~~
That island–"our new home"–still looked rather desolate. Some shelters were already erected–lean-to style–by our first arrivals: mostly constructed with rags, hides, sticks and strings, and odd poles and even driftwood. At least we'd have some shade; for there was not much of that left available on this forsaken island. Damn near every plant was eradicated from the island, as were all the natives who once dwelled–once thrived–here.
I'd no real concern for the lack of vegetation–or shade–on this barren, blistered island. Not in the long term–nor even the short term. Nature recovers her floral accouterments right quickly in such tropical climes. Hell, I'd witnessed lands totally decimated by volcanic eruption, so charred, so poisoned, that even the fish in the seas could not survive coming within close proximity to that overboiled cauldron. And I've passed those lands again, sometimes later, referring to compass, charts and nautical plotting to realize where I was. For those recently barren rocks and ash covered slopes had so soon returned to a plush, tropical paradise. I knew this place would fare as well–and much sooner.
The immediate task was to make this isle hospitable to the host of human refugees whose needs could not await nature's rebound, no matter how prompt. As I mentioned, there was some shelter provided by our earliest arrivals; and they'd also taken upon themselves–under the direction of Annalea and Mam'–the gruesome task of gathering and disposing of the remains of those unfortunate native people. Bodies, and body fragments, were provided with improvised–'though sincere–Christian burial rites.
I pondered how that might've passed with their ancestors. Did it rankle them? Would the ancestors disown their tragic children? Still, people are people; and the good ones respect sincere and honourable intentions. I am certain it is no different in the spirit world.
Anyway, if ever there were a clean slate on which to write a new word, this place most resembled it. Yet what should our "new home" be like? At the end of this long day, I still could not answer that question. But with God's blessing of a peaceful, starlit night, and gentle, comforting sea breezes, answers and resolutions could be postponed while we finally–deservedly–rested: deep, prolonged, sublime sleep.
After our long repose–about midday–our tribe was active again. The captain soon set out our responsibilities for the day. The women were to inspect and organize those stores and supplies we'd salvaged from our various vessels. Annalea and Mam' were to prepare an inventory of such, for the captain. Some of the men were set to necessary tasks of labour. Some others, along with the older children, were sent out to scrounge up anything useful that remained on that island. Most of the rest of the men were put to fishing.
A selected group, excluding meself, were conscripted by the captain to accompany him on a voyage–a voyage of resolution. For he needed to resolve the issue of what to do with his unwanted passengers: that captain and crew who'd once manned the merchanter. Oh, the Oglethorpes were no issue–they were our most welcome, and appreciated guests–and they'd be included in our community 'til such time as we could provide them safe conveyance to their new life. But those sailors: there was no way they could be incorporated, or safely delivered to a port town. We might choose to reimburse them for their inconvenience, but we could never trust we were buying their longterm silence.
The poor devils had been kept below decks, locked up and guarded, cramped in the hold of that ship, 'til this very moment. The captain meant to ensure that they had not an inkling of where they'd been, who–or how many–we actually were, or what we were about. Leaving meself in charge of our "new home," the captain set sail, accompanied by a stalwart crew, to deliver these unwanted "guests"–with their promised share of the treasure–to a small but bountiful island, right off the trade routes, where they had a better than even chance of surviving 'til the next season, when they might hail a ship and secure their own rescue. Damned sensitive of him–the captain. I–as most–would not feel bound by obligations made under duress. And I–as most–would have sought a simpler, mayhaps extreme, solution. But I–as most–turn more to the sensible than the sensitive.
I saw to the captain's wishes, in his absence. Everything continued as he'd set forth, until he returned. We'd made some progress, by the time he got back, and we were able to put forth a feast of seafood–in quite comfortable surroundings–to celebrate his arrival. 'Though less festive than so many of our doings on Nemusmar, this first chance for party was relished by all our community. After we'd et some mighty good grub, had some music and a bit of revelry, it seemed a likely time for another good night's repose. But, notwithstanding me stated weariness and desire for sleep, I was instructed to gather up Higgins and Orke and a few of the other lads, to meet in council with the captain.
This was most unusual, for the captain to meet in council. When he'd a need to confide, he usually sought only Crockett for counsel. And quite often, he kept his own counsel—strictly. So, what could bring about such a departure from normal practice and habit? Since he would not reveal his intent, prematurely, there'd be no answer to the puzzle 'til all were met–in council.
The captain had selected a relatively secluded stretch of beach for this meeting, and he was already present when the rest of us arrived. That also was unusual, as the captain's habit was to enter a gathering only after all of the other participants had assembled. Thus gathered, we all stood there while the captain shook each man's hand and made small talk–as if he'd not seen us in a fortnight. Having had singular access to the captain's counsel–on most previous occasions–I thought boldly to cut to the chase and impose me own interests and curiosity, through a volley of questions.
He absolutely ignored these–without even acknowledging me–and began asking deliberated questions of each of us. This, too, was very different: no directives, orations, or pomposity. Just questions: direct–sincere–questions. And he sought, and listened carefully to, each man's opinion–on every question. 'Twas peculiar, for us–but a most comfortable venue. Much like a gathering of brothers: kinsmen, discussing family matters.
The nature of his questions seemed not to be critical–at the time. They had broadly to do with our current state of affairs–and more specifically, with details of a mundane nature. "How should we apportion the workload?" "What type of community could we develop, here?" "What is the likelihood of achieving sufficient crops from the land or harvests from the sea to sustain this community?"
