It seemed to be forever that we had been searching for the slavers. In fact, for five weeks now, we had been cruising the southern islands of the Caribbean.
We had sighted them once, two ships close to the horizon, but near enough for the best top man to be able to make out their sail rig, we knew it was them.
Their course had suggested that they were making for Guiana in South America, they were trying to run the blockade of the Royal Navy, which had been set up after most European countries had outlawed slavery
But then, the hurricane had struck, it was one of the worst in living memory, and it had come upon us with so little warning, no time at all to make for a safe haven, especially if you were too far from land. Any ships caught at sea were in serious trouble, especially anything small, the only safe place was one of the well-sheltered harbours.
We were close to land but with no suitable harbour close by, we had no choice but to run before the wind. This in itself has not been easy, we had only just managed to clear the tip of one island, in constant danger of the wind driving us ashore, where we would have foundered on the vicious rocks we could see all too clearly, just a hundred yards off our beam.
The slavers had faced exactly the same predicament, but their course had allowed them to pass to the east of the islands, whereas, we had been forced to the west.
For three days we rode the storm, sails ripped away, spars broken like match-sticks, mountainous seas battering the ship. Most of the crew had never before been so frightened, even some of the older hands, who had experienced the Bay of Biscay at its worst, had looked apprehensive.
I couldn’t comprehend how we had not lost a mast.
By the time it had started to ease, we barely had a sail left intact. A chaos of hanging ropes and railings smashed. Even two guns had broken adrift below, smashing everything in their path, before the Chief Gunner and his gun crews somehow managed to secure them safely once more.
The sailmaker and his team were now working like trojans, stitching and patching whatever was available, in an attempt to give us sufficient sail so we could gain headway, to once more set a course.
The First Mate reported to the Captain, that although the ship had sprung at least two planks below the waterline, for the moment the pumps were coping well enough at keeping the water in the bilges at a safe level. But, he pointed out we could only manage a few days of pumping before we ran out of men fit enough to man the pumps. Quite a number were carrying injuries, such as a broken arm or a badly turned ankle, and the doctor had been kept busy.
We needed to make a landfall where the ship could be careened, to allow repairs to be carried out, re-caulking the sprung planking.
The slavers had disappeared, they could be anywhere by now if they had survived the storm that is. Perish the thought, of the plight of those poor souls, chained below decks, life would have been sheer hell for them, and no chance of survival should their ship have suffered any mishap. The slavers would not have released them from their prison, they would have drowned chained where they were.
The Captain had decided that we set a course that would take us between Granada and St. Vincent, allowing us a vague chance of sighting our prey. Failing any sighting, we would continue north to St. Lucia, a suitable place to carry out the necessary repairs we needed.
It was the bosun who suggested to the Captain that perhaps he make a small detour to the east, he seemed to remember an island named Mustique, where he thought there was a large bay with waters deep enough to allow a ship to approach the beach, this was to the south-west of the island, he recalled the name of Les Jolies Eaux or similar. It was a place pirates had often used in the past, it might be possible the slavers were there. The French were more inclined to turn a blind eye, as long as there was no trouble.
If we could catch them in the bay, and as long as the winds were in our favour, they could be trapped.
One day later, came the shout, “Land ho, four points to larboard.” (port side today).
“What sail?” the Captain hollered.
The lookout reported seeing nothing.
The Captain, was at the chart table, to the First Officer he ordered, “Alter course to take us east, we’ll clear the bay to the south and anchor the other side of the nearest headland. If they’re there, they won’t see our sail.”
The anchor was dropped in only eight fathoms of water. The long boat was ordered out and duly settled in the water alongside. The First Lieutenant led a party of five sailors, six marines, plus one Midshipman.
They were to land at the head of the small bay, from there trek to the top of the headland, where, if the slavers were there, they would see them below. He would raise a green flag if they were, a red one if there was nothing.
Three hours later, the lookout called, “Green flag, just below the head, sir.”
