RELATIVE HEROES

By Barry J King

Bursting with energy, this two-part novel of daring adventure in the pursuit of valuable gemstones relates the human passion behind the quest for discovery, greed, desire and sex... this remarkable story of love and excitement crosses the centuries with its 'relative' heroism. 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookTrail Publishing
• Release date: Apr 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637670729

Barry J King

Born in Paddington, London, Barry acquired a passion for the sea and related aspects in his late forties. He became a qualified, advanced, Nitrox scuba diver with navigation and pilotage for motor vessels. He now lives with his wife in Hare eld, Middlesex, a father of four children and grandfather.

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Copyright © 2021 by Barry J King.

ISBN-978-1-63767-072-9 (eBook)

ISBN-978-1-63767-073-6 (Paperback)

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

THE DEAL WAS DONE

Around 1815

1

Standing on the beach watching the sun go down was possibly, for any one of those left on the coast, the ultimate in ecstasy. The voyage had been, to say the least, not pleasant. Looking across the ocean of the North Atlantic, with its vast array of colours at sunset, could bring back, not only the hardship, but the wonder of their journey. Whilst enjoying this respite, a voice came from the midst of dream.

‘Captain! Captain!’ which brought him swiftly back down to earth.

Running towards Captain Barton was what is known as the ‘cabin boy’. He was a young lad, given to the ship by his father who was bound for the West Indies on HMS Vincent, something to do with slaving, a particularly taboo subject, as part of their mission was also to collect slaves and transport them to The Americas.

‘Limp is in trouble, Limp is in trouble.’ The boy was sweating profusely, obviously in distress.

‘Take stock my boy,’ was the Captain’s reply, ‘remember what’s been taught over the past few months.’

But the boy was anxious to offload the nature of his plight.

‘Benji’s hung, Benji’s hung...’

‘Calm down lad and start from the beginning.’

‘Come, come!’ Almost grabbing the captain, then realising people had been birched for less, he made off up the beach, with the captain close behind.

Benji, better known as ‘Limp’, is the ship’s cook and is always getting into scrapes. It was only a few months ago, when anchored off the Bay of Biscay, that Benji decided that he would row ashore to pick some fruit and berries for one of his famous culinary concoctions, when almost dusk, he had not returned, a small party decided to go and look for him. They eventually found him caught in an animal trap which had severed the tendon down the back of his calf muscle. It eventually healed OK, but left him with a character-defining limp.

As they ran through the jungle they came out into a clearing and there, being hoisted up into a tree by a rope around his neck was Benji, with two natives pulling on the other end. All the commotion did nothing to stop their keenness to do away with the poor old cook. Even as the captain ran at them, drawing his cutlass, they did not falter. Swinging his arm around his head he brought the sword firmly down on the angle and sliced cleanly through the rope. The rope parted and Benji came hurtling back to earth in a heap, while the two natives fell backwards at full length. Swiftly the captain turned and brought his dagger from its sheath and knelt on the chest of one, holding the knife to his throat, and pinned the other to the floor with his sword. They relaxed completely without a fight, and it seemed to those that were there, as if the atmosphere had changed with everything coming to a standstill. Just at that moment, as if appearing from nowhere, but standing between two palms, a huge black African, covered in fine tribal regalia bellowed with laughter.

Chief Obangula stood there like a man mountain, huge amounts of fat, shaking like a large jelly on legs, the costume was very lavish. There were enough beads on him to have sold a hundred slaves, in his hair, on his cloak, and just about everywhere that was covered up. On his chest was a shrunken head. This in African terms was a very wealthy man. There was no part of his skin that had not been decorated with patterned scars, a veritable human sculpture.

As Captain Barton turned to face this giant, he also noticed faces peering from the undergrowth all around him. He was also aware that several of his own men had appeared in the clearing with weapons raised.

‘Put your weapons down men!’ he cried. ‘Slowly and deliberately lay them on the floor.’ He also re-sheathed his sword and dagger, picking himself off of the two natives and slowly approached the Chief. Then, as if his legs were knocked from under him, he dropped to his knees, and bowed his head. Obangula gently came to a stillness (after his fat had stopped shaking,) held open his arms and cried

‘Masa Boon.’

