THE LAST SAMURAI

 

THE LAST SAMURAI

II

They came in a great ship

They came in plenty

And thirsty for war

Beneath the sweltering twilight sky, the Atlantic rolled in uneasy swells. The British convoy moved in a rigid line across the cobalt water, the heavy ship carrying human lives in its holds. The single frigate bearing the British flag high above the sails proud and ominous as if a warning to those who so wished to look at it. Its canons gleaming like metal teeth. The air stank of salt, tar and distant despair.

The slaves within the hull sung songs of their native land. In the night, one could hear low hums of their voices as the ship crushed and ravaged through the waves to make one harmonious tune. The men with their bass, the women with their sopranos gave way to a beautiful musical masterpiece. The captain was informed of this and did not interfere. Let them sing for freedom for they are far from it he said with ribald laughter.

Some of them starved like animals, some died but not Ebo, he became stronger each and every day waiting for his opportunity and it presented itself.

Then, like a shadow peeled from the horizon, the pirate ship emerged.

She was called the Thief’s Gambit. Her black sails patched and crooked yet hungry for wind. A skull embedded with two swords brandished on her bow, a sign of retaliation and debauchery. No lanterns burned along her deck for she came cloaked in the dim light of the approaching night, silent like a wolf preparing to attack his prey.

There on the mother deck was Captain Luke Shaw a notorious and well-known pirate who sought after splendor of the great Atlantic Ocean. He was fierce and ruthless, stealing loot and killing anyone who dared come across his way. He shouted forward to his fellow men above the stern crashing the slave ship in dire brute force.

His weather-beaten face bore a single scar that cut down from his eye to his jaw. Beside him, was Petrovich a Russian sailor turned pirate and lover to Shaw stood with a loaded long rifle eyes fixed on the British convoy.

“Guns ready!” Shaw said in a booming voice.

“We strike before they have a chance to retreat…ready the canons!” cried Shaw.

The pirates moved like mad men: muskets loaded, grappling hooks coiled at their belts, their cutlasses sharpened to a sick shine. The gunner said a solemn prayer before he lit the slow fuses along the canon deck. A low rumble thundered below the deck the sound of canons firing deafening and loud.

The Thief’s Gambit unleashed a thunderous broadside toward the frigate. Fire burst from her side like a dragon exhaling flame. Iron shot ripped through the British ship’s railing, splintering wood and toppling the red-coated sailors. Bells rang, orders shouted but confusion spread quicker than discipline.

The pirate ship surged forward, wind screaming in her rigging. The British frigate tried to turn, but its rudder dragged, crippled by canon fire. Before it could recover, the Thief’s Gambit smashed alongside her with a bone-shaking crash of hulls.

“Board!” shouted Petrovich.

Hooks flew. Ropes tightened. Pirates swung across the gap with a wild fury in their eyes. Boots thudded onto the British timber. Steel met steel. The deck erupted into chaos, musket smoke curling through the air, swords clashing, men screaming. Blood splattered across the polished wood.

Captain Shaw moved through the carnage like a dark tide. His cutlass slashed, parried, struck. A British lieutenant raised a pistol, but Petrovich shot him cleanly through the chest before she could fire.

Lanterns flared, captains shouting for retreat but it was already too late the Thief’s Gambit flanked them decisively. The slaves would hear all the commotion on the hull and started to scream for help. But not Ebo he remained silent watching every move through a hole in the wood.

Smoke from the British ship flared darkening the sky. The British captain hesitated, some jumped off the ship to save their own lives, others fought bravely only to get caught in the cross fire of the canons. The white flags rose as a sign of surrender.

Pirates stormed aboard; keys stolen from the lieutenant. The iron shackles of the slaves were undone one by one the slaves were released. Ebo once free picked up a cutlass from one of the corpses and slashed at the British fiercely filled with rage he butchered them one after the other until he laid a wake of terror behind him. Bodies piled high.

Chains clattered to the floor like dead serpents. Eyes long dulled by hopelessness blinked into the torch light confused, fearful and unbelieving. The slaves rejoiced but not Ebo, covered in blood and sweat he breathed in and out heavily long after the British bodies lay on the hull, docile and dead.

“You are all free,” said Shaw.

The slaves praised the pirates in Igbo but not Ebo.

Shaw looked at Ebo with great shock, he reveled at his skill of swordsmanship and approached him warmly.

“You there, slave” he said with confidence.

What is your name?” he asked inquisitively.

“My name is Ebo, son of Yala” he said with great eloquence.

The pirate was in complete shock, the fact that this African slave could understand their language and not only here but speak amazed him.

“Would you like to join me in a quest to bring justice for your people?” he asked.

“Yes” Ebo said without a stammer in his voice.

“Very well, I promise justice will be yours…” said Shaw handing him a pistol.

Ebo examined its very nature and accepted the queer gift.

This is a fresh beginning…

Revenge will be mine…

My people will be free…