Watchman

pg. 296

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CHAPTER 10: Two Rivers to Cross

pg. 302

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CHAPTER 11: Extraordinary Creatures

pg. 310

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CHAPTER 12: A Turn For The Worst

pg. 317

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BOOK II:

Here Among The Shadows in a Lonely Land:

God Walks The Dark Hills II

CHAPTER 13: In Chains

pg. 325

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CHAPTER 14: Northward

pg. 333

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CHAPTER 15: Eyes of the Fancy Man

pg. 343

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CHAPTER 16: By The Sea

pg. 349

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CHAPTER 17: Blood Brothers

pg. 355

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

pg. 359

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Preface

  General W. T. Sherman penned in his memoirs, I have again and again been invited to write a history of the war, or to record for publication my personal recollections of it, with large offers of money therefor; all of which I have heretofore declined, because the truth is not always palatable, and should not always be told.

  In my own life, I’ve found that the older I get the more my love for the past seems to grow. A time which I deem to be of the highest decorative elegance and nostalgic beauty is easily capsulated within the nineteenth century. It was the era of the Napoleonic Wars, Queen Victoria, Jack the Ripper, The American Civil War, The Mexican American War, The Old West, the Building of the American Railroad, as well as a myriad of other things to the rest of the world.

  During the American Civil War, a time where muzzleloader rifles were utilized, firing 1 round per minute, the Henry rifle firing ten rounds per minute also came into play. The Gatling-gun firing 100-200 rounds-per-minute was invented by a northern dentist who hoped it’d lead to Union Forces withdrawing troops, which instead just added to the carnage. The Gatling-gun only saw action in a few land battles within the war; primarily they were mounted on Union ships.

  Napoleon deduced that his soldiers would fight better if they were better fed, so the French began canning food in jars, conceptually like they bottled wine. Within the same century it was discovered that by adding salt to the water, it would boil substantially faster.

  Advances in medicine grew leaps and bounds. Casts, surgeries, prosthetics, and so forth became commonplace in the nineteenth century. Military advancements within wars, which are still used today were conceived as a byproduct of the American Civil War. Prior to that, soldiers stood in a straight line and swapped gun and cannon fire with the adversary until one of the sides either surrendered, fled, or died fighting.

  It was a decadent period filled with art and atrocities. There were multiple shifts within North America alone for primarily two key reasons, money and power. Because of this, countless Mexicans and Native Americans were slaughtered in an effort to expand west and lay hold on greater resources. The South was heavily taxed to finance the American Railroad, which historically led to South Carolina’s secession from the United States, prompting Abraham Lincoln to retaliate by putting them in a stranglehold and call a draft, which resulted in a mass-secession of states, and created the bloodiest war ever to be held on American soil.

  Very many writers have sought to romanticize it. During it’s time each side felt that they were on God’s side, and there was division amongst the people as to its reasons. Northerners who sympathized with the South were called Copperheads, else wise snakes. Technology had greatly advanced, it was the first war with the use of the telegraph, which was an invaluable commodity in and of commanding armies, as well as reporting the news.

  People all across the United States were in tune with what was going on in battlefields across the nation. In the South, there was historically freedom of the press. Varying opinions were published with their specific views on all the surrounding issues of the day. On the contrary, within the North President Abraham Lincoln shut down newspapers expressing contrary views. Historically it became known that the Lincoln administration performed water torture on northerners whom he felt had committed treason. That was revealed after they mistakenly tortured a citizen of England, where the atrocity was then covered.

  The Union lawlessly attacked and ceased Confederate diplomats heading to England during the war. It almost caused an international incident. At the risk of the English retaliation against the United States Government during the War of Northern Aggression, they released their Southern brethren back to Britain.

  While the war was well covered from different angles across America, it was additionally viewed and debated on by the English as well as other parts of the world, of which their writers had varying thoughts on the matter.

  It is that world that serves as a backdrop for this cruel and inhuman story of life, loss, and barbarism which you’re about to read. Within the context of this first book, you’ll travel along with its main character seeing him born in the 1830s, and witnessing the Hell and torment which this world had dealt him up unto the spring in 1862.

