Stowing Away

I was told there was an opportunity to stow away. The chance came exactly five days later at the jetty, when the monthly rotation of the guards with replacements from the mainland took place.

The belly of the vessel that carried me was dark, crowded with crates and produce from the fields we captives had worked on and I believe – from the clucking and shuffling – some livestock as well. While the vessel’s movement was steady, I surmised that its belly was underwater from the chillness that encapsulated the chamber I was in. All in, it may have been a week that I spent in the cargo hold. Or perhaps 10 days, I wasn’t sure. It was not the most comfortable of arrangements and I will not even mention the challenges of personal hygiene that I faced and how I solved them.

My eyes gradually adjusted to the lack of light and I managed to feel my way around and find something edible – this being recently plucked pears we captives had grown ourselves in the fields on the island. Besides the fruits, I couldn’t find anything else to consume in my near-blind groping except (fortunately or unfortunately) several barrels of whisky which I guessed belonged to the ship’s captain and crew. They probably had more upstairs in the galley because no one came down to the hold looking for the barrels while I was there. I did partake of the whisky. I made sure I limited the quantity I took however, telling myself I needed liquid but not so much as to risk getting drunk and lose my discipline. Not that it mattered in the end. I drank, ate the fruits, slept soundly, sat in the dark and waited, and repeated this cycle over and over, following my wandering thoughts whenever my attention wasn’t focused on the sounds above my head, on deck. I did not know where we were headed to but I had resolved what to do when the time for action arrived.

On a certain day, I heard more than the usual amount of bells and raised voices and the heightened activity indicated to me that we were approaching a harbour of some sort. I stole furtively to the opening of the hold and briefly – and very slightly – raised it. With difficulty – as the brightness outside was too much for my eyes initially – I squinted and spied roofs and spires in the distance. My heart leapt with joy and I reluctantly descended to the belly of the vessel, to wait in the recess for my opportunity.

Eventually, the hold was opened. I had taken care to hide in the darkest and furthest corner, and watched safely as two ragged sailors, coarse of language and appearance, came in briefly and searched for and carried out a couple of expensive looking chests. From snatches of their conversation – they spoke in the local dialect which I had picked up during my stay on the island from my fellow captives – I gathered that the vessel would dock and remain at the harbour overnight and the task of removing the cargo would only commence at daybreak.

I waited several more hours, knowing that darkness would have fallen by the time my chance to escape arrived, all the better to allow my eyes to comfortably adjust to being outdoors again. Then I heard footsteps above, and loquacious voices in high spirits going ashore. It was a welcome night in town for the sailors.

When my head breached the opening of the cargo hold, I estimated, from the position of the constellations overhead, that it was just past nine. I was greeted by silence on the vessel. The cover of night allowed me to steal to the side of the ship and enter the water safely. The water in the harbour was still warm from the recently set sun. I swam awkwardly, with fear, as one who’d recently and secretly picked up the skill of swimming would. I reached and pulled myself onto the jetty with relief, a good distance from the vessel.

I looked back. There it was, it’s formidable outline clearly visible in the darkness. I had escaped not just the island but also the vessel that frequented it, the supply ship that had enabled our captivity, our slavery, to go on for as long as it has. Now I needed to find out where it had brought me.

photo from unsplash.com by Armando Castillejos