Sisimito I--Ox Witz Ha

by Henry W. Anderson

  I smiled because the higher mountains he had seen were probably the Powder Hill Range. We had not crossed those, but had travelled north of them, the highest elevation being between eight hundred and twelve hundred feet, if the map was accurate. I was satisfied with our walk, however, for we had already crossed some mountains and even with our delays, we were still making progress. After leaving Mexican Branch, we began climbing the steepest mountain we had attempted that far.

  “Sarge,” pointed out Bas. “It is three-o-clock.” I nodded. He turned, facing the group. “I had asked Sarge to stop for a moment, at this time, today.” He was holding on to his Green Scapular with his right hand, rubbing it as if nervous. I knew he was not, but that moment had elicited intense feelings within him. “I would just like to acknowledge the celebration of the death of Christ at three-o-clock on Good Friday, today. Those of you who wish to participate, simply hang your head for a minute and make your own silent prayer. All the men, including myself bent our heads in reverence. In the quiet of the afternoon sun, I heard the soft, almost silent, wing beats I recognized as those of an icim. I felt the hairs on my arms stand. I frowned, uneasy, not knowing why. It was unusual for an icim to be flying around at that time of day, but, perhaps, it was the one Anderson had disturbed at Mexican Branch. Bas raised his head, looked at me and said, “Okay. Thanks, Sarge.”. We moved on.

  Illustration 17: Parham’s Mountain.

  By late afternoon, the mountain took its toll on Parham. He was retching and his dark skin had taken on an ashen color. I ordered a halt to the walk and Taylor and Hulse went ahead to see if water could be found nearby. Water was only five minutes away, a small creek at the bottom of a deep ravine. Because of Parham’s condition, I decided to make camp at the first suitable place we found, but not far away from a water source. I was aware that the mountain had taken its toll, even on the absolutely physically fit, for the entire section was tired.

  We soon found a suitable site for our camp and settled into the preparations. We had just finished our tapesco when it started to rain. It rained for one and a half hours, but the tapesco gave us good shelter and we kept warm with our ground sheets70 and medicinal sips of brandy. I noticed that Taylor kept glancing at me as the men laughed and talked and he was being unusually quiet. Normally, he would be leading the jokes, especially at Clarke’s expense. When the rain stopped, I took a walk and called him to accompany me.

  “What’s the matter, Taylor?” I asked him.

  “Nothing much, Sarge,” he answered.

  “Tell me,” I ordered. He hesitated, looked away then back at me.

  “Well, remember when you sent me to observe the camp at Mexican Branch? I felt as if someone was watching me. That’s why I didn’t answer right away. For a moment, I even felt cold to the point I shivered. It felt like cold air … like a naat71 blowing.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Well, I recceed the area and there was no one there. But whenever I have a feeling about something, I’m usually correct. I just felt that someone or some animal was there. I didn’t want to say anything as I didn’t want the men to think that I’d been spooked by the old camp.”

  “Next time you tell me. Okay! That’s a fokin order.”

  “Sarge!”

  I walked back to the tapesco wondering about the Mexican Branch Camp, the bed, the overturned stool, the fire hearth without cold cinders, the wood having bite marks, and that fact that I too had a weird feeling there. Had Bas really see Hashishi Pampi? I just didn’t know what to think, but I would have double duty done that night. It seemed the right thing to do.

  We ate from our dry rations, Bas suggesting that we eat no meat, keeping with the Good Friday tradition. When I told the men that two of them would do duty at a time, they, except Bas and Taylor, grumbled a bit about the loss of sleep. The night proved uneventful, however, except that it drizzled on and off and there were one or two mosquitoes singing in our ears. Nevertheless, we slept soundly and so got sufficient rest.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ALL FOOLS DAY AT THE FORK.

  Holy Saturday, April 1, 1972

  Dawn was just signaling its arrival when Hulse kicked me in the thigh. A dim shadow of sunlight was awakening my jungle as he handed me a hot cup of coffee. I sat up, held the cup close to my nose, and inhaled deeply.