The long boat was sent the recall signal. The Marines under the command of the Middie remained ashore, as the boat pulled hard, back to the ship.
The slavers were there, one at anchor, the other careened on the beach, an easy target it would seem.
Two boats took another fourteen marines and a handful of seamen ashore.
The Captain’s plan was for the marines and a handful of sailors to wait until midnight before crossing the headland, to take up a position in the scrub and trees overlooking the beach.
At dawn, we would sail across the mouth of the bay. The ship would fire a warning shot, to lay close on the anchored vessel. At the same time, the marines would open fire at any visible crew.
At the allotted time, we cleared the headland, “Fire when ready,” came the order, the Chief Gunner laid his aim, then touched his burning taper to the firing hole. A cloud of smoke, momentarily hid the slaver from view, as the explosion died away the sound of musket fire, from the marines could be clearly heard.
It was all over, within minutes the slavers had hauled their colours, we tacked about, then sailed in, the heavy bow chaser aimed at the slaver, just in case of any trickery.
The Captain turned to me, “Take a boarding party Lieutenant, two boats I think will do, and secure that slaver.”
The First Officer was to lead another party ashore to take the beached slaver, supported by the marines and sailors already ashore.
It was only a short pull to get us alongside the slaver, one boat on either side and then we boarded, ready for a fight. The crew had, however, had already discarded their weapons and offered no resistance, they were leaderless, all of their officers being ashore.
“Uncover the hatches,” I ordered. The stench that came from below was dreadful as the covers came away, we could hear the wailing that came from within.
“Bosun, send two of the slavers down, have them release the slaves and fetch them up on deck.”
“Pardon my saying sir, they might not get out alive, once they go down there.”
“That’s their problem, besides it would serve them right.”
A shout came from the Captain’s companionway. “Sir, I think you needs be seein’ this.” He led the way to the Captain’s cabin.
“You needs be careful sir, she has a knife.”
“What are you talking about man?” I stepped through the doorway.
Just in time, I saw the blade flying at me, I ducked and heard the thud as it buried into the door frame, inches from my head. She was like a wild animal spitting at me, as she searched for something else to throw.
I saw that a chain was attached to the shackle fastened around her ankle, she could only move in a small arc, perhaps three feet or so.
I stared at her in some shock, I could see that she was terrified, but also very brave and dangerous. She wasn’t cowed as slaves usually are after months at sea, she was a fighter. She did not look like the typical Negro African.
She was very tall, her hair was long and it crested in a wave above her forehead, her breasts were high and stood out firmly in front of her. I even noticed the brilliant white of her perfectly formed teeth. The only blemish, if you can call it that, were the patterns scarred across her face and above her breasts, they were, I thought, actually quite attractive.
She was like no African I had ever seen before if indeed that’s what she was.
My thoughts came back to reality, as a heavy plate narrowly missed me. There was now though nothing else within her reach that she could throw. Her eyes cast desperately about, I could see she was on the verge of tears, she shrank back from me, as I took a step forward.
I placed my pistol and sword on the table, well out of her reach. I held out my hands, palms up, and empty. “It’s okay, I mean you no harm,” I spoke quietly and in a gentle voice, although I doubted she understood a word of it.
She was now backed against the cot she was chained to, she fell backwards, then scuttled to the bulkhead and cringed from me in the corner.
I saw a pitcher of water on the table, so I poured a cup, and held it out to her. She looked at me, eyes wide and scared. I slowly moved a step closer, she tried to shrink yet further from me, I offered the cup closer, her eyes darted from the cup to my face, then back again, but she didn’t reach out.
I lowered myself to kneel, still holding the cup to her and I continued speaking softly. Her hand lifted slightly but no more, so I leaned and set the cup on the cot in front of her, then I rose and stepped back.
I called out of the cabin, “Fetch the bosun for me.” I instructed him to place a guard on the cabin, on pain of death, if he let anyone enter.
On deck once more, I sent a boat ashore with instructions to bring the slaver Captain back.