I enjoyed this pastime so much, I began to feel guilty, as if I were loitering on the beach–and frittering me time away. Then came another unusual turn, as the captain began joking and bonding us with shared laughter. 'Twas not the usual brazen, boisterous style of humour most of us had seen from him, nor the facetious phrasings that reflected his sardonic wit. 'Twere the quieter, 'though still amusing, utterances of a thoughtful and congenial man. 'Twas yet another undiscovered facet of the man! I did not realize, at the time, that the captain was instructing us–by means of example. In dismissing this council meeting, the captain suggested that we remeet–so–at the close of each day.
As the days progressed, the council continued to meet. The captain increased its membership to include Mam' and Annalea and Reena and Leona and a few of the others. Everyone with strong, obvious leadership qualities was incorporated into this exclusive circle, save one; Estaban was never invited to attend. He was obviously, purposefully excluded. I questioned this. Annalea questioned this. But the captain was unapproachable on the subject. We determined he must still hold a resentment towards Estaban. And yet we'd oft' spy them together, talking privately and solemnly. 'Though—apparently–cordially. Yet another mystery!
As to those committee meetings, many decisions were taken to expedite and secure our tenancy of that island–most ideas being prompted or initiated by the captain who predetermined needs and means. But near every item and issue was discussed at length, afore a final decision was made. Thus, we determined matters such
as where and how to locate fresh timber and other needs from distant islands, and where and when we could begin to visit port towns without fear of discovery. And so, things got done–and done promptly–by committee.
Yet, at any and every junction–some problematic fork in the road to our communal destination–'twas always the captain's opinion which held sway; 'twas always the captain's path we chose. This was quite natural. 'Twas folly to argue with his logic.
For an instance, when the topic of fortifications was broached, there were many among us as would set that as the highest priority: ahead of lodgings, common buildings–even ahead of ensuring sufficient food and water! The captain realized this lopsided thinking was the result of anxiety: a response to the hurt and fear that still woke many in the night and haunted their days. The captain's "opinion" on this served not only to reorganize our priorities, but to redefine our purpose: our communal charter, if you would. He declared that such construction as was contemplated by many would serve us ill. Impenetrable fortifications were impossible to construct. Consider, he told us, how many "impenetrable" fortifications we ourselves had overcome, in our time. And, in our case, such imposing defensive-work would serve only as a beacon to those who would continually seek us–and were hell-bent, and fully capable, to destroy us.
No, we would not draw them to us. Sensible fortifications, capable of deferring marauding Indians or attacks by roving bands of mercenaries, should suffice. And then the captain came to it–our reconsecration. "Dearest friends! We are no more at war with the world. We've not, now, the wherewithal. At best, we could make one last, gallant stand, departing this world in a fiery, hellish bloodfest that would eradicate any trace of our ever existing! Then our enemies would win all; and we would lose all. And we have lost enough!
"I would prefer to see us survive, and flourish! We've at hand the semblance of a misplaced colony of settlers. I would recommend that we develop that semblance into reality: a viable settlement of pious, virtuous pilgrims and loyal subjects. I say that we take a foothold on this injured, isolated pile of scrub and sand, and build a permanent community! What I suggest to you is a life of fishing, cultivating and trade–a genuine opportunity to flourish. A genuine opportunity to live free!"
I remember thinking, "For a man with no legitimate heirs, it seems as though he is creating his own posterity."
I also found his new affinity for the pastoral life alarming. 'Twas not just the radical departure from all we'd been and all we knew. There was no fit 'twixt that and me present circumstances: specifically, me grave concerns for the welfare of Annalea. Yet–just like everyone else in attendance–I nodded me approval and mumbled a pretence of understanding.
That was a strange time for me. Just too many changes–and me world seemed to be pulled out from under me feet. 'Though other times it felt as if the world was in the right place, but I must be standing on me head! Like this situation with the captain. He seemed unapproachable as regarded any question about his curious conduct of late.
Understand, we shared each another's company for hours on end–on a daily basis–directing the activities and addressing the needs of our people. Much of this time was spent in genial conversation on divers topics, as was our practice for as long as I could remember. And, as far back as memory serves, we'd always confided in one another. There was a bond 'twixt us of understanding and trust which we shared with no other man alive. But now when I, Crockett, his best–mayhaps only–friend in this life, begged he confide in me his thoughts about "councils" and "Estaban" and "colonies" and such, I was continually rebuked. 'Twas not that he would change the subject. 'Twas that he would not speak again until I changed the subject.
And changes in the captain's attitudes seemed to result in differences in behaviour amongst our people. Events in me daily life, once well structured and comfortable, seemed to occur randomly–out of sequence. All these changes seemed irritatingly irrational. Most of me waking hours, I seemed to be walking through a bad dream. And that realization caused me to harken back to that other dream.
As one can well imagine, those were very busy times. And such activity most usually serves to take the boil off me brain, when I've overthought a problem or predicament. But not this time! Hard work could not cure me agitation or relieve me troubled mind. The slowness with which I performed any accustomed task and the number of times I caught meself at an indeliberate halt–daydreaming–made me wonder if I should report me as a slacker!
Others noticed this in me–Annalea, Orke, Estaban, the captain and the sisters–and attempted to help or console me. But they could not help, and I knew not what to say to them. When I could handle this alone, no more, I turned to the one person who hadn't troubled me about me affliction of the spirit–the one person who might actually understand and be able to help: Mam' Tiére.
Chapter XIX
When the Life Spirit Beckons