0 comments/ 22922 views/ 2 favorites Maman Brigette By: SlaveNano Maman Brigette: a selection of entries from the journal of Gerard D'Estaing, mid-shipman on the slave ship 'Le Saphir' . Sanatorium for the Insane, Paris, 2 Feb 1788 I cursed the day that I met Captain Bernard Dugarry. What a fateful decision, made over too many cognacs in a tavern in La Rochelle, though it seemed the right one at the time. I had been discharged from the French Navy for long service after the American War of Independence and my life was going nowhere. I thought I'd had enough; that I wanted to turn my back on the sea, but it was in my blood. In my depressed and drunken state I could see no reason to turn down Captain Dugarry's offer. He was persuasive and charismatic. He was young for a captain of a vessel, yet supremely confident and ambitious. The money was good, very good, better than anything offered by the French Navy and I had even been offered a cut from the sale of the slaves when we reached the Indies as a bonus. It seemed a good match. On his own admission Captain Dugarry was not concerned with the details and fineries of sailing; he was a leader and disciplinarian, a businessman as well. He saw profit and wanted somebody to steer his cargo safely across hazardous waters to make it. He needed a skilled seaman and I was that man; decades of service harrying the British navy down the coast of West Africa, across the Atlantic and in the Indies gave me experience of these waters. One last job, I thought. One last pay day to see me into my retirement and perhaps then I would be able to turn away from the sea. As I flick through the pages of the journal I wrote at the time, my memories come into sharper focus. The experiences that led to my descent into madness were still an open sore that I had not recovered from. I did not know then that the journey I was about to embark on was not only a voyage across a sea but also one into the darkness of my soul. 'Le Saphir', 14th April 1785 We were several days into our crossing of the Atlantic and I have had time to reflect on the voyage so far. We had departed the port of La Rochelle on 2nd February. Captain Dugarry had delayed to leave on that particular day. It was Candlemass, the saint's day of St Bridget and the feast of the Purification of the Virgin and he insisted that this would be an auspicious day to set off. The night before setting sail he had gone to the seaman's church at La Rochelle to receive confession. God knows, having already seen something of this man's temper and the extremity of his cruelty he would need the intercession of a priest to stop him going to hell. We had sailed around Spain and down the African coast to pick up our cargo from the slave fortress at Gold Coast in West Africa.   'Le Saphir', 16th April 1785 Today I went down onto the cargo deck for the first time. As a sailor in the French navy I have experienced some terrible things. I have seen men blown apart by cannon balls in battle, their bodies a mess of bloodied flesh and shattered bones. I have seen the harsh penalties administered by the quarter-master where men's backs have been torn to bloodied flesh by the cat o' nine tails for stealing a mere drop of rum. I have looked on hopelessly as men have been tossed overboard into the raging ocean, floundering desperately before the sea swallows them up. A sailor is hardened to hardship. But none of what I had experienced had prepared me for the sight that confronted me on that day. Hundreds of near naked bodies in tattered rags crammed like sardines, row upon row, chained together by ankle cuffs. The smell was unbearable; an unspeakable stench of soiled bodies and dried piss permeated the whole deck. The bodies were listless and lifeless. Some blank eyes stared up at me, but most of the slaves barely recognised anybody else was there. I was shocked. I had never worked on a slave ship before and, although I had heard stories from other sailors, this mass of human misery was overwhelming. In twenty years of being at sea I had never thrown up but I had to use all of my powers of resilience to stop myself from wrenching then. Captain Dugarry was with me. He laughed at my squeamishness. "Monsieur D'Estaing, you shouldn't give a fucking damn," he bawled at me, "this is what will make us money. I've three hundred and sixty of these bastards on two decks, I can afford to lose a hundred and fifty and still make a comfortable profit – in fact I count on losing at least that number in a crossing, you just have to write them off. I don't give a shit as long as I have enough for the slave markets and plantation owners of Saint Domingue to make a handsome return." I think this was the first sign of my unease about this adventure, if that's what it could be called. I'm a sea-hardened sailor but this felt different from the thrill and terror of sea battle. It was calculated and cruel in a way that scuttling English frigates wasn't. What else should I have expected, after all, Dugarry was right, it was just business. "Yes, Captain, of course," I replied but deep down I knew that something in my conscience had been pricked. Le Saphir, 20th April 1785 Tonight Captain Dugarry invited me to his cabin for 'some fun' as he put it. When I arrived there were two slave girls already there. Their bodies had been stripped of the rags that passed for clothes and washed down with sea water. Their hands were tied with rope behind their backs and they were gagged. The knelt on the floor; their eyes wide with fear and their black-skinned foreheads dripping sweat. "Come on in Monsieur Gerard, I've got some entertainment for us tonight. We sailors need some relief, don't we, eh." I looked on as he took up a leather whip and flayed it across one of the slave girl's breasts. There was a muffled squeal of pain from behind the gag. Dugarry laughed at her sadistically. "I've only just started, you black bitch," he muttered. She would not have understood a word of French but that wasn't necessary to understand the Captain's threat. The whip reined down hard on her cutting a red weal across her breast. When she collapsed onto the floor to protect her exposed tits Dugarry pulled her up roughly by the hair and whipped her harder. He threw the whip