The son of the vanilla baron E-Book

Adrian F. Grando

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 508

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

In the mid-1930s, 16-year-old Eric Gabriel dares to move to the French colony of Madagascar to finally be reunited with his father, who successfully runs a vanilla plantation there. Unaware of his grandfather's history as a pirate and steeped in the traditions of a generation of seafarers, Eric is confronted with the ominous reality of rebellious locals, local uprisings and the intentions of Nazi Germany. In this turbulent environment, Eric seeks support in his first love and the brotherly friendship with a young Malagasy from the workers' village. While he searches for his place in the hierarchy of his father's company, the unknown past of his family threatens to catch up with him.

Leseprobe

Any inconsistencies in the text are due to the fact that it was translated using computer-aided technology for a company-wide study.

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Dedication

Libertalia

The myth revolves around three fascinating personalities who are said to have shaped the fate of Madagascar: an educated Frenchman named Misson, the Dominican priest Caraccioli and the swashbuckling Captain Louis Gabriel from Marseille. The origin of these stories goes back to Rome, where Misson and Caraccioli met in 1690 and decided to sail to the Caribbean together to hunt down pirates. For this risky adventure, they hired the bold captain, who was both experienced and intrepid at sea.

On their journey, they captured ship after ship, stopped off in the Comoros, fought on the coast of Mozambique and steadily increased the size of their crew. Their dream of a republic in which pirates could live freely and fraternally led them to the bay of Diego Suarez in the north of Madagascar. There they created a hidden hideaway with 40 cannons to secure the entrance. A town, a shipyard and a supply depot were built and within a few months Libertalia, one of the first democracies of modern times, was home to 600 pirates.

However, this utopian state soon ended in chaos. There are two versions of its downfall: Either the French fleet attacked the city when most of the pirates were on a privateer voyage, or the natives massacred all the inhabitants and set Libertalia ablaze.

However, the returning pirates did not rebuild Libertalia and moved on. Only Captain Louis Gabriel survived on the island of Sainte Marie off the east coast of Madagascar, where he spread fear and terror at sea for years to come. A memorial stone erected by his enthusiastic followers commemorates his popularity and the heroic pirate era.

Prologue I

1879-1918

In the fall of 1879, the night sky was a gloomy black, without moon or stars. Only the covered deck lighting at the helmsman's could make out the outline of the merchant frigate around the chart house. The 29-year-old first officer, Luc Gabriel, stood on the aft deck with his legs apart, balancing the pounding movements of the ship and listening to the sound of the sea. The wind creaked in the masts and spars. Turning his gaze to the southwest, he watched the ominous glow of the weather. His nose in the steadily blowing north-easterly trade wind that filled the sails, he felt the ship's rapid speed. His mood was low and worry lines appeared on his face. It wasn't the weather or the pitch-black night that made him uneasy. As a member of a centuries-old seafaring dynasty, he was up to the harsh elements of the sea. Rather, it was the route they had to cross on the way to Durban that made him uneasy. The captain had decided to avoid the Mozambique Strait and follow the eastern side of Madagascar instead. Luc could not understand this decision. Sainte Marie, the pirate island on the eastern side of Madagascar, which was shrouded in rumors and adventurous tales, was dangerous. The trading company they were sailing for had expressly warned them about it. The captain had set the course, returned to his cabin and left it to the first mate to ensure a safe passage. Luc had wanted to sail straight through the storm, on a route that was less dangerous for him. But orders were orders! He could not and would not disobey, not in front of the crew. His career and his reputation as a devoted officer depended on it. Luc dreamedof becoming captain of a merchant ship himself, and disobeying orders was not an option.

Sighing, Luc set off for another round on deck. First he walked the aft deck, then he continued on the starboard side. He checked the sail position, communicated with the sailor amidships and made sure that he kept a watchful eye out for ships and reported any discoveries immediately. Eventually he reached the bow, where he stayed for a while. Gloomy and lost in thought, Luc continued his tour back to the chart house on the port side route. His mood and an ominous premonition continued to accompany him. Arriving at the chart house, he confirmed the set course with the helmsman and decided to post an additional lookout in the bow in order to recognize possible contact with other ships at an early stage. The hours of his watch passed without any noteworthy events. The wind continued to blow constantly and with almost the same strength. In view of the impenetrable cloud cover, Luc was unable to determine the exact position of the ship. He had to wait until dawn to take a bearing on the coast of Madagascar, but this was not to be. The first bright glimmers on the eastern horizon already heralded the dawn of a new day.

Suddenly, an exclamation from the lookout sitting in the topmast snapped Luc out of his gloomy thoughts: "Ship, starboard ahead - no flag, but the shape suggests a privateer!" Luc hurried to the starboard side and indeed spotted a sleek privateer coming rapidly towards them under full sail. No flag! Luc suspected the worst. He immediately had the captain roused by the midshipman on duty and ordered additional sails to be set. A new course was ordered to avoid crossing with the other ship and to pick up speed. Looking through the telescope, Luc saw nothing reassuring: A grimly armed mob lined the railing of the privateer. They had noticed the change of courseand reacted with a new course of their own. Meanwhile, the sleepy captain appeared on deck and Luc explained the precarious situation and the measures that had been taken, radiating little confidence. Had the time come for them to surrender to the inevitable? The privateer changed course again and continued to close the distance. A new course, ordered by the captain, gave little hope of preventing the impending collision between the two ships. The intention of the privateer was obvious and crossing courses seemed unavoidable. Another call from the sailor in the masthead dramatically exacerbated the situation: "Pirate flag just hoisted!" Luc could make out the menacing fluttering black skull and crossbones on a red-purple background at the top of the privateer. Even a change to a zigzag course, which he suggested, did nothing to change the hopeless situation in which the cargo ship found itself. The privateer was approaching dangerously, the cries of the bloodthirsty pirates were unmistakable. Finally, the captain had the sails lowered and ordered the crew to arm themselves and face the imminent boarding of the pirate pack. After a few minutes, the privateer came alongside. Grappling hooks crunched into the railing, splinters of wood splattered and both ships crashed hard together. Luc stood in the bow, armed with pistol and sabre, while the captain was flanked by numerous sailors on the aft deck. With loud battle cries, the pirates boarded the merchant ship and all hell broke loose! A tough, heroic but short and unequal battle ensued. Luc defended the bow area as long as he could, but the pirates' superiority was overwhelming. It was like fighting the Hydra: no sooner had one pirate been killed than two more appeared. From time to time, Luc looked to the aft deck, where the captain, surrounded by pirates, gave the order to surrender.