  Within this work of fiction, there is a gross abundance of real people, places, weather conditions, slave ships, battles, occurrences, and such carefully entwined in its pages to tell of a world many have all but forgotten. The views and opinions reflected within this book are tied closely to the primary characters which those chapters represent. As I am an enthusiast towards history, religion, and culture, I’d strongly encourage anyone who enjoys this book to read writings specifically from the people of the period you’d like to know about. It plays a crucial role in seeing how things actually were thought to be, rather than how they might have been rebranded at some point after the fact for reasons of propaganda and control.

  Do tread lightly though. The world can be a horrible place.

Acknowledgements

  My thanks are extensive. I have the utmost gratitude to any and all educational and philosophical entities such as the Abbeville Institute which strive to keep Southern History and Culture from merely being a thing of the past. The proficiency and learned nature of their highly accredited speakers was inspirational in writing this series, to say the least.

  Additionally, there are an innumerate amount of authors who penned both historical and fictitious accounts regarding the United States and/or the Confederate States of America, Kingdom of Loango & Congo, Africa, the Canadian Provinces, the Cuban Slave Trade, New Orleans, and Creole Culture, American, European, Medieval, and Asian folklore and mythos, the history of the Ku Klux Klan, Darwinism, Eugenics, Biblical Theology, as well as other such things which have made it into the confines of this series.

  Beyond extensively reading the books, newspaper articles, and notations of others in hyper-analyzation to construct a relatively accurate world baring a thread of mythos, I also studied maps from that period. The United States Library of Congress was extremely helpful regarding much of this.

  As to the production, I’d like to thank my friend, professional makeup artist, and horror fanatic, Kristen Keeton who acted as one of my proofreaders. I’m likewise exceedingly thankful for my family who endured the long hours I put in writing these works of historical fiction.

Introduction

  Beneath the red clay and hardened ground of the Southeastern United States lies the charred remains of men which time ceased to bear any longer. Like Abel of the Bible, their blood cried up from the ground for vengeance to a God they believed was on their side. While history is a mere retelling of events through the eyes of those who come out of it victorious, God has never forgotten the unfiltered events of mens’ lives, their loves, and losses since the foundations of this world were laid.

  The Union Army’s General William T. Sherman wrote, I have again and again been invited to write a history of the war, or to record for publication my personal recollections of it, with large offers of money therefor; all of which I have heretofore declined, because the truth is not always palatable, and should not always be told.

  Deep within North American soil, lie bloodstained stones where southern civilian innocents were raped, and slain by General Sherman’s army. Some soldiers were no more than boys. They served on both sides of what has become known as the great American Civil War. Many Confederates died senselessly at the hands of a tyrannical demon who stated that they were like an arm severed from the body, which he’d rather let die than go free. He was a man at his time who was painted as a monster, as a puppet, and when he died, he ascended to some kind of Christ as a martyr. His name was Abraham Lincoln, and he has been greatly rebranded since his reign of power in the 1860s.

  It has been said that no conquered people’s interpretation of history has ever been recognized as the truth. The hellacious wrath and violence that carried on through the time of the war and the brutal years that followed have been diminished. Men and armies have been rendered as one-dimensional things.

  Ideologies, creeds, and facts have been undermined by postmodernist political narratives. These books do just that don’t seek to analyze or justify anything. They’re merely written to tell a story that ties the natural to the unnatural.

  The novel and subsequent series, God Walks The Dark Hills that you are about, to begin with, and follows the life of a black-skinned African, taken as a slave, bought and sold. Like many negroes he fought in the American Civil War on the side of the Confederacy. Outnumbered and outgunned the resilient and cunning Congolese warrior ceaselessly aims to stand and fight against insurmountable odds.

  Its determination is to be a story of intertwining lives, persistence, love, loss, friendship, and the cruelty of man. Due to the extraordinary amount of factual details within the book, it might be just as permissible to begin with the haunting words, Based on a True Story as the Coen Brother’s Fargo franchise.

