The Black Mariah

By William F. Holmes

The story contained within these pages are purely fiction, it is fiction, fiction based on fact. The story of a small group of people who tried to put a stop to slavery, not in the countries where it was permitted, but a source, where African people were forced into this way of life, either by capture by slave traders in the interior of the continent or they may have been sold by fellow villagers or even their own family members.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 26, 2008
• ISBN: 9781462808496

William F. Holmes

William F. Holmes Bill as we all call him, is sixty five years old. He was born in Escanaba, Michigan. He Graduated from high school, went in to the Navy and then worked in one of the copper mines in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan for several years. After working in the mine he worked at one of the ship yards for a few years, from there he went on to college for two years receiving his Degree in Applied Sciences. Then was called back to the shipyard, when laid off there, he worked on a potato farm, from there he retired, and four years ago we moved here to New Mexico. Bill helped his first wife raise four sons, three of which are his stepsons and one of their's together. All four of the sons are successful, the oldest works for a mining company, the next oldest works in a machine shop and the two youngest are in education. Ever since Bill heard the song, “ They Called the Wind Mariah,” he wanted to write a book using Mariah as part of the title. Bill is building a fiber glass car, using a model of an old car, which will be a full size car when it is finished.

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Prologue

The story contained within these pages is purely fiction, it is fiction, fiction based on fact. The story of a small group of people who tried to put a stop to slavery, not in the countries where it was permitted, but at the source, where African people were forced into this way of life, either by capture by slave traders in the interior of the continent or they may have been sold by fellow villagers or even their own family members.

The different types of power that are mentioned in this story were quite possible at the time. This story takes place between 1750 to 1800’s. The knowledge was there, whether or not it was put into effect is another matter. The windmill power was known at this time period through-out Europe. The same with steam power, in fact an inventor had invented a steam powered carriage in France, in the late 1750’s. The same is true of the air guns depicted in this story.

The knowledge of air powered arms had already been known for at least 200 years, by the time this story is supposed to take place. Michelangelo had plans drawn up for this type of armament during his life time. The Austrian Government had troops armed with air rifles in the 1600’s. Spain had experimented with air artillery in this time period, also the German Government struggled with piston charged air rifles.

I myself think that’s the reason this type of weaponry was not pursued was the fact that the air guns couldn’t hold an air charge, that they would have to be recharged after a few hours, where gunpowder kept a charge for weeks at a time.

As far as the story goes it could have happened, if only someone would have had the gumption to pursue these beliefs, maybe not on a scale as drastic as the characteristics in this story. I would hope that someone would have because of the dirty business that slavery was. I hope whoever reads this fictional account that I’ve put down here will bring you enjoyment for the time it takes you to complete it.

Thank You

Danial’s Description

and Our Little Sister

Danial is about eight and a half to nine years of age with page boy length blond hair and blue eyes, he weighs about sixty pounds, he’s bare foot all the time, he wears a home spun shirt that’s big and blousy and long enough to be used as a night shirt if need be, a pair of woolen pants with shortened legs like you’d think they belonged to a shorter person, because they only come half way down his calves.

His hair looks like it was cut by someone who didn’t know anything about styling hair and there was a cowlick which stood up on the back of the boy’s head. You can tell by looking at him, he’s a child who’s full of mischief and just looking for a place to get into it. We both dress about the same during the summer, except my pants were different than Danial’s, mine weren’t held up by a single suspender like his, mine were kept up around my waist with a piece of leather thong tied around my waist with the pants and shirt on the inside of the loop around me. I was barefoot also, we took our Indian moccasins off when the snow melted. The moccasins were nice for winter, but too warm for summer wear. We wore the boot type of moccasin that came up to just below the knee, besides, they were a pain to put on or take off with all the lacing one would have to put up with. Besides, we liked to run around naked as wild Indians as soon as we were far enough away from the house so our sister and mother couldn’t see our bare asses. But some times we had to behave ourselves, because our mother would make us take Jenny with us on our excursions around about. This would cramp our style so to speak. We had to be little gentlemen when she was with us. We always had to shield her from ourselves whenever we had to make a nature call. We weren’t worried about looking at her bottom, as we both had seen it bare when we had to change her diaper, but she had never seen our equipment, we thought, until one night while our mother was bathing her behind the curtain, she, our mother hung across the kitchen for bath night. We both heard Jenny tell mom, Ma, ma, I want a thing like Josh and Danial got.

What ind of thing, Jenny, are you talking about? asked our mother.

