The
Black Ship
(A Gunboat Wars Tale) © 2008 by Walter D. Reimer The Wise Ones say that it started one way, and the Euros say it started another way. For me and my clan on the southern beach of the south island it started with the Wild Priest coming to our village. I recall very clearly that it was the first full moon after the Summer Solstice when I had gotten Tailfast to Maire. The ring of braided fur I wore felt so good and so right that I daily thanked the Gods for my good fortune. Maire and I looked forward to being married the following summer, as the elders of our clans had arranged, when she reached her sixteenth summer. My father, brothers and I were hauling in our nets that morning when we saw him. We recognized him for what he was at first sight - an unkempt and ungroomed fox wearing nothing but chains of amulets about his waist and neck. A smear of oil matted the fur between his ears and a strange design was combed there. He carried a staff in his paw, carved and wound around with charms hanging from leather thongs. I had seen a Wild Priest before, many years ago when I was a colt, just a glimpse of one in the jungle. This was not him, as the one I saw was equine (like I am, and like my family and clan) and so old I guessed he didn’t have many summers to go before he slept with the spirits. This fox was much younger, just a few years older than I. He was quite thin and his lips moved as if he whispered to himself and his head moved as if he heard a hula tune in his mind. He looked at us, then faced west and sniffed the air. His expression was sad. The head man of our village, old Tanu, saw him and selected three of the best fish from our nets. He brought them to the priest, laid them at his feet as a gift and after making a reverence to him asked, “What is saddening you? What’s the matter?” The Wild Priest shook as if he had a fever, then gathered up the fish and said, “A storm is coming.” That was all he said. He turned and walked off into the forest. No one tried to stop him – you do not lay paws on a Wild Priest; it is taboo, and a curse shall surely follow. I left my piece of net on the beach and walked up to Tanu. I asked him, “What does he mean? The sky’s clear and I can’t smell any storm coming from the sea.” Tanu frowned at me, and shook his head. “I do not know, Faipa,” he said to me, “but when a Wild Priest tells you something you had best take what he offers you. Come, let us gather in the day’s catch, and I shall call a meeting of the village.” While we drew in the nets many of us who had heard the Wild Priest’s words looked away from our work, toward the west. ***
That night as the cooking fires in the longhouses were banked to dull coals we gathered to hear old Tanu speak. Tanu was of my clan, but a distant cousin to my mother and he was headman of our village because he was the best at finding the best places to put our nets. Some of the women were there as well, the oldest and wisest among them being my mother’s older sister. The other women had been tasked with starting to gather food and supplies if we needed to seek shelter. “We have all heard of the troubles our friends have had,” Tanu said, “to the north and east of our village. If the Wild Priest says there is a storm coming, I think it must mean that enemies are coming.” We knew what Tanu meant by enemies. For nearly a year the villages here in the Spontoons had been raided. Outlander furs came, destroyed and stole and looted, and departed as quickly as they arrived. The older women nodded their heads sagely at this. “I have had two of our young men keep a watch on the beach in case someone comes,” Tanu went on to say. “They are fast runners and can swiftly tell us if there’s trouble.” Our village then was set far back from the coast, with thick jungle between the sea and our homes in case the great storms should approach. “Faipa is our fastest runner,” my mother’s older sister said. “If trouble comes, he should go and summon the Militia.” The others seemed pleased by this, but no one asked for my voice in the matter. I thought my cousin was faster than I, at any rate. ***
Whoever our enemies may have been, they did not come that night, and not on the next or the next after that. A few muttered to themselves that the Wild Priest had been wrong, but Tanu insisted on maintaining a watch on the sea despite there was no enemy to be seen. One full-moon night we were eating our meal when I heard a gunshot, and everyone in the village leaped to their feet. My cousin was coming up the path to us, running as fast as he could and his mane streaming from his neck. “A black ship!” he shouted. “Outlanders! A black ship is coming – “ There was a sound like distant thunder, and a sound of ripping cloth. I recall as clearly as I recall my name that my cousin looked surprised. The shell landed just behind his hooves. Then all was lightning and thunder, and I tasted blood. “Faipa!” “Faipa, wake up!” I awoke, wondering why I was lying on the ground. I was covered in blood and pieces of flesh, and Tanu was kicking me in the hip. I got to my hooves and wiped blood from my face. The scent . . . It was – had been – my cousin, blown into bits. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t see. “Faipa!” Tanu shouted in my ear. He doused me with a bucket of water and I woke and looked up at him. He looked strange to me. “Run! Get the Militia!” He gave me a harsh kick to my rump. “RUN!” I started to run then, as more explosions began to tear at the jungle and there were more gunshots. Everything was noise and rushing about as my kin and friends gathered up what they could and started to flee. A shot splintered a palm tree above my head, and I began to run. ***