over to me and laughed, "you whip yours now." I felt uneasy. I am no prude. I have been to brothels in more ports than I can name. I've fucked plenty of prostitutes in my time, but something about this seemed cruelly malicious. Still, what could I do? The Captain clearly expected me to join in. I started whipping the second slave girl's tits. At first I was hesitant and held back, but Dugarry shouted and encouraged me. "Go on, get stuck in man; give her a good beating. You'll enjoy it once you get going." I increased the momentum and the strength of my strokes. I could hear the muffled screams from behind the gag. Scarily, egged on by the Captain's laughs and taunts, I got involved in the task, driving myself onto harder strokes moving onto the girl's back, thighs and arse. Despite the disgust at what I was doing and against the better side of my nature I found it exhilarating, even enjoyable, to whip the girl harder, challenging myself to go further. "Great work Monsieur Gerard," Dugarry called out, "you've got the makings of a great sadist." The captain pulled down his crisp white breeches and knickerbockers so that they hung around his ankles and thrust is hard cock into the slave girl's mouth so deeply and forcefully that she started to gag. "Keep whipping her whilst she sucks on me," he ordered. And I did, but was I doing it because it was an order or because I was enjoying it? The Captain grasped the girl's head and forced her down on him making her suck his cock. It didn't take long before he reached his climax, pulling out if her mouth and shooting a stream of hot white cum over her face. The Captain took the whip from my hand and gestured to me to take my pleasure from the other girl. Once again, I was hesitant at first, but I was so aroused that I needed relief so it was not long before I had the girl's head in my hands forcing her to suck on me as Dugarry whipped her arse. I could sense my erect member in her mouth muffling her screams. Like the Captain, before I felt my cum about to burst forth I withdrew and emptied myself over the girl's face and then onto her limp drooping breasts. The Captain had still not finished. He grasped the girl's head and forced her onto the tits of the other girl and made her lick my cum off. I caught a glimpse of the tears of humiliation running down her cheeks. When I returned to my cabin that night I was quivering. On the one hand I was disgusted with myself. It was against my nature. But I also had to face the dark reality that I had enjoyed it and that it had aroused me. Le Saphir, 25th April 1785 Today, we threw overboard six slaves who had been found dead. They were still lying there chained to their shackles, flies buzzing around their limpid heads. Some of them had probably been dead for days. "Make sure you log them as having escaped and jumped overboard, then I can claim insurance on them," I overheard Captain Dugarry tell one of the cabin crew. The Captain turned to me. "These slaves need to know who is in charge. Discipline is everything on a slave ship. They have to know that my power is absolute and random so every so often I come down and watch one of them being whipped." Dugarry pointed to one, seemingly at random, who was released from his iron fetters and roped to a wooden support on the deck. The quarter-master wielded a knotted whip. Not the bull whip, which was far too long to use in such cramped quarters, but a severe and horrible weapon nonetheless. I had seen similar instruments of punishment like this used before on naval vessels. "Thirty strokes I think." I raised my eyebrows. In the navy six or ten of these would be considered a severe punishment with such a savage instrument, but thirty? "And twenty more if he squeals," continued the Captain. Of course, the poor black man screamed out in agony and was given the full fifty strokes. His back was a bloodied mess by the end of the whipping. I could not help but think that this slave would be useless to anybody when we got to port, if he survived that long, as in these conditions the wounds were sure to get infected, but Captain Dugarry could not care less. "That will strike fear into these bastard slaves. They need to see that, Monsieur Gerard." Le Saphir, 28th April 1785 Today we threw overboard another ten slaves, five men, three women and two children who had died from fever. They included the slave who had been whipped by the Captain only a few days earlier, whose bloodied wheals had become infected as I anticipated. I felt sickened but at the same time I felt drawn to the sadistic and charismatic Captain Dugarry. What was happening to me? Was exposure to the hardships of the slavery eroding my sense of humanity? I only wanted to earn some money to retire on. I was not expecting a voyage to expose the raw limits of my soul.   Le Saphir, 5th May 1785 The Captain planned another evening of pleasure for me. This time he said he would allow me to choose my own girl. We entered the slave deck. The contrast could not have been more marked; the Captain in full navy blue uniform and polished brass buttons and the miserable cargo listless and sickening; squeezed into the cramped hold. It was so hard to choose which poor wretch would be the object of the Captain's perversions. Eventually, I made a choice of a slender young woman who looked in better health than some of the other disease ridden slaves. The Captain ordered one of the crew to unshackle them, have them bathed and delivered to his quarters. We retired to his cabin for some cognac, to "get us in the right mood for the night's entertainment" he said with a malevolent twinkle in his eye. The two slave girls were brought in, both with their wrists tied behind their back, both wide-eyed and staring in fear. The Captain ordered one face down onto his bed, tied her wrists to the bed post with rope, got her to kneel up and with her legs spread secured to the posts at the bottom of the bed with rope. It looked as though Dugarry had planned another sadistic arse whipping game, but I soon found he had other ideas. He took off his jacket and removed his breeches. He slapped the girl's arse with his hand to get himself aroused and then mounted the bed. His cock was fully erect and rampant. He sought out the slave