A thing to go pee with, so I won’t have to hike up my dress and squat down to pee. I can just pull up my skirts, grab my thing and pee with it.

Well, I guess we didn’t hide ourselves as good as we thought because, Jenny got her look see. Well it turned out to be a good thing that she’d seen us, and asked for one like ours, because we didn’t have to take her with us anymore.

Josh’s Beginning

Goddamn, I thought to myself, can’t you ever sit still Danial? I swear he acts as if he’s got ants in his pants, and it’s getting worse, he’s rocking this damn boat. Finally I had to voice my displeasure at his fidgeting. Damn it Danial, quit rocking this goddamn boat. Can’t you see I’m trying to get a little rest? Seems like all the kids at your age, can’t keep still for more than a minute at a time. Relax a little, kid. If you will sit still for a few minutes, I’ll let you use my new folding knife to clean the fish we are going to catch, but as long as the sun is hot, the air quiet and the water still, the fish aren’t going to bite, until that cloud bank over yonder moves this way, it’s like we’re beating a dead horse, to get the fish in this lake to bite our bait. So wake me up just before it starts to rain and we’ll catch all the fish we’ll need for a week.

Christ, it sure is hot. I wish we had taken some of that cool spring water in one of ma’s crock jugs. It could be hanging over the side on the end of a rope to keep it cool. Jesus, it’s hot, I even think about some of the cow’s milk to quench my thirst or even some of grandpa’s apple cider, like Danial and I sneaked from gramps hiding place last week. Gramps only gave us some after we done something special around the homestead, such as picking rocks off the fields on hot spring days.

Christ, no matter which way I turn in the bottom of this boat the sun’s always in my face. Boy could I use a drink, I can feel spraying water landing on me. Suddenly, some sprays across my face. Oh! That feels so cool, some of the droplets have landed on my lips. Oh! For the taste of some cool, but it isn’t lake water I taste with my tongue, but salty water. Damn it Danial, you know better than to piss over the side of a boat into the wind. Damn, some more had sprayed onto my face and lips. I taste again, same bitter taste, I’m going to throw that little bastard over the side into his own pissy water. I jerked awake and into a sitting position, but, surprise greets me. I’m not aboard our little lake boat with Danial, but in a lifeboat at sea. When I finally realize where I really am, I remember that Danial has been dead for many years from an illness. Danial was my younger brother by five years. He always wanted to do what I did and wanted to go with me, I felt he was a little pest.

I’m all alone, where are the others who escaped the ship with me. Now, it comes back to haunt me. It’s been a week or more since the loss of our ship. That is why my lips are cracked, from the lack of fresh water, and why my stomach feels that my throat has been cut, because of lack of food and my asshole is sore from sitting a week or more in salt water.

My shipmates, there were seven of us in the beginning; John, Malcom, Henry, the two Frenchmen, the Indian and myself. I was the last one. I was picked up after abandoning the ship, because of heat from the flames. I didn’t want to, because of the sharks, I’ve seen what sharks can do to men in the water. They can tear you to pieces in minutes. But, I’ve seen what a fire can do also, I had desired to take my chances with the sea. The others died one by one over the past few days or was it the past week or so? I don’t remember. All I know is it’s been a long time in this damn boat, almost like forever.

After jumping into the sea, it seemed like hours, I was treading water, my arms and legs ached from fatigue. I was getting to the point of just giving up and letting myself sink, when someone grabbed my hair and left arm and started to pull me into the long boat. I learned later it was the Indian who fished me out. There have been many times since that I’ve cursed him for doing so, since the food and water are gone. But, the thing is, I can’t blame him for my lack of courage, just because I can’t kill myself.

The other died one by one. One or two was even murdered by a shipmate. Out of the seven of us, only Henry was a regular seaman, the rest of us had been shanghaied to make up a full crew.

We didn’t find out what type of whip we were serving on until the third week out of Charleston. The Dark Moon was a slaver, she engaged in the slave trade, actually the triangle trade. She would sail from Charleston to England for trade goods, to Africa for slaves, to Havana to sell slaves buy rum, load on the rum, and back to Charleston for gold sovereigns. The six of us didn’t care what we were shanghaied for, let alone being shanghaied, period. The ship had all kinds of mishaps since we left Charleston, first the fresh water went bad and we had to stop in Bermuda to replenish fresh water, than from there to Plymouth, England the compass was off a few degrees and wasn’t corrected for almost ten days. We didn’t get to Plymouth until two weeks late. Then south of England we ran into the doldrums, hardly no wind to move the ship, long boats were lowered and manned to pull the ship until a good breeze was found to propel the ship.