I ran. I ran as if my life depended upon it, as if Keyho-Raha-Raha Himself were pursuing me and as if all the demons of the Hell the Christian missionaries speak of were at my heels. I ran north, through the jungle and along a small cutting through the hills that led to the north coast of the island. The Militia were usually there, to the east of the village on the north coast, so I reasoned that I could find them there. As I ran I smelled smoke drifting up the slope from the village, and I could see the lagoon through a break in the trees. The smell of smoke grew stronger, then strong enough to make me stop and cough. I reached a rise that led to the fields that bordered the village. The outlanders had been there. Ugly scorched marks were drawn across the fields, and the fires that had consumed the village had gone out. I slowed my pace from a run, to a trot, then to a walk as I made my way through the fields. Longhouses had been burned and now smoldered in the night. Clouds now covered the moon’s face. “Hello!” I called out, and was greeted with silence. I walked on through the village, wondering where the people had gone. Had they, too, fled for refuge? I stumbled in the dark and fell on my face as the moon came from behind a cloud. The stumbling-block was a body, charred by whatever fire had consumed their home and village. The light of the moon shone down on a skull, an inch from my nose. I screamed. I soiled myself. I picked myself up and ran fast, headed east now to find help. How long did I run? I have no idea, but as I crashed through the jungle heedless of where I went, strong paws grasped at me suddenly. I fought, I know not why, and I saw a glimpse of a feline face as things went black. Water was thrown in my face and I gasped for air, struggling to sit up against the paws that held me down. “Be still, friend,” a voice said. “The doctor wants to look you over.” “Wha-? Doctor? What – “ The man holding me was canine, dressed in British fashion in trousers and a shirt, but his accent was Spontoonie. I clung to his paw and said, “My village – attacked – “ “We guessed,” he said, “and we will send some with you – with guns – but you must let the doctor see you. Are you hurt? In pain? You have blood all over you.” I wept then, wept like a foal. “It was my cousin. He blew up before my eyes.” The feline laid his paw on my shoulder, then pulled me up and hugged me as I sat there, crying. When I had stopped there was a tall, thin outlander fox with long stringy fur in clothes stained in blood standing beside me. He said something in the outlander English, and the feline answered him. The fox’s frown deepened, then he nodded and walked away. The feline smiled. “I told Dr. Whipworm that you were not injured. My name’s Tehani.” “Faipa.” “Do you need to rest? We will go to your village without you, if you feel you cannot go on.” I got to my hooves and shook my mane and tail out. “I can walk,” I said, “and I must go back. The girl I’m Tailfast to will be worrying about me.” Tehani grinned. “I’ll get the group together. You get some water and food, if you need it, and . . . ” He looked at me, and I realized I was unclothed, my grass skirt having come off as I ran through the jungle and the burned village. I smiled. “I’ll plait together another skirt. It will help me rest while you get ready.” Perhaps an hour after midnight, as Euros reckon the time, we set out for my village. We did not go through the burned village on the northern coast, but instead struck inland and through the jungle until we reached the western hills that stand as attendants for Mount Tamboabo. As we headed for the southern shore I quickened my pace, even though I was tired by now. I pressed myself to keep going. We stayed in the forest, always at the margin of the shore to avoid being seen until the keener-eyed among us could see the black ship of the outlanders anchored just a short distance from the beach where our village keeps its nets. A few lights burned aboard the ship, but I could see no sign of cooking fires from my village. I moved deeper into the jungle to come to the village from the upland side, away from the pirates, and the Militia team moved with me. When I drew close to the longhouses I stopped. I felt as if . . . no, I can not say how I felt. To this day, I can not. The village was in ruins, deserted, the longhouses standing empty and food and other things strewn about carelessly. The outlanders had been here, yet they had not burned the place down yet. “It looks as if they just wanted food and water,” one of the Militia furs whispered. “Yes,” I said. I thought I could still smell my cousin’s blood there, off to the left of where I stood, and I felt tears burn hot in my eyes. “My kin and my friends will have taken themselves to a safe place,” I told Tehani. “I know of it, and I will lead you there.” He agreed and signaled to the others to come with us. ***
“We are being watched,” I said after we had walked some distance, perhaps a mile, from the village. The sea roared as waves struck the volcanic stones. “The caves are very close by.” I raised my voice and made a mewing sound like a gull, and another of my cousins, Pomare, emerged from behind a column of stone. “Faipa! You’ve brought help. That will be welcome news.” He and I embraced and I asked, “Did everyone manage to get to safety?” His smile faltered and he said, “A few were wounded by the outlanders’ guns. A few were killed and some are dying of their wounds.” I saw his face and asked, “Are any among my family - ? “See for yourself,” he said as he looked away. I left him then and ran for the cave. The cave is a short distance from the stone columns, one of the caves left by Keyho-Raha-Raha when He emerged into the daylight. The British dug here, taking out the stone to make their buildings. I ran in and was surrounded by furs, some bandaged and poulticed with medicinal herbs. I learned then that Tanu had died, shot while holding back the outlanders so that the last villagers could escape. The death-song had already been sung for him, and for the others who had died. I looked around. “Where is Maire?” I asked. The