I pushed the Captain ahead of me, into his cabin, the girl shrieked and cowered down, but I shoved him roughly into the chair at his table. “Tie him up,” I ordered.
“You speak English?” I demanded. He affirmed, with a little bow of his head. “Who is she, and where’s she from?”
“Senor, I do not know her name, she is from North Africa, the desert regions far inland from the coast, I believe that her people are called the Wodaabe or possibly the Fulani.
Later I would learn from our doctor, that the Wodaabe were a nomadic tribe living along the southern edges of the Sahara, they were not Negro, some thought they originated centuries ago from Egypt. Their language is entirely unique to them, nothing similar is spoken anywhere in the then-known Africa.
“Give me the key to her chains.” I snapped at him.
“Senor, take care, she is very dangerous.” But he indicated a draw.
“Take him away, put him with the rest, I’ve no wish to set eyes on him again.”
I retrieved the key, turned and showed it to her. I called the sentry and indicated for him to take my pistol and sword outside. Then, I approached the cot with the key held out, I still thought that she might try and run the moment she was free.
It was when I got closer, that I saw the welts on her arms and shoulders, angry marks showed the beating she had been given. I rose to fetch a bowl and cloth, I dipped the cloth in cold water, then offered it towards her arm.
She stared at me as I reached out and laid the cloth on her injuries, I saw her flinch but she remained totally silent, gently I bathed her arm, and then the other. I went to put the cloth to her shoulder, but again she cringed away, I lay the cloth on her hand and pointed, she remained still for an age, then put it to her shoulder.
I was surprised when she passed it back to me. I dipped it in the bowl, then indicated for her to turn, she didn’t appear to get my meaning, so I pointed at my back and then at her.
Again she stared, but then, slowly she turned her back to me. I was horrified at what I saw, these weren’t just welts, some were open cuts right across her back. She must have been in terrible pain.
As gently as possible, I bathed her back, this time she didn’t flinch, not in the slightest. I tapped her arm, and she turned back to face me. There was a look of wonder on her face.
I took the key from my pocket, and held it up, I pointed at her ankle, then tried to indicate a calming motion with my hands. She seemed to understand because she gave me a small nod. I unlocked her restraint and waited for her to run, but instead, she sat and rubbed at her swollen ankle.
I reached for her hand and pointed to the chair at the table. She took my hand, still watching me intently, as I led her to the chair.
Making sure the guard was at the door first, I then went over to the curtain that shielded the Captain’s pantry. I found only biscuits, bread and some stale cheese, I piled some on a plate and took them back to her. She took some bread and ate, I watched as she sniffed at the cheese, she seemed satisfied and took a little bite.
For the first time, a small smile touched her face, as she commenced to eat all the cheese. I fetched the cup of water to her, and she drank again, thirstily.
I found one of the Captain’s silk shirts and held it to her, but she looked puzzled. I lifted her arm and guided it to the sleeve, then pointed to her other arm, this time she put her arm through herself, I laid the collar gently over her shoulders
She stood and looked into the mirror and studied her reflection, I pointed to my own shirt, showing her how it was tucked into my breeches. Without hesitation, she lifted the shirt and tucked it into the skirt she was wearing.
Her breasts though were still showing at the front, I indicated the buttons but she just frowned. Carefully I reached, this time, she made no attempt to stop me as I fastened two buttons, then she pushed my hand away and fastened the rest herself.
I pointed upwards to above deck, and turned to the door, her hand took my arm and stopped me, I turned to look, she gazed at me, then her hand came up, her fingers touched my cheek, then she spoke, I have no idea what she was saying, but I was reassured.
She indicated the doorway, so I led the way back up and into the sunshine. I watched her as she took in everything around us.
The freed slaves were now in the open, sitting in the ship’s bows, with fresh water to drink and salt water to bathe. None were like her, not in any way.
She saw the slaver’s crew, sitting under guard, she went towards them as I followed closely, she stopped in front of one of the Captain, then she spat at him and her hand shot out and slapped his face with a resounding crack, hard enough to knock him over, for a moment she stood looking down at him, then she spun around and walked away.