A ship full of trade goods doesn’t pull to easy when men in long boats are trying to pull it by rowing for eight to ten hours at a time, especially when you didn’t want to be there in the first place. After a week of this we found a trade wind to move us along. Then two weeks later the fire. I was sleeping in my hammock when I smelled smoke and rolled out and started looking for the cause, it was coming from the cargo hold. I was standing in my bare feet on deck and it sure was awful warm, almost hot. I yelled, Fire!, but I wasn’t getting any response so I turned back toward my hammock to wake the others and found I was the only one in the compartment. I bolted for the ladder which would bromg, e up to the main deck. As I came out on the deck, that’s when I discovered how bad the ship was burning. There was no one else around that I could see and nothing to fight the fire with. That’s when I made up my mind to jump into the sea.

Of all the jobs that I’ve had since I started to make my own way, this was the worst and I had some pretty shitty ones in the past. After I was pulled out of the water it wasn’t long before it started to get light. After the sun got a little higher, Henry said we should pool our resources together so that all of us would have a better chance to survive. All I had was my deck knife and my pants, I didn’t have a chance to get anything else. The Indian had even less because he’d been in the brig for disciplinary reasons. He wouldn’t work most of the time, but he didn’t mind climbing the rigging up to the mast spars, to unfurl the sails to catch the wind for power, or gather the sails and tie the gathered sails to slacken the power of the wind, less wind, less speed. He loved being up in her rigging. I hated it at first, besides I was scared of height, especially when I had to go all the way up on central mast to unfurl or gather the top most sail. The first time I had to go up there, I was scared out of my wits. I was told not to look down, but, I couldn’t help it. When you are standing balanced on a rope for footing, bending over at the waist across a spar, and reaching down with your hands, your head is hanging down also, to gather sails. I realized I must be seventy five to eighty feet high. The crew on deck looked awfully small. I froze, and it took the others a long time to talk me down. I soon got used to going up into the rigging, especially when I was threatened with a flogging or brig or both. Sail mending, painting, and stone scrubbing the deck, I didn’t mind. But, the Indian refused to do this type of work. He said it was squaws work, that’s why he was in the brig all the time.

The Release of the Indian

and The Fire

While the Indian is incarcerated in the brig, he is always trying to figure out how to get out of it. Since the brig is located on the lowest deck of the ship, directly over the ships keel, it is also in the darkest area, so the cell area is lit by lantern light only and the bedding for the bunk in the brig is straw which is stored next to the cell and is changed when the old straw starts to smell. The Indian thinks he can get out of his cell when the mate, along with the cooks helper comes down to feed him. The thing is that the cooks helper is afraid of the Indian and won’t go anywhere near the cell, so the mate has to bring the food to the cell and slide it under the door. As the mate turns away from the brig, after placing the food under the door and starts to head back to the ladder to leave the brig compartment, the Indian grabs the mate by the neck from behind and slams his water mug down on the man’s head, thus knocking out the mate so he can get the keys for the cell so he can free himself. But the mate falls away from his attacker and falls on top of the keys and the lantern he was carrying falls into the new straw and the Indian cannot move the mate off the keys, because the Indian cannot reach out far enough through the bars to turn him. Soon the heat from the still sealed lantern causes the straw to burst into flame. Soon the Indian realizes the predicament he has placed himself in and starts hollering for help. After what seems to be forever, two Frenchmen appear and release the Indian from the cell and carry the mate top side.

The two Frenchmen had freed him when they knew there wasn’t anything they could do to save the ship. John and Malcom grabbed a slab of salt pork and a keg of biscuits from the galley and one of the Frenchmen, which, I don’t know which, grabbed a small keg of fresh water and a small bottle of rum, probably from the skipper’s cabin. John had the skipper’s desk compass and since he was the ship’s bos’n and having sailed the last twenty years we all agreed to make him our leader. He would be in charge of the food stuff. Everything seemed fine at first, but, then one of the Frenchmen accused Malcom of drinking more than his share of water.

He’s lying, said Malcom, He’s just trying to cover up his own greed.

You lying bastard, said the Frenchman, I seen him do it twice in the last two hours.

Fuck you Frenchy, you’re just trying to cover your own ass.