others at first would not meet my eyes; finally my mother’s older sister, the wisest of the women in the village, spoke up and told me, “Maire stood beside Tanu, Faipa.” “Then she - ?” She nodded. “Maire is dead.” I thought that I had wept all of my tears, back at the Militia camp. I was wrong. I felt as if I was drowning in my tears, and my mother and her kinswoman embraced me and held me until I had stopped crying. I fell asleep then. Later food was brought out, and fresh water, and while I and the Militia furs refreshed themselves a young girl came running from the back of the cave. “Father,” she asked, waving something in her paws, “I have found candles!” Her father looked and his eyes went wide as the full moon. He took the thing from his daughter’s paw. “Where did you find this?” he asked her. “I found it in a box. Back there,” she replied, pointing to the back of the cave. Tehani took the thing from the girl’s father, and he and I went back there. By the light of lanterns we saw a box covered by a moldering piece of cloth. There was lettering on the box, in English. I can still see it now: Dynamite. Caution. E.J. Smith and Sons, Northampton. “Dynamite,” Tehani said, “perhaps stolen and left here when the English were taking stone from the quarry.” He brought the lantern nearer and ran a finger over the dynamite, his fingertip coming away damp with a greasy substance. “I have heard that when the sticks weep the dynamite is very dangerous.” He found a smaller box. “Fuses.” As I watched Tehani look into the box my sorrow at having seen so much death, at Maire’s death and not being here to help her . . . at that moment my sorrow became rage. “Tell me, Tehani,” I asked, “can we use this dynamite to strike back at the outlanders?” The feline Militia fur looked at me, and slowly he began to smile. “Yes.” ***
We waited then, until it was late at night and the moon had not yet risen. Several of us had taken the box from the cave (Tehani had told us that the best thing to do would be to take it from the cave, and marveled that the young girl had not died from waving one stick of it about) and placed it on a small raft we had built. The villagers, Militia folk and I had discussed what to do with it, and we all agreed that the black ship of the outlanders should be sunk, and the Militia would then deal with the outlanders who survived. I thought it a good plan, and I chose myself to take the box to the ship. My cousin Pomare also said he would go, and the old women of the village sang blessings and prayers over us as we waded into the surf. Tehani and the Militia headed into the jungle to meet the outlanders on the beach. Pomare and I swam with the box floating between us. We swam rather than waded because the surf would shake the box, and Tehani warned us that the sticks within the box might explode. We swam, then, keeping away from the surf and letting the current draw us nearer to the ship. Finally we saw it, against the night sky. Its two masts were bare and there were a few lights burning within it. Pomare and I swam closer, and soon the floating box bumped against the stern of the ship. We lashed it to the rudder and Pomare, who had some matches, lit the fuse on the box. We started to swim away from the ship and a fur aboard the vessel raised a cry. There were gunshots and splashes of seawater all around us as we swam. More guns started to fire and I saw Pomare go under even as a shot found me, leaving a trail of blood across my ribs that burned like fire in the salt water. There was a great light, and an even greater roll of thunder and the sea rose in a wave behind me as furs screamed. I swam faster until I reached the shore then scrambled into the jungle as fast as I could. I then turned and watched. The dynamite had exploded, tearing the stern from the outlander ship. It was sinking, and some had started leaping overboard and swimming toward the beach. Guns were already firing from the jungle, and I ran to the village, clutching my side as I bled. I met with the Militia furs and Tehani asked, “Where is Pomare?” “I don’t know,” I said. “I saw him go under.” Tehani made a sound of deep distress and gave me a machete as he led several more Militia furs and villagers to the attack. I followed, realizing that Pomare was likely dead. I had no more tears to shed then. Only anger. I reached the beach as the last of the outlanders were being dispatched by the villagers and I looked around. One outlander was crawling up the beach, toward the jungle. I went to stop him, and looked down at him. He was an orangutan, from islands far south of Spontoon, and he reached out to me with one long arm. He wanted sympathy. I recalled my cousin. I recalled the burned village. I recalled Tanu. I recalled Pomare. I recalled . . . Maire. I struck the outlander then, with the machete in my paw. I struck him and struck him and struck him, until I tasted his blood spattering and the machete grew slippery in my paw. There was a movement, to my right, and I looked. The Wild Priest had returned. He was still just as ungroomed, lips still moving and head moving about. But there was something upon his shoulder. A squirrel, wild and pure white, and in the light of the risen moon his eyes looked black, like a demon’s. The Wild Priest . . . smiled, like a kit just given a stick of sugar cane as a treat. He nodded and smiled at me, and walked back into the jungle. I struck the outlander orangutan again, and stopped. ***
The fishes ate very well that night. ***
Well. That is my story, of what I did in the Gunboat Wars. And why I am here. The Wise Ones said the rites, and I prayed. But it didn’t help. I still see them. Maire. My cousins. The fur I killed. The Wild Priest smiling. Could you . . . please, ask the nurse to come in? I want to sleep now, and the medicine helps keep the demons at bay. (Transcribed at Meeting Island Hospital, Special Care Unit, March 5, 1937.) end |