I led her to the side, and pointed to the boat and then the shore, she nodded and took my offered hand to be helped up and over the side, before climbing down to the boat.
Onshore, I enquired if the doctor was about, then found him in a tent set up as a temporary medical room. The girl looked apprehensive, faced with this bearded monster of a man. But I reached for her hand, and carefully pulled up a sleeve, showing the doctor the welts.
He tutted, then swore, but quickly reached for one of his many pots, before he applied a salve, with tender care for such a giant of a man. It must have had an immediate soothing effect, I saw her smile, a little more than earlier.
I sat her on a stool, and unbuttoned her shirt, to ease it from her shoulders.
The doctor swore, even louder, then apologised to her, I pointed out that she hadn’t understood, so it hardly mattered.
The Bosun had entered, he saw her back, and I heard him curse as sailors will.
The doctor fetched another pot, saying this would sting. I took her hands in mine and smiled at her. She gripped hard when the lotion entered her wounds, her eyes fixed on mine, I saw one tear leave her eye, to roll down her cheek.
“At least they’re clean, no signs of any infection at the moment, but I’ll need to check them again tomorrow.”
I pulled her to her feet after replacing her shirt, she turned and touched the doctor’s hand, saying a few words in her strange language. Then she followed me out.
The Captain was striding across the sand towards us, “Well done Lieutenant, a nice job today.” He looked at the girl, “The bosun has told me about the girl, how she was found. He seemed to consider for a moment, “I’m putting you in command of the slaver you took, you’re to take the least well of the slaves and sail her to Barbados, the Governor can decide on what best to do with them. As you seem to be the one she trusts, you’ll take her with you. How soon can you have the ship ready to sail?”
“Two days, at the most, should do it. What about her crew?”
He said that they would stay here with them, as I wouldn’t have a large enough crew, to both sail the ship and have to keep guard on the slavers.
The bosun soon had the hands busy sorting sails and spars, so I was happy to leave him in charge.
The bosun had sent two men to erect a tent just in the tree line, Two cots were installed, a wash basin and small bench completed the furnishings. One of the seamen lit a fire and set a pot of fresh water boiling for coffee.
The seaman passed us two steaming mugs, then saying he would fetch us food once the cook had produced something to eat, he left us alone.
We had drunk our coffee when the girl pointed to the trees, I looked puzzled. She made a “Pssss” kind of noise, I felt stupid when I understood and must have blushed. She smiled, then disappeared into the trees.
I realised my mistake, would she run, perhaps not to be seen again. But she did return and then she washed.
She pointed to the cot, I nodded, and she went and laid down. In minutes she was asleep, laying on her side to protect her back, as I sat and studied her. She was beautiful, of that there was no doubt.
(Authors note; The Wodaabe are considered to be the most attractive of any race in Africa, they are not related in any way, to any Negro tribe, neither are they Arab.)
Sometime later, I gently shook her awake, her fear came back, her hands raised to strike out at me, then awareness dawned on her face, she took my hands and spoke, naturally I knew not what she said.
I pointed at my chest and said “Jim.” Then pointed at her, but she frowned, so I tried again, and this time she responded.
“Fulala,” She said.
I handed her a plate of food. She looked at the fork and then chose the spoon to eat with. As soon as she had finished, she returned to the cot, she was clearly exhausted.
I sat and smoked my pipe, a glass of wine in my hand.
Darkness had fallen when I checked her, she still slept soundly, a more peaceful look on her face.
I turned the lamp down low, just enough to leave a glow, should she wake. Then I lay down, it had been a long and hard day, in seconds I was asleep.
I woke in darkness, the lamp had burned out, I wondered what had woken me. An arm was laying across my chest, and I felt her body alongside mine. I smiled to myself in the darkness and went back to sleep.
The early morning light struck my face, I jumped awake, then rose and splashed my face. There was no sign of Fulala, but I smelled coffee brewing. The tent flap raised higher before she came in and handed me a cup, “Jim” she said.