Disarmed by grimly grinning pirates, they were rounded up. Only now did Luc realize the high blood toll. Of the original crew of 30, onlyeight were left, including the captain and himself. A slight, bald-headed leader appeared. He gave a few orders and two pirates made their way towards the captain's cabin before turning to Luc and the captain. To their surprise, he addressed them in French with a bumpy accent: "Well, my brave officers, may I introduce myself? My name is Tippu-Tin. I am the leader of the pirates on Sainte Marie."

He paused and let his words sink in with the crew of the merchant ship. "With whom do I have the pleasure?" he asked mockingly.

"I am Francois Borel, the captain, and this is my first officer!" replied the captain, his voice hoarse and his face beaded with sweat.

The sun was just rising over the horizon in the east, bathing the scene in a golden glow. Luc's head also felt hot from the fight and he watched as two pirates pulled out a rope with a gallows knot and threw it over the boom of the main mast - the intention was crystal clear, it seemed as if their last hour had come. But he was not going to give in so easily. What should he do? Was this the end for him? Now he had to keep a cool head and think about how he could get out of this hopeless situation unscathed. He knew from numerous stories that the entire crew, first the captain, then he and then the rest of the crew, would be hanged. Following the order of precedence. Pirates never took prisoners; they were only interested in the cargo - pirates, after all.

"What have the gentlemen loaded, if you don't mind me asking?"

Neither he nor the captain made any attempt to answer.

The pirate leader stepped very close to the captain, looked him in the face with a grim smile and waited patiently. The situation was extremely tense.

"Didn't the gentlemen understand my question?" he suddenly shouted at them in an unrestrained manner. "Well, we can checkourselves. I'm afraid I have no use for you, although your bold attempt to escape us shows tactical sailing skills and deserves my admiration!"

He let his questioning gaze wander to Luc. It seemed as if he would have liked to know who was responsible for the short but tough pursuit duel. A quick nod from the leader was enough and three pirates grabbed the captain, forced his head through the noose and pulled him up. Luc flinched and tried to come to his superior's aid, but was prevented from doing so by iron-hard grips around his upper arms. Struggling and gasping for breath, Borel hung from the gallows. It was horrible to have to watch. After a short struggle, his body went limp. Luc knew he would be next. What should he do? Did he even have a chance?

The two pirates who had run to the captain's cabin returned with a stack of papers, probably the cargo papers, and handed them to the leader. He studied them briefly and a great satisfaction was evident on his features, recognizable by a broad grin. "Guys, listen up," he exclaimed in a loud voice, "we've obviously made a valuable catch!" A loud roar followed from the pirates, who patted each other on the back with satisfaction and waved their weapons threateningly. Luc's mood deteriorated visibly and he looked at the hopeless faces of his remaining sailors. What would happen next? All eyes were fixed on the pirate leader. He continued to snoop through the documents. Was he hoping to find more treasure?

Suddenly his eyes brightened. He had obviously discovered something interesting. What was it? He slowly walked up to Luc and looked him straight in the face: "What's your name? The captain forgot to mention your name." "My name is Luc, Luc Gabriel, and as I said, I'm the first officer!" he replied with pride in his voice. "Leave the rest of my crew alive, be content with executing the officers!" Luc concluded in a firm voice.

"So Gabriel is your name, interesting, very interesting!"

A hint of a smile and knowledge played around his wrinkled face. "Your sacrifice is most noble, but also foolish and of no consequence to me!" he concluded with a dismissive gesture. A definite decision seemed to have been made and he turned to a native-looking pirate with a conspicuous scar on his forehead: "Sofolo, you take command here, execute the crew - and this one," he pointed to Luc, "capture him and bring him to my ship. I expect the frigate in port immediately so that the cargo can be unloaded!"

"Aye aye!" Sofolo confirmed the order without the slightest movement on his face.

Luc was then bound by the hands of two burly pirates, grabbed roughly and taken onto the privateer. One last desperate look back at his terrified-looking crew and they were massacred by a jeering, bloodthirsty pirate mob, shouting madly and brandishing sabres. Luc didn't understand what was happening to him. What was this all about? However, he was soon to learn the reason for the miraculous saving of his life from the pirate leader.

Two years had already passed since his capture. Or should he say 'since his rescue'? Luc Gabriel stood with his legs apart on the aft deck of his ship. He enjoyed the steady breeze and the warming rays of sunshine. As a captain with his own crew on a former merchant frigate, equipped with heavy cannons, he was now part of the extended pirate fleet of the notorious Tippu-Tin. The man who had had him captured rather than executed was THE leader - not only of the pirates on Sainte Marie, but also of the slave traders in the region. Luc owed his rescue to him, based on Tippu-Tin's assumption that he must be a descendant of the famous pirate Louis Gabriel. This pirate ancestor was said to have wreaked havoc in the 17th century and laid the foundations of the pirate nest on Sainte Marie. Horrible! Luc knew nothing about such an ancestor. But that was the reason why Tippu-Tin had given him the decision of his life: either he converted to a pirate and proved himself worthy of his supposed ancestral history or Tippu-Tin would have him executed immediately. Tippu-Tin had sunk into the chair with relish and waited patiently for Luc's answer.

