The Death of Mungo Blackwell by Lauren H Brandenburg

Author:Lauren H Brandenburg
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781782642923
Publisher: Lion Hudson
Published: 2019-09-09T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

1889

Mungo Blackwell recognized them instantly; he had heard rumors, but never had he seen them until this moment – a tribe of people who painted their bodies a cloudy white before they feasted on their captives. With long spears pointed directly at Mungo and his bride, the savages, no more than four feet tall, resembled feral children dressed in elaborate costuming. He had been in worse situations, but never with another. He had something new to fight for, someone to protect. He would not allow the cannibal pygmies of the South Seas to turn her into breakfast.

Mungo surveyed the surroundings, careful not to make eye contact – everyone knows to make eye contact with a pygmy is sudden death. There was nowhere to run out of range of their spears. He had hoped to show his bride, Sarra, the more lovely parts of the islands of the South Seas, but their guide had led them astray. Mungo would deal with him another day.

The circle of fifty pygmies inched closer – chanting “He-hoi, he-hoi, he-hoi!” – until Mungo could smell the death upon their breath.

“Mungo, I’m frightened,” his wife whispered.

“I will protect you, my love,” he whispered back.

“Hoi!” The pygmies halted. The circle parted. An older member of the tribe stepped forward. Mungo slowly lifted his head to face his captor. The pygmy glared at Mungo and flashed a glance toward his bride. Suddenly, two of the pygmies had his Sarra in their clutches. Mungo was ready. Before they could touch a hair on his beard, he pulled a silver dagger from his satchel and with one spin cut the tips off of every spear. With arms flailing, legs kicking, and deafening war cries clicking from their tongues, the pygmies of the South Seas attacked. Mungo tried to fight them off. But the wiry half-sized natives tackled him to the ground, leaving a streak of blood across his chest. He knocked the mini-warriors off his wounded body, sending them flying in all directions.

“Where is my bride?” Mungo growled.

“My bride,” the native grunted, motioning to Sarra, whose hands were bound above her head and tied to a long wooden pole. Mungo glared at the older native, narrowed his eyes, and shook his head.

Suddenly, a great howl echoed throughout the village. The tribe fell to their knees, trembling, as a fearsome woman wearing Sarra’s slippers, her upper lip sprouting a bushel of wiry hairs, entered the scene. Knowing not what to make of the strange woman, but seeing her need, Mungo slowly reached in his pocket and handed the woman his can of beeswax.

Mungo waited as the woman fidgeted with the tin can. She thrust it back at Mungo, nudging for him to open it. Mungo twisted the lid, dipped his finger in the buttery goo, and proceeded to twist his mustachio into a hook. There was silence. The woman waved her hand in the air, motioning for the older native to join her – an elder of the tribe, Mungo presumed. The elder proceeded to dip his hand into the goo, removing a glob the size of a walnut.

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