A commotion erupted somewhere along the beach, I snatched up my pistol, rushing from the tent. A crowd was gathering just along the tree line. When I had pushed my way through I saw the slaver Captain swinging from a rope tied to a branch above.
My Bosun came over, “Looks like he ‘ung ‘iself!” he said with a huge grin.
I frowned at him, wondering how the now-dead Captain would have been able to get past the sentries and then swim to shore before hanging himself. It didn’t seem at all likely.
Back at my tent, I indicated to Fulala that I needed to go out to the ship, pointing for her to remain here, she shook her head vehemently, uttered a string of strange words, and then stormed off towards the boat.
On board she followed me everywhere, she would never leave my side, I had a permanent shadow. I even saw some of my crew, slyly nudge and wink at each other. But she would not go near any of them, she would hide behind me should one approach for instructions.
That evening I sat for a while, once more with my pipe, Fulala came and sat close, she leaned her shoulder to mine, her hand resting on my knee.
My pipe empty, she stood and took my hand, then led me inside. She picked up the pot of salve provided by the doctor and passed it to me. Facing away from me, she removed her shirt, then stood to wait.
Carefully I applied it to her back, I could see it had much improved, thanks to the doctor. Gently I rubbed some into the welts across her shoulders, then her hand came up to cover mine, she held it still for a moment, then she was pulling my hand down to her breast, she held it to her, once more just holding it still, then she began to move my hand, around her breasts, she pushed my fingers to a nipple, squeezing them around it, I could feel it harden under my touch.
She turned to face me, speaking softly, it seemed to be a chant of some kind. Her fingers went to the buttons of my shirt, to undo them one by one. She pushed it off of my shoulders letting it fall to the ground. Her hands came to my chest, her fingers exploring as she appeared to be examining my white skin.
She undid and dropped my breeches, then fetching the bowl, she washed me. She smiled when she lowered my pants, then washed me there as well.
After pushing me to the cot, I lay down and watched her as she also washed. When she was done, she came and stood by the cot, looking down at me. I held my hand to her, she took it in hers, raised it to her lips, and she kissed my fingers. Then she lay beside me, doing nothing else, except look into my face, she was waiting for me to make the first move.
Once more I took hold of her breasts, to admire their firmness and the now very hard nipples. I was indeed captivated by their beauty. Her eyes never left mine, the gaze was intent in its scrutiny.
Then she was whispering to me in her own language, how I wished I understood.
I moved my lips towards her, she came to meet them, the kiss was deep and lingering, her large lips were a delight to feel. I pushed my tongue between her lips and she opened to meet me, her tongue exploring mine.
She flinched slightly when my hand went to her shoulder, I had for a moment, forgotten her injuries. Instead, I moved my hand to her waist and pulled her to me, I felt her push her body at me in response.
Then her hand came between us, to find my hardening member. She caressed it, now squeezing, then stroking along its length. She teased at the tip, circling her fingers.
My hand was pulled from her waist as she raised a knee, to push me between her legs. She was not circumcised as are many African girls, her lips were full but soft to my fingers.
(Author’s note; The Wodaabe are one of only a few tribes in Africa, that do not practice any form of circumcision.)
For a while I admired their feel, before entering her with a finger, I felt the warmth and a little wetness. She jerked towards my hand when I found her clit, it came to life under my touch, I rubbed and caressed, and she gripped me tighter.
Her mouth left mine and moved to my chest, her tongue and lips roamed over me. She kissed my nipples and gently bit with her teeth. Then continuing on down, she paused to feel my hard chorded stomach muscles. The hand holding my manhood lifted it to her lips, her tongue came out and tasted me. Then her lips opened wide, allowing her mouth to descend, engulfing me. Her head rolled, moving me around inside her mouth
Now, I could feel the wetness between her legs, her hips grinding into my hand as I teased.
