Seven Tides

6 Tribal Life

 The captain fumes silently below decks. How the boy escaped the leg irons is a mystery. He certainly couldn't have wielded the brute force that twisted the U-shaped metal bands open, and even though we chained him to a beam in the crew's quarters, no one heard a thing. Gabriel took a strong interest in the boy's tattoos, especially the one of the tree, and so, the captain has his suspicions, but Gabriel is just as dumbfounded how the boy broke free.

It so happens that the map etched into the floor was accurate. A bay with five tall rocky spires comes into view as we round a broad natural breaker. The rocky pinnacles stand evenly spaced across the length of the bay like watch towers guarding it against storms and intruders. The expanse spreads out over half a league's length and about half that length to the beach. Behind the beach, the same swath of jungle and sheer ridge continues along from where we first came ashore. The growing golden light off our port stern casts long shadows across the mirrored bay as we approach. The crystal clear water is sufficiently deep at eight fathoms, and the bottom is good clean sand. We drop anchor opposite the first of the pinnacled rocks.

A long wooden shelter with several smaller huts clustered around it sits just inside the jungle under some tall palm trees. The huts seem deserted except for a thin trail of smoke rising from a recent cooking fire. Gradually, some forty men, women, and children emerge from the jungle, and stand quietly watching us, hands empty, arms loose by their sides, wearing nothing other than the occasional shell necklace. Some men have blue and yellow paint in decorative symbols around their eyes and on their chests. The women wear small white and yellow flowers in their long black hair.

The group parts in the middle, and an older man steps forward. His face shows the passing of many years with deep set wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. Long grey hair falls loosely over his shoulders. He gazes out across the water for several moments and then raises the staff he is holding. The village comes to life. Men, women, and children pull a long boat with pontoons out of the undergrowth. They drag it to the beach and launch it out across the gentle surf of the bay. Captain Cabral, not willing to take any chances readies the two shipboard canons on the starboard railing of the main deck. These guns are small enough to be secured to a railing, but powerful enough to reach targets at a distance.

Thin powerful arms drive the paddles deep surging the boat ahead. Drawing near, it is clear only the women have come out to greet us. They laugh and smile while playfully beckoning with their hands. One sailor, unconcerned about any punishment, dives into the water in a delirious fit of laughter. A woman in the canoe dives in after him. They laugh and tease as they splash around each other. Soon, several more men and women join them to frolic in the gently rolling surf.

The captain huffs, and quickly calls out, "Mr. Silva, lower the dinghies before some of them decide to board the ship."

"Aye, sir. Right away."

What a sight it is; some sailors rowing, while others trail behind half-drunk with joy, swimming in a gaggle of giggling water nymphs. Meanwhile, the captain stands at the bow of the first dinghy, hands clasped behind his back, broad shoulders straight, eyes firmly fixed on the shore, oblivious to all else.

On the beach, Cabral addresses the crew. "Remember, we mention nothing of the boy, or of our previous landing." He glares at Gabriel and then strides the short distance to where the natives stand waiting.

The natives have all gathered behind the old man, who steps forward and offers Cabral an open coconut. His eyes crinkle with laughter as he half-hums and half-mutters words in his language.

The captain nods politely, "Thank you," and drinks long before returning the coconut. The old man smiles broadly and thrusts the shell high above his head. Loud hoots and whooping erupt from natives and sailors alike. The group urges us forward by gently tugging at our shirts and patting us on our backs. They lead us back to the village where we enter the longhouse. It is about sixty feet in length and twenty feet wide. It has a tall, steeply pitched, grass thatch roof supported by wooden rafters. The entrance is a broad, open structure through which people come and go as they please. Children playfully jostle one another in hammocks strung between the wooden poles that support the rafters in the center of the hall. Other natives lounge by a large fire pit situated in the middle of the building. A hole in the roof directly above the pit lets the smoke out. Three women are preparing fish and vegetables wrapped in banana leaves, which they place on several large flat stones circling the fire pit. Other women sit nearby pounding a dark yellow grain into flour in a large hollowed out tree stump. The group leads Cabral to the center of the shelter and offers him a seat on a mat next to the old man.