Samuel Florman - The Aftermath

For several weeks, the pirates and their “recruits”—young native men pressed into the service of the queen—had drilled relentlessly as the leadership drew up plans for the raid. In total, their force numbered about four hundred able-bodied men, trained to kill first and ask questions later; much later, if at all. Each man was armed with a machete or large hunting knife. A hundred or so carried the auto-rifles that had been salvaged from the abandoned cargo ship along with a half-dozen clips of ammunition each. Some forty or fifty were armed with pistols ranging from ancient Colt revolvers to sleek semiautomatics, with anywhere from a handful to a hundred rounds to fit each gun.

Queen Ranavolana had pored over her “textbooks” and consulted with her lieutenants in the planning phase, using maps and whatever intelligence could be gleaned from anyone who had ever been to the South African shore. She herself had spent some time there during her wandering years and she conjured up dim mem ories of the coastal terrain. Finally, she sent out several nighttime reconnaissance expeditions to determine the location of the targeted village and its beachfront facility.

The plan of attack evolved into a simple two-pronged maneuver: a land force of about one hundred fifty men, led by Yook Louie and Errol Waddell, would approach from the north, while Queen Ranavolana’s naval force with the larger number of men under Jama Chaudri and Raman Patel would attack the beach head-on.

It was early evening when the fleet put ashore in a deserted cove. They made camp and prepared a supper of fish and rice. Afterward, Queen Ranavolana called together all the men.

“My good and strong men—my pirate army and navy—I salute you and wish you good hunting tomorrow!” She stood on a makeshift platform before a roaring campfire, and her words rang out into the night. At first the men were unsure how to react to this intimidating presence; but after an instant they erupted in cheers. Their shouts echoed along the beach and reverberated off the nearby waves.

From her childhood reading the queen conjured up memories of pirate tales, of rough men adrift upon dangerous seas. Those were days of adventure! Now she had the opportunity to create such times again. She would write the script and she would star in the show. The unsuspecting quarry would be witness to her craftiness and ruthlessness. If they resisted, well, it was the way of the world that they should pay. Too bad… but that was reality: her reality.

When the cheers subsided, she continued: “The world—a new world—is yours for the taking. Your leaders will guide you, and you must follow them without question. They know of my master plan and how it must be executed. There can be no deviation from the plan if we are to succeed in our mission. Do you understand me? Do you believe me? Do you follow me?”

An even greater cheer erupted from the massed men as they stood for their queen, waving their machetes and guns. The sub-commanders, Louie, Patel, Chaudri, and Waddell, spontaneously lifted her to their shoulders and held her aloft for all to see. When she was lowered to the ground, she smiled at her trusted lieutenants, waved to the men, and walked away from the fire to be by herself in the darkness.

Queen Ranavolana breathed heavily, her head reeling from the frenzy of adulation. She felt high, drugged, ecstatic—yet suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of apprehension. Her plans were in place, the men raring to go into action, the element of surprise—she hoped—still on her side. Why, then, this onset of nagging doubt and distressing premonition of failure? What had she done wrong? Or, what might she have overlooked?

She came to the place where the boats were moored. They rocked gently in the low tide, shadows on the water. They looked like the pleasure craft they had once been rather than the war vessels to which they had been converted. A hundred yards away she could hear the men whooping and laughing, in contrast to the deadly quiet of this sandy cove.

One of the sentries stepped forward to confront her, but when he saw who she was, he bowed his head and stepped back to allow her free passage. She saluted him and walked on through the cold wet sand.

After days of rain and clouds, the sky had miraculously cleared, and the sun shone on the southeast shore of the African continent. A beautiful day for a wedding.

A crowd gathered in and around the pavilion on the beach. The huppah had been erected close to the water’s edge, making an enchanting scene. At the appointed time the music struck up, and the brides walked down the aisle, one at a time as planned, looking positively radiant. Everyone played their parts to perfection, and the three ceremonies were performed without a hitch. The formal rites were followed by brief readings that had been selected by various members of the nuptial party.

First, Captain Nordstrom read a hymn of the Great Plains Indians provided by Roxy. She had learned it years before during a visit to a western reservation and determined then to have it read on her wedding day:

O Morning Star! when you look down upon us, give us peace and refreshing sleep. Great Spirit! bless our children, friends and visitors through a happy life. May our trails lie straight and level before us. Let us live to be old. We are all your children and ask these things with good hearts.

Then Herb’s parents recited the Seven Blessings, a traditional part of many Jewish marriage services. It ends with “Blessed are you, Holy One of All, who created joy and gladness, bride and bridegroom, mirth and song, pleasure and delight, love, fellowship, peace and friendship.”

The three couples stood, holding hands and smiling. Happiness and love were in the air.

Next, Wilson Hardy, recalling his own wedding ceremony more than thirty years previously, read from the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer:

The union of husband and wife in heart, body and mind is intended by God for their mutual joy; for the help and comfort given one another in prosperity and adversity, and, when it is God’s will, for the procreation of children and their nurture in the knowledge and love of the Lord.

Sarah had asked her parents to read from the Song of Solomon:

My beloved spake and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.

And Mary’s parents, beaming, but with tears in their eyes, addressed their daughter and her new husband and everyone present with the traditional Irish blessing:

Each participant spoke as clearly and loudly as possible, consistent with the propriety of the occasion, but it was difficult to tell how much the assembled guests could make out.

“We could really use a sound system,” Tom Swift muttered. “There ought to be a special prayer for the engineers who are working to restore our electrical and electronic facilities. Damnation.”

Mary hushed him, but she and the others were thinking much the same thing—not least the clergy, who probably had never been called upon to preach without at least the option of microphone and loudspeaker. What had it been like for all those thousands of years, trying to communicate using only an unenhanced human voice? How could large groups of people function? What about those famous orators: Cicero, Henry the Fifth of England, Robespierre, Daniel Webster, William Jennings Bryan? How many individuals really heard George Washington’s Farewell or Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. The vacuum tube, which first made possible the amplification of electrified sound impulses, wasn’t even invented until 1907.