It had been an existential choice. Luc wanted to live, that was clear, but staying in Madagascar and the East African region, far from his native France, and becoming part of this murdering mob was not exactly appealing and not what Luc envisioned for his future. After all, he dreamed of a wife and family. Not to mention the consequences if the colonial powers France, Great Britain or Germany, who were active here, destroyed the pirate nest and captured or executed everyone. So Luc had chosen life - he could certainly think about escaping at any time.

"I hope you prove yourself worthy of your pirate ancestors, and never forget, my arm reaches far, very far, and I can take your life at any time should you prove disloyal!" the maliciously grinning Tippu-Tin solemnly pledged Luc's allegiance. What's more, there would be great profits and treasures for him. Tippu-Tin promised to make him a rich man.

He was a strange character: of Arab descent from the Sultanate of Oman, cruel and merciless on the one hand, generous and wasteful on the other. He probably had to be both in order to rule this pirate pack and maintain a certain order: Carrot and stick! Follow or die! Luc not only owed his rescue to this gruesome man, based on a myth, but he also enjoyed a certain amount of favor from Tippu-Tin. Otherwise, he would not have become captain so quickly and surpassed Sofolo, who was apparently Tippu-Tin's right-hand man. He did not want to gamble away this favor carelessly. So for the time being, he put his skills fully at the service of the pirate leader. Only Sofolo's jealousy, resentment and openly displayed hatred were a constant challenge for Luc. He had to keep an eye on him; one mistake by Luc and he would be mercilessly denounced by Sofolo to Tippu-Tin or even worse. But Luc's leadership style, his inventiveness and his sailing skills proved to be great advantages. No captain in the pirate fleet was his equal and so far he had been able to keep Sofolo's anger at bay.

Just as they were heading south across Cap Est, they had passed through one of the region's notorious storm clouds. The rain had poured down on the ship in torrents. The deck beams shimmered like a golden fleece in the glistening sun. There was a smell of freshness, the sea and wet wood. It seemed that they would reach the pirates' nest shortly before sunset as planned, which suited Luc just fine. He wanted to give the crew a rest and not have to report back until the following day. Once again, they were on their way back from Zanzibar, where he had delivered the slaves, to the base on Sainte Marie. Local leaders, one notorious one was apparently related to Sofolo, recruited entire Malagasy tribes and forced them into slavery in order to sell them to Tippu-Tin. With his pirate rule, he organized the sale to the Sultan of Zanzibar and on to the Sultan of Oman. It was a gruesome, inhumane business in which a lot of money was made. Luc also made a lot of money from it. That's why he hated himself at times and became increasingly reluctant to get involved. It was time to start thinking about a possible escape. Or was it still too early? Did he risk being caught by the pirates again? There was hardly any opportunity to escape. When and where was the best time? Who should he turn to? As long as he was either commanding raids at sea or bringing slaves to Zanzibar, there would always be loyal people around him who depended on Tippu-Tin. On the ship, in the pirates' nest on Zanzibar or Sainte Marie. He was never really alone. Tippu-Tin made sure that Luc was always involved in the pirate network. Only once, half a year ago, had he had the feeling for the first time that there might be a possibility of escape after all. Tippu-Tin had taken him and his closest followers to the Madagascan capital Tanarivo. There they had met a young Frenchman called Henri Bouillier, about the same age as him, who apparently managed the pirates' financial affairs. There Luc had learned for the first time that his fortune, which had already grown to a considerable sum, was also managed by this trustee. Luc couldn't shake off the impression that Bouillier was not comfortable with the connection to Tippu-Tin. Surely a good fee justified the services he provided for her. His reaction had been interesting when he had seen Luc and learned that this swashbuckling sailor was a new member of the crew and was doing a very good job. He had openly expressed his interest at the latest after finding out that Luc was also French.

"Oh, French too, very nice. I would be delighted to exchange a few words with you, Monsieur Luc, about our homeland." He looked at Tippu-Tin as if he had to give his consent, but Luc himself replied: "What a good idea. I would also be very pleased, as I have been away from home for many years. Perhaps you could bring me up to date." A smile played across his face.

"Well, that opportunity would be tonight at the hotel over dinner, gentlemen!" Tippu-Tin ended the meeting grumpily, stood up, shook Bouillier's hand and signaled his men to follow him. Unfortunately, did not have the opportunity to speak to Bouillier in private that evening, as Luc had hoped, because there was always a third person present - was Tippu-Tin in control? He didn't know, but he didn't want to arouse suspicion. Especially not in the presence of his arch-rival Sofolo. Only when they met by chance on the way to the toilet did Bouillier briefly open the conversation: "Your fortune has already grown quite considerably. What do you actually want to do with that pile of money?"

He looked suspiciously up and down the corridor to make sure they were not overheard by anyone. Without waiting for Luc's reply, he continued: "I recommend that you buy land. By that I mean invest the money as quickly as possible. Because I don't know how long the French government will wait before sending troops to the north of Madagascar. And you and I don't know what will happen to us then, but it seems to me to be the best investment. Our government is desperate to take possession of Madagascar as a colony and then French people who already own land are the best thing that could happen to France. You understand?"

Luc nodded - yes, that seemed like a good idea to him. If French troops ever did turn up, it would give them the opportunity to free themselves from the clutches of the pirates. Bouillier continued hastily, sensing that he had to get to the point quickly to avoid arousing suspicion: "There is very productive land in the north-east of Madagascar. Buying it would be extremely worthwhile. If you agree, I will do everything necessary to acquire the land. As an expense, I would transfer 10 percent of the land to myself, the rest on your behalf, Mr. Luc. As I see it, you have more than enough money for a huge area of land at the moment. Land prices are still very low, but unfortunately there is a huge risk. Who knows what our government will decide tomorrow, not to mention the British."

This seemed very plausible to Luc and at the time the only ray of hope of ever escaping this pirate nightmare. And so he decided to take on this risky business.

