Bastions

Muse inspired story meets a historical figure

 

(Muse meets history in this tale)

 

‘You’ll join us now or you’ll be damned.’

The Captain called to me aloud.

‘I want the hold with bodies crammed,

don’t stand there all alone and proud.’

 

‘We really can’t go on like this...’

I said, ‘I’ll make a stand.’

‘Twas then I heard the Captain hiss,

‘You’ll die now on this land.’

 

Two men he told to take,

me off into the trees.

I begged, ‘For these folk’s sake,

just think about them please...’

 

‘They live here in this land,

this Africa they love.

Can’t you understand,

placed here by God above...?’

 

‘Remove him,’ Captain said,

‘just take him from my sight.

Tie sacking o’er his head,

he’ll stop yapping then alright.’

 

With sackcloth o’er my face,

to be led off to my death.

Two dragged me to a place,

to take my final breath.

 

They knelt me on the ground,

I said a silent prayer.

I heard the whistling sound,

as a cutlass sliced the air.

 

I heard a grunt and thud,

and heard two cries of pain.

I knelt there in the mud,

still waiting to be slain.

 

My wrists were once more freed,

from being bound by rope.

The mask removed with speed,

I blinked and filled with hope.

 

I took some gulps of air,

no more than nine or ten.

In front of me right there,

two quite dead sailor men.

 

‘We need a leader,’ said a voice,

‘to go and help the others.

In your freedom now rejoice,

please help us save our brothers.’

 

For some seconds I then stared,

at this lad who had just asked.

My senses ill-prepared,

but not with being tasked.

 

The boy was educated,

and speaking English well.

Standing there with breath abated, 

he wished to save his tribe from hell.

 

No more than fifteen years,

and black as fresh dug coal.

His expression showed no fears,

he had a fighter’s heart and soul.

 

‘A lighter shade of pale you’ve turned.’

This young man said to me.

With eagerness his eyes burned,

I said, ‘Let’s get them free...’

 

One day I’ll tell the tale,

of how we freed his kin.

The slave ship did not sail,

that day God helped us win.

 

For now all you need know,

like me he was a bastion.

As friends I knew we’d grow,

that youth’s name was Sebastian.

 

To England on returning,

I met there in due course,

a chap of worldly learning,

named William Wilberforce.

 

We talked long of the places,

both of us had been.

I was filling in the spaces,

of things he’d heard, not seen.

 

He championed the case,

for slavery to end.

This practise he’d erase,

and men’s ways he would mend...

 

The end

Author's Note

William Wilberforce was a real and important character in British and world history.
All reads and reviews are welcome, as always. Tom

Reviews

[Anne Martin]

Tom, this reads well as an epic. The only issue I had with it was appearance of the occasional 8 syllable lines, which felt a little awkward or over balanced. It might have just been that I wasn't reading the stresses you intended. I kept having to go back and try different ones until it worked. It did read as though you took care of the meter - so few people around here do. Good job.

[Sirranon Leo]

an excellent piece of art, a fine blending of prose and history...well done