girl's tight little arse-hole and when he had found it pushed it in. He did not do so gently or slowly, but finding the right place thrust his cock in with one forceful stroke. The girl screamed. Her arse was young and tight and had never been treated like this. To take the full length of Dugarry's manhood in one thrust must have been agonising for her. The Captain slapped the side of her arse hard and told her to stop making a noise, not that she could understand him. He thrust his cock hard into her in deep and forceful rhythmic movements until after only a few minutes he let out a gasp and came inside her. "Your turn now Monsieur Gerard," he laughed at me. I felt nauseated, but at the same time strangely intrigued and excited. Once again my values were being challenged and put to the test by the Captain. He smiled knowingly at me as if he knew that what he had done repulsed me but tempting me to go another step further on his journey into sadistic pleasure. He tied the second slave girl up for me in the same way and, like the Captain I removed my jacket and breeches and then entered her. I felt disgusted with myself. In all my visits to brothels, this was something I had never done. But, I was fearful of the capricious Captain and dare not deny him his entertainment. Or was I just fooling myself and using the Captain as an excuse for my own debauchery. As I emptied my seed into the slave girl's arse my feelings of repulsion were mixed with those of pleasure.   Le Saphir, 8th May 1785 Today, we threw over another eight dead slaves, three men and five women, two of whom could have barely been out of puberty. A slave had been dragged up onto the fore-deck. Apparently, this one had defied an order given by one of the crew. How, I do not know, as from what I had seen none of the miserable chained up slaves had the wherewithal to put up any resistance. I expect some command was shouted at him and he had no idea what was being said to him. Still, that was no matter to Captain Dugarry. Any form of defiance from a slave was dealt with savagely. This poor devil had his wrists and ankles tied and was lowered from the foremast by a rope. This was done in full view of most of the crew and also some of the slaves had been brought up on deck to witness the punishment, no doubt so they might report back on the kind of cruelty they would face for any insubordination, however slight. The slave was left dangling for a while with his tied legs dangling in the air, the strain on his forearms showing and his face racked in pain. Then he was slowly lowered down the side of the ship and into the sea. He was kept submerged, perhaps for a minute and then lifted up again. This process was repeated, each time the miserable wretch coming up to draw-in desperate breaths. After several descents into the cold waters of the Atlantic the quarter-master asked the Captain if the slave could be released. Dugarry stepped forward. "Certainly not," he laughed sadistically as he cut the rope himself and sent the slave plunging into the icy waters. Le Saphir, 12th May 1785 By my calculations we must have been only a few days away from our destination, the harbour of Port-au-Prince on St Domingue. The Caribbean seas were calm and the sky bright blue. The look-out called out from the crow's nest and pointed in the direction we were heading. In the distance before us was a bank of swirling mist. These were strange conditions for these waters. I had sailed in these seas many times and you could expect storms and high winds, even hurricanes, in some seasons but never this strange bank of fog. I remarked on this to the Captain, who seemed indifferent to it. His mind was focussed on getting to port and selling his cargo. We sailed inexorably into the mist until very soon the ship was completely enveloped in an impenetrable fog. The visibility was practically non-existent. The look out was made to ring the warning bell to alert other shipping of our presence. The combination of the thick mist and the eerie rhythmic ring of the bell created a scary atmosphere. I could tell that the crew were uneasy. I know only too well from experience how superstitious sea-faring folk are. They look for signs of good or bad fortune in every small change of the weather. Indeed, although a fog like this in these waters was unusual I would not normally be bothered by such conditions. But, there was something about this mist that was deeply unsettling. I shared the crew's unease and discomfort. We were now becalmed and could do no more than sit-out the situation until conditions changed. They lasted for the best part of a day until late afternoon when the mist lifted as quickly as it had descended. Later that night I was in the Captain's cabin for some more entertainment. This time he had a male and female slave and was about to embark on some more perverse pleasure when there was a knock on the door. Dugarry was furious. He hated his perverse pleasures and entertainment being interrupted. One of the crew members had asked him to come down to the hold as the cargo was behaving very strangely. I went along with the captain. Even before we entered the hold I could hear strange sounds emanating from the depths of the ship. When we entered the hold the slaves were acting as if in a trance, their eyes wide open, fixed and unblinking. From their mouths they were emitting either low ululating sounds with their tongues or high pitched screeches. The cacophony of noise was deafening and disturbing. The Captain shouted to the crew to get them to shut up and ordered them to whip all of them, which they started doing. Dugarry grabbed a whip himself and laid into the slaves flaying bare backs and limbs indiscriminately. But, this punishment had no effect. Pierre, one of the crew and old sea dog, turned to Dugarry. "That'll do no good Cap'n, they are possessed. This noise will drive us all mad Cap'n, I've seen grown men try to pierce their ear drums because they can't stand this." The Captain told him to stop talking rubbish that he didn't believe in such things and that a more severe whipping will put an end to racket. "That'll do no good Cap'n. I've seen this before in other parts of the Indies. It's possession I tell you and there'll be nothing you can do without a witch doctor." Captain Dugarry marched off in a furious temper. Le Saphir, 13th May 1785 It was mid-afternoon on the following day and the strange guttural calls and wails had continued unabated all through the night and into the day. The crew were agitated. There was hardly anywhere on the ship you could escape the other worldly noises from the slaves and no amount of hitting or whipping would stop them. I could see the east coast of Hispaniola through my eye-glass and told the Captain that we should be in Port-au-Prince in two days. Dugarry said we would have to put up with the noise until then and try to solve the problem there. "I'm tempted to throw the whole fucking lot overboard in their chains but they are worth too much to me alive now," he said.   