Free Black Ceremonies by Charles Black, David A. Riley Page B

pounce upon him.
    “Oh?” I was, I admit, curious.
    He seemed satisfied that we were alone, and he sat down on a pew. “A sailor, yes, and I’ve sailed all over. But I’ll never go near the sea again.”
    And so Crawford began to recount a most remarkably wicked tale of a life of sin.
    “I’ve sailed the seven seas, Father, travelled far and wide. Been to some strange places, too, the Americas, Africa, and the Indies, the Near East, and the far reaches of the Orient. And, believe me; I’ve seen some strange things in my time. But none so strange as that last time in the South Seas.
    “I was serving on board the brig Mary-Anne at the time.”
    I interrupted, “Perhaps we should move to the confessional, Mr Crawford.”
    But the old sailor ignored my suggestion, so I seated myself, content to listen to his story. I must admit I am somewhat partial to a good yarn.
    “We’d had a successful trip trading among the islands of the South Pacific, when we were hit by the storm. It came on all of sudden, no warning. One moment we’re sailing along, perfect conditions, and then whoosh , it hits us. Unnatural, it were. Now I’ve seen some storms in my time, but this one, I’ve never seen the like before.
    “Terrible, it were. Almost, you could say, of biblical proportions. Neptune were in a right temper.”
    Recalling where he was, and who he was talking to, the old sailor coughed. “Er, pardon me, Father, rather I mean God was.”
    I nodded and indicated that he should continue.
    “A roaring tempest, it was. The storm raged, the ship was tossed about, the sails were torn and the masts broken. We was taking on water, and men were being washed overboard. The ship was doomed.” The seaman paused momentarily, shaking his head, remembering what would have been a truly terrifying experience.
    “It was a storm that by rights no one should have survived. But somehow, three of us did. As well as myself, there was the ship’s cook, a Lascar by the name of Ali – to tell the truth I’m not even sure that Ali was his real name, but it’s what everyone called him nevertheless – and a deck hand, a Cornish man called Jake Webster. Just the three of us, all adrift in this little boat.
    “The storm had passed, but there was no sign of any other lifeboats, or any wreckage. And, for all I know, we were the only ones that had survived.
    “But how we were still alive and not drowned, or ended up as some shark’s dinner, I do not know. A miracle, I suppose that’s what it was, a bloody miracle. Thank the Lord.
    “We drifted for days – I lost count of how many. It seemed endless at the time. Nothing but us and the sea. We had run out of food and fresh water when we finally sighted land. We were delirious by then, and thought it was a hallucination. For there should have been no islands in those parts, unless we were even farther off course than we thought. Besides, we did not have the strength to even try and paddle our way to it.
    “But luck was with us, and the current took us in the right direction, and we washed up on the beach. Although at the time, I had the strangest feeling that someone, or rather some thing , was swimming alongside us, guiding our course. At the time, I put that down to my poor condition. Although, now, I’m not so sure my first impression was not correct.”
    Again the old sailor became briefly distant, lost in his memories. I waited patiently, and before long, Crawford resumed his story.
    “Anyhow, as I say, we washed up on this beach, and mighty relieved we were to find that it was a real island. We staggered out of the boat, unsteady on our legs after all that time in our little craft. And all of a sudden there are these people coming down to the beach. Well, we were a bit worried like, ’cause sometimes some of the tribes you get on these islands are pretty savage. And really, we were in no fit state for a fight.
    “But I still had my cutlass, and Ali his favourite meat cleaver, that he had