With that, everyone started laughing. The sailors more so with relief. Captain Barton raised himself and walked over to the chief and they both embraced. He also realised that the chief knew he would cut the rope and not his men; otherwise he would be dead by now. Poor Benji was being seen to by Jim Farrell and Joseph Carr.

Jim Farrell was what was known as the ‘Ship’s Doctor.’ Very good with medicines and herbs, and more importantly not in the least afraid of severing a poisoned limb, in those days qualification enough. Joseph Carr was first mate and very strong. He picked Benji up and laid him in the clearing for better light so that Jim Farrell could inspect the damage. Apart from nearly choking to death, there was little else wrong with him. It transpired that Benji, having been at sea for the last thirty days, had come upon a young native girl washing by the stream. Unlike the rest of the crew, who tend to relieve themselves on long voyages, Benji refuses and consequently suffers with impatience; he was of the opinion that anything that moves is fair game in this part of the world. What he had not realised was that her man was the other side of the bush taking care of the call of nature when he heard her cry. The rest is history.

After the Chief and Captain Barton had made their acquaintance once again, this being the fourth time that they had traded together, they all set off to Obangula’s village to spend the night celebrating and then they would get down to business.

‘Take Limp back to the ship and tend to him.’ the captain told his men ‘and be ready for me in the morning at first light.

‘Joseph, you go to the beach and bring my trunk.’ He turned to the cabin boy,

‘Danny, you go with him and both of you bring the trunk back here, and come with me.’

The village was no more than half an hour’s trek following the River Senegal upstream. Business consisted of supplying arms, various types of weapons but preferably the rifle with ammunition, in exchange for an assortment of slaves, men, women and children. Slavers discovered that the males would settle far more quickly and be less trouble if they could have their woman or women during the voyages. They might not necessarily end up with their partners on arrival after being sold, but they did not know this. Besides, young women were also fetching good prices. It is fair to say the weapons being supplied were of an inferior quality and it was not unknown for the occasional gun to explode in the face, but they accepted the risk almost without question.

Captain Bjorn Barton, was a well educated man. His father arrived in England from Norway as a small boy, with his parents, who were gemstone cutters. They carried on the family business and to that day were still cutting stones for all the best houses. Bjorn had been taught well by his father and had an uncanny eye for a quality diamond, this being the main reason for his trips. His acquaintance with Obangula had begun some eighteen months previously, through an old friend, also a merchantman, who dealt solely in the transporting of slaves, and was told that the old Chief had a large collection of ‘shiny stones’. Bjorn, having come through naval college, was a fine mariner and convinced his father to invest in a fast and reliable vessel with the idea of converting the hold into an area with which to convey around fifty slaves and transport them to wherever they could acquire the best price. This formed an insurance to cover the cost of the trip in the unfortunate event of not acquiring stones of great value. He also had shown the chief how and where to look for the kind of stone he would rather prefer as a gift in return for the ‘gifts’ that he would give to the chief, these being rum, soap, sugar, salt, tobacco and the like.

Approaching the village, they began to realise that they could not hear their footsteps, as the sounds of celebration were increasing, and their nostrils started to pick up smells of fires burning with the aroma of cooking, what it was they could not place, Benji could tell them. As they came out into the opening they could see hundreds of people all moving in time to the rhythm of a drum. Every member of the tribe had come out to greet Captain Barton, Joseph and Danny. Danny had never seen anything like this before and was so stunned by the spectacle that he started to fall behind. Drums of all shapes and sizes beating such a fine and very close rhythm. There were men in exotic costumes dancing and stamping their feet as if in a trance. Women, grandmothers, mothers, daughters and babies all making wondrous noises as if chanting, but somehow sounding like birds singing. Lots of colour, lots of noise.

When the Chief reached the end of the dance area, he walked to the middle and stepped in front of what was obviously his throne, turned to face his people and raised his arms. Without exception, everybody stopped what they were doing. The transformation from the amazing cacophony of sound to absolute silence was ear-shattering; in fact their ears seemed to be making a far greater noise than the tribe a few seconds before.