Suddenly she rose above me, changed her body position to straddle my hips with her thighs, then to lift herself, as she rubbed my tip along her slit, searching for, and then finding her entrance. She slowly lowered her body to take me inside, down she went as I was absorbed deeper and deeper.
I felt her muscles clenching on me, then she leaned her upper body down to my chest before she spoke to me, just before her lips met mine. Her hips began to rise along my length, then down again, the motion slowly becoming faster, her fingers dug deep and hard into my shoulders as her ardour mounted.
She spoke again as her body began to tense, this time I could guess what she was telling me. I allowed the feelings surging inside of me a free reign as my cock responded. She sat back, now upright, her fingers clawing at my chest, as she bounced herself furiously.
It was my time, I let loose inside her, I saw her glance at me, she had felt me cumming, then she went rigid, only her hips flexing, driving her orgasm, as she also climaxed.
I was spent, completely drained, when she fell forward, her head nestled to my neck, her hands holding my arms. Still, she gently rocked her pussy on my cock, a soft caress.
Desperately, I wanted to hold her tight to me, but her damaged back prevented me, instead I kissed her forehead. She looked up and smiled.
(Author’s note; The Wodaabe have completely different views on sex to that of the western world, free sexual activity from puberty until marriage is normal, provided it is never expressed in public view. Most are experienced before their late teens.)
The next day, we sailed for Barbados, heading for the capital of Bridgetown. The voyage would be tedious having to tack constantly. The winds at this time of year would always be against us. It would be a tiring journey with only a small crew.
Looking at a map, you might think it to be only a five or six days sail but it actually took nearly two weeks.
I had a screen erected across one half of my cabin, more to quell the gossip than for our own privacy. It wouldn’t pay to be too obvious. Only the bosun I imagine suspected that we shared a cot.
The voyage went smoothly enough, and eventually, we approached under reduced sail, beneath the watchful eye of the defences with their huge canons. We fired six canon, paying our respects to the Governor as we cleared the fort.
At the signal arm, I had raised flags, requesting I might be received as soon as possible, I wanted to shift responsibility for the freed slaves as quickly as possible.
Two hours later, the Governor’s aide had agreed to take the slaves off my hands, Fulala excepted. He assured me that they would be well and treated and suitable employment found for them as soon as they fully recovered from their ordeal.
Fulala was more of a problem. My feelings for her ran deep. It wasn’t love, but I knew I had to do more for her, I had no idea what, but knew I must try something.
Back on board once more, the Bosun approached me, “Begin your pardon sir, might I be ‘avin a word? In private, so to speak, if you wouldn’t be mindin’, sir.”
In my cabin, he doffed his cap at Fulala, with a little grin, She smiled back. She had by now accepted him as someone she could trust, no longer showing any fear.
“I know it rightly, not be’in my business sir, but I’s taken the liberty of speakin’ with the lighter Captain. He tells me there be a plantation owner that employs some what was slaves. He says there could be a fella that might be able to speak with Fulala. Excuse me interferin’ like, I hope’s I ain’t done wrong.”
“Bosun, you’re a hero, here come and have a glass with me and I thank you most sincerely.”
The next morning, I hired a trap and set off overland for Saint John, a journey of some twenty-odd miles. I was in a desperate hurry, hoping it might be true that Fulala and I might at last communicate. I wanted to find out more about her.
I watched Fulala as she admired the scenery of the beautiful island. I saw her looking at the gangs of black workers we passed, sometimes a look of hope, then disappointment at seeing none of her own people, I supposed.
The plantation owner was a pleasant character, he showed no hesitation in inviting us both into his home and offering refreshments.
No sooner had I explained my problem, and he promptly called a servant, speaking in the local patois to him, before the man nodded with a grin, and off he went.
Perhaps half an hour had passed, when the servant appeared in the doorway, another stood behind him. The owner spoke to him, I didn’t follow what was said but I did hear Fulala’s name mentioned.
The fellow came forward and spoke to her, she frowned shaking her head. He spoke again, in what was quite obviously a different language.
