The Watchman's Grace

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

THE LIGHT IN A FULL MOON CRIES

Environment shaped a desire to escape

From the moment he was jammed into a dank, stench filled hold, Kigwa knew this would be a trial of his worst ordeal. He was truly abandoned, without warming kinship from fellow tribe folk. Men, women and children, all speaking different tongues, fought to gain air itself. When the creaking ship set sail, it was a miracle the floating travesty did not collapse from its own derelict condition.

Depraved days plodded by in the belly of a wooden beast. Sickness, defecation and oppressive dead heat conspired to weaken all. Kigwa began to crave the demise of these fellow passengers so he could gulp more stale air for lasting another day.

Kigwa’s very being began to atrophy under starvation. Groans of the dying sang a tortured hymn for unyielding suffering. Amidst death’s haunting stages, there was many a moment when he truly wondered if the corpses thrown overboard were shown more mercy than that which waited for him.

Through every second, upon each minute, there permeated an overwhelming stench from hundreds within these desperate confines. For many, their last breath on earth was taken in this poison stew of abject misery. Kigwa imagined himself breathing the remnants from every lingering perspiration which countless vanquished released; an unmistakably musty odor of sheer desperation.

As their number steadily decreased, the thought of ending his suffering became seductive. The countless scenes of human decay assaulted Kigwa’s senses, making his will melt to nothing. Iron shackles dug hard into sallow dark flesh, reinforcing feelings of utter helplessness. With no end in sight, he felt his resistance slowly slipping away.

Yet despite these abject hardships, Kigwa’s determination somehow survived. His shattered will held through frequent bouts of scurvy and dysentery which captured victims with increasing frequency. Daily, deceased were plucked from this sweating cage and thrown into the vast depths of a consuming sea. But still he clung to a primal hope for survival.

“I must keep my mind sane to look for just one opportunity to escape these pale savages!” muttered Kigwa quietly. “As long as I am alive I can right this crime. And damn those that have taken part in this treason to an eternity of punishment!”

It was some days later when Kigwa overhead two fellow captives debating the merit of survival. This harrowing journey of the Middle Passage sought out the weakest part in everyone’s nature. Now, Kigwa made out desperate urgings from one captured soul from a neighboring Ehra tribe to his companion.

“We must not let the pale man sacrifice us to his devil god!” pleaded a young man to his female company. “Do not eat his food so he can fatten us for his slaughter. We should remain pure to our faith and leave this earth of our own will!”

When Kigwa strained to look from where this conversation took place, he instantly felt deep pity. Both souls had been taken from their prime and made withering carcasses of bone, draped in a thin film of flesh. The male bore tell-tale signs of a harsh beating upon his soft back, a mash of scared brown ridges scabbing to save mangled flesh.

“I have no will left to live Mapto,” a decimated young lady replied. “My last words will be heard only by you, for I do not have strength to last a day longer. I need to escape this hell! We will not see freedom again.”

Kigwa felt ashamed overhearing such an intimate conversation, though these extreme circumstances made a mockery of any pleasantries. The brutality of the pale man stripped their sense of self in deep lashes of indignities. Turning away, he summoned his remaining strength into an unfathomable will to survive.

*****

After some six weeks at sea, the slave ship The Relentless came upon its dry land destination. Those kept as beasts in the hull below had long ago lost all sense of time and space. Soon their kidnappers, hardened by their trade, came storming below to continue forward. Each man, women and child were hauled like cargo to the deck.

Hurried into direct sunlight, Kigwa’s eyes burned red after weeks of stale midnight below. His skin tingled endlessly from hot needling rays of midday sun, yet surprisingly this heavy humidity was no shock. To him, this air was much fresher than the sweaty stench in The Relentless’s floating mortuary below.

Twisting uncomfortably in his shackles, Kigwa counted one survivor for every two that had boarded The Relentless. Mapto and his female companion were not among them. Just as he finished his tally, they were prodded down a rickety gangplank into the teaming bustle of a strange port town. Half naked and starved, they were lined up beside a raised wooden platform and forced to stand rod straight. By this point Kigwa was powerless to put up any defense, his fortitude destroyed during those arduous weeks at sea.

Looking at a gathering throng of pale men, Kigwa noticed one of his fellow captives led onto the crude stage. First, a number of hard looking pale men would raise their arms and shout in a strange tongue. Soon, one would gain the stage, whereupon he would run his thick hands upon the captive. Their mouths would be forced open, arms and legs grasped; teeth run over with grimy fingers. Finally, a mass of colored paper would exchange hands and the pale man would drag off his dazed prize. Then the next unfortunate would be placed on the scaffold, with the whole process repeated.

Kigwa knew what he saw. His disloyal aide Sangwa had kidnapped him for placement into some type of servitude. But he had no idea what purposes these pale men had for him, making Kigwa very agitated. Perhaps like Mapto, he should have taken his own life. As heavy set thugs pulled him onto the platform, his time for wishing was well past.