  “Ham and eggs for breakfast,” he beamed. I frowned, glowering at him. I knew that there were no ham and eggs on that mission.

  He laughed. “All Fools Day.”

  I grimaced. “Please don’t remind the men. “I don’t want to put up with pranks all day long. It will slow us down.”

  “Of course,” he answered. “It was only you I wanted to catch anyway.” He moved away, got himself a cup of coffee and appeared quite pleased with himself.

  The air around the camp was damp, but I saw no rain clouds hurrying past overhead as I looked through breaks in the canopy. Bas was awakening the civilians, the other soldiers already up and about. We had a quick breakfast of bread and corned beef and after cleaning the camp were on our way.

  I was glad for the early start. The climb was no easier than that which had slowed us down the day before. The mountain was very steep, but it was good to see that Parham was doing well, having caught his ‘second wind’. I really didn’t want anything to slow us down as we were already running behind schedule.

  We climbed for about three hours through broadleaf jungle, following the overgrown road upward; then, suddenly, the trees gave way to tall grass and shrubs. We had reached the summit of the mountain and there, within a distant mist, seven and a half miles north-northwest of us, was the Cockscomb Range and Victoria Peak. Because of the bright sun and humidity, a haze covered the range giving it a shrouded blue-grey color. From that vantage point, the range did indeed look like a cockscomb, but Victoria Peak itself was not the spectacular pinnacle as when viewed from the East, out at sea. We were extremely elated, patting each other on the back, laughing and cussing, and were ready to celebrate with a drink of brandy. It was the first time we had seen Victoria Peak since Expedition Bold began. However, we had to push on and make up for lost time so I told the men we would have an extra bit of brandy that night.

  The mountain’s descent proved even steeper than its ascent and I certainly didn’t look forward to climbing it on the way back. I hoped that the rains stayed away for it would prove even more difficult when slippery and muddy. I had to wonder how trucks were able to carry their payload of logs over those hills and I could understand why they worked only during the dry season. The trucks must have been tough, their drivers tougher. I was convinced, however, that no Bedford truck, no matter how tough, no driver, no matter how tough, could cover those hills when they were muddy.

  Illustration 18: The “Haul-Am-Back’ vine with Mr. Parham, and Privates Taylor,

  Anderson, and Hulse, taking a rest before completing the accent to the summit.

  Illustration 19: From the summit, the first view of the Cockscomb Range.

  Seven and a half miles away.

  Illustration 20: LCpl. Shal, B., aka Lance Corporal-the-Bas-Shal,

  at a small creek at the bottom of a ravine.

  Illustration 21: LCpl. Shal, B., taking a rest.

  An hour and a half later we reached the base of the mountain and found Curassow Creek which eventually drained into Swasey Branch. Curassow Creek was smaller than Mexican Branch, but the water cool, clear and fresh … untouched until everyone pissed into it. It was difficult not to stop for a bath, but we rested only briefly and then continued along the broken road. We passed a site where there were rusted drums and water tanks and we thought that those were probably remains of Sali Si Puede, but we were uncertain. It was not long before we lost the road and never did locate it again, so Taylor immediately put himself in front with his machete.

  The road had been paralleling and remaining close to the Swasey Branch River, so we kept on that route, using the river as a guide. It was not difficult to
follow the river even though we could not see it because of the dense undergrowth on the bank. As there were many small rapids, the loud sound of rushing water was always at our left. Infrequent breaks in the jungle, however, did allow us an occasional view of the beautiful and turbulently white and rocky river.

  I decided to advance to the river and, on climbing down the dense eastern bank, Taylor’s hand suddenly shot up and we stopped walking. He pointed to the western bank where there was a large sani-bay. Taking an afternoon stroll was an unusually large tawny colored mountain lion, weighing well over one hundred and fifty pounds. I heard the almost silent wings of a bird in flight and the distinct Wah-co!-Wah-co!-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. The shutter release of Clarke’s camera seemed foreign and intense, a world apart from the natural sounds of the jungle. The mountain lion hesitated in its drinking as if aware of us, but then continued. When it was finished, it looked towards us where we stood, still hidden in the undergrowth, then the majestic animal slowly walked back into the jungle, the large mammal not eliciting any customary caution. Once again, that made me realize how man was relatively unknown in that area of the jungle and how alone we were.

