Note: This is not just a sex story, it is more a novella, that contains explicit sex, so be advised, if you don't want a long story, only sex, then please don't read. All references to the Wodaabe tribe are absolutely accurate. Excuse any inaccuracies with regards to time and distance, I have sailed on many seas but I am not a navigator.
It seemed to be forever that we had been searching for the slavers. In fact, for five weeks now, we had been cruising the southern islands of the Caribbean.
We had sighted them once, two ships close to the horizon, but near enough for the best top man to be able to make out their sail rig, we knew it was them.
Their course had suggested that they were making for Guiana in South America, they were trying to run the blockade of the Royal Navy, that had been set up after most European countries had outlawed slavery
But then, the hurricane had struck, it was one of the worst in living memory, and it had come upon us with so little warning, no time at all to make for a safe haven, especially if you were too far from land. Any ships caught at sea were in serious trouble, especially anything small, the only safe place was one of the well-sheltered harbours.
We were close to land but with no suitable harbour close by, we had no choice but to run before the wind. This in itself has not been easy, we had only just managed to clear the tip of one island, in constant danger of the wind driving us ashore, where we would have foundered on the vicious rocks we could see all too clearly, just a hundred yards off our beam.
The slavers had faced exactly the same predicament, but their course had allowed them to pass to the east of the islands, where-as, we had been forced to the west.
For three days we rode the storm, sails ripped away, spars broken like match-sticks, mountainous seas battering the ship. Most of the crew had never before been so frightened, even some of the older hands, who had experienced the Bay of Biscay at its worst, had looked apprehensive. I couldn't comprehend how we had not lost a mast.
By the time it had started to ease, we barely had a sail left intact. A chaos of hanging ropes and railings smashed. Even two guns had broken adrift below, smashing everything in their path, before the Chief Gunner and his gun crews somehow managed to secure them safely once more. The sail master and his team were now working like trojans, stitching and patching whatever was available, in an attempt to give us sufficient sail so we could gain headway, to once more set a course.
The First Mate reported to the Captain, that although the ship had sprung at least two planks below the waterline, for the moment the pumps were coping well enough at keeping the water in the bilges at a safe level. But, he pointed out we could only manage a few days of pumping before we ran out of men fit enough to man the pumps. Quite a number were carrying injuries, such as a broken arm or a badly turned ankle, the doctor had been kept busy. We needed to make a landfall where the ship could be careened, to allow repairs to be carried out, re-caulking the sprung planking.
The slavers had disappeared, they could be anywhere by now if they had survived the storm that is. Perish the thought, of the plight of those poor souls, chained below decks, life would have been sheer hell for them, and no chance of survival should their ship have suffered any mishap. The slavers would not have released them from their prison, they would have drowned, chained where they were.
The Captain had decided that we set a course that would take us between Granada and St. Vincent, allowing us a vague chance of sighting our prey. Failing any sighting, we would continue north to St. Lucia, a suitable place to carry out the necessary repairs we needed.
It was the bosun who suggested to the Captain that perhaps he make a small detour to the east, he seemed to remember an island named Mustique, where he thought there was a large bay with waters deep enough to allow a ship to approach the beach, this was to the south west of the island, he recalled the name of Les Jolies Eaux or similar. It was a place pirates had often used in the past, it might be possible the slavers were there. The French were more inclined to turn a blind eye, as long as there was no trouble.
If we could catch them in the bay, and as long as the winds were in our favour, they could be trapped.
One day later, came the shout, "Land ho, four points to larboard." (port side today).
"What sail?" the Captain hollered.
The lookout reported seeing nothing.
The Captain, was at the chart table, to the First Officer he ordered, "Alter course to take us east, we'll clear the bay to the south and anchor the other side of the nearest headland. If they're there, they won't see our sail."
The anchor was dropped in only eight fathoms of water. The long boat was ordered out and duly settled in the water alongside. The First Lieutenant led a party of five sailors, six marines, plus one Midshipman. They were to land at the head of the small bay, from there trek to the top of the headland, where, if the slavers were there, they would see them below. He would raise a green flag if they were, red if there was nothing.
Three hours later, the lookout called, "Green flag, just below the head, sir."
The long boat was sent the recall signal. The Marines under the command of the Middie remained ashore, as the boat pulled hard, back to the ship.
The slavers were there, one at anchor, the other careened on the beach, an easy target it would seem.
Two boats took another fourteen marines and a handful of seamen ashore. The Captain's plan was for the marines and a handful of sailors to wait until midnight before crossing the headland, to take up a position in the scrub and trees overlooking the beach. At dawn, we would sail across the mouth of the bay. The ship would fire a warning shot, to lay close on the anchored vessel. At the same time, the marines would open fire at any crew that was visible.
At the allotted time, we cleared the headland, "Fire when ready," came the order, the Chief Gunner laid his aim, then touched his burning taper to the firing hole. A cloud of smoke, momentarily hid the slaver from view, as the explosion died away the sound of musket fire, from the marines could be clearly heard.
It was all over, within minutes the slavers had hauled their colours, we tacked about, then sailed in, the heavy bow chaser aimed at the slaver, just in case of any trickery.
The Captain turned to me, "Take a boarding party Lieutenant, two boats I think will do, and secure that slaver." The First Officer was to lead another party ashore to take the beached slaver, supported by the marines already ashore.
It was only a short pull to get us alongside the slaver, one boat either side and then we boarded, ready for a fight. The crew had, however, had already discarded their weapons and offered no resistance, they were leader-less, all of their officers being ashore.
"Uncover the hatches," I ordered. The stench that came from below was dreadful as the covers came away, we could hear the wailing that came from within. "Bosun, send two of the slavers down, have them release the slaves and fetch them up on deck."
"Pardon my saying sir, they might not get out alive, once they go down there."
"That's their problem, besides it would serve them right."
A shout came from the Captain's companionway. "Sir, I think you needs be seein' this." He led the way to the Captains cabin.