While the barking from a frantic auctioneer pierced the air, numerous pale men launched their waiving arms skyward. Unlike others, Kigwa’s time on stage seemed quite a bit longer. Finally, all hollering ended with a large pale man coming towards him. His hands ran over every inch of Kigwa’s strong physique. After grunting his satisfaction, a large pile of colorful paper changed hands. Then Kigwa was led away in quick fashion.

Moments later Kigwa found himself sitting on a wooden bench in a hay wagon. His purchaser rode this rickety cart at a fast pace, well beyond the outskirts of the port town. Throughout this hasty ride, the determined driver did not utter any noise, focusing solely on his destination.

After leaving the pale man’s village, Kigwa laid eyes on a very large farm. All about, he witnessed a place teaming with the activity of many dark men and women hard at work. As their wagon slowed to a stop, he looked upon one of the largest single structures he had ever seen. It was white in color and as threatening as the wooden ship which took him from his homeland.

When their wagon pulled up to this imposing building, another pale man quickly came outside to meet them. But there was something different about this one. His costume appeared cleaner; his garments more expensive. His body was broader around the chest, and he stood a touch shorter than average height. He wore a large growth of hair above his mouth, covering a tensed upper lip.

This peculiar man craned his thick neck in every direction, studying a bound Kigwa very carefully. Within minutes he spoke in their strange language to the wagon driver before motioning him away. Immediately Kigwa was led towards a row of small wooden huts. He was pushed inside the first one they came upon.

Then, the wagon driver motioned Kigwa with rough gesturing to speak. When Kigwa would not respond, he became angry and hit him hard on his back before continuing. Still no words came from Kigwa’s pressed mouth.

As this routine carried on, Kigwa finally lost patience. He shouted back in anger at the pale man in his native tongue. A smug grin appeared upon his interrogator’s hardened face before leaving Kigwa’s presence. Ten minutes later, he returned with an older, dark skinned gentleman.

“You see this young buck here Nathaniel? He sounds like Oliver and Tim did when they first came to White Rose. I bet you he’s from the same tribe! You know Master Smith has high hopes for this one, yes indeedy! And since you did so well in training them you can do the same with this one. Am I making myself clear, Nathaniel?”

The lanky, wiry Colored man replied in deference. “Yes sir, Mister Willis. We will make this one just as good a worker, if not better!”

“I sure hope so Nathaniel. This buck cost Master Smith a hell of a lot of good money. And you know how he gets when he loses on a trade. Oh yes, none of us wants to see that side of him much! I’m off now to see if those field hands picked enough for our next cotton shipment, so I’ll leave him to you. But I best not hear of any trouble, you understand Nathaniel?”

“Yes sir, Mister Willis. You can be sure with old Nathaniel, that’s right!”

Willis nodded with a tight grin of approval before striding towards the vast planting fields of White Rose Plantation. Master Smith’s iron grip on all aspects of White Rose Plantation made no quarter for forgiveness, pity or losses. To him, all he surveyed was subject to his rule. Those that disobeyed would truly not be long for this earth.

When Willis’s heavy footfalls faded into the distance, Nathaniel turned to face Kigwa’s untrusting glare, breaking their silence with a short greeting. Kigwa’s ears instantly recognized the old man’s words. To his amazement, he spoke in his native tongue!

“You welcome me here with open arms?” Kigwa replied incredulously. “They have me in shackles and treat me as a slave. Are you partners with these pale men?”

Nathaniel shook his head, grinning broadly. “No, I have as much freedom as you, probably less because of my age. You have been taken against your will from your homeland like every Colored person you see here. They own all of us! The pale man will never let us go.”

Kigwa could not believe what he heard. “Surely there are many strong warriors among those that have been captured. They can rise up against the pale man and set themselves free if they still have a warrior’s heart!”

Nathaniel’s smile faded quickly as he looked nervously about him. “Now listen here to me. You are fortunate no one who could understand your language heard those words. It surely would have been the death of you! You’ve been bought and paid for. You are their slave and they hold the decision of life and death over you. Their kind hold weapons we’d have no chance to match!

“My duty is to teach you how to earn your keep and make money for our master. But if you keep talking like that you will not live long in this land! They call me Nathaniel and you best get used to that name. Cause I’m the only one that will protect you. Understand me? I watch out for the good of all on this plantation, and keep things well and fine.”

Kigwa was moved to anger by this old man’s sudden harshness. Did he have any idea who he was speaking to? Such insubordination would not have been tolerated from anyone in his tribe.

“Listen Na-than-i-el,” Kigwa strained to pronounce. “I am Kigwa, descended from a long line of tribal chiefs, with all their dignity running through my veins! How dare you tell me these weak looking pale men have power over me! Have you no honor to set yourself free from them? What have they made you into? What potions have they made you drink? What spell have they cast to make your mind so feeble?”

The incensed elder man shot Kigwa a contemptible look. “Come with me now!” he hissed back.

Nathaniel reached out to lead Kigwa by his still bound arms, exhibiting surprising strength for his age. After walking five minutes they came upon a large red barn, from which sounds of domestic animals pierced muggy afternoon air. Nathaniel led Kigwa around back of this structure before pointing directly ahead.