by Tim Severin
‘We don’t have any choice, if we want to use our cannon,’ Hector answered.
The older man looked unconvinced. ‘There’s no way to get the large gun up there. The hillsides are very steep and covered with thick forest, and the only track to the summit follows the bed of a stream. In many places you are obliged to scramble knee-deep in the water.’
Hector forced himself to sound cheerful. ‘Then we must turn that into an advantage. The Sugala will never expect us to bring cannon up that route. So they won’t try to intercept us. They’ll stay behind their palisade and wait for us to go away. We’ll give them an unpleasant surprise.’ He turned to Prince Jainalabidin and said in slow, careful Spanish, ‘Your Highness, can your men bring the big gun through the jungle and up behind the town?’
The boy bit his lip, and cast an anxious look towards the chamberlain. It was clear that, for the first time, he was being asked to overrule his father’s minister in a major decision. Mansur translated Hector’s words so that there should be no misunderstanding. After a brief silence the prince said proudly, ‘Of course. My men will do what I ask them.’
Hector felt ashamed that he’d taken advantage of the prince’s youthful bravado.
‘Then I suggest we land the cannon out of sight of the Sugala, so they have no idea what we’re doing,’ he said.
Mansur seemed to have accepted his prince’s decision. ‘There’s a small bay just around that spit of land over there. We’ve used it before as a campsite.’
He shouted an order and the paddlers began to turn the kora kora, heading away from Haar. As they retreated, they heard a final flurry of musket shots and a faint jeering from the defenders.
‘They’ve plenty of gunpowder to waste,’ commented Jezreel drily.
‘Probably got it from that same trader who sold it to the Sultan,’ said Hector. He was watching the coast ahead. He could already see the spit of land behind which the kora kora could shelter. ‘Jezreel, I think I should go ahead, while you and the others supervise the landing of the cannon. I want to scout that footpath we’ll be using. See if it’s as bad as Mansur claims, or if there’s some way we can get the five-pounder along it.’
LEAVING THE OTHERS on the beach, Hector headed inland. He had gone barely twenty yards when he began to appreciate just how difficult it would be to haul the cannon uphill. Had it not been for his guide, an Omoro warrior who had taken part in the previous expedition against Haar, he would never have guessed there was any sort of footpath through the jungle. He lost all sense of direction as he shouldered his way through thickets where the plants grew head-high, and his guide led him around the tangled roots of fallen trees piled awkwardly across one another. When that was impossible, he had to scramble over their massive rotting trunks, his hands sliding on the greasy coating of damp moss. Everywhere the ground was soggy, each footfall squelching into the thick layer of leaf mould. It was obvious the thick, eight-inch solid wooden wheels of the brass cannon’s carriage, designed to roll on a ship’s deck, would bog down and be useless in the jungle.
When at last they reached the stream whose course they had to follow, the conditions became even more awkward. It was impossible to stay on the bank. Shrubs and bushes forced Hector to step down into the water. The rocks in the stream bed shifted treacherously when he put his weight on them. Once or twice he tripped and fell forward, saving himself by throwing out his arms and plunging elbow-deep into the water. After twenty minutes of slow, bruising progress he reached the conclusion that Mansur was right. A short distance ahead of him the stream cascaded down a set of rapids, which an agile man might pass by clambering from one rocky shelf to the next, but it would be impossible to haul a heavy cannon up the cataract.
Disheartened, he paused to catch his breath. He felt insignificant within the immensity of the forest. Overhead the canopy of enormous trees blocked out the sunlight and any view of the sky. He was aware only of the constant sound of the rapids, the swirl of water rippling past his ankles, the musty smell of the damp earth, and the myriad itching insect pinpricks on his neck and arms.