It happened so fast, we didn’t realize what he was doing until it was too late, the Frenchman had stabbed Malcom in the throat and said, Now you greedy bastard, you won’t be drinking anybody else’s share. Malcom died within a few minutes.

The next night the two Frenchmen disappeared, the bos’n John, said they must have fallen overboard during the night. I think he slit their throats while they were sleeping and put them over the side, because I know if I fell over while sleeping, I’d of yelled like hell when I felt that cold water.

The few of us left were always watching each other to make sure none of us was cheating the others out of his share of water and food, but every once in awhile we’d catch Henry sucking us a handful of sea water and one of us would say, Goddamn it Henry, don’t drink that shit. It’ll kill you, it only makes you more thirsty. but he wasn’t listening anymore, and we couldn’t watch him twenty-four hours a day. Needless to say, Henry died from drinking sea water.

After being adrift for five days, our water supply was getting short and we were allowed one cup per day, half in the morning and half at night with a slice of salt pork and a biscuit. After a few days we couldn’t stand the smell of the pork, besides it was covered with maggots, and the biscuits were getting so hard that you half cup of water wouldn’t even soften them enough to chew. Finally all that was left was the water and it was getting bad also, but, bad as it was it was better than sea water so we thought. Then one night the Indian caught the bos’n sneaking drinks and killed him. The Indian lasted one more day, but said that was enough for him, he would go to the Great Spirit his own way, rather than die like a trapped animal, he sang his death song, said good-by and stabbed himself in the heart and died almost at once.

Now here I am all by myself, without the courage to end it. I position myself so that my head is under the center seat, and in the shade for awhile. Maybe this will give me some chance for awhile longer. I fall back into what I think is sleep and dream about home.

I know home is no longer there, home disappeared almost twenty years ago. My mother, father, sister and brother all died from the pox and I lived with my grandpa until he died two years later from old age. I couldn’t run the place so I left to go make my way in the world, I was thirteen when I left the place.

I worked at a lot of things just for bed and board, just to survive. I finally ended up in Boston working as helper for a blacksmith for my bed and board and a few pennies a week.

I would help the smithy while he would shoe a horse, clean out horse stalls, haul out the manure and replace the bedding with new straw, feed, curry and rub down the horses. I also helped with forging operations that the smithy had to perform. I would stoke the fire and operate the bellows and hold the hot metal on the anvil while he hammered it into the shape he wanted. I learned a lot while I was with the smithy.

When I thought I might be made an apprentice the smithy got kicked by a horse and got his hip busted, so I had to look for new employment. I found work as a wheelwright apprenticeship.

I learned what types of wood made the strongest, yet the lightest spokes for carriage wheels, what type of wood should be used for the hub and rim. How much thicker and stronger wood would be needed for work wagons. How to heat the metal tire that goes over the outside of the wheel so it would last longer. After heating the tire long enough so you could fit it over the outside of the wheel and hold it in place while someone else cools it with water. While it shrinks tight to the wheel and nail it in a few places to keep the tire from slipping on it.

While working at the wheelwright shop I had room and board at the Johnson’s. While staying at the boarding house I met one of the boarders and found out he’s Benjamin Jamieson, the local school master. I started to get some schooling, it was hard at first, as I was being told I didn’t need learning, what I needed to know was how nature provided a living, how to tame the land, how to hunt and fish.

The Johnson’s had a hired girl named Sarah, I couldn’t spend enough free time with her as she was like a breath of fresh air after being cooped up in the shop all day. Sarah like myself was lonesome for home, but she had the same problem as me, she was the only survivor of her family. I’d catch her crying sometimes when she thought she was by herself. I’d put my arm around her shoulders and say, I know how you feel, knowing that you have survived and your family has not and you wonder why, why was I spared and not so and so, why me?

Eventually we’d sneak off somewhere and console each other, after doing this a few times we began to kiss and fondle each other. I liked playing with her large soft milky white breasts, cupping them and flipping the nipple with my thumb. A few times I even managed to get my hand on her warm moist crotch. She wouldn’t let me penetrate her with my penis. I’d say, Sarah, you go to do something for me, your body is driving me crazy. Then she’d give in a little and jerk me off, but one night I told her, That ain’t enough, I need more than a hand job. She always asked if I loved her. You know I do Sarah, and I want you so much. Finally one night she gave me a blow job. Oh, Sarah, that feels so good, but can’t we fuck instead? That would really seal it for our love of each other.

Only if you promise to marry me, Josh.