The sun had just set behind the mainland of Madagascar. Still lost in thought, he heard the lookout call out "Pointe Albrand in sight" and sure enough, the northern tip of the island was already visible. Home at last, what an irony! He was probably already the owner of huge estates beyond the notorious pirate stronghold of Sainte Marie. Luc couldn't help but smile.

However, the renewed call from the topmast made it disappear quickly. "Warning signal hanging upside down!" was the message.

Luc froze! Merde, what was going on? He immediately shouted orders: "Prepare the ship for battle! Man the starboard gun ports! Lower the mainsail, helmsman, fall away - bring us closer, but slowly!"

What Luc had practiced with his crew over days and weeks was now to pay off once again. The crew reacted immediately and routinely, as they had in numerous previous battles. The first officer supervised the preparations on deck, two midshipmen immediately disappeared into the lower deck to mobilize the crew and man the gun ports as quickly as possible. Luc grabbed his binoculars. He could still barely make out anything of the harbor, only the warning signal, which was indeed hanging upside down. This so-called warning signal at the northernmost point of the island had been his idea. It was supposed to serve as an early warning for returning pirate ships. The flag, white at the top and black at the bottom, signaled that all was well on the island. If it was hanging upside down, as it was now, it could only mean that something bad had happened.

"Ship ready for battle, Luc!" reported the first officer.

He nodded imperceptibly, still peering intently through the telescope. Agonizing minutes passed, the frigate slowly crept forward. They had now reached the northernmost point abeam . There was usually a group of pirates there, but not a soul was to be seen. Luc's throat felt dry as dust and he had to swallow. His hands were soaked with sweat and his shirt was damp against his body. Was this really the end of the pirate's life? In the fading light, he could dimly make out a strange ship on the harbor quay. It looked like one of those new steam-powered ships. A small plume of smoke rose from the funnel, no lights were burning on board and Luc couldn't make out any activity on deck. The only thing he could make out: It had to be a warship, because he could dimly see large cannons on the bow and on the aft deck. They were called armored corvettes, if he remembered correctly. Luc was seized by panic. He waved his first officer over and whispered in his ear: "All orders are given and acknowledged in a whisper. Notify the crew immediately, I don't want to hear another sound!"

He turned to the unknown warship again and his gaze panned amidships, where the main superstructure and the bridge were located. He couldn't see any light there either. He lifted the telescope further up to the top and then he saw what he had feared: the tricolor fluttered there in the faint night breeze. Luc immediately had the ship turned around. As if by magic, the frigate swung quietly around, only the creaking of the yards and spars could be heard. "New course north-north-east!" the helmsman reported in a whisper. Almost silently, more sails were set and the frigate set sail again, away from the French warship. Luc's main concern was that their appearance had been noticed. At the moment, there was no sign of this, as no activity seemed to have been set in motion either on the warship or on land. Had they been unlucky and the French were unaware of their existence? Luc's thoughts whirled around in his head and his heart began to race.

What should he do now?

"Stand down from 'Ready for battle'! Absolute silence and no lights, do you understand?", he nervously instructed his first officer. They now had to implement the emergency plan that Luc had drawn up for such situations. That meant sailing around the northern tip of Madagascar to get to the island of Nosy Be in the northwest. There, at the behest of Tippu-Tin, they had set up a small emergency camp. Unfortunately, Luc had never been there in those two years. So he didn't know what to expect there, or whether the place had already been occupied by the military. A lot of uncertainties, he thought. So he had to work out further options for action immediately. But which ones?

The longer Luc thought about his situation, the more he realized that now was the ultimate heaven-sent opportunity to escape. When, if not now? This was the chance, finally! Unless the pirate pack, including Sofolo and Tippu-Tin, had managed to escape to Nosy Be ... After an hour's drive, Luc was certain that he had no pursuers on his heels. He had decided what to do next. So he had the entire crew line up and informed them about the French warship and the fact that the pirate base was lost. They were now on their way to the island of Nosy Be, where he, Luc, intended to pay off the entire crew with the money from the last slave voyage and then wait for some time. Perhaps there would be an opportunity to reorganize, or perhaps they would find out that they were the only survivors of Tippu-Tin's pirate crew and therefore could not regroup. The crew was not enthusiastic, but understood the drama of the situation and accepted Luc's decision. After all, they were all looking forward to the promised booty. At dawn, they approached the island of Nosy Be from the north and steered into the bay of Mahazandry, where they dropped anchor. Luc wanted to wait and see if anything happened on land in view of their presence. In the meantime, he had them line up and handed everyone their share. The majority wanted to wait on the ship and hoped that more ships from the pirate fleet would arrive. Neither another ship nor a person on land was to be seen - ideal. Luc decided to take a few volunteers on a dinghy to clarify the situation. He confided in the first officer that he would not be returning; it was time to turn his back on the pirate life. He knew that the journey to the capital Tananarivo would be long and arduous, but it would lead him to a new future.

Luc finally felt free again. His escape five months earlier had taken him to the capital and to Bouillier, via several stops and a long, unnecessary journey, to find out more and, above all, more details. Luc had come to his office to pick up both the travel documents and his new personal identification papers. Since his imprisonment, he no longer had an official identity. Luc accepted the papers and documents with a satisfied smile.

"Thank you very much for your support, Mr. Bouillier. I don't know what I would have done without you."

Don't mention it, you're welcome. I'm very glad you're alive. After all I had heard and read, I didn't think I would ever meet you again. I was very worried and was already thinking about what to do with the land I had acquired. I'm glad we were able to sort that out too. Do you already know when you will be returning?"

"No, I can't say that yet, but as promised, we'll stay in touch. I want to see my family again first and, of course, my homeland, but I have to admit that I like Madagascar. I will return, if only to take possession of my land and cultivate it. I've heard that vanilla cultivation is very promising."