It was as if the sun shone from her face, she beamed at him as words gushed from her. The fellow raised his hands, indicating for her to slow down and with an obvious effort, she did.
The owner interrupted, he said we should sit ourselves out on the veranda, “Take as long as you like,” he told us.
A long conversation ensued, whilst I sat impatiently waiting. The fellow then, in halting English, confirmed that Fulala was indeed from the Wodaabe people. The slavers targeted their women for their beauty, they were worth a fortune to them. He explained that Fulala wanted to tell me of her gratitude for her rescue, She had come to realise that all white people were not evil after all, just the slavers. Her fear was for what would become of her. Could I keep her as a servant or something, just so long as she could stay with me?
She looked crestfallen when I explained that this wouldn’t be possible, as I was a serving officer in the Royal Navy. She took my hand, her eyes beseeching, my heart went out to her, but what could I do?
The owner, his name was William Fergus, invited us to stay a few days, if we could. He would take great pleasure in showing us over the plantation. I was in no hurry to return, my Captain wouldn’t arrive for at least another five days, or even more.
Fulala remained behind, she wanted to carry on speaking with our translator, whilst I rode with William. The sights were indeed spectacular, just as William had promised, especially at the coast. I thought this was an island I could happily live on.
Back at the house in time for dinner, I was shocked to see Fulala approach dressed in a gorgeous and brightly coloured dress. She said “Kanu,” pointing at the translator.
Kanu confirmed that his wife had insisted on making the girl decent in front of God-fearing people. I couldn’t agree more, as I looked at Fulala, she was just so beautiful.
She looked at me. “Hello, Jim,” She did a twirl, then paused to think, “Like?” A pensive look on her face. Her words, albeit, just a few, were in English, Kanu had been busy and I was delighted.
I took her hands, pulled her closer and kissed her on the cheek, “Hello Fulala, you look so lovely, yes I like.”
Both she and Kanu looked extremely pleased with themselves.
Over dinner, I enquired of William, as to what amount of money I might need to purchase a small plantation, that is if there even were such a place available.
The amount he mentioned, did not particularly inspire me with any confidence that there was any possibility of my raising the kind of sums involved.
Later following a pleasant evening and after brandy, taken along with my pipe, we retired to our respective rooms. I lay for some time pondering on my future. What did I want? Where was I going in life? And so on. I had been happy with my career in the Navy, but I knew that I was in a rut. There was little chance of promotion, with no wars being fought, what with Europe in a state of uneasy truce, I saw little prospect of bettering myself. Maybe it was time to change direction. I was by no means rich, yes I had prize monies owed me, and the capture of the slavers would add to that, but was it enough?
I saw rather than heard my door open, Fulala peered through the gap, “Please?” She said.
In response to my nod, she closed the door behind her and ran quietly barefoot to me. “Hello, Jim.” It didn’t seem to quite fit the situation, but it was nice nonetheless.
She dropped the smock she was wearing, then lifting the covers she was beside me, her injuries had improved immensely, so now she lay on her back and pulled me to her.
My lips found hers, it was a long kiss, before she pulled my face to her bare breasts, for me to cover them in kisses.
Her hand went straight between my legs, to lift my cock, before she massaged me, bringing life and a rapidly rising urge.
Roughly, she pushed my head down towards her thighs, whilst pulling my own towards her face. For a moment it was an awkward manoeuvre, then my lips were at her pussy and hers found me, as our bodies now faced each other side by side.
My cock was swallowed deep in her mouth, as my fingers separated the flaps between her thighs, I could see the whiteness inside, that contrasted with her skin. My tongue delved as deep as it could, I wanted to taste her, I wanted to climb inside her. I licked up between her lips to arrive at her clit, it seemed larger to my tongue than it had to my fingers, soon it hardened under my caress.