The sudden loud, metallic cry of a large bird made him jump. It was a double squawk, very noisy and close at hand. The cry was repeated after a few seconds, then again, echoing through the jungle. From somewhere in the far distance, he heard an answering call. His Omoro guide had stopped abruptly a few yards ahead and held up a warning hand. Hector cautiously peered upwards, trying to see the bird. The nearest trees had straight trunks that soared upwards for at least eighty feet before spreading their mass of branches. They reminded him of the tall columns within a cathedral.
The metallic call came again, even closer. He looked towards his guide, who was making a dancing motion with both hands. ‘Manuk dewata,’ the man mouthed softly.
God’s Birds, Hector thought to himself. This was why he was here: to decide the rights of ownership over this green wilderness and the brilliant coloured plumage of the birds that lived within it. He scanned the jungle canopy, but could see nothing.
The next call was shockingly close by, no more than ten yards away. It came not from the branches high above him, but from the lip of the stream bank just to his right. He looked in that direction and, as he did so, a man stepped into view. He was, at most, five feet tall. Small-boned, with a thick bush of wiry black hair surrounding a head far too large for his body, he was completely naked except for a loincloth. He had a gourd hanging on a cord around his neck, and in his hand was a bamboo hoop to which clung three small, bright red and green parrots.
The extraordinary apparition looked at Hector and his companion for a long, slow interval. Then the grave face broke into a shy smile. Turning away from Hector, he faced into the jungle, lifted his free hand and pinched his nose. He took in a breath through his mouth and let loose a loud, metallic squawk through one nostril.
Somewhere in the distance the call was answered. The forest man was a bird hunter, tracking down his prey.
Cautiously Hector clambered up the bank and approached the stranger, careful not to frighten him. The little man had the manner of a timid forest creature who might suddenly take flight. ‘Salaam aleikum,’ Hector said gently. The man bobbed his head in a friendly way and stood his ground, but made no reply. The three gaily coloured parrots twittered and scrabbled on their perch, using beaks and claws to maintain their grip. Hector looked back enquiringly at his Omoro guide, who shrugged helplessly. It seemed the Omoro did not speak the newcomer’s language. Hector turned back to the bird catcher. ‘Is there a way to Haar from here?’ he asked in English. Large brown eyes regarded him wonderingly, and Hector thought to himself it was probably the first time the little man had seen someone with a pale skin and grey eyes. Hector raised his left hand, palm upwards, and made a walking motion across it with the fingers of his right hand. Then he pointed uphill and spread his arms wide, indicating a broader track.
The bird catcher considered for a moment, then beckoned Hector to follow. He turned and made his way between the trees, angling across the slope of the hill. Keeping up was difficult. The little man slipped nimbly through the forest, casually dangling his parrot perch. From time to time he paused and waited for Hector and his Omoro escort to catch up. Eventually, after some fifteen minutes, he came to a stop and pointed uphill. They were on the edge of what must have been a landslip some years earlier. A substantial section of the hillside had collapsed from the rim above and slid downslope. The torrent of rock and earth had swept away the taller trees and left a deep scar down the flank of the hill. They were standing at the midway point of the landslide, and, looking downslope to his right, Hector could see where the narrow coastal plain began.
Hector hid his disappointment. The gash in the forest caused by the landslide might once have provided an open track up the steep hill, but the undergrowth had grown back with tropical vigour in the intervening years. The way to the summit was now completely choked with a tangled mass of bushes, shrubs, saplings and ground creepers. It was impossible as
a roadway for a heavy cannon.
‘Thank you, thank you very much,’ he said, nodding and smiling.
The bird catcher gave another of his shy smiles and gestured that he was willing to lead them towards the crest in the direction of Haar. But Hector had seen enough. He was despondent and tired, and it was time to return to the beach to report his findings. He shook his head and retraced his steps to where he had left the stream. The bird catcher darted ahead. Within moments he had outdistanced them and disappeared altogether. Hector slipped and slithered for another few paces until he again heard the metallic bird call. This time it definitely came from the treetops. Looking over to his right, he was astonished to see the bird catcher gazing down at him. The little man was perched forty feet off the ground on the branch of a huge tree, and was tying his parrots to the branches.