  We continued down to the river and arrived at The Fork, one of the most beautiful areas we had seen so far. The Fork was also an important marker as we then knew exactly where we were. The Swasey Branch was flowing from the west and came down in a series of little rapids. The Mares Nest Branch or Left-Hand Branch came from the south and the Cockscomb Branch from the north. All three rivers met at The Fork giving rise to a most scenic display of nature. The tall trees of the jungle, with their showy hanging lianas and epiphytes, came all the way down to the edge of the riverbanks. Sani-bays were frequently interspersed with areas of large boulders. Birds and butterflies were abundant and fish, some as long as a foot and a half, swam in small schools. Later, as we swam, they moved around us, even between our legs, without any apparent concern or fear. I decided to camp there that night simply because of the intense beauty the place had. The allurement filled me with a deep exciting calmness I had not often felt before. I was at home. That day we had advanced only a little, over two miles as the crow flies, but we knew exactly where we were, we had seen Victoria Peak, and we would be getting a good rest. Everyone was in extremely good spirits … and, of course, there was the brandy that didn’t seem to finish.

  I chose an area of large flat boulders, between which grew the delicate ek-chi-chan72 fern, on the eastern bank of the Swasey Branch to camp that night. That eliminated our having to cross the river in the morning and hearing Private Anderson telling us not to get our boots wet. I also thought it best to avoid the sani-bay where we had seen the mountain lion. Of course, I was taunted by the men that I was afraid of a large cat. Actually, I would definitely prefer not to come face to face with a mountain lion that size, especially if it were stalking another animal and I got in the way. I would hate to have to kill such a beautiful animal. However, my decision was more based on the fact that I didn’t want to cross the river in the morning and that if the sani-bay were the drinking spot for the animals, especially nocturnal animals, I didn’t want to disturb them.

  Illustration 22: The boulders at The Fork. Private Anderson, Mr. Clarke,

  Private Taylor, and Mr. Parham.

  Illustration 23: Taking a break at The Fork. Privates Anderson, Taylor, and Hulse.

  Illustration 24: Private Anderson relaxing at The Fork.

  Illustration 25: Private Hulse and Mr. Parham exploring The Fork.

  Illustration 26: Mr. Vincent Clarke enjoying The Fork.

  Illustration 27: Private Hulse and Mr. Clarke cooling off in the rapids at The Fork.

  After swimming and washing our underwear as best we could, we dried off in the sun. Parham took his machete, stood at the edge of the water, and killed five fishes. Two were kraana73 and the other three were snuks.74 Private Hulse got a fire going while Parham and Clarke cleaned the fishes. Taylor got some wild banana leaves and the fishes were wrapped in them and placed on hot rocks Hulse had placed in the fire. Our diet, so far, had been mainly canned or packaged. Breakfast was mainly wheat germ or dry corn flakes, a little tinned juice, sardines or sausages or cheese. Lunch was either soda biscuits or Kriol bread or janikayk with sardines or sausages. Dinner was usually canned pickled mackerel and bread or janikayks. We also had dried fruits, prunes, apple sauce, nuts, coffee, Milo packets, Carnation powdered milk, condensed milk, sugar, and salt. There were a few fresh limes to make juice and, of course, there was always the small allotment of medicinal brandy. There had been some powda bons, but the buns had proved too rich for the trip and they had been crushed into powdery crumbs. The sweet powdered crumbs had still been eaten, nonetheless. The fresh fish was going to be a treat for dinner.