Port-au-Prince, 15th May 1785 The ship landed at the harbour of Port-au-Prince on the French colony of St Domingue at 2.00pm. It was not a moment too soon. The crew were being driven mad with constant ululating sounds being made by the slave's tongues. One of the worse jobs was putting them in the cast iron collars and cuffs whilst they were in this state. The Captain wouldn't normally empty his cargo so quickly from the hold but none of the crew would stay on board with them. They were marched off the ship and onto the quay side of the harbour. Captain Dugarry was taking them to the slave fortress and market on the harbour side to prepare them for sale. Maman Brigette Port-au-Prince, 16th May 1785 In the morning I attended the Slave Market with Captain Dugarry who met with the auctioneer, Monsieur Richelieu and some plantation owners. The slaves had now taken to rolling on the floor, their eyes were rolling up into their heads so all you could see were scary white balls. Monsieur Richelieu was adamant. He would not keep them in the slave market for any longer than a week. The plantation owners were quite clear; they would not buy any slaves in that condition. Basically, Dugarry had been told the whole cargo was worthless unless he could do something to restore calm. "They are possessed Capitaine," Monsieur Richelieu told Dugarry. "There's no point denying it. You may not believe it, but on St Domingue we see this many times. But, I must say I've never seen a mass possession like this before. You may laugh at me Capitaine, but you have to get help from one of the Guede." My ears pricked up. I had heard of these from my travels. Monsieur Richelieu explained the nature of Guede; that they were intermediaries between the living and the dead. Only one of them would have the power to cross over into the spirit world and release the slaves from their possession. Dugarry scoffed, he still didn't believe these superstitious tales, but he really had no choice. As Monsieur Richelieu told him, in this state his whole cargo was useless and he might as well throw the whole lot of slaves off the harbour at Port-au-Prince and let them drown. Reluctantly, Captain Dugarry had been persuaded. He was still sceptical but had no choice but to listen to Richelieu's advice. "So, tell me Monsieur, where do I find one of these Guede." The slave market auctioneer explained. But, first of all he issued a warning. Seeking the aid of the Guede was dangerous; they were powerful and capricious and would not offer their assistance lightly. They would expect handsome reward for their services. The Captain replied that was not a problem, he could offer plenty of gold sovereigns from the sale of the slaves as the survival rate on this crossing had been good. God, I thought, I hate to think how many dead slaves would be thrown overboard on a bad crossing. Monsieur Richelieu continued. "There is one powerful Guede who can be sought in the mountains inland from Port-au-Prince; that is Maman Brigette. It is perhaps a day's journey there and back on horse back. The Captain asked how she could be found. Monsieur Richelieu looked into his eyes and said, "you do not find her, she will find you if she wants to parley with you. Go into the mountains and trust to fate." Dugarry was exasperated. "Fuck, monsieur, you expect me to go up into these god-forsaken mountains on a whim that some mad witch-woman might speak to me." Richelieu rolled his eyes and shrugged as if to say, you asked my advice, that's what you have to do. "Merde," exclaimed Captain Dugarry. "Monsieur Gerard, let's get some horses, we'll set off tomorrow." What further journey into the heart of darkness will my travels take me? One last voyage, one last simple expedition was all I asked and what did I get? - a cruel Captain who had drawn me into his sadistic games, a ship load of possessed slaves whose persistent wails and moans would drive a man mad and now this trip into the mountains for an encounter with a woman who could cross over into the spirit world. I was uneasy. I had heard of the power of the Guede from other sailors though whether their tales of witchcraft and madness were true or exaggerated nonsense I could not say. When we got back to the ship old Pierre definitely had a view. "Capitaine, you are going to see Maman Brigitte. You will parley with the Goddess of Death. You are a crazy man. She will suck all of the life out of your soul and leave you an empty shell. You are taking a terrible risk. Monsieur, if I were you I would rather throw the bastard slaves into the sea and cut my losses than meet with one of the Guede." Dugarry ordered him to fuck off and stop repeating old wife's tales and stormed off. Montagnes Noir, 17th May 1785 Captain Dugarry and myself with two other crew members set off at dawn on horse-back to take the path that led up into the Montagnes Noir, south-east out of Port-au-Prince. The Captain was in a foul mood and we barely exchanged a word all morning as we wound our way up the mountain paths in the direction Monsieur Richelieu had directed us. He was furious and frustrated at this turn of events. He just wanted to make his sale, get his money, collect a cargo of sugar from one of the plantation owners, re-stock 'Le Saphir' and head back to France. All this talk of soul sucking demons and Goddesses still sounded ridiculous to him. Over lunch as we sat in the Caribbean sun eating fruit and drinking masala wine he loosened up a bit and admitted