The year of our lord; 1725
The most disturbing aspect of this story is the fact that it is true. It happened to me when I was just a boy of fourteen years old, to be exact. I had ran away from my home and found myself on the docks of Liverpool. The year was 1703. I found a ship and signed on as a cabin boy for a journey to Africa, it was just an old slaver but she looked sturdy enough. She set sail in early summer and the weather was fair when we left port.The journey went well enough at least until that night we ran into a heavy storm, somewhere off the gold coast. The wind grew ever stronger and the sea was ruff. It tossed the vessel, as if she was a cork in a bucket. She broke up in the sea and most of the crew was drowned at least, that is what I assumed. I could account for only three survivors. An old man named Higgins, Ferguson my mate and I. Ferguson was a young lad like I, but a few years older, seventeen I should think. We washed ashore fairly close- except the old man was a few hundred yards down the beach. Ferguson and I scrambled behind some brush because we saw them coming out of the jungle just fifty yards from the beach. A half dozen or so savages heading straight for the old man. They were fierce looking with their tattoos and body piercing. They had bones in their noses and nothing on to cover their self’s. They were very excited and killed poor old Higgins straight away. They stabbed him through the heart, with a spear. The real horror began when they built a pyre and set him a blaze. I became sick to my stomach and Ferguson fainted dead away when they began hacking off pieces and ate him. We both weep and crawled deeper into the jungle. They carried on this festival on the beach all night long, we could hear their laughter and see the glow of their cook fires in the night sky. Needless to say, we didn’t get much sleep that night and when I did fall off from shear exhaustion, in minutes I was scared awake from the nightmare of horror. The morning light was a God sent; the savages moved off the beach at dawn and disappeared back into the jungle. Now Ferguson and I were exhausted, hungry, and thirsty, not to mention scared to death. Around mid-day we found the courage to forage in the thick jungle. We managed to find some banana trees and ate greedily. We continued to search for a source of fresh water. Much to our misfortune what we found or I should say; what found us was a group of the cannibal savages. They poked and prodded us with their spears as they lead us to their village.
The sun was going down as we arrived in the village. The thatched huts and cook fire’s were the likes I had never seen before. In the center of the village we were secured to a tree back to back and after some time I must have fallen asleep. I was awaken by Ferguson’s cries as they cut him loose from the tree and dragged him off towards the fire. He cried out to God and for his mother. Then he was silent. I could not see, as I was faced the other way. However, I smelled his flesh being cooked. I prayed to God as I have never prayed before. A large warrior approached me and seemed to be very interested in my hair as it was very blonde from the months at sea in the summer sun and long enough to reach my shoulders. He touched and smelled it and even put it in his mouth as if to taste it, kabana kabana he kept repeating? Several years later when I started to understand their language I knew he was saying (in a rough translation) golden like the sun god. I didn’t know it then but my hair was going to be my salvation. I was taken to the hut of the cannibal queen. I was not to be eaten, but I was drugged and sexually used by the queen over the years. In short order I was assimilated into the tribe and began to train as a warrior. Within two years I was going into battle against rival tribes. Afterward they would roast and eat their slain enemies. They concocted a wine of coconut milk human blood and other ingredients which was very intoxicating. I did acquire a taste for this and yes for human flesh. I was now a full blow cannibal. I had body piercing and tattooing all over my face and torso. At what I figured to be about ten years a ship appeared off the coast flying what looked like a Spanish flag. We murdered the landing party on the beach in full view of the ship. We drained them of blood for wine making. Then we roasted and ate them. The ship sailed away the next day. They never did return. And that was how I lived for about another ten years. I was well respected, among the tribe and the queens favored lover. I guess I was thirty- three or four when the British man-of-war showed up and landed a company of marines on the beach. I advised the war council to burn the village and flee, it was to no avail. The queen insisted that we attack and attack we did but spears and arrows proved no match for the marines muskets and disciplined tactics. After a brief battle, the cannibal warriors were decimated. I was wounded, by a bayonet and about to be shot when I was recognized as a white man and a British citizen at that. The warriors that were not killed out right in the battle were captured and then shot by firing squad. Most of the women and children fled into the jungle. And I imagine they were taken in by others or eaten by them. I was taken aboard ship and questioned. I claimed I was held captive. I made no mention of my dining habits but was not in favor with the ships captain, or crew for that matter. I was thrown into the brig and brought back to England to stand trail for treason. We docked at London in 1724 and I was the center of attention. The trail was a spectacle. But due to my circumstance and tender young age at the time of my saga I was found not guilty and left for God Almighty alone to judge. I was set free. But I was never free of the stares and whispers that haunted me for the rest of my days, or from the, pangs of hunger for blood wine and yes human flesh.