those vast distances in double-outrigger sailing canoes. Eventually, they continued to expand to the east, occupying much of what we call Polynesia; and then, much later, some of them turned around and traveled to the southwest, arriving in Madagascar about A.D. 500. The language spoken today on Madagascar is very similar to the language spoken on Borneo, over four thousand miles away across the open Indian Ocean.”
“A scientist friend of ours,” Deborah Frost interjected, “whose specialty is prehistoric migrations, has said that this circumstance strikes him as—and I think I can quote him exactly—’the most astonishing fact of human geography in the entire world.’ Of course,” she continued, “you do see black African features among some of the population of Madagascar. These two shores being so close to each other, it could hardly be otherwise. But I believe that most of these darker people lived in the coastal lowlands, where they would have succumbed to’ the tsunamis. If your pirates looked like Malaysians, you’re neither dreaming nor confused. Obviously, they come from Madagascar.”
“Let’s not forget,” Richard said, “that Jane Warner’s calculated safety zone includes the southern portion of Madagascar as well as our small slice of Africa. It stands to reason that there are survivors on that island, and maybe more than a few. It’s a big island, you know, almost a thousand miles long. Of course, if just the southern tip was spared, those folks could be very hard up for food, since that part of the island is famous for its so-called spiny forest, lots of fascinating cactuslike trees, but not great for agriculture. And if they’re desperate, that could explain the pirate crew. Otherwise, that part of the story doesn’t ring true. The inhabitants of Madagascar, I would say, are as pleasant and easygoing a people as you’ll find anywhere in the world.”
“What’s all that stuff about King Radama and Queen What’s-her-name?” asked Dr. Hardy. “Does that make any sense?”
“Oh yes, it does indeed,” Deborah said. “It’s all part of the island’s history, which is as extraordinary as its prehistoric origins. Richard told you that the native population arrived on the island around A.D. 500. The ruins of Arab settlements have been found dating from about 1200, and the Portuguese first stopped by for a visit in 1500. During the following couple of hundred years, although there were occasional attempts to establish European settlements, they were frustrated by disease and hostile natives. So a civilization developed in relative isolation, a historical backwater, largely ignored by Westerners. A number of separate tribes evolved, but by the end of the eighteenth century, most of these were united under one ruler.
“This king—whose name I don’t remember, and you don’t want to know since it has about twenty letters— had a son and successor called King Radama I. There you are with the name of your pirate ship. Radama extended his rule over practically all of the island. In this effort he was helped by the British, who had become interested in this vast landmass adjoining their trade routes to India. From England the king received arms and advisers, and, as an incidental adjunct, an influx of Christian missionaries.
“When Radama died in the early 1800s, he was succeeded by his widow, Queen Ranavalona I. Known to some as ‘the wicked queen,’ she determined to rid the land of European and Christian influence. During her lengthy rule, she drove out the missionaries, martyring a number of them, and also brutalized her own people. She was one rough, tough lady. Make of this what you will in trying to figure out what your pirate queen is up to.”
“Incidentally, Wilson,” Richard Frost said, “you and your fellow engineers would be fascinated to learn about one European who, because of his technological talents, managed to get into the queen’s good graces. Jean Laborde, the son of a French blacksmith, was shipwrecked off the coast of Madagascar in the 1830s. Brought before the queen, he convinced her that he could manufacture all manner of things she craved—particularly muskets and gunpowder. Whereupon she provided him with work crews to build what amounted to an industrial complex. He was as good as his word, and better. In a large factory compound he produced munitions, bricks and tiles, pottery, glass, porcelain, soap, candles, cement, dyes, sugar, rum—just about everything needed to make the island self- sufficient. He was eventually expelled for dabbling in local politics, and his workforce, who had labored without pay, wrecked the factory buildings and machines. That was the end of Madagascar’s industrial revolution.”
“Sounds like someone we could use today,” Dr. Hardy said.