I have no way to support the both of us Sarah, besides I’m not yet a journeyman wheelwright, and until I am, Mister Johnson won’t pay me more. This was my down fall with Sarah, I should have promised Marriage.

Several times afterward I’d see Sarah and the good school master going into the hay barn together. I hadn’t realized that Mr. Jamieson had his eyes on Sarah, too.

One morning a few months later, Mrs. Johnson discovered Sarah with a fit of morning sickness and says, Who done it girl?

Done what Mrs. Johnson?

You know damn well, what, Sarah.

I don’t know what you mean, ma’am.

Who knocked you up girls?

I don’t know what you’re referring to, Mrs. Johnson.

Your morning sickness gal, I know morning sickness when I see it. Once or twice don’t mean squat, but you’ve been puking every morning for a week. Now, you tell me who’s responsible for it.

Suddenly Sarah broke down and said she’d been messing around with men. Mrs. Johnson wanted to know if Josh was the father of the brat she was carrying.

No it’s not Josh’s.

Well who then?

I don’t know.

Is it my husband, who done it?

No.

Well that only leaves that god damn sneaky school master, doesn’t it Sarah? Sarah didn’t deny this.

That son of a bitch. Well, I’ll have a talk with my husband about this and probably send Josh on his way, that way the townspeople won’t think you were dallying with him, too.

I had stayed with the Johnson family for two years and I was thankful to Mrs. Johnson for showing me how to cook simple foods so when I was on my own I’d be able to fend for myself.

I moved on and got a job working for a timber cutter. This lasted for about a year, but I did learn to drop a tree where I wanted it to fall, How long to cut it, so the skidding team could get it close to the river, for the trip down to the mill in the spring during the run off. How to limb it with an ax, how to form a log length into a beam, with a special type of ax for that purpose. How to unsnaggle logs from a log jamb by using a long skinny pole while dancing from log to log while they are floating in the water. How to saw logs into planks by digging a pit and placing a log over the opening and get another man to help you. One man stands on the log, while the other man enters the pit and between the two of them saw planks from the log. Top man pushing and pulling a pit saw, while the man in the pit doing the same thing, underneath. How to make dovetailed joints, ship-lap joints and pocket joints.

I moved on again. As the years swept by I became a jack of all trades and master of none. I could do just about anything except, I would have trouble with the finer points. I got to a point in my life where I would hang around the neighborhood tavern to pick up work and maybe have a few drinks of grog, sometimes too much grog.

That’s how I ended up getting shanghaied, too much grog. I remember staggering down the alley, next thing waking up out at sea, aboard a ship headed for England. Complaining did no good, you either worked or you got flogged, if this failed they put you in the brig, if this didn’t get your attention they’d threaten to throw you overboard, this usually cured the bullheads.

We were short two crew members when we were ready to sail from Plymouth, form the original crew, so three more men were shanghaied in that port. One was thrown overboard twice for refusing to work. The second time they didn’t bother to retrieve him, especially after we saw the sharks be gin to feed on him, he had refused to do anything anyway.

You work and do as you’re told and hope you might get a chance to jump ship some night while you’re in port, but shanghaied sailors they locked up while there and would not let us out until we were back at sea. We started hoping that when we got close to America again we could jump over and swim to shore if it wasn’t too far.

God, my mouth is dry, I think my tongue is starting to swell from the lack of fresh water. I suppose the damn thing will swell so much that it will end up chocking me to death. I lapse to my wearisome self again. How long this time, I don’t know but something has thumped onto my chest, then I hear something hit the side of the boat, then another lands in the boat. Then another and another, I lay there as quiet as I can, trying not to move a muscle, as I listen, I realize it is fish flopping around in the boat. I realize fish are food and moisture, especially if I eat them raw. I start grappling in the dark, in the bottom of the boat, finally I get hold of one and it’s wiggling like crazy, but I tighten my grip and bite off it’s head and try to suck out whatever I can. Finally I get a mouth full of guts. I start to gag but the moisture feels good in my mouth. I realize that I must choke it down if I want to survive. These flying fish will provide me with food and moisture for a day at least, maybe two. I managed to choke down two and a half of them before I can’t eat anymore. Poor rations on board ship and hardly anything this past week, so my stomach has shrunk.

The second night after the fish a rain squall blows up and I manage to catch enough rain to quench my thirst for awhile. I’m out of water again, I’m sore all over, my lips and face are cracked now. I have open sores all over my body caused by the salt water and the sun’s heat. I’m more dry now than before.