Chapter 1:

Tiger, Tiger Burning Bright

  In 1827 the construction began on the Portuguese slave ship Albatroz Do Mar. The mighty vessel took five years to build. Upon its completion, it’s crew numbered forty-six persons. The captain’s seat was assigned to Count Marco Da Rocha. Though he was greatly advanced in years, he attained captainship due to his great financial capital as well as his fading yet ever-present political prestige. Another seaman amidst the lot of them was Seaman Tiago Basto, while his position amidst the ship had no real rank of any particular specialty, he was one of the more talkative of the bunch. Tiago was well-read and had something to say about everything. There was the ship's designated chaplain, who on each Sunday he’d offer scriptural encouragement or perhaps discouragement as he saw fit.

  None of them were particularly nice folk. None were particularly kind, or Christian, or anyone you’d want to meet in a dark alley. There were only two sorts of men who labored about the crew of the slave ship Albatroz Do Mar, the wicked and the more wicked kind. The ship’s most sinister character served as the first mate, and for all intense and purposes, the captain, as Count Marco Da Rocha generally lied around drunk or getting drunk. This truly evil man was named Reginald Beauregard Sousa. He stood about 175 centimeters in height and around 127 kilograms in weight.

  Reginald Beauregard Sousa instilled fear into the hearts and minds of the native people amidst the Congolese, Angolan, and central African tribes, where he made acquisitions in the slave market. His hair was a reddish auburn, he wore a mustache and triangular goatee. On his side, he wore a kukri knife which measured 40 centimeters long, with its blade bending like a sickle. He attained it in the Nepali region of India to which this variety of knife originates. It has said of some that where Albatroz Do Mar journeys, Hell follows with it…

  The year was 1834. The sun shined brightly through the African sky. An emerald green Atlantic surf gently rolled across the warm sandy shoreline of the Kingdom of Loango, as the ocean’s salty breeze danced gracefully across the humid Congolese air. Roughly, one hundred and eighty-three meters from the shore a family of forest elephants walked along that day. The sounds of Angolan birdsongs filled the air. As a baby child within Bankole family home, inside the city of Loango took his first breath, opening his eyes to the glorious morning light. Like the sweetest of music, his infant cries seemed to harmoniously blend into the atmosphere.

  My, what a loud voice you have. his mother jovially exclaimed in her Kikongo tongue with a laugh and a grin. Yes, indeed., the young baby boy’s father agreed. This boy is going to grow up into a strong man indeed. The Lord has given him a mighty voice!, he added tickling his son's chest. At that moment their baby laughed and smiled, grabbing his father’s finger with his little hand. Oh, my and the grip he has. He really has a great strength within him., his Dad added. The couple named him Chike, which is an African male name meaning the power of God."

  It wasn’t long before the market place was filled with talk and idle chatter from the local womenfolk about the Bankole family’s newest baby boy, Chike. Their family had been so blessed of God and were the descendants of several generations of Congolese Christian people, who were originally proselytized by missionaries who had journeyed there with the message of the Gospel in the mid-fifteen hundreds. Amidst tribal wars and upsets within the area, the Kingdom of Loango continued to grow stronger and consistently more fruitful.

  Loango had its military, governmental structure, and culture. It was immersed with Christians and well as idle makers from existing African religions. Being on the coast the held a mutually beneficial relationship with Europe whom it would trade copper and human slaves with. Reigning over the kingdom was Puati I. He was one of a long line of the Nganga Mvumbi, which were the priests of the unburied corpse of Loango’s last king, King Buati, who died in 1787. In the wake of young Chike’s birth, much of the kingdom seemed unaffected. The child didn’t come from royalty or a family seen of any great importance. To most, it might seem like a fleeting moment lost upon the winds of time.

  To his mother and father, the birth of their new baby changed their whole world. Just as the Kingdom of Loango’s flag rose high above their city, they both believed that Jesus Christ would raise their son up to do great things in this war filled world that surrounded the strong city. They believed his future would be a rich and vibrant as the blue banner of that flag, and that the right hand of Jesus Christ which was embellished upon its center holding seven stars, held a firm hold on this precious child’s future until the end of time.