Bouillier and Luc talked for a while and exchanged thoughts about the future, political events and their personal relationship. Finally, Luc said goodbye. The ship on which Bouillier had booked a cabin for him and which would take him back to France was due to leave the next afternoon. According to Bouillier, France and Great Britain were fighting for supremacy in Madagascar. Although Great Britain had stationed troops in the north, the French had taken possession of the island of Sainte Marie. The pirate base had been completely destroyed. Luc was very lucky that he hadn't been there. There was no trace of Tippu-Tin and Sofolo. France was currently concentrating its forces around the only and important trading port of Tamatave and the capital. It was still unclear who would prevail. Tactically, France had the advantage and Great Britain's ambitions were unclear. The locals around Queen Ranavalona II were also considered an unpredictable element and should not be underestimated. Luc wanted to find out more about the acquired land. According to Bouillier, it was located in the triangle between the towns of Sambava and Antalaha, both on the coast, and Andapa in the foothills. He had certainly sailed past it regularly. In view of the fact that Great Britain occupied the north, he considered it unwise for Luc to visit the purchased land now. Patience was in order. Well, that suited Luc, as he longed to finally return to France and see his loved ones. The thought of having a family of his own made him think - it was about time, he felt. The years passed and he didn't get any younger. Luc turned confidently towards the hotel. What adventures and challenges might the future hold for him? When would he be able to set foot on Malagasy soil again and finally take possession of his country? He didn't know - not yet.

Luc could no longer stand it in his cramped, stuffy cabin. A longing for fresh air drove him onto the deck, where he enjoyed the soothing breeze of the summer morning of 1895. The sky was almost cloudless, while the rising sun poured its rays like liquid gold onto the dew-covered deck beams. He learned from the second officer, , that they would soon reach the northern tip of Madagascar, glide south along the coast and pass the notorious pirate island of Sainte Marie at sunrise before docking in the port of Tamatave in the late afternoon. The memory of his time on Sainte Marie, where he had spent more than two years involuntarily as a prisoner of the notorious slave trader and pirate Tippu-Tin, made Luc nervous. Standing alone on the panoramic deck of the 'Salazie', he leaned against the railing and felt the proximity of the island despite the sparse morning mist. He had returned to the pirates' nest countless times in his converted cargo ship to deliver reports and money. The two years in pirate service seemed like a nightmare to him, but they were the source of his wealth and the reason for his current return. A year ago, he had received word from his trustee Bouillier that the time was right to return. A treaty between France and Great Britain had paved the way by ceding Madagascar to the French. Luc had finally been able to take possession of the lands acquired by Bouillier and had left his wife and son head over heels to face up to his past.

He breathed in the familiar, tropical air and could hardly believe it - a new adventure was about to begin. Having become a father and once again being torn away from his familiar family life, he had to face facts. Smiling, he left the deck after one last look at Sainte Marie. It was time to pack up and prepare for the challenge ahead. Luc was convinced that it wouldn't be easy, but he was happy to be back. Jean Bouillier listened to him with interest and patience. More than a year and a few months had passed since Luc's return and it was high time to discuss the next steps with the trustee. Various barely manageable challenges required urgent action. The acquired land was in a miserable and overgrown state. Luc first had to get an overview, before he could think about implementing plans such as the possible cultivation of a vanilla plantation. The locals had built small settlements in various places and tried their hand at primitive farming. Parts of the land had been used by British occupation troops for camps, buildings and more. Numerous paved and well-developed roads crisscrossed the land. At a site Luc had already evaluated for a house and farm building with a workers' village, the British had even built a long wooden jetty into the sea so that military equipment would not have to be transported exclusively by road. Not everything Luc found on his land was a disadvantage, but the locals, who lived all over the area, had to be evicted and forcibly relocated with the help of the military. This often led to fisticuffs and small skirmishes, which fueled resentment towards the new colonial masters, especially Luc. Threats of violence and guerrilla warfare were openly expressed.

"Well, I can tell you that the army high command is finally ready to provide further support. Additional troop contingents will be sent to the north in the next few weeks," concluded a relieved Bouillier.

"I'm glad to hear that and thank you for your efforts. What would I do without you?" Luc replied with a smile.

"I can also inform you that Henry Maître, the Frenchman I have already told you about several times, has finally agreed to join us. He will be a very capable foreman for you. He grew up in the north, near Diego Suarez, and is therefore familiar with the area and speaks various dialects. The biggest benefit, however, is his many years of experience in vanilla cultivation," Bouillier continued with a cheerful face.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Bouillier. I really appreciate it. When can I meet him?" Luc wanted to know.

"Well, he's also in the city. So you can arrange to meet him at any time. Would you like me to arrange a meeting?"

"Yes, with pleasure, that would be very nice. Thank you!"

Bouillier made a note and then raised his eyes.

"What else I wanted to know, Mr. Bouillier, have you been able to check my budget statements yet?"

"Of course. I've already done that and added a few corrections and suggestions, but everything is within the financial framework and is acceptable," he explained, smiling and tapping a handsome bundle of paper to his right.

"Excellent!" Luc exclaimed, who was delighted.

"What's the situation with your family? When will your wife and son Rémy be moving to Madagascar?" Bouillier asked with interest.

"Well, that's a sad topic," Luc expressed his concern. "My wife steadfastly refuses and doesn't want to come, unfortunately. Maybe she'll change her mind once the life project has made more progress. After all, I want to give her a pleasant future and a secure livelihood. Either way, I'll keep at it. Hope dies last, doesn't it, Mr. Bouillier? I've already overcome many hurdles and will have to jump over more," Luc tried to encourage himself. He smiled sheepishly.

"Let's hope for the best," Bouillier replied quietly.