Once again the Chief cried out ‘Masa Boon’ an attempt at the pronunciation of Bjorn. With that the whole village as one bellowed. ‘Boon’. The Chief beckoned to Captain Barton, Joseph and Danny, but where was Danny? Danny was still the other side of the dance area with a small crowd around him, touching his hair, his face, and his clothes in total fascination. Captain Barton, with a stern face called over to him and swiftly he came, looking as if he was about to be hung drawn and quartered, but Captain Barton could not keep it up and with a broad grin ruffled the boy’s hair. Again, Obangula began laughing and slumped down into his chair, gesturing that his guest should follow. It appeared as if his body actually stood up and sat down again a couple of times, such was the size of this man. The Captain sat down to the left of the Chief with Joseph on the captain’s left. Daniel unfortunately had to sit on the floor, but he did not mind, right now he would have sat in a hornet’s nest and not noticed. On the Chief’s right were five women all of which were his wives. One for every two years of being Chief. The last one was fifteen years old as was the first when he took her, so that every two years he was presented with another fifteen year old. There were small children playing around these women, but who they belonged to was a mystery, except for the latest, next to the Chief, who had a small bundle across her lap who was taking nourishment from its mother’s breast. This, he was obviously very proud of as he kept touching the infant’s head. Some bowls of refreshment were brought to the guests with a thick yellow liquid inside. It tasted like porridge and was very sweet but they could tell almost immediately that it was very intoxicating. Daniel took a mouthful which took his breath away, it also made his eyes water. All the younger members of the tribe had been watching him, so his reaction caused a few amusing moments amongst them.

From one of the huts that formed a line along one side of the dance area, a procession of men, women and children, all tied together, were led to a small circle marked out on the floor half way down the length of huts on the edge of the dance area, about thirty feet or so from the Chief’s position. They were made to sit down and once seated one of their captors went along and untied them, the Chief was not afraid of escape as there were too many eyes watching them. From another hut a single man was led out to the far end of the area and made to walk right up the centre towards the Chief; everybody was able to get a good look at him. There seemed to be a change in atmosphere again and a low murmuring sound which seemed to be coming down from above, but was obviously coming from the tribe itself. The man stopped in front of the Chief and his guests, about twenty feet away. The man was physically shaking with wide staring eyes. The captain, Joseph and Daniel looked at each other and it dawned upon them all at the same time, as if they read each other’s minds. An execution. Daniel started to feel very uneasy; he could feel bile rising in his throat. It didn’t help having recently drank that strange brew a short time ago?

The victim was made to kneel; his hands were pulled behind his back and tied to his ankles. The murmuring sound was pierced by a heart rending wail from one of the women in the circle, the sound wrenched at the heart of them. It was clear that she knew this man. The drums were beating out a slow steady rhythm. Behind the man on his knees stood a very muscular man holding what looked like a mediaeval double handed sword, something you would not associate with a tribe like this. It must have come from a previous expedition to these shores and given in exchange for slaves.

As the captain was watching this man he stood the sword on end with the point in the dirt and rested both hands on the handle. It was then that the captain saw the bright coloured stones in the handle. If these were jewels they could be worth a fortune. At that moment the girl who was crying broke from the circle, avoiding all attempts to stop her, getting almost as far as the kneeling man. The executioner’s aide saw her coming and lunged towards her hitting her across the side of her head, pole-axing her instantly so that she went down like a sack of coal. What made the captain rise to his feet and dart forward, quickly towards the man that had hit her was only the Captain’s guess, but very glad he did so, because the man was about to stick his own small sword into her.The Captain swiftly knocked the assailant off his feet causing the sword to fly out of his hand and come to rest a few yards away. Captain Barton bent down and picked up the young girl and carried her back to the circle, laying her down amongst her people. As he did so, he could not help but notice that the beautiful face of this young thing was already starting to swell down the left side, from her eye to the jaw bone. As he stood to turn away, her eyes opened and as if opening a doorway to her soul, he was able to see right inside her, or so he thought. It must have been at that moment, as he would come to recollect later, that he fell in love with this lovely creature. Having now turned to go back to where the Chief was sitting he noticed that the man he had knocked over had regained his feet and his sword and was coming towards him at a run. The captain was very agile and very strong. He swiftly stepped to one side, swung around one hundred and eighty degrees and lunged his heel firmly into the man’s stomach, stopping him in his tracks, causing him to drop his sword and grab his stomach. The man did not see the continuing turn of the captain as he replaced his foot to the floor fully using his momentum to complete the full turn of three hundred and sixty degrees enabling his right foot to crash into his jaw and send him at full stretch onto his back, and out like a light. As the Captain gathered himself, a group of tribesmen grabbed him, holding him fast. Trapped as if in a vice he resigned himself to being taken, he then noticed that Daniel and Joseph were also being held fast. A bellow came from the Chief and immediately they all let go of not only the captain but Joseph and Daniel as well. With the Chief once again gesturing to the seats to make them sit down again, Captain Barton instantly obeyed and motioned swiftly to Joseph and Daniel making them return to their seats. Turning to the Chief he desperately tried to mime an apology, as this being their only form of communication, by extending his arm, lowering his head into his neck expressing his sorrow. The Chief graciously smiled, swept away the apology and again gestured towards his seat.