  As a young child, Chike was told about the power of prayer and stories from the Bible. As a very young child, he’d swim and play in the Atlantic Ocean along the Central African coast. He’d sit in the boat with his Father as he fished in the mighty Congo River. His father rightly told him that the Congo River is the deepest in the world, though he didn’t know that it was true himself. Young Chike saw mighty fisherman catch a Goliath Tiger Fish, which is native to that part of the world. The beastly fish was longer than he was tall, and had a mouth full of razor-sharp daggers for teeth. They were known amongst the people as the kings of the Congo River and it was an extraordinarily celebrated feat for one of their kinsmen to catch one of these remarkable beasts.

  The goliath tigerfish were known to bite smaller crocodiles in two with their massive jaws, and sometimes the large predators would even bite people. One evening, in particular, their village joined together with a celebration of music, dancing, and a feast. The priest of the king’s corpse called for this event and utilized it to bring the area together, strengthening the Kingdom of Loango and adding additional prominence to his seat of power.

  After hours of dancing and celebration, a fire the men had built burned near their city. Everyone gathered around and the beating of drums faded, an elder man told a beloved African tale. He began telling them that once upon a time there was a crocodile seeking a meal. Along the shores of the river, he saw a chicken. He slowly crept upon the chicken thinking to be unnoticed. Raising his head from the water, he drew ever nearer, but just before he could strike, the chicken cried out, Don’t do it, Brother!

  Alarmed at the chicken's outburst and the startling shock of being called brother, he spun around in the water and quickly swam away. Shaking off the occurrence from the previous day, the crocodile again sought to make a meal of the chicken. Swimming along the river her moved in only to have the chicken blast out with those same words again, Don’t do it, brother!

  Spinning around even more suddenly than before the crocodile swam off. Somewhat daunted at why the chicken would call him brother he sought answers and concluded that the individual that could give them to him was great god Nzambi. As he walked his way through the African forest he murmured to himself, How can I be this chicken’s brother? She lives on the land, or in a town, while I live in the water. However, before reaching Nzambi, he came upon his reptilian friend Mbambi.

  They greeted each other and began to talk. In their conversation, the crocodile told Mbambi of his plight and how he’d determined to journey to Nzambi to ask why this chicken calls him brother. Mbambi compassionately scorned him, telling him to do nothing of the sort. The wise lizard continued in saying, Don’t you know my dear Crocodile, that turtles live in the water and lay eggs, ducks live in the water and lay eggs, the hen does the same, and so do you. Therefore we are all brother in a sense.

  The elder man who was telling the story paused dramatically scanning the audience with his eyes, and explained, That is why the crocodile does not eat the hen. The old man then smiled, and the beating of drums began to erupt into songs of dance. Everyone was having a good time, and while no one seemed to notice Chike’s father’s eyes were cast in the direction of several rather official-looking European men walking toward the Nganga Mvumbi, Puati I. Their words were hushed from the music. Young Chike’s eyes first caught his father’s ominous stare and then followed it to those men speaking who were then speaking to the priest of the corpse.

  At that moment their faces all seemed somewhat of a blurred, perhaps from the hot air of the roaring fire. Yet as they walked away there was another man who worked with the Europeans whose face would be permanently engrafted into the minds of every African taken captive and sold on the slave market. His name was Reginald Beauregard Sousa. He’d appear with the slave trade to cart the Congolese people off to the Americas as forced labor. The children of Loango would tell hellish stories of this man. It was his shadow that would slither across the walls of African huts at night. His blazing bright eyes burned with a wickedness kindled in the fires of Hell. The Nganga Mvumbi and others walked toward him. At that moment glancing back he seemed to vanish.

  They all suddenly left the festivities together with several additional officers and officials of the Kingdom of Loango. Trying not to act as though he had read anything into another wise dismissible moment, Chike’s father chipperly said, You’re becoming a big boy, Chike. In five short weeks from now, you’ll be seven years old. The moonlight glistened, refracting off a tear that hugged the corner of Chike’s father’s eye. His Dad continued, Your mother and I had prayed so long for a son. You’re truly a gift that he put into our lives. Pausing for what seemed like minutes as the two of them continued to walk home, he said, Chike? Chike smiled, looking at his Dad and replied, Yes, Father. His Dad asked him slowly, Do you know why we gave you your name?…; he added, I see things. I see greatness in you. I see enemies standing before you, and friends all around. There will be men who tell you they’re your brother, but they lie. Their father is the Devil, and they’re filled with his wickedness. Your name means the power of God because His power is inside of you.