They continued to exchange ideas for a while. Bouillier again emphasized how important it was for France to further consolidate and secure its colonial rule in Madagascar after the first campaign. He was aware of this through his excellent connections, which reached as far as the Élysée in Paris. After securing the capital and the strategically important north, it was now time to concentrate on the south and especially the highlands. The queen had already been sent into exile over a year ago and Railinaiarivony, who had only been in office for a very short time as prime minister, had soon had to follow her into exile. He had died in Algeria in July, clearing the way for the first French governor-general. Bouillier had heard that Brigadier General Joseph Gallieni had a good chance of winning the post, as he had made a particularly good name for himself in Indochina with his merciless and brutal fight against Chinese pirates, as the region was now much more stable. Bouillier emphasized Luc's possessions in the north and his commitment as eminently valuable. The government was happy to extend its support. He had also heard rumors of an imminent second campaign. However, perhaps they would wait for the arrival of the new governor-general. With Bouillier's promise to arrange the meeting with Henry Maître immediately and the voluminous pile of papers under his arm, a satisfied Luc left Bouillier's office. There was a lot to do and he had to meet with this maître as soon as possible to discuss everything necessary.

The sun stood almost vertically above their heads and burned down mercilessly on Luc and his companions. The high humidity made it feel like a laundry room. Fortunately, as was usually the case in the afternoon, there was a gentle breeze which, although warm, generated a little coolness through the draught. At last they had reached the top edge of the large embankment, scrambling up on all fours. The embankment stretched along the coastal road. From up here, they had an impressive view over Gabriel Land and could make important decisions about upcoming construction work. Luc dried the sweat on his face with a striped handkerchief, pushed his wide-brimmed hat back on his neck and breathed in and out noisily. His beige linen shirt stuck to his upper body like a wet washcloth. His companions were no different. Henry Maître was panting as heavily as he was. Only the local youngster Faly showed little sign of fatigue, smiling mischievously and looking down expectantly at the two of them until they finally reached the top. Luc allowed them a short break before he took various maps of the surrounding area, his country, out of the folder he had brought with him, unfolded them and tried to lay them out on the stony ground. Faly was already collecting stones to weigh them down, as the mild breeze was threatening to shake up the plans.

Faly was the first to find the breath to speak: "Master Luc, what do you want to start with now?" the boy, who was not yet 20, wanted to know in his inimitable, fragmentary French.

"Well, I think we'll first discuss the layout of the buildings based on the existing roads created by the British. Then we'll look at the location, size and layout of the planned plantations. Finally, we'll see what roads and paths need to be added - if any. I have pointed out several times that we should manage the division without building new roads if possible. Or what do you think, Henry?" Luc finished his thoughts.

He drank greedily from the water bottle that Faly had held out to him.

"I see it the same way you do," Henry replied, gasping.

Luc couldn't help but smile and fanned himself with his hat. What they were now developing, discussing and finally designing together was to be the cornerstone of their future. Overall success depended crucially on sensible planning and its implementation. They therefore proceeded strategically, prudently and in detail, constantly making corrections. Transport routes, accommodation for the workers, the operation and maintenance of the plantations as well as the private house, the vehicle shelter, the company building and the farm building were the subject of lively debate. Again and again they had to discard the envisaged layout, as the existing paths, roads and distances could not be sensibly combined with the buildings to be constructed. In the end, as the sun was already approaching the horizon, Luc was satisfied with the arrangement they had devised. Tired, hungry and thirsty - the water bottles were all empty - they folded up the plans full of scribbled decisions. Sliding down the embankment more than walking, they finally reached the van and drove back. Late into the evening, Luc sorted and completed the plans, the schedule and the planning.

Over a glass of French wine, he reviewed the past few months since his return. Bouillier's suggestion to hire Henry Maître as foreman was a revelation and proved to be a complete success. Thanks to him, Luc now had the best connections to the most important and decisive people. He knew the local customs, local negotiating tactics and was therefore able to proceed in a cost-efficient and timely manner in order to implement everything necessary. A real stroke of luck, as was to become apparent the longer Luc was back in Madagascar. The fact that he had Faly, this young local, with him also proved to be an asset. At first, he had been reluctant to hire him, but Maître's assurance that the guy was worth his weight in gold had finally convinced him to agree. And so it was. The boy developed into a devoted and willing worker. Thanks to him, recruiting the locals as cheap labor had become even easier and Maître's work had also become much easier. It was only Faly's origins that set Luc's alarm bells ringing for the first time since his return. According to Maître, Faly's father had been part of the nefarious slave traders who had been up to mischief on the island of Sainte Marie. Luc decided not to go into it any further and played the ignorant man to Maître when it came to these stories and tales. Nevertheless, he did not want to ignore the information, on the contrary. He had to keep all eyes and ears open in this matter, because he didn't want his past to catch up with him. Nevertheless, fate was once again kind to him. How long would his luck last?

A contented Luc sat on the small veranda of his newly built manor house. Although tired from the day's work, he was reluctant to retire. The events of the past weeks and months occupied his mind. New challenges presented themselves: torrential rains that eroded the soil of the vanilla bushes and the increasingly hostile conflicts between the local population and the colonial power France and its large landowners, of which Luc was one. Despite these challenges, he was fulfilled by the realization of his life project. After a year of intensive construction work, all parts of the building were completed. His private home, modestly designed but large enough for his wife, his son Rémy and possible future offspring, bore witness to his vision. However, convincing his wife to move to Madagascar with him proved to be a difficult undertaking. The separation weighed heavily on Luc and he did not understand why she refused to follow him. While Europe seemed to be their destination, he dreamed of a future together in his country. The hope that she might change her mind with the completed construction project and the upcoming harvest, which promised financial security, kept him going. Before the plantations were developed, accommodation was built for the workers. Luc left this task to the impressively skilled locals. Under the strict supervision of Maître, huts were built and the discovered spring was turned into a central water point. The establishment of the first of three planned plantations began with the good fortune of being able to take over ripe vanilla bushes from an abandoned plantation in the north. Luc set himself the goal of completing the farm buildings by the time of the first harvest. The upcoming vanilla production was a great challenge for him, as he lacked the necessary knowledge. Henry Maître's involvement proved to be another stroke of luck, especially as he had already gained experience, but the sheer size of the plantations presented challenges even for him. When Luc learned that there were over a hundred varieties of vanilla and that he had to choose the right one, he couldn't suppress a loud laugh. "Over a hundred? Excuse me? And how am I supposed to know which one is suitable?" Maître laughed in the face of his patron's overload. "Well, it's not that bad, Master Luc. Theoretically there are over a hundred, but here in Madagascar we only have the Bourbon vanilla. It was imported from the island of La Réunion decades ago and is thriving," he reassured Luc. A much bigger challenge was pollination, which had to be done by hand and required more experience. But they would certainly master that, Faly added with a grin. He reminded Luc that the names for the three plantations were still missing. On the whole, they had got off to a good start. The first harvest had been productive and the plants on the other two plantations were also growing and thriving. The French market was demanding vanilla sticks, which ensured sales for the time being. Luc yawned. It was time to go to bed. He could think about the names of the plantations tomorrow and put aside his fear of renewed attacks by the rebels.

