Chapter 2

The storm had been threatening for some time. Fully a day of steady build up of the waves and clouds indicated this was no ordinary storm; though in truth, sailing on the ocean in a ship of matchwood, no storm could be deemed ordinary.

It broke with a roar and a crash of thunder. No lightning was seen that time and the more superstitious were convinced it was a monster from the deep. The ship heeled and groaned and all able bodied men went aloft to haul in the small sail we had up. The master had been preparing for the coming conflagration but even the minimal sail was too much now. Before we had it half furled and tied, a gust ripped it from our hands, tore it shreds and wrapped it like shrouds around two men as they were flung into the churning water. There was no hope for them and we had no time to mourn them.

“We must trust to Providence and run before the wind, there is nothing we can do.” Master McVeagh shouted over the furore and maelstrom. All were set to man pumps constantly, men and women, crew and passengers. Waves crashed over onto the decks; and the Delusion, though well founded, leaked gallons into her hold. We would have lightened the ship by discarding the cargo if opening the hatch would not have increased the danger still further. Families clustered and held each other. All the religious – of any faith – prayed to the God of all to have mercy. Even one crew member who was black as night and of the Musulman faith knelt and prayed to his God. It was to no avail. We plunged into valleys as deep as the ocean and then up onto hilltops as high as mountains. The screaming of afeared women and children would have been unbearable, but the noise of the sea drowned it all out; just as we feared being drowned out ourselves.

Then a yet more fearful noise broke to our ears. Near by, somewhere in the gloom, waves were crashing on rocks. Only Mary McVeagh stayed true, assuring all that we would be saved by a loving and kind Father of all. Even her sister, the newly converted Puritan, had given herself over to despair – was this a punishment for rejecting the beliefs of the One True Church? I briefly wondered if this was punishment for my impropriety, but surely even the most vengeful God would not punish a whole ship of souls to get at me?

Master and I went up and saw the great white breakers. By some miracle (so maybe Mary was right) we missed the high cliffs and broke into a long inlet. But safety was far away even now. A sandbank or a rock would despatch just as efficiently as a cliff. The inlet continued for mile upon mile, the master using some mystical skill to steer first slightly off the wind one way, then the other.

Our luck could not continue, the tidal inlet became narrower and shallower and finally the ship struck bottom and swung on the muddy glue that held the bow. Once broadside to the waves and wind, it soon turned over and tipped Master McVeagh and myself into the water. Soon others followed, those that could.

A desperate struggle ensued as each person attempted to reach shore where observers waited to help.

Or so we thought. I saw Mr Murphy reach the shore carrying his remaining son, and I saw the savage nearby strike him with an axe made of stone. Murphy staggered, even now his strength showed itself as he did not go down under the blow. But the second dented his skull and the axe stuck fast. With no help available, the child had been dropped and the savage picked him up and flung him back into the waves. I would have cried for pity if I was not struggling to survive myself. Later I saw the child being beaten against the rocks by the waves.

Not all were killed as they came ashore. Several men were struck down but then bound. I was one such myself. Roger Bannister, with his misshapen arm was clearly not valued and was about to be killed, but he kicked out and began to run. All this was done to the background of sound and fury like one of Mr Shakespeare’s plays so no cries were heard, but I saw three Indians open their mouths and heard in my head if not my ears their cries of ululation. They gave chase. This was a game to them. They quickly surrounded him and I saw how they slashed at his body but made no move to provide a death blow. He stood as long as his blood loss permitted, but finally he fell to the ground. Then one picked up a large rock and pummelled poor Mr Bannister’s head to a pulp before they returned.

The younger women – those that were fully grown – were separated too; the children were discarded as worthless; killed or thrown against rocks or into the sea. The older women were immediately subjected to what the younger had to look forward to. Mrs Sumpter was stripped and ravished before our impotent eyes, two of the tribe of monsters took turns to ram her cunny first with themselves and then with handles of their axes. Along the beach, I saw Mrs Murphy on her front being brutally assaulted, she stopped moving quite quickly and moved no more.

All this was like a nightmare of horrendous nature. We had survived the natural opposition of the sea only to fall prey to men, or demons, with no pity. When they were sure no more would come ashore, we were dragged to our feet to walk to the tribal camp. Mary McVeagh, that pure and wholesome being, refused, or could not walk more than a few steps. I cried out in pain as I saw an axe brought down on her head and a knife all but sever her neck. At least she had not been subjected to the torture of the rape on the beach or the likely rape to follow in the camp. She was left where she lay for crabs and sea birds to peck at her remains. There was a feast for the wild animals of the region.