What was the Captain like? Was he a hard man? Was the crew a tough group? William knew they had seen quite a few engagements lately, though he was no stranger to combat himself, there was a nagging sense in his mind that the crew would doubt his capabilities. As William pondered to himself, along the horizon in the fading light he saw masts from the shipyard. Very faintly he could hear bells chiming out the hour and as they drew closer voices giving command and whistles piping. As they pulled in nearer to the shipyard the road became busy, sailors walked about to the shops and inns that lined the road. The briny smell of the tide was hanging low in the dense air and it only served to stoke William’s excitement. Turning at the large naval depot complex, the cart driver clicked his mouth a few times and gave the reigns a slap on the team pulling their cart. The ride was jarring, as it had been much of the way, until they finally pulled onto the wooden pier. Passing several smaller sloops and a brigantine, they finally pulled to the very end of the pier where H.M.S Valor stood, awash in light from lanterns and buzzing with activity. Men were scurrying through rigging, loading supplies up the gangplank, painting, cleaning brass and all manner of preparations. As William dismounted the cart, a sharp looking Midshipman was standing by the bottom of the gangplank. Flanked by two imposing Marines, the young Midshipman looked barely sixteen years old as he was meticulously writing in a logbook while sailors loaded wares onto the ship.
“Mr. Shelton what have you there?” the Midshipman called.
Shelton, another Midshipman who looked to be about the same age, was leading a group of sailors carrying goods aboard. “A crate of pistols, three large sacks of flour and three more small barrels of fresh water.” He replied.
The Midshipman at the gangplank turned and took notice of William.
“You must be our new First Lieutenant, I am Midshipman Ordman. The Captain is expecting you, Sir.” The Midshipman rendered the customary salute and introduced himself, “He is up in his quarters now, reviewing the new charts for our cruise. Lieutenant Cobb is the watch officer, he will show you to your berthing. He’s up there on the quarterdeck.” William looked aft to see a portly gentleman in a high-collared officer coat, his face was beet red and his tone seemed more than a little irate as he snarled at a petty officer. Will looked back at Mr. Ordman and raised an eyebrow.
“You’ll have to forgive Mr. Cobb, Sir. He is at his wits end with the fresh crop from the press gang. We were told most would be from the fishing fleet or merchant men. They brought landsmen, twenty-six men and none with experience at sea. Although, Mr. Cobb’s normal disposition is not so different,” said the Midshipman shrugging his shoulders. At that, he turned and went back to inventorying the incoming goods. William donned his jacket and hat before following the sailors up the gang plank. A sense of anxiousness and excitement was in the air and not just for the young officer. They were setting off soon.
Aug 4, 1808
Guinea, Africa
Omibwe hushed his little sister. The pair had been out gathering wood for a cooking fire when they first heard the shots. For hours now, they had hidden in tall grass a few hundred yards from the edge of their small coastal village. Darkness had set in and his sister, Anaya, was restless and scared. Through the trees Omibwe could hear foreign voices and occasionally saw the light from lanterns held by the European men. He knew this was not good. Traders frequented the coast and Omibwe had met European men before, he had even learned some of their words. But the men he had met had come for ivory or hardwood logs, spices and skins. They would carry muskets and sometimes swords but never fired them, these men had. The white men Omibwe had met before sailed into the bay and would come ashore in daylight. No sail had announced the presence of these hostile men. Another shot cut through night air and Omibwe heard a woman’s cry. Anaya squirmed a little and he quickly hushed his little sister, doing his best to hide his own fear. They had to stay silent, he knew, if the men heard her or suspected their presence they would surely come looking and find them.
Omibwe had been warned about men like the ones now in his village. His father had told him about groups of white men who came in the night to steal people. They didn’t care about trade goods and anyone who resisted these men was killed. When he was younger, Omibwe thought it was just a story to scare him into minding his parents. That was until a neighboring village had been visited by men like these. A battle had taken place costing many of the villagers their lives, the white men left defeated that night, but returned several weeks later. They burned the village to the ground and left none alive, not even livestock escaped their wrath.
Crawling several feet through high grass, Omibwe strained his ears for any indication of what was occurring in his village. He heard voices from the whites and from his people, every few minutes another shot would pierce the darkness and send Anaya into another fit. Omibwe’s arms and back were soaked in sweat and burning from the tension he felt. He could see the edge of the village and through the darkness and intermittent lantern light, his eyes strained for any sign of his parents. Hours went by, the voices quieted but all sounded foreign. Eventually the lanterns started moving around,
