Samuel Florman - The Aftermath

By now, it was growing dark along the beach, and several large bonfires were set ablaze. The brides had planned for the day to end with a grand songfest. To lead the singing, Roxy called upon a chorus she had helped to form among the citizens of Engineering Village. It was a curious assortment of engineers, spouses, and members of the crew. If there was one main shared characteristic, Roxy said, it was that many of the participants had, at one time or another, sung in a church choir. Indeed, the program opened with two spirituals, “Shall We Gather at the River?” and “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” Then came such time-honored favorites as “Oh Susanna,” “Good Night, Ladies,” and “Coming Thru’ the Rye.” For some reason, members of the chorus had taken a special fancy to American Civil War music: “Dixie,” “Tenting Tonight,” and, inevitably, “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” All joined in, singing lustily, yet with an underlying trace of sadness. The authors of those songs lived in hard, uncertain times in which optimism and melancholy were closely mixed. “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord…”

No one could have reckoned on the solo that came next. Donald Ruffin, the often irritating leader of the electrical engineers, was one of the last people anyone present would have expected to be a singer, much less the possessor of a magnificent baritone voice. He stepped forward and with only the slightest backing from a single guitar started to sing “Shenandoah.” By the time he reached the last verse, tears rolled down the cheeks of many of his listeners.

Contemplating the vast continental wilderness of early America, feelings of loneliness welled up within Wilson Hardy, Jr., feelings that even romantic love could not keep at bay—and certainly not cocky plans for technological conquest. How much more vast and lonely is the wilderness in which we find ourselves, Hardy mused, here on the coast of Africa, with the rest of the world in ashes. This day that had dawned so bright and hopeful seemed to be ending in gloom.

“You’re supposed to be happy,” Sarah said, sensing his mood, although in the deepening dusk he was able to brush away the tears before she could see them.

“I’m overcome with happiness,” he said, kissing her on the neck. What he said was true, even as fresh tears welled up in his eyes. Just the mood of the moment, he thought, brought on by the haunting music, and possibly one glass of wine too many.

That mood changed abruptly when he heard the shots. He knew they were shots even though he had never been in the vicinity of live gunfire. There were no firecrackers to celebrate the weddings and no cars around that could be backfiring. The noise seemed to come from out on the water. Looking in that direction, Wil saw flashes of light. The streaks pointed upward. Somebody was shooting into the air. Within seconds, a sailing ship came within range of the light from the bonfires. He saw the red sails. Then the name, painted in black: king radama.

“Good grief,” Herb said, as the boat rode right up to the edge of the beach, “it’s the Dragon Lady herself!”

“Jeezuzz!” Wil Hardy muttered.

Mary O’Connor Swift said, “Wil Hardy, you shouldn’t be taking the Lord’s name in vain on your wedding day.” It was clear that she had no clue as to what was happening—and what was about to happen.

Several boats sailed into view, and the wild-looking crews leaped into the surf and made anchors fast. The queen stood in the bow of her vessel, holding the rigging with one hand, a rifle aloft in the other. She looked like a painting, Wil Hardy thought—a dark perversion of Washington Crossing the Delaware.

She was dressed in light canvas trousers and a brilliant red blouse, with her hair swept up in a large multicolored bandanna, just as she had been described by Harry McIntosh and his crew of fishermen. It could be none other than the self-anointed Queen Ranavolana.

After firing another shot into the air, the queen leaped nimbly into the shallow surf, strode onto the shore, and went directly to the table at which the wedding party was seated. The three grooms had risen, and they stood near their brides to shield them from danger.

Captain Nordstrom and Wilson Hardy, Sr., also came forward to confront the queen. She looked them up and down dismissively. At the same time, she glanced about, trying not to show her astonishment at finding the beach so crowded with people. She had expected to arrive on an empty shore and sweep from there, unopposed, into the village. She was caught offguard by this—what was it? It looked like a wedding feast. At least no one appeared to be carrying weapons. The revelers were clearly unarmed, shocked by her sudden appearance. Good. Let them be shocked; she could use this to her advantage.

“Are you having a nice celebration?” the pirate queen asked in a loud voice. Covertly she tried to calculate the size of the crowd.

“Yes, thank you,” Captain Nordstrom answered, as if the question had been sincere. “Would you care to join us?”

The woman laughed scornfully. “I think the question is, ‘Would you care to join me?’ After all, you are my prisoners.”

“What do you mean?” Dr. Hardy said. “You can’t—”

“Silence! I can—and I have. We have the weapons, as you can see. And you are my prisoners; that is the fact of the matter. I hope there is enough food left for my men. They are very hungry.” She turned toward the sea and waved her left hand, her right still gripping the ominous rifle.

As the pirate force, responding to her signal, left their vessels and moved swiftly to various points along the shoreline, there were scattered screams among the wedding guests. Each of these fierce-looking men was armed with a machete or a large hunting-style knife, and many of them carried guns as well. The guests began to fall back, a few of them turning as if to run.

Chaudri and Patel appeared at Queen Ranavolana’s side and reported that their men were all ashore, ready to move on the village. Their language was incomprehensible to Nordstrom and Hardy; but the two men understood the meaning all too clearly. It had happened as predicted by the escapees from Madagascar. This was a full-scale invasion.

“Everyone go back to your homes—now!” Nordstrom called to the wedding guests, many of whom seemed to be frozen in place at their tables. “You too!” he said to the brides and their grooms. “Move quickly. Go!”

The queen and her men watched the people starting to leave the beach and move back toward the village. She was pleased that her men exercised discipline and did not pursue, awaiting orders. She addressed her two subcommanders: “Prepare to move in when I give the word. First, I will speak to these two. I assume they are the leaders of this settlement.” To Nordstrom and Hardy, she said, “Now, gentlemen, do you wish to hear my terms?” They did not reply immediately, but returned her steady, unflinching gaze.

“Well, you’ll hear what I have to say whether you like it or not. These men”—she swung her arm around to indicate the menacing figures that had advanced up the beach—“they follow me, do as I tell them. And I will order them to slaughter every man, woman, and child in the village if you do not cooperate with me.”

“What do you want from us?” Hardy asked.

“Food, supplies, armaments. You will surrender any weapons that you have, or else my men will take them by force. Anyone who resists will be executed on the spot. I hope I have made myself clear.”