I keep dropping into delirium and dreaming of Danial. Danial is always trying to get me to sneak off with him and find some sort of mischief we can get into, it can be just anything. We like fishing, swimming and berry picking in the summer time, gathering nuts and picking wild apples and cranberries in the fall. Bring these home for mother, so she can add them to cookies we all like so well.

Winter time is for snowball fights, forts, building snowmen, snowshoe hunting for rabbits and trapping. Spring time it’s looking for mushrooms, fiddle-heads, leeks, cattail roots, and wild plants to use for greens, our ma puts in spring tonic salads.

Danial is younger than I am by a few years and he kind of looks up to me, besides he hasn’t anybody to play with and I can’t blame him.

I knew what it was like before he was born, and when he was little. I didn’t have anyone to play with either. Playing with make believe friends can get pretty boring after awhile.

Come on Josh, just for a little while, pa won’t find out.

Danial, you know pa said that I got to finish this field, or some other chore he had given me.

You know pa said there would be hell to pay if I run off on some foolishness.

Gee, you’re no fun, he won’t find out, he’s on the other side of the house. Josh please. Danial would whine, and I’d say no again and he’d start crying and say you’re no fun. Then I’d feel like crap and look at the work I was supposed to do and then look at him and say, Okay, but just for a little while, and when we get back you’re going to help me finish.

I will, I promise.

Well guess what, we’d be gone longer than what we were supposed to be or we’d get into some kind of trouble that would delay us and pa would be out looking for us and be madder than all hell when he found us.

I know he’s been dead for twenty years or more, but he keeps saying, Look Josh, there’s a big boat coming towards us. I know this can’t be true, because when we were boys, the only one’s who knew about our little lake, was us and grandpa.

We didn’t have any neighbors for almost ten miles, besides who would haul a boat that far with a horse and wagon to fish in our little lake when they had lakes close by them. Josh there’s a boat coming, Josh! Listen to me, Josh! You big dummy, look.

Suddenly I hear voices, voices? Voices I don’t understand, but voices just the same.

Ahmed’s Description

Ahmed is a man of about five feet nine inches to five feet ten inches maybe one hundred eighty pounds with full black beard, receding hair line and olive colored skin, like all the Arabs and has a protruding belly from good living. While in his home he wears all kinds of jewelry especially on his fingers. He has Negroid features like Mead’s, but not so pronounced. His hair is more wavy like the Spanish people, yet I think somewhere in his family’s past there was some inter-jection of African blood.

How I’m Rescued From Death at Sea

I manage to raise myself into a halfway sitting position to see the water. I see a small boat with a triangular sail approaching me from out of the sun, West I think, or is it East. I don’t know anymore, all I know is it is daytime. Suddenly I realize it is not a small boat, but, a small one mast ship, a coastal trader, there are people who look like women with shawls covering their heads. Some of them are bare chested, I’ve never seen woman dressed in this fashion. I’m too weak to hold myself up any longer, I fall back in the bottom and pass out.

Water. The nectar of the gods, not much, just a little, just enough to wet my lips and tongue, then it’s pulled away. No, no give me more, I’m thinking. I try to grab for the source of water, but hands are holding me back from it. I feel that they, whoever they are, are torturing me. Why? Give me live and they hold it from me. A few moments pass and I am given some more, not much, just a little. Oh, does it taste good, I manage to swallow a few drops, but it hurts my parched throat. Another few moments pass and I’m given some more, not much again, maybe a few tablespoons full, gradually I’m given more till they figure I’ve had enough for now. Too much now, would be as bad as not having any. It would be a shock to my bod, causing me to become sick or even dying.

Finally I realize this and succumb to the weariness of my body and fall into a deep sleep. I awaken moments later freezing cold and shivering trying everything I can think of, hunkering down deeper into the bed they have made for me, my teeth rattling so hard it sounds like drums are beating in my ears. I realize that it is more than a few moments, it has been hours since I passed out. My body was stripped of my pants and washed with water and some aromatic oil applied to it.

Two men are holding me down, one by my shoulders, the other is pinning my legs, while a third is bathing my face with a damp cloth. A fourth is watching everything and saying something I can’t understand, it isn’t that I’m dreaming this, it’s just that I’ve never heard this language before. It all sounds like jibberish to me. The fourth man says something to the man bathing my face, and he raises up and is gone for a minute or so and returns with a cup of sweet smelling liquid in it, and holds it to my lips and urges me to drink it. I realize