“There’s a lot I can tell you,” Richard continued, “but I don’t know how much more you want to hear. The French entered the picture in 1883, when they invaded the island. They came again in 1895 and stayed, making the place a French colony. The monarchy was declared at an end, and Queen Ranavalona III was exiled to Algeria. During World War II, the British attacked in order to drive out the Vichy French, which they did. After the war, with French control restored, the natives rebelled, were bloodily repressed, and eventually, in 1960, achieved independence. Subsequent experiments in government were chaotic, to put it mildly. I think that’s enough history for your purposes.”
“Where does Captain Kidd fit into the picture?” Captain Nordstrom asked.
“Ah yes, the pirates.” Deborah Frost warmed to the subject. “They’re a very important part of the saga of Madagascar. From the 1680s to around 1720, the island was a major hideout for pirates in the Indian Ocean. They preyed upon the merchant ships that carried rich cargoes to and from India and the Near East. At one time the pirate population numbered nearly a thousand. And to be sure, William Kidd—Captain Kidd—was among them. As a matter of fact, it was in the Indian Ocean, at that time, that Kidd first decided to become a pirate.
“This was a mysterious turnabout, since he had been sent there by the British Crown to apprehend pirates who were molesting the ships of the East India Company. Just as, earlier, he had been commissioned by both New York and Massachusetts to protect the American coast from buccaneers. After he was hanged in London—in 1701, I think it was—doubts were expressed about the fairness of his trial. Maybe there are questions of guilt and innocence that appeal to your so-called pirate queen.”
Hardy and Nordstrom had heard more than enough historical detail; but the young scribe, Wil Hardy, was lapping it up. A thousand pirates! Captain Kidd! An island where the natives speak like the people of Borneo, four thousand miles away! Evil queens martyring missionaries! What a delicious concoction of exotica for a young historian, and for a young mind that had absorbed comic books and movie special effects and computer games. All in addition to the flora and fauna of Madagascar—tens of thousands of species unique to the island, notably more than thirty different kinds of lemurs—about which his friend Roxy had been reading, and waxing rhapsodic, ever since they learned that a part of the island was in Jane Warner’s safety zone.
For the moment, however, there was nothing more to be told. The other crew members added a few details, but essentially corroborated McIntosh’s fantastic story. The men seemed a capable, experienced group, but it was clear that they had been shaken by their encounter with Queen Ranavolana. It wasn’t the danger that seemed to bother them as much as the eeriness of it all.
Captain Nordstrom dismissed the crew. “And thank you, gentlemen, for your clear, detailed report and your behavior under such pressure. You are a credit to all of us. Please keep this information to yourselves, as much as possible. I understand that it is a wonderful sea tale that you probably want to share with others… but I would prefer—and I believe I speak for Dr. Hardy and the other leaders—that you characterize the incident as simply an encounter with a few hungry people in a boat.”
“Understood, Captain,” McIntosh volunteered, with a significant glance at the bedraggled, still-excited crew. “We’ll do our best.” The men shrugged and shuffled and mumbled their agreement.
Dr. Hardy spoke up: “And our thanks to the Frosts for their erudite briefing.”
When the Frosts and McIntosh’s group left, Nordstrom, Hardy Senior, and Hardy Junior sat quietly for several long minutes. The seasoned engineer was the first to break the silence. “We could spend many hours speculating about this bizarre situation,” he said; “but I suggest we defer that to another day and direct our attention to practical planning and action.”
The captain agreed. He turned to the younger man. “It is important that you keep an accurate, complete record of all of this—very important.”
“I understand, sir,” Wil Hardy said.
“This incident will require us to call a special meeting of the Governing Council, followed by a session with the Coordinating Committee,” Dr. Hardy said. “And we will need a clear, focused agenda. Well, there’s no time like the present.”
With that, Hardy and Nordstrom set to work preparing such an agenda, along with specific recommendations. Abruptly, they started to dictate, taking turns, and editing each other’s comments in a remarkable display of cooperative composition. The younger Hardy turned to a clean page in his notebook and began to write as rapidly as he could:
First, we recommend that there be no change in the operations of the fishing fleet. We are not prepared to