to me that he still couldn't believe he had been persuaded to make this trip. "We don't even have a fucking clue where we are going," he complained. We carried on into the afternoon, climbing higher into the lush vegetation of the mountains, the bright sunlight bearing down on us. Suddenly the horses became very agitated and reared up apparently for no obvious reason. But, then the mist descended. Captain Dugarry looked across at me. We both knew what each of us was thinking, we were both reminded of the eerie fog that enveloped 'LeSaphir' and the way that it was connected with the slaves' possession. The same feelings of fear spread over me, but this time the sense of dread was even stronger. The two crew members refused to go any further with us so the Captain sent them back to Port-au-Prince. We calmed the horses and continued on the path. This must have been what Monsieur Richelieu meant about Maman Brigitte finding us. We pressed on into the impenetrable mist. In the distance we could see a hazy light given off by candles and we approached it cautiously. The canopy of trees opened up into what we thought was a clearing but as our eyes adjusted to a glowing red light given out by candle-lit lanterns hanging from the trees we realised that we had stumbled into a cemetery. Beneath us were roughly dug mounds topped by crudely cut wooden crosses, many of them with skulls hanging on the top of them. I trembled with a sense of foreboding. I could see that even Captain Dugarry, despite all his scepticism and bravado, was affected. We dismounted and left our horses and proceeded on foot. We silently weaved our way between the mounds of earth. Perhaps mad old Pierre was right; maybe we were passing through into the spirit world. At the far end of the cemetery we could see a ramshackle mud hut with dim light glowing in its window. Had Maman Brigette drawn us into her domain? We jumped in fright as a red crested black cockerel swooped down and settled on top of a skull and eyed us warily. What the fuck was I doing here? Give me a cutlass and a pistol and an honest open fight with an English red-coat rather than this mad scary place. We approached the hut with trepidation. Captain Dugarry gently pushed the door open. His hand was trembling. He entered first; I took a deep breath and followed him. The first thing that struck me was the smell; sweet and pungent with an intoxicating aroma that overwhelmed me. The air was thick with the clouds of a powerful incense that made my head spin. I peered through the swirling haze to take in my surroundings. The room was a ramshackle hovel; I could make out rows of shelves with ceramic pots and glass vials, a floor scattered randomly with old animal bones and teeth. Finally my eyes fixed on Maman Brigette sat imperiously in an ornate chair the ends of its arms carved into the shape of skull and its side etched with elaborate symbols. A black raven was sat in her lap. My first impressions were of a wild an unkempt figure but at the same time exuding power and danger. For some reason I was expecting an old crone but Maman Brigette was actually a young and attractive woman. Her long curly red hard combined with her dark skin gave her a striking and unusual presence. Balanced precariously on her head was a top hat decorated extravagantly with exotic feathers. She wore a fine dark crimson ball gown, which now looked worn and dishevelled. It was as if she was dressed for a ball but the wild and haphazard way that she bore herself suggested that she was mocking the finery and vanity of rich clothes. Finally, in her hand she held a staff mounted on the top with a goat's skull. Her eyes were closed tight as if she were asleep or had drifted into another world. Suddenly her emerald green eyes snapped open as if she had just come out of a trance and glared at us menacingly. Finally, she spoke in a strange accent that combined elements of Creole, French and even Irish. "What business do you have that you would dare disturb the peace of Maman Brigette. Come, before you state your business share a drink with me and then you may say what you want with me and what you desire from the spirit world." In front of her was a table with a phial of liquid and three glasses. It was as if she was expecting us. She poured out a dark red liquid in each of the glasses and drank hers down in one gulp. The captain and I held the glasses pensively to our lips. I took a sip. It was like fire water, a sensation as if my mouth had been set alight. The Captain spat his out, which I did not think wise. If he wanted help he would do well to accept the witch woman's hospitality, such as it was. Maman Brigette laughed, "You fucking soft whities." She pointed the goat's skull cane at us like an accusation. "You cannot share a little drink with Maman Brigette. Come now, you must accept my offerings if you want to parley with me. Don't you trust me?. Do you think it's bewitched? It's only rum and chillies – hot chillies." I took another sip and felt the liquid burning the inside of my mouth. I decided the best approach was just to take it down in one gulp, which I then did. It felt like my insides were on fire as the hot liquid went down my throat and settled in my stomach. I grimaced but kept the fluid down. The Captain followed my lead and did the same. I had never seen the Captain, usually confident and commanding, look so hesitant and pensive. He slowly explained who he was, his predicament and how he had been recommended to seek Maman Brigette's aid to release the slaves from their possession. The Guede sat patiently listening to his tale with an appraising ear, neither interrupting nor commenting on the story. After Duggarry had finished she responded. "Tell me white man, trader in the bodies and souls of men, why should I help you? Do you know anything of my past, of how I came to be, of why the only debt I owe to slave traders is one of bitterness?" We both nodded our heads to indicate that we did not. She continued her account, "Very well, I will tell you. My spirit is descended from many centuries ago from the Irish pagan Goddess Brigid. My spirit came on English ships over a hundred and fifty years ago when the Irish were sent out here as slaves. My blood is mixed with