The next morning dawned. Luc sipped his second coffee and looked up at the cloudy sky. Two rain fronts had already passed and a gentle wind played with the delicate leaves of the palm branches. In this peaceful atmosphere, a letter from his wife was handed to him by the French army courier service. He opened it with expectant curiosity, silently hoping that she would decide to emigrate to Madagascar to join him after all. He had already made an attempt at the turn of the century, but without success. Neither his wife nor his now twelve-year-old son Rémy showed any interest in his new adventurous life. There was no reason for them to leave France and they did not understand why he had left them behind so abruptly. His letter had been a last desperate attempt to persuade his wife and son to join him. He reported on the completion of the building projects, especially the house, on his plantations, which he had now named after French kings or emperors, and of course on his business success. He deliberately did not mention the attacks by the rebels so as not to frighten them and further reduce the likelihood of their relocation. Unfortunately, this letter also contained disappointing news. Luc put the lines he had read aside in resignation. There was nothing new: the same accusations and total lack of understanding. In addition, for the first time he thought he could sense deep bitterness between the lines. It was a shame, but also understandable. He had left in just a few months and had done so rather hastily. In Luc's mind, it had been clear that his wife and son would follow after a very short time, at the latest when he had built up a new life in Madagascar. Unfortunately, this proved to be a fallacy. Success came, but neither his wife nor his son wanted to share in it. Leaving his large estate in Madagascar was no longer an option for Luc. This was where he belonged, where he felt at home. For better or worse, he had to admit to himself that he would spend his life alone.

As Bouillier had correctly predicted, Joseph Gallieni had been appointed governor-general. As soon as he arrived in Madagascar, he launched another campaign. With an iron hand, the natives in the south and in the highlands were attacked, massacred and mercilessly subjugated. Horrific stories and rumors spread like wildfire. The resistance quickly collapsed as the Madagascans, consisting of numerous tribes, were divided among themselves and were unable to mount a concentrated resistance. The official hostilities had ended barely six months earlier in the summer of 1905 with the total surrender. The subjugation was complete and Madagascar now belonged to France. Nevertheless, small uprisings flared up here and there, causing Luc increasing headaches, even though his property had so far been spared. The French army and its bases in particular were the focus of the guerrilla-like resistance groups. How long would he himself be spared? It seemed to be only a question of time. Nevertheless, it was to be more than ten years before events came thick and fast and Luc's past caught up with him.

"Master Luc, I'm very uncomfortable, but I have to ask this question now. It's been on the tip of my tongue for weeks. What is true about the rumors circulating everywhere about your past in connection with the pirates of Sainte Marie?" A visibly tense and nervous Henry Maître sat opposite Luc and looked him straight in the eye. Beads of sweat appeared on his furrowed brow and he drummed nervously on the coffee table with the fingers of his left hand. Maître had been unable to ignore the dramatic escalation of key factors affecting the business - not to mention the rumors and Luc's chronically low mood. That had been noticeable for months. It was only logical and humanly understandable that Maître finally demanded clarity, as he had only recently been able to motivate his young son Richard to work for Luc as well. His fate, his success and his failure were thus intertwined with Luc's skills and he could almost physically feel the unease. Luc's features tensed and he struggled for breath. Basically, he was very glad that everything could finally be sorted out now, and he blamed himself for not having brought it up much earlier on his own initiative. He had known that questions would be asked sooner or later after the turbulent events of the last few months. Uncomfortable questions. Questions that needed an explanation. The fact that all the negative developments had accumulated so suddenly and were heading towards a cruel end did not make the situation any more bearable, but Luc had seen it coming, had sensed it for some time. It had all started with the unusually numerous and violent summer storms in 1911, which had triggered severe soil erosion that they were no longer able to control. As a result, two of the three plantations had to be completely replanted . In addition, Luc had noticed that the quality and efficiency of the pollination seemed to be inadequate. Unfortunately, neither he nor Maître knew the reasons and were unsure how the problem could be solved. No one around them knew what to do or could have helped. The result was a huge crop failure with a correspondingly large loss of income. Luc had to spend all his reserves on replanting and compensating for the losses. In 1914, they had finally bottomed out. The plantations were thriving again and they thought they had survived the worst. Then the First World War broke out and global demand and sales markets collapsed completely. Thanks to Bouillier's connections up to the highest government circles in France, they also survived these four years of war. Financial support and a contractually agreed minimum sales volume prevented the catastrophe that was bankruptcy. Unfortunately, the global economy was slow to recover afterwards and Luc even had to use the last of his assets to continue the business. He had no other choice. He didn't want to give up. Not yet. As if that hadn't been tragic enough, rumors suddenly started circulating that Luc owed his wealth to his membership of the pirates of Sainte Marie. They persisted. What was he supposed to do? As so often in recent weeks, they sat on Luc's veranda to discuss important decisions and procedures for the next few days. They had been expecting a major attack by local rebels for days. They had received this crucial tip-off from the French army leadership, who referred to an informer placed in the enemy ranks. The only thing they didn't know was when it would happen and the wait was fraying their nerves. The defensive deployment was set up and Luc's country resembled an army camp.