The Captain sat down and realised that all the time the drums had continued to beat their rhythm. With a small hand movement from the Chief the drums instantly stopped and, as if programmed, the executioner started his swing at waist height, bringing the sword at full tilt into the back of the kneeling man’s neck, severing the head cleanly, making it rise as if pushed by the sudden gush of blood into the air to fall in front of him. As if by the same momentum, the body fell forward onto the head. The body twitched slightly a couple of times and came to stillness. At this point Daniel felt his stomach rise, and push at full thrust, it’s contents a good yard through the air onto the floor in front of him. Holding his mouth he jumped up and ran towards the back of the huts and slumped to the floor with his back resting against the hut, looking ghostly pale and shaking uncontrollably.

Again as if on cue, the whole village burst into life again singing, dancing, and drumming. It was only then the captain realized it had actually got dark and that the place was illuminated by torches bright with flame around the whole area. It seemed to him that they had been there all night, but it was in fact only about two hours. Exhausted by this whole affair he just wanted to sleep, but knew there was still quite a lot to do.

Getting Joseph to bring the trunk around in front of the chief, he opened it up. All the time that this was going on some men had pushed the body of the man on to a type of stretcher and carried it away. They had thrown dirt onto the ground where the blood had spilt and it now looked as if nothing had happened.

Taking a rifle from the trunk he handed it to the Chief then drew twelve lines on the floor to let the Chief know how many more there were still available on the ship. These would be exchanged on the beach in the morning and everyone knew this. The rifles and ammunition were in exchange for the slaves. Once the Chief had seen how many he was getting he pointed at the group of slaves and drew lines to represent two slaves for every gun, this being twenty four. With that the captain drew in eight more lines next to the chief’s, and the chief smiled. With his stick he struck off two lines, leaving a total of thirty slaves for twelve guns. Both smiling, they shook hands on the deal.

Now would come the gifts procedure. Captain Bjorn Barton could trade with the best and frequently had. His style had some features often proving to be an asset. His hair was long and blonde, made lighter by the amount of time spent in the African sun. His skin had become bronzed, and his eyes blazed blue, as blue as the Pacific Ocean, and as deep as its unchartered depths. He often wondered why he still made these trips, with the months of travelling keeping him away from and causing him to miss family, friends and females, and not necessarily in that order.

There were, it was true, a handful of his crew he could converse with or who could hold their hand at chess, but he needed more stimulating company. Of course the adventure and the unexpected stirred his blood and, of course, the prospect of quality diamonds, but by now the need to acquire such a booty was not essential, as his family were extremely wealthy with a large estate just outside Liverpool, and offices and workshops in Liverpool and London. He had thought for some time now that his last voyage would be sooner rather than later but never really had time enough to ponder the fact for too long. He did know that at ‘one score and ten’ he was not a young man anymore, and the time to take a wife and have children crossed his mind more often these days. Not having a brother, only a sister, it was up to him to continue the family name.

As the captain brought out the casket of rum, the Chief’s eyes lit up. Noticing this, Captain Barton picked up the bowl they had used for the porridge and pretended to wipe it clean. Obangula