Raising a hand, he waved them goodbye.
‘ONE OF THE forest people,’ said Mansur, when Hector got back to camp and reported what he’d seen. ‘They bring their catch, alive or skinned, to the town, sell them and then vanish back into the jungle. They are subject to no one, nor do they believe in Allah.’
They were standing beside the brass cannon, now back on its wooden gun carriage.
‘How much do you think the gun weighs?’ asked Mansur.
‘About half a ton,’ said Dan.
‘Let me talk to the kora-kora men to see if they can bring it to Haar by the route he showed you,’ said the chamberlain. He went to confer with several of the older men from the crew of the big war canoe, and returned to say that they were confident they could haul the gun up the steep incline.
‘Did you warn them the slope is overgrown with bushes and small trees?’ Hector asked.
‘I did, but they aren’t worried,’ said Mansur soothingly. ‘They say they will make a start tomorrow at dawn. All you need to do is bring them to the base of the landslide.’
Hector kept his doubts to himself next morning as he watched the Omoro dismantle the bamboo raft and use the materials to build a sturdy sledge. Within half an hour the cannon was balanced on its new platform and on the move. Thirty men tugged it along by the long rattans they used for ropes. Another team went ahead with heavy knives and slashed a path through the bush. Others placed skids under the runners of the sledge whenever it was checked. At the rear walked those with the jars of gunpowder, bullets and stores. Four men carried each lantaka slung on loops between them. Jezreel insisted on carrying the two precious round shots, one in each hand. When they arrived at the place where the ground began to rise steeply, the column came to a halt. Here, at the base of the landslip, the porters set down their loads and the hauling team paused to rest. With a clatter Jacques dropped the gunner’s tools he had been carrying and sat down on the ground beside Hector.
‘I wonder what those lads are up to?’ said the Frenchman. They watched a group of the younger men clambering up the landslip until they vanished over the crest of the slope.
A few minutes later Mansur came walking towards them. ‘The kora-kora men say where you are sitting is dangerous.’
Puzzled, Hector got to his feet, and he and Jacques moved aside. Soon afterwards there was a shrill whistle from above, immediately followed by a crashing noise, which grew in volume and suddenly came closer. A moment later a large tree trunk came slithering and bouncing wildly down the hill, and came to rest at the bottom of the landslide. Almost immediately a second massive log came careering down, following in the track of the previous one. As Hector looked on, a dozen more logs hurtled past, one after another, throwing up sprays of dirt as they ploughed through the ground.
There was another whistle from above, and the bombardment of timber stopped. The hauling team got to their feet. Hector hurried to help them tip the gun from its carriage, then attach their hauling cables to the trunnions. He had seen how the slithering logs had carved out the track up which the men now intended to pull their burden. Two teams of forty men began to heave in unison, gradually sliding the gun up the groove that the logs had gouged in the earth. Every few minutes they stopped to rest. Then the heaving began again. An hour later the cannon was over the lip of the plateau and on level ground. The gun carriage and the sledge followed.
‘The Omoro say that Haar is less than half a mile ahead,’ said Dan. ‘We need to take a look at the town’s defences before we go any farther.’
Hector and Jezreel accompanied him through the undergrowth until they came to the edge of the jungle where the undergrowth had been cut back in a straight line. ‘No farther,’ said the Miskito crouching down. ‘We’re just within range of their muskets.’
It was as Mansur had warned. The ground between the town and the forest had been cleared of all cover for a distance of a hundred paces. At the far side of this killing ground stood the ten-foot palisade that guarded the landward side of the town. It was made of tree trunks planted vertically in the soil. In the centre was a heavy double gate, also made of timber and now firmly shut. The turbaned heads of the defenders could be seen above the stockade. As Hector watched, there was a puff of smoke as a musket was fired towards them.
‘Telling us to keep our distance,’ said Dan. ‘Jezreel, what next?’
