Signares' by Richard Harrison Gorée

Author:Richard Harrison Gorée [Gorée, Richard Harrison]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781728346809
Publisher: AuthorHouse
Published: 2020-03-09T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Sunlight streaming in the window-flap of his tent wakened Captain Charles Tousaint in degrees. First, he was aware of the light, then of birdsong, and lastly the smell of earth. He had been a long way away in his dreams, so it was with some difficulty that he accepted the fact that he was on land, not at sea. Even so, his sleep-clouded mind mistook the locale. The birds, the breeze, and the unmistakable smell of grain being cut for harvest, convinced him that he must be home in France. That is, they convinced him until he stumbled outside the tent. Only then did he realize he was this morning exactly where he had been the day before… deep in the plains of west Africa.

He walked to the well, drew up a bucket, and poured it over his head. In a few moments, he had his bearings, and in some additional moments, having joined the rest of his party at the campfire, he had his breakfast. At that point, he was truly himself once again.

The rest of the party had waited for him, for he was the senior member of this expedition. He was the only ship’s master present.

Three other ships were represented, but only by second or third officers.

This was becoming customary. Not long before, a French expedition had been attacked and three captains had been lost in one day. Now, only one captain went to negotiate. The others, the seconds and thirds in command, accompanied him to learn the system and to guard their own captains’ interests.

Whatever his rank, each white man was accompanied by a servant and a signaré; in the case of junior officers, of course, by junior signarés. Together, the women and the servants had prepared the breakfast. Exotic as it rnight be in appearance and flavorings, the meal, with all its extra touches, was basically composed of eggs and flour: a porridge. But such was usually the case during harvest time.

“Has anyone seen Sasha?” Tousaint asked the group as he finished his first bowl.

“Only in passing,” came the answer from Desbien, third officer of the Haut-Garonne and the youngest man present. “I think she went into the village.”

Tousaint nodded, saying nothing, grateful for once that the other captains were not around. Without a doubt, another captain would have mocked him for losing track of his signaré. It was almost as certain the mocker would have added some impudent explanations for her absence. But from his juniors, Tousaint didn’t have to contend with that, at least to his face.

Sasha knew what she was doing, he was quite certain. Although this was less than a full-scale trading expedition, its mission was still very important. They were to coax traders from the interior to the coast. Sasha would smooth the way for them.

“Well then,” Tousaint said as he finished his second bowl of porridge, “we shall wait and see what news she brings us.”

Tousaint got up and walked away from the campfire, taking his morning exercise, a vigorous walk.

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