  Taking no time at all the next morning much of the Loango military ventured out into the jungle with scattered European troops. They’d soon be taking more slaves. Several ships had arrived in the seaside harbor. Over the next week lines of Congolese would be taken and examined to assess the health of each individual. The slaves ranged in age and gender. Some were men, some women, some children, and even some with child. There luring in the background like a phantom was Reginald Beauregard Sousa. His significance was not that he was a captain or anything of the sort. It was his cruel cold demeanor that instilled a sense of terror in anyone who looked into those evil eyes of his.

  Nearing the week’s end there was a sense of excitement in the air which might perhaps have drawn away the attention from the slavers, had they not been in attendance. A regional Dambe tournament would be taking place. It was a combative sport that had been brought to the area from Nigeria. It was also called Hausa Boxing. Each of the two combatants would rap one hand, wrist, and forearm with a rope tightly to avoid breaking it. They’d guard, grab, and shield themselves with the other hand, and face each other turned somewhat sideways.

  Thousands were gathered around, mostly sitting, with an open area in the center where each match would take place. The crowd cheered, some gambled, and amidst it, several of the Europeans who had come to acquire slaves watched with great enjoyment. Most of the combatants would go on to fight another day, some suffered injuries, and one would fighter would die shortly thereafter from the beating he received in that day’s competition. Afterward, the weather seemed so perfect and was getting late. Chike’s father and mother went on ahead talking with other adults about adult things, while he walked back towards their home with his three friends.

  They were all young boys. Smiling and talking with each other they walked along and skipped around merrily. Time got away from them and the people who were around had dispelled into the dawn. Walking through a clearing a deep low pitched rumble seemed to encompass around about them. Rising to a snarl with nodes of a roar, they froze in their tracks. Trembling, each of the young boys knew the dreadful sound was that of a tiger. It must have seen the boys and stalked them out in the dimness of day.

  Panic struck one of the boys, and as the other stood there he scuttled off towards the path to Loango. Immediately the rushing and tearing sounds ripped across the foliage and permitted the air, as the form of the beast leaped into the running child’s path roaring ferociously as it swiped him with its large paw. Tibor!, the name of the fallen boy, was grievously exclaimed by another, as salty tears immersed his coal-black cheeks.

  Time felt so slow. Tibor’s body laid their upon the ground writhing with pain. His muscles contorted as he expelled shrilled guttural moans from the purest depths of agony. His red blood sliced through the air splashing itself on the face for the wicked cat, and his entrails unwound rolling over his stomach and spilling upon the ground.

  The tiger’s magnificent yellow eyes rose upward, with its head somewhat down. Growling under its powerful breath, the mighty male beast drew it’s shoulder back and down with its hindquarters at nearly a forty-five-degree angle in toward the sky and roared. It was fully in position and ready to pounce. Then a heavy splash of the blood of Tibor tricked down its forehead and along the bridge of the cat's nose, it’s cheek, finally running into its gum and meeting with its mouth.

  The eldest of the four boys, named Zaim pulled out his dagger that his uncle had given him. He ceremonially ran the cold metal blade across his forearm, drawing blood. Fading into the atmosphere came the faint sounds of celebratory music, which had continued inside the town. Zaim’s eyes locked with the fearsome and captivatingly beautiful monster that stood before them. With what little strength he had, Tibor lied close to death upon the ground crying, Run! Run! to his friends. It was as though a shrilled flute piped through the air, coursed through Chike’s body and raked across his bones.

  With seconds seemingly suspended in time, it was at that moment where Zaim drew back his right arm and began to thrust himself forward towards the crouching beast in a full charge. The ground tore beneath his feet. An explosion likewise erupted from where the muscular tiger had previously been crouching. In an instant, the muscular tiger bulleted low across the ground quickly seeming to rise into an assault on the young hero. Chike and his remaining friend swiftly bolted forward and to the left, passing the Tiger to their right and not looking back for a second. The two dashed weaving in and out of the trees till the came upon a downward hill and another clearing. There were several younger adults there, many of which were Nigerians who’d come to spar in or witness the Dambe tournament which originated in their native land.