"The rumors about my wealth are true," Luc began with a sigh, answering Maître's pressing question. "I served in Tippu-Tin's pirate gang for two years and made a lot of money thanks to my privileged position as the most important captain of a converted merchant frigate. I'll be happy to tell you how that came about another time. Either way, it was extremely adventurous, but I am by no means proud of it. I only have one request here and now: Keep this knowledge to yourself or we will go down together, regardless of the outcome of the fight against the rebels. I know Sofolo, the suspected rebel leader, from my pirate days. I still have a score to settle with him and I'm looking forward to finally getting my revenge!" Luc finished.

His look was so frightening that Maître looked at him in amazement at his emotional outburst.

Two days after this clarifying conversation, the rebels attacked at dawn.

Weeks ago, Luc, Maître and two army officers had already worked out a plan for the defense of Gabriel Land. It was clear to everyone that the attack would most likely take place at dawn. Tactically speaking, the rebels could not come from the west, from the hinterland, as they would have to overcome two army camps as an obstacle. And the likelihood of them coming from the sea was zero because they had no large ships with the necessary troop transport capacity. This left only the north, especially as the Masoala jungle lay to the south and could not be crossed. It was therefore clear where they had to focus their defense. The two officers now devised a number of attack scenarios. On the one hand, this showed how they would approach it themselves, and on the other, what their experience of fighting the natives during the campaigns they had led had taught them. Thus a clear main strategy crystallized, with various possible and minor variations. The main stream would be led along the coastal road, so massively that the defenders believed there was no other front. This would tie up all forces on the coastal road and possible bypass routes would be neglected or no longer even considered. Optional routes were to bypass the massive roadblock to the west through the plantations or to the east along the sea through the reeds, which were crisscrossed by a few narrow paths. Or they would use a small ship to drop off a modest contingent of rebels at the large jetty. Either way, and everyone agreed on this, all bypass routes had to be additionally secured. A heated discussion broke out over the question of whether they should fend off the attackers on the road by all means or stage a mock escape after some time and let the rebels into the workers' village. There they could await the bulk of the attackers and eliminate them in a targeted and concentrated manner. It was a daring move and they discussed the pros and cons of this tactic for a long time. In the end, they rejected the option as Luc insisted on fighting as far away from the buildings and houses as possible. He wanted to allow as little collateral damage as possible. It was likely that some rebels would be able to enter the village via the bypass routes anyway, and they did not want a concentration of rebel forces. This clarified the defensive plan and the two officers began to distribute the troops accordingly. The strongest contingent was to secure the road, the second largest was to operate in the village, also serving as a reserve, in each case under the command of the two officers. Two somewhat smaller units were formed in the plantations under the command of Maître and the other by the sea was commanded by Luc himself. In addition, patrols and scouts were to protect against surprise attacks. The task now was to occupy and expand the positions so that they could then go on duty and endure the long wait. Meanwhile, the regular workload on Gabriel Land continued as usual.

Luc was woken abruptly from his sleep by the shrill ringing of the army telephone, a dedicated line from the army roadblock to his house. He lifted the receiver: "Yes, I'm listening?"

"Master Luc, they're attacking. As we suspected, a large convoy is moving towards us. A dispatch runner has already been sent to the workers' village, and two others have been sent to the defense deployment by the sea and to the plantations," the intelligence soldier finished his report in an excited voice.

"Thank you!" was Luc's dry reply.

He hung up and thought he could already hear gunfire in the background. Finally, the day of decision had arrived. Relief spread through him. He took a deep breath and quickly pulled on his boots. He hadn't taken his clothes off in the last few nights. He always wanted to be ready. Luc hated surprises, especially when someone was after his life. A lingering nervousness and the constant reminder that today could be the day he died brought back memories of his pirate days. This feeling felt strangely familiar. After checking his pistol and knife and fastening them to his belt, he left the house. His goal was to join the group by the sea, as planned. He had a premonition that Sofolo was leading the group by the sea.

The tension grew from second to second. Darkness still dominated the surroundings. Luc had to slow down to avoid stumbling. A silver lining in the eastern sky hinted at the beginning of morning, while the last wisps of mist drifted past on the beach. Luc turned left from the path to the beach onto an even narrower path and slowly and quietly approached the army's position. He stopped before a 90-degree bend and listened to the first volleys of gunfire from the road.

Crouching down, he barely audibly whispered the password "Tricolor!" - No response. His tension grew. He repeated it and then heard a rustling in front of him.

"Is ... is that you, Master Luc?" Faly stammered uncertainly.

Suddenly, a machine gun opened fire, followed by numerous screams. Detonations and the noise of pe tards filled the cool morning air. Death and destruction spread along the roadblock. The battle had begun.

"Yes, it's me, Faly," Luc replied quietly. He turned the corner. "Is everything quiet here?" he wanted to know. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Faly nod. Luc crept forward, past Faly, and could now dimly make out various soldiers in firing positions with bayonets raised. The noise from the street intensified. The corporal on duty turned to Luc and put his index finger to his lips, then pointed his thumb in the opposite direction. Everyone paused and listened intently into the dark reeds. Couldn't they hear rustling and trampling? Luc and the corporal looked at each other uncertainly. There was that sound again. The tension increased again. It was becoming increasingly difficult to make out anything specific in the noise of fighting from the street, which seemed to be getting louder and louder. Either way, something or someone was approaching their position on the path. It was getting lighter and Luc dared to stand up to peer over the reeds. He counted ten heads and immediately ducked down again. He indicated to the corporal what was happening on the path ahead with two five-fingered gestures. He nodded in understanding. The group of rebels turned onto the straight section of the path that led directly to them in the ambush.

Luc had already drawn his pistol and was about to open fire when, unexpectedly, shots rattled off to their right. It had to be on the beach, Luc thought, and the corporal shouted: "Fire!"