the natives and the black slaves to make me the spirit that I am today. So, tell me why you think I should grant any favours to a slave trader, when I am a descendent of slaves myself?" This was not going well. There really was no reason why this spirit-woman should do the Captain of a French slave ship any favours. Dugarry replied in the only way that he could in the circumstances and offered the one thing he had, which was money or at least the promise of riches. He spoke to Maman Brigette of gold sovereigns and wealth that she could only dream of. After Dugarry's speech she remained inscrutable and just nodded. Finally, she spoke again, "I may deign to help you. But, you realise that for the spirit world to come to your aid there has to be an exchange, some kind of sacrifice, an offering to appease them." Shit, I thought, where is this going? The Captain is not going to like this. He feigned indifference, saying that if she could not help them he would take the possessed slaves back out to sea on the 'Saphir' and dump them in the Caribbean. She laughed a high pitched cackle and shook her red mane of hair as if she was actually taking pleasure in the fact that somebody was daring to haggle with her. "You could," she said, "but then you would lose your money and then you might have to face the spirits of the sea and your own conscience, such as it is. Tell me; are you afraid to take up my challenge?" I looked across at Captain Dugarry. His face was strained with indecision. He was weighing up his scepticism over the potency of such spirits against the undoubted physical presence before him, his greed against his conscience, his self preservation against his manhood at turning down a challenge. He asked Maman Brigette what form the offering would take, but she refused to tell him or give him any guarantees, saying that the risk and the choice was all his. He said that he would accept her challenge. Maman Brigette told him to return again tomorrow with two of the possessed slaves as breaking the spell for these would also release all of the slaves. My heart leaped when I heard the Captain's decision. What kind of test had he committed us to? After we had left Maman Brigette's hovel and were riding back down the mountain path I expressed my concerns and fear over the pact he had entered into. By then some of his old arrogance had returned and he was dismissive, "Monsieur Gerard, you are an educated and worldly man, do you still believe in these spirits?" I detected some hesitancy in his reply; did he really believe that or was he exhibiting this bravado to hide his own doubts? I guess I would never know for sure. Port-au-Prince, 18th May 1785 In the middle of the night I awoke with terrible nightmares. Visions of swirling skulls in my head combined with an incessant drum beat and the eerie call of the slaves had disturbed me. It was only one o'clock in the morning and the visions continued unabated in my waking mind so that I could not get back to sleep. I sat up all night fixated with fear at the unknown ordeal that I faced later that day. Montagnes Noir, 18th May 1785 We had awoken early and collected two of the luckless slaves from the slave fortress on the harbour. The slaves were in a terrible and agitated state and, according to their guards, had been all night. It was as if they knew that a wild power had been unleashed and that they were awaiting some final reckoning. Before we set off up the mountain path we were confronted by old Pierre with more omens of doom, "You have made a pact with the Guede, you must be mad. You cannot trust these spirits. They will suck your brains out." I could do without mad Pierre's warnings at that time. Dugarry just told him to shut up and fuck off. We rode up the mountain side with the two slaves in shackles. The eerie mist descended from nowhere on us at exactly the same point. We left the horses tied to trees at the edge of the graveyard and proceeded on foot. The atmosphere in the cemetery was shrouded in the opaque mist and lit by lanterns in the trees. Today there were also candles on each of the mounds of earth below the crosses, illuminating the skulls that hung from them with a ghostly light. Maman Brigette stood outside her hovel awaiting our arrival. Stood before us with her skull mounted staff in her hand, her top hat perched precariously on her head, billows of crimson material around her and locks of bright red hair on her shoulders framing her dark skinned features she looked even more wild and dishevelled than yesterday. She pointed her goat's skull staff and beckoned us forward. The slaves were wide eyed and fearful. Dugarry was in full dress Captain's uniform for the occasion. "You have come to make sacrifice to Maman Brigette, to make a pact with the spirit world." She offered us more of the fire drink that she offered us yesterday. She ordered the Captain to release the two slaves from their shackles for the ceremony. "Embrace my spirit and you will endure, resist and you fall." We all partook of the fire drink, shooting it down in one gulp. The mixture was stronger and more potent than yesterday's and this time I felt sure that the elixir had been drugged. The effect on me was instantaneous, my head started swirling; the nightmare visions of swirling skulls and beating drums overpowered me as I felt myself tottering and collapsing onto the dusty floor of the cemetery. When I came to, I found that I was staked out naked on the ground, spread-eagled and tied with twine from the jungle onto wooden stakes amongst the cemetery mounds. I glanced across at Captain Dugarry who was tied with twine in an upright position onto a crude wooden cross. The two slaves were standing outside Maman Brigette's hut dressed in skins and furs with collars of animal teeth around their necks. My body was numb and my head nauseous and reeling. How had it come to this? How had I let myself get drawn into this strange voodoo world of spirits? Maman Brigette was wandering around the graveyard with a bowl sprinkling us all with some liquid anointing us for a ceremony like a deranged priest. After completing this task she spread her arms wide pointed her skull headed staff into the sky and made some kind of invocation to the spirits of the