  Several of them were talking, flirting, while a few others were gathered around a donga stick fighting match. Loosed from the forest and screaming cries of pure terror, the two boys bellowed out in great alarm. The eyes of the young men and ladies they sought to impress suddenly all dashed toward them, as this happened the tiger burst forth through the brush as though it had hold of the wings of the wind. Swooping downward he slapped Chike’s friend who was running several steps behind him with his claws erect. The child was thrust through the air like a doll slamming into Chike and causing them both to crash forward. The blood of his friend began to spill across the ground as buckets of water. His blood seeped into Chike’s clothes and covered his trembling flesh.

  Lying atop Chike with a hollow stare the young boy uttered the words, Don’t… Don’t let him kill… Before he could finish he collapsed. A young man with a donga stick aggressively lunged at the beast slinging and prodding at it as though the stick were a spear. Many of the others hid their faces or slowly backed away. It stepped towards the young man, and before it could step again… Bang!; an explosion if lead and shrapnel bolted across the air like Hellfire striking the ferocious tiger. Again, the blast of another gun, and another, each overwhelmed the fallen predator, who had now become the prey.

  The world seemed off-kilter to Chike, as two young men and a female helped him to his feet. Cheers were heard. It was no doubt the European slavers out on the hunt. In a low gruff voice came a gravelly rasp ever as intimidating as the tigers declaring,

Eu vim conquistando e conquistando., which is Portuguese for, I came conquering and to conquer. Chike looked towards the direction of the voice and beheld a white horse. In his mind, Chike questioned, Is this the man; the first of the seven seals foretold in the Apocalypse of John? As Chike stared in wonderment, the white horse’s glorious hair seemed irradiated in the dimming light. Atop the luminescent stead sat the devil man himself, Reginald Beauregard Sousa. His eyes glared at the fallen tiger, and his icy lips sneered with the utmost delight.

  It was an upsetting scene, like a dark angel he’d come in just in the nick of time. He seemed to have the focus of everyone in the area, to the point that the other men with him moved across the field like a vapor in the soft, still, cooling evening air. And without making so much as eye contact with anyone he said from atop his steed, Take them alive. With those words spoken, bonds began to be placed upon the Nigerians. Some tried to run and were caught in nets, others wrestled to the ground. None of them were taken gently, and Chike was not spared from their fate.

  Grasped by a soldier, the blood-drenched six-year-old boy was bound with rope and marched away along with the others. Crying, he pled for help, to which the militant African and European men who were collectively working together to capture them, punched him again and again. As the tears ran down his face, the blood ran down his head. As he walked he wondered about all of the things he’d been told for his entire life. He’d been told how God loved him, and how he was going to be some great thing.

  Circumstance brought young Chike to question, Is God really in control now? Is He still this great God when life seems to go horribly and terribly off course? He was lead to a holding cell which was like a prison along with all of the others who were taken. There was so much fear and desperation. There was so much anger and hate. The was so much hopelessness. He held his eyes shut tight and prayed. All night long he prayed until he’d fallen asleep.

  Splash! A blinding cold bucket of seawater had just been thrown on him. Wake up, you blasted niggers! We don’t have long now., one soldier grumbled as he stomped and kicked a bound defenseless man lying on the floor. People everywhere nervously began to get to their feet as quickly as possible in hopes of avoiding a beating. It wasn’t apparent to Chike if everyone was being so submissive or if some did resist, as he heard the thrashing of rods and leather whips branding across human flesh. It all felt like some kind of a bad dream from which he couldn’t seem to wake up.

  They were taken outside and walked along the beach toward the three slavers ships; which were Albatroz Do Mar, Pons, and Trouvadore. In the distance, Chike could see the Loango flag blowing in the ocean breeze. Its rich blue banner seemed so dark in the faint morning light. For a moment it almost seemed like the right hand of the Lord Jesus Christ which held the seven stars seemed to be waving goodbye. This can’t be goodbye, he thought. His heart was filled with shock. His breathing became heavy, and as if almost in a trance, his mind seemed to be anywhere else than the small boat he was in, which carried him and others to the ship.