  While the dinner was being cooked, Hulse and Parham went up the eastern bank to see if a road could be found. There was no road. That meant that we would really have to use the machetes continuously on the following day. I decided to let tomorrow be. I sat comfortably on the boulders with my allotted shot of brandy, watching the red sun sinking into the mountains and the hundreds of peeniwali75 dancing all around us, dancing in and out of the various hues of green interspersed with white, yellow, blue, and red flowers. Bas had gathered some dry a’kl76 leaves, also known as the Trumpet tree, and after crushing them made a few cigarettes with rolling paper he had brought for that purpose. A’kl was better than any cigarette one could buy. It was a product of my jungle.

  Later, as we sat eating the fish and smoking the chiclero’s77 cigarette around the fire, Taylor put down his food, suddenly, stood up and looked around.

  “What’s the matter?” Taylor, I asked.

  He was quiet momentarily then shook his head. “Nothing,” he answered.

  “Come on, soldier,” I said. “What’s the fokin matter? And that’s an order.”

  “It’s nothing. It’s just that … remember the feeling I told you about? … the one I had at Mexican Branch, I had it just now again. It was even stronger.” He sat down, but did not pick up his food. He picked up his rifle and cradled it, nervously.

  “Come on now. You’re spooking me,” said Clarke, his voice suggesting a little anxiety.

  I nodded towards Bas. He immediately got up, put down his smoke, and with rifle in hand, quietly disappeared into the jungle. In the quiet, I heard him release his safety. There was suddenly an eerie and haunting call.

  Gwow-gwow-gwow-gwow-gwot.

  “What’s that?” asked Clarke.

  “Just a bird,” said Parham.

  “It’s an icim, a Mottled Owl,” I stressed. “They’re common in the jungle. Nothing unusual.” Then I thought aloud. “No. It can’t be the same one. It has to be another Mottled Owl.” I shook my head not wanting to believe that it was the same bird that had startled Anderson at the Mexican Branch Camp, the same soft sounds of wings I had been hearing. I shook off the thought, but the men looked uneasy, sensing my disquiet.

  “Oh sucks! Come on, Taylor” scolded Hulse. “What kind of potato-cloth-dog feeling are you talking about? The only feeling you must worry about is the one between your legs when you see a beautiful young virgin coming towards you, naked as she born, with open arms and open legs.” Hulse flicked up his eyes and hands. “That’s the only time you should have feelings.” He looked at Taylor. Taylor seemed perturbed and Hulse sighed. “Oh, it’s probably just the mountain lion you saw and your subconscious is working on you. We are the only flippin humans here, Taylor. Nothing to worry about. Boy, this fish nice,” he added, as he picked up his fish and continued eating. “And I seasoned it only with salt and black pepper.”

  “Bet you never eat fish nice like this in Barbados, Clarke?” asked Parham.

  “He can’t eat fish like this in Barbados,” laughed Anderson. “This fish is from the river. They don’t have rivers where he comes from … only drains.” We laughed loudly.

  “But we have nice saltwater fish,” responded Clarke. “Fresh from the sea. Th
e fish you gave me to eat looked dark. It’s not colorful.”

  “That’s a kraana. It’s a delicacy,” countered Taylor, a smirk on his face, as well as everyone else.

  “And we do have beautiful women too,” continued Clarke.

  “Now you’re talking my kind of conversation,” asserted Hulse. “And I don’t care if they’re not virgins. But tell us about them flippin Bajan women, all those virgins you left behind.”

  Bas was back and I quickly lost track of what the men were saying. He looked at me and shook his head. As it was Bas who had done the recce, I could rest assured that no one other than us was in that immediate area of my jungle. I glanced at Taylor, wondering what was spooking him. He seemed relaxed again as they continued talking. I felt uneasy, however. I did not like unknowns and I did not know what was getting to Taylor. Taylor was a dependable soldier and his present actions were unusual. Bas sat with the men, picked up back his smoke, but I saw him look into the jungle every now and again and he had not replaced the safety on his rifle. Occasionally, his eyes caught mine, but they gave me nothing. At nine-o-clock, I told the men that we should bed down for the night. I told them the duty roster, making Hulse do duty first. I stayed up a bit with an unauthorized shot of brandy and saw Hulse gathering and piling up as much dry sticks and tree limbs as he could and starting a second fire.”