Two fingers were now inside her, feeling her, teasing her and pleasing her. My hand felt the wet, almost pouring from within, her thighs gripped my head, squeezing hard. I sensed my time was coming, so I lifted my face away and turned my body. I lay her flat, with me on top of her
Her legs spread wide to meet me as I lowered myself into her, the wetness smoothed the way, as I sunk deep inside her vagina. She bucked her hips up to meet my thrusts, as we fucked each other.
“Jim, Jim, Jim,” was all she said, then she was moaning softly, her fingers pulling my hair. Just as she always did, her body tensed, so I knew her climax was close.
Her hips thrust hard at me, we lost the tempo but it didn’t matter, she started to shake under me, and the moan became an animal-like growl. I tried to fuck harder, but her legs wrapped me in their embrace, pulling me and holding me deep. I could feel her insides milking me as I came, even in my climax I saw the huge satisfied grin on her face. She pulled my face to hers, “Jim, I love.”
The next day, William suggested that Fulala should stay there, while I returned to Bridgetown. He said Kanu and his wife were willing to have her stay with them. And besides, Kanu had been trying to teach her some English.
She clung to my hands, even when I had mounted, tears in her eyes as she spoke in her own language. “Don’t worry, Fulala, I’ll be back soon, you’ll be fine here.” She didn’t understand me, but she did look a little happier, perhaps it was the gentleness with which I spoke.
The Captain’s ship arrived the next day, along with the other slaver. I reported on board and appraised the Captain of the help the Governor’s staff had given, and that the ex-slaves were being well looked after.
He frowned when told of Fulala’s whereabouts, asking what on earth did I think I was doing, was I being fair to her, allowing her to perhaps be reading something into her situation that I couldn’t possibly deliver.
It was at that moment, I realised what I wanted. It was the trigger I needed. I could resign my commission and easily get an advance against my prize money.
I went ashore to the Crown Agents’ office. He was able to advise, as to approximately what my credit currently stood at, based on the prize money list. Although he thought it could well be double that, once dues were added from later prizes.
My next call was to a plantation sales agent, he was sure he could show me something that would satisfy my needs and more importantly, be within my budget, there were three possibilities ready for my inspection should I so wish. I promised that I would be in touch as soon as I could.
Back at the plantation, I could see no sign of Fulala but found William on his veranda. I explained to him my thoughts, he said the agent was honest and could be trusted, within reason anyway.
He knew which were likely to be two of the properties, one quite close by, not large but viable, it would produce an income, not sufficient to make anyone rich, not by any means, but that with hard work, it could prosper. He said the plantation was being worked under a lease agreement but that the houses were currently empty.
I asked if I might borrow Kanu tomorrow, for the day.
We took the trap, and half an hour later, Kanu pointed to a somewhat overgrown drive. Turning a corner and the house came into view, I stopped to stare. It wasn’t a huge place but it was totally charming. A lick of paint here and there, and it would be restored to life.
I pushed the doors open, the hallway was larger than I expected. The furnishings were covered with cloths, as they turned out to be in all of the rooms. It was almost ready and waiting for an occupier.
I asked Kanu to wait in the hall, Fulala and I toured the house, we took in every room. Soon, I found myself more excited at the prospect that this could become my home. I suddenly noticed that Fulala was wearing a puzzled frown. She pointed at me, “Jim, you?” Then pointed to the house.
I took her hands, “Jim and Fulala.” She studied my face, her own showing different emotions.
I shouted for Kanu and then told him what I wanted him to say.
“Fulala will you marry me and live here with me?”
She spoke to Kanu, a very serious look on her face. Kanu laughed, whilst I looked perplexed.
Then he explained, “Wodaabe men have to paint face and look like pretty girl before they can win women to be married, it is their way.”
She spoke again, and Kanu translated, “She say you are not pretty man, but big strong man. She think you do not need paint face to make her happy. She also said some other things, but it is not proper for me to say. I think you must ask her yourself when she can speak better English.”
I looked from Kanu to her, she had a sly grin on her face as she ran into my arms.
“Fulala love Jim, is you love Fulala?” Her English needed work but it was a beginning!
The end.