January 19th, 1776
This day, heartening news of the situation upon the shore: Two prisoners were taken Thursday last; they have been questioned, and admit that the enemy is as distressed in their lodgings as we are in ours; that they are cold and sickly and, being militia and thus little used to campaigning, they wish to return to hearth and plow. The fire spread far into the countryside, and now the rebels are huddled in the blackened ruins as fitting punishment for their incendiary havoc.
Though there has been no word between Bono and myself, there is communication enough as we pass; the sight of his still-bloated eye serves as apt reminder of our struggle.
Today he came to my side with one of the drummers of the Regiment, which sturdy youth I have seen perform most astoundingly in the course of our dances. I had not seen this youth upon our own ship before except in time of festival; he was not of our Company.
For a long while, Bono and I surveyed each other, both, I’ll warrant, with some sullenness in our countenances; and then Bono said, “I present Private Olakunde. Private Nothing. Olakunde is of the Oyo Empire. He may be able to . . .” Bono shrugged and walked away.
’Twas an offering for peace; a palliation of our enmity; for Bono knew how this should please me, for I sought always word of Oyo, my mother’s country.
I greeted Private Olakunde and praised him for the excellence of his performances upon his drum, for which he thanked me. I noted to him that I had not seen him before on the Crepuscule, save when he had come once for one of the palavers; and he indicated that several of his Company had been transferred to this ship, for his ship’s captain say, no more they stay on he ship; very sick, that ship. He made a noise of disgust and regret with his tongue and teeth.
We spake for some moments about his drumming, he informing me that he had learned to drum praise in his own country, which was the empire of Oyo; that there, drummers beat out the praise of those who pass upon the streets or in the great houses; and that those flattered by their report place coins upon the drummer’s forehead, and that this was the profession in which he had excelled before, three years ago, he was taken out of that land. He hath two drums now, one of his own making, and one issued by the Army, upon which he beats out the music and signals of the white men, our officers.
Upon inquiry, I found that English was the least of his languages, preceded by his own tongue and the speech of the Mandingoes. Thus, his English was not of the best; and I, in faith, could not speak any word of the language of Oyo. So though we had great will to speak to the other, we were constrained in our discourse; I fretted at my ignorance.
It was then, with infinite care, that I introduced the topic of my mother, and told him that I wished to know more of her country. He awaited her narrative, and I told him what I knew: that she was the princess of the Egba people in the Oyo Empire, and had been seized in a battle, and the other scraps I recalled from the stories told me as a child.
I pressed him: “Do you know of the Egba?”
“I know Egba,” he assented. “South from Oyo City. From Ake, Kemta, Igbore.”
My heart rejoiced at this hint, and I pressed: “Then you have perhaps heard of their king? You have perhaps heard of the fate of their king and his daughter?”
He looked at me with discomfort. “I don’t know no Egba king. I don’t know Egba too many.”
I pled, “There is no word of their sovereign family? Or a raid made upon the royal house of the Egba?”
These questions but increased his uneasiness. “Maybe some king I don’t know.”
“Please pardon these importunities,” said I. “I fear these questions cause you some secret uneasiness.”
He judged me with a look; and then owned, “No king. Egba people, no king.”
I heard him with astonishment. “Now? Perhaps the King was dispatched — overthrown — at some time. Seventeen or eighteen years ago.”
“Egba people, people in Egba Forest, each town rule by they Ogboni — many old men together, many old women. Ogboni.”
This account of some species of republic among the Egba was unwelcome as gall; providing the bitterness of doubt when I longed for the balm of reassurance. My mother had not been unspecific when she spake of her royal Egba parentage and my birthright.
Olakunde saw my evident distress; and he rushed to soothe: “No, maybe some king I don’t know. I don’t know Egba people too many. Maybe you mother father, he sent by Egba people to Emperor of Oyo. He sent like a king to Emperor house.”
I knew not what to think.
“You mother, she have”— he indicated lines upon his face. “She have three . . . ?” He drew his fingers across his own markings.
I replied that she did not. His uneasiness at my reply led me to suspect that, had she had the scars he inquired after, the proof of her nobility might have been made more sure. As ’twas, he could neither affirm nor deny her account of her childhood.
My face must have been expressive of my uncertainty and the disappointment of frustrated hopes for confirmation, for perceiving my confusion, he rushed to mollify me, either through the ministrations of truth or the gentle balm of lie. He averred (thought I, over quickly) that perhaps my mother’s parents — she father, she mother — had been waiting for her nuptials to apply the scars.
“You mother name,” he asked. “What she name?”
I replied, “Morenike.”
“She have more name?”
“I know not other names.”
“Three name.”
“I know not.”
The one name revealed little, for, said he, Morenike was but one name of three, and said nothing of her family.
He has, however, told me of its meaning.
Her name, Morenike, signifieth, “Now do I have one to pet.”