  The salty waves crashed all about them, peppering the air, as the area was filled with several small boats going to and fro gathering and transporting the rest of the captives in somewhat of an organized scramble. As Chike with his small boarding vessel were brought about the slave ship a fight broke out. It was met with the harshest of violence. Perhaps it was unnecessary, but more likely met as an example against any further attempts of insurrection. As the ship turned to set sail there in the distance beneath the boisterous roar of the Atlantic surf Chike felt he could softly hear the cries of his father and mother calling his name. Before he could respond he was struck to the head, and harshly drug across the hardwood floor below deck.

Chapter 2:

In What Distant Deeps Or Skies

  The year was 1841. The mighty slave ship sliced through the warm Atlantic waters like a hot knife through butter, heading Northwest toward the Cuban coast. Departing prior to the slave ship Pons, and passing Trouvadore who had stopped at the island of São Tomé, Albatroz Do Mar continued to gain speed. With the sun still at their back, several hours had passed by since they made a hasty departure from the Loango coast. The grown male slaves whom they’d acclimated were bound in chains on one end of the boat below deck, while the women were confined to the other. The ripe smell of human feces ionized the poorly ventilated air below with its noxious aroma. Lingering smells of vomit, urine, and other pungent odors made it an all the more of a ghastly place than it otherwise was.

  The crew swabbed the blood of negros off the deck of the ship. Upon boarding, there was somewhat of a disruption that led to several of the slaves being beaten and battered in an effort to sustain peace and further establish the domineering grasp that the crew had over them. While the men and women were held captive in irons below, the negro children, posing no perceivable threat were allowed to roam freely around the ship. While they were not governed with irons, like the adults, all of the slaves were governed with a heavy hand of intimidation and fear.

  The most brutal of all the crew was unsurprisingly Reginald Beauregard Sousa. He unquestionably lived up to every horrible story the African children told about him. Slashing the backs of nearly grown women, he’d cut through their smooth sweat-soaked skin with a multi-ended whip called a cat of nine tails like razors through a satin black sheet. Often the brutish man would then physically take hold on the back of their neck, knocking them around on their way below deck, where they and others initially would scream in sheer terror as he raped several women violently for ungodly durations of time.

  Within the first few days of they’re voyage, Chike only saw glimpses of the harsh physical and sexual abuse Mister Sousa had monstrously inflicted on these native women, still, there were overcome with such tremendous fear any time he was near that it seemed to disseminate into the air. The slaves were fed minimal portions so that it was enough to keep them alive, but not enough that they might have the strength to revolt. When given the opportunity some would steal from others. Due to sickness some would die and be cast overboard. After slightly over two weeks of sailing the sound of thunder crashed in the distance and the once peaceable wind began to howl and roar.

  The sea became angry. The waves crashed and rocked the boat violently. As the tide crashed in over the ship’s sides some began to pray, feeling that their future was uncertain. Meanwhile, some of the others prayed for death. Waterspout!, one of the sailors cried and the ship veered away for an ominous funnel of wind and havoc which was before them. Giant waves could be seen in varying directions. Riding on the harsh sea was more like riding over cascading seas of mountains.

  Seemingly it was an endless storming or series of storms upon the water. Each wild windy onslaught danced closely to another. Waves and the spray of the mighty ocean would cast herself into the ship. It seemed that nearly twenty-eight days had passed since the central African coast had vanished beyond the horizon behind the ship. They’d been running from the Sun, and unmistakably had found themselves immersed in some sort of utter darkness to which Chike and the other Africans aboard had not seen before.

  Lightning blazed across the sky like Hellfire and the visage of an island shown like a shadow in the distance. Also seen was a cyclone which pressed the ship to head closer to the island to avoid it. Members of the crew spew the most horrid of profanity under their grizzled breath. This was not an island they wanted to go near, for it was Ascension Island, an isle that acted as a base to the Royal British Marines. The forty-six men in the employment of the slave ship would find no friends there, but rather an oppositional threat to their aim and goals. While riding a ways off from the island, they were close enough to be seen. The crew wondered if they’d go undetected. Surmising they might be in the clear one of the men exclaimed, Hold fast men! What kind of madness do you think would possess those damned fricking Brits to pursue after us into a watery grave? Several of them laughed gruffly like a gurgling in their