dead. "In this ceremony the spirits will test the cleanliness of your soul," Maman Brigette proclaimed. I glanced across at Captain Dugarry. He was naked and dishevelled on one of the crosses, his eyes glazed over all attempt at resistance gone. I could tell that he had already been subjected to some kind of torture. We had been tricked and trapped. The Captain had made a one-sided pact with the Guede and now were both consumed in their world surrendered into the hands of Maman Brigette. She approached me, her staff in one hand and a candle in her other. She knelt over me, resting the staff on the ground; she held the candle close to my face. Her face was luminous in the gentle glow of the candle light and her emerald eyes fixed on me as if she was looking into me. With deft movements she pulled the candle back and tipped a pool of molten wax onto my nipples. My body jerked in shock and pain and I let out a gasp. "Your friend has already suffered for me, now it is your turn. Will you let the power of the spirit world into you? Does your soul need cleansing? Tell Maman Brigette what darkness is in there and let her in." My head was reeling with the heat of the fire water in my stomach, the pain of the hot wax, the sickening aroma of the incense that pervaded the whole cemetery and Maman Brigette's dark skin illuminated by the candle light. I knew that I was at a crossroads. I knew enough from sailor's tales and legends of the power of the Guede; that they were intermediaries between the real world and the spirit world. I believed that now. Old mad Pierre was right. But what would I choose? - To stay in this world or pass with Maman Brigette into the spirit world. I nodded my head in denial. I was not ready to pass. Mamam Brigette passed the candle over my naked body dripping droplets of hot wax on my flesh until she held it over my cock and balls and poured another pool over hot wax over me. The pain was excruciating, like nothing that I had ever felt before, needle sharp but sensuous all at the same time. I saw her pull out a red fruit from the folds of her dress. She held it in front of me, watching as my eyes widened in trepidation. "Red chillies," she explained, "the hottest and fiercest that I can find, ripened in the hot Caribbean sun." She held one over me and split it, licking her fingers erotically afterwards as she knelt over me. She took one half and rubbed it gently up the shaft of my cock. I felt the burning sensation. She ran it over the tip at its most sensitive point. I screamed out in pain, "No, please no." She laughed at me. She took one end and inserted into the end of my cock as deeply as she could without forcing it. My body jerked with pain. She took the other half and reached under me to touch my back-side. I felt her fingers searching for the right spot and then the chilli was gently pushed into my arse. My head was spinning with the pain. Maman Brigette Maman Brigette knelt over me, curls of red hair brushing against my face. "The slaves will come with me. They have decided to join me. They have accepted that they must make themselves a sacrifice to me to release themselves and their fellows from their possession. They have come over to me willingly. But then, their choice is easier perhaps. The pain and suffering they have suffered at my hands is just the same as it will be for you and your Captain but what is their alternative? - A life time under the whip of a cruel plantation owner. Look, they have already received my brand and will soon be released to become my followers, half way between the real world and the spirit world." I look across at one of the slaves, who has a raw burn mark on his arm in an elaborate pattern. I must have missed all this whilst I had passed out. Soon your Captain will have to decide, and then it will be your choice. How will you choose? Will you seek atonement for the dark deeds of your life's journey?" I felt the pain of the raw chilli permeate my whole body. "I will leave you to suffer for a while longer whilst you make your choice." I watched her as she walked over to Captain Dugarry. She reached up and held his face between the palms of her dark skinned hands. "Are you ready?" she asked. Dugarry nodded. "There are more tests for you before you can pass. You must complete them for me without question or hesitation if you truly want to serve." She pulled the chilli that had been inserted into his cock and looked the Captain in the eye. "Now eat it for me," she ordered. She held it up to his mouth and he took a bite from it and slowly chewed, keeping his eyes fixed on her as he did. Then she took the second half of the chilli from out of his arse and repeated the order. Once again, Dugarry received the hot chilli in his mouth, took a bite and chewed slowly before swallowing. I could not believe my eyes. What power had Maman Brigette now got over the Captain that he would do such a thing for her. Part of me was repulsed, but another part of me was strangely drawn and attracted. She got a knife from within the folds of her dress and reached up to put a gentle slit in the palm of his hand. Droplets of blood leaked from him. Maman Brigette took up some of the blood into her hands and rubbed a smeared red cross on his chest. She looked up at him, stretched out on the cross. The once proud and callous Captain of a slave ship now sucked into a world completely out of his control. "You must know that I never desired gold and riches from you. I collect souls and the darker the souls the better." Her laugh echoed hauntingly around the cemetery. "Now you must consummate your pact with me." I wanted to scream out, "No" to Dugarry, "don't do it." Had he any idea what he was doing? But I could see that he had no senses left. He had set himself on a path that he could never turn back from and had to accept the consequences, whatever they were. Maman Brigette cut the twines that held him to the cross and helped Dugarry down. He was unsteady on his feet but gradually recovered his balance. Maman Brigette lay down on one of the grave mounds, she hitched up the folds of her crimson dress and showed herself to him. She flaunted her feminine power over him and taunted him. "Enter me and consummate our union." Did he realise what he was doing? It was the point of no return for the Captain; I sensed that if he entered her he would be embraced into her spirit world never to return. I wanted to call out a warning but I could not force any words from my lips. He approached, his cock erect at the sight of her cunt offered up to him. He knelt before her. In the flickering light of the candle-lit graves with the white skulls gazing on he entered her. His body was smothered in the billowing crimson gown as if it had been swallowed up by her. The Captain warmed to his task now, thrusting himself into her vigorously. She welcomed him in, holding onto his naked body and pulling him into her so he became enveloped in crimson material and curly flame red hair. His fires of ardour and submission were being met and consumed. Maman Brigette herself moaned in ecstasy and received his cock deep into her. The physical and sensual side of her spirit needed satisfaction but there was more. "You have surrendered yourself to me. You belong to me now." She was a taker of souls and her lust was to take them, play with them for her own needs, and then offer them up to the spirit world. She would suck his seed out of him and leave him an empty shell fit only for serving Maman Brigette until she decided to release him to the spirit world. I watched Captain Dugarry's body writhing as he finally climaxed. The deed had been done, the pact consummated and I knew in my heart that Dugarry had crossed into the twilight world half way between man and spirit. The two bodies entwined until Mamam Brigette pulled herself away and let out a blood curdling howl of laughter and triumph. She stepped back to a fire that was burning on one of the grave mounds and pulled out a branding iron, the same one that she must have used on the slaves. It had an intricate pattern interweaving a cross with a heart and a triangle, no doubt symbolising the crossroads between the human world and the spirit world. She pushed it down onto the flesh on Captain Dugarry's arm. I could hear the hissing of the hot metal on skin and then the agonised scream of the Captain as he received Maman Brigette's mark of servitude on his body. I laid there silently in fearful anticipation, knowing that Maman Brigette would now turn her attention to me; that it was time to make my choice. She walked back over to me, leaving the Captain curled into a broken ball on the graveyard sobbing. She stood over me and hitched up her skirt. She was tempting me, showing me what might be offered if I came over. The powerful scent of her body overwhelmed me. I could see Dugarry's cum oozing out of Maman Brigette's cunt. "Now it is time for you to make your choice Monsieur. Will you follow your friend into my domain?" I nodded my head in denial. She leant back and pulled the chilli out of my throbbing arse and held it in front of my mouth. "Take it. The choice is yours. I will not force you, you must take it willingly." I grunted my rejection. It wasn't even disgust at the act or fear of the fiery taste of the chilli, my reluctance was because I understood the symbolism of the act. I knew that, like Captain Dugarry, if I received the chilli into my mouth it would be an act that signalled I had surrendered control and had given myself up to her. Was my journey going to end here, in the hands of perpetual torment by this demon? Maman Brigette questioned me. "Are you sure you are making the right choice?" She asked. "You are at the crossroad between two worlds and the chance to atone for all the foul acts in your life. I will receive any soul, even the darkest, like your Captain;s there. I looked across at the blank glazed expressions of the two slaves and Dugarry. Old Pierre had been right; their souls had been sucked out. I nodded my head in denial. "So be it, if that is your choice." She reached out for her skull mounted staff, shook it at the sky and then pointed it at me, "then I release you back into your world." These were her final words to me before I must have passed out. Port-au-Prince, 20th May 1785 I finally recovered consciousness two days later. When we had not returned that night a search party was sent out to find us the day after. They found my prostrate body and carried it back to Port-au-Prince. When I first came round I was still in a delirium. I tried to piece something of my story together. But, when they went back to search there was no sign of Captain Bernard Dugarry or the two slaves. There was no cemetery or hovel or Maman Brigette. No sign of anything that had happened on that fateful day; only a deranged, grizzled middle aged sailor who had lost his mind. Epilogue Douarnenez, Britanny, 2 February 1790 I had been out of the sanatorium for a couple of years now. I had retired to Britanny. I had lost the desire I once had to be at sea but it did give me comfort to be near it and from my cottage in this fishing village in Britanny I could gaze at the Atlantic and exchange banter with the fishermen. I had plenty of tales to tell about my life but I never passed on the one about Maman Brigette. Perhaps I thought that nobody would believe me or maybe I just thought it was best locked away in my journal. The 2nd February was always a difficult day for me. It brought back memories of the date that I set off on that final strange voyage from La Rochelle with Captain Bernard Dugarry. I have learned that, not only is this the day of the Catholic St Bridget, but also that this date was originally celebrated as the special day of the Celtic Pagan Goddess Bridget. I recalled what Maman Brigette had said about her origins and her Irish descent. I still had nightmares, though they had receded a little in time, but this day always brought them back. I think I recognised the source of my madness. I often wonder if I made the right choice, that actually Captain Dugarry was right to surrender himself to Maman Brigette. I came to believe that my nightmares and my madness were because I had made the decision not to give myself up to her spirit world. In a strange kind of way I envied Captain Dugarry as I had come to learn that he had made the right choice and my madness was a sense of loss and that I yearned to be with him and Maman Brigette in her spirit world in the mountains of St Domingue.