‘We bring up the two lantaka. Fire scatter-shot at intervals. That should keep the defence occupied while we organize something more damaging.’
Hector scanned the palisade. ‘Where’s the weakest point, do you think?’
‘The gate. It looks stout enough to stop a musket ball, but not a five-pound shot.’
‘Good, let’s put the Sultan’s lantaka to use,’ said Hector and they crawled away.
Ten minutes later he was explaining to Mansur that a dozen Omoro should be assigned to each of the little cannon. They were to bring the guns to the edge of the forest.
‘Jacques will go with them,’ he said. ‘He will show them how to load and aim and fire.’
‘It’s much like using a musket, but on a larger scale?’ asked the chamberlain.
‘Yes, but they must be sure to swab the barrels and clean out any embers that might ignite the next charge too early. Warn them that if they cram in too many bullets and stones, the barrel might burst or the range will be too short.’
‘What about the big gun?’ asked the chamberlain. ‘His Highness is most eager to see it in action.’ Hector could see the boy’s eyes were shining with excitement as he tried to follow their conversation.
‘Inform His Highness that Jezreel intends to bring the big gun up to the edge of the forest, directly in front of the town gate. From there he will fire at the palisade.’
Mansur translated Hector’s statement, but was met with a sharp retort from the prince. The chamberlain had a worried expression as he turned back to speak to Hector.
‘His Highness insists that he will fire the gun himself.’
Hector opened his mouth to say that the old brass gun had never been tested and might have flaws. If the barrel burst, it would kill anyone standing close by.
The prince cut him short with a single brief sentence.
Mansur flinched. ‘The prince says that is not a request. It is his command.’
‘Very well. We will bring the gun forward on the sledge. But it will be safer if we load it now, where we cannot be seen by the Sugala and we can take our time.’
Jezreel had already taken off his shirt and wrapped it around the head of the reamer. He was using it as a swab to clean out the barrel.
‘How much powder do you think she’ll need?’ he asked Dan.
The Miskito shrugged. ‘Half a ladle should be enough.’
Jezreel used his thumb to rub away at the bowl of the powder ladle brought from the wreck of the Westflinge. He eyed the faint lines marked on the scoop. ‘Let’s hope this is the correct ladle for this gun, and not for larger cannon,’ he said. He took the stopper out of a powder jar and tipped out a trickle of greyish-black gunpowder until the scoop was filled halfway.
‘Wait,’ said Dan. He was holding a thin strip
of bamboo. He poked it into the cannon’s touch-hole and pushed it down as far as it would go. Marking the point where the bamboo strip emerged from the gun, he withdrew it and then held it vertically across the muzzle of the gun.
Behind him, the prince spoke to Mansur. ‘His Highness wishes to know what you are doing,’ said the chamberlain.
‘I’m checking to see if the cannon shoots high or low as you take aim, by looking along the barrel,’ Dan answered. He tossed aside the bamboo strip. ‘A little high. Hector, can you cut me a wedge of hardwood, say eight inches long and three inches thick across the base?’
Carefully Jezreel inserted the half-full ladle down the barrel, turned his wrist and dumped the gunpowder deep in the chamber. He withdrew the empty ladle, took the rammer and packed tight the charge. Hector handed him a wad, and that too was thrust home.
‘You carried it all the way, so you do the honours,’ said Dan, handing Jezreel the five-pound round shot. Jezreel placed the iron ball into the muzzle of the gun and pushed it down as far as it would go. Dan rammed it hard against the wad, then added a second wad on top so that the shot stayed in place.
‘We’ll prime it once we have the gun in position,’ said Dan. To their right they heard the sudden report of a lantaka firing its scatter-shot towards the Sugala defenders’ palisade. ‘Let’s hope that makes them keep their heads down,’ grunted Jezreel. He threw his weight on a hand-spike and levered the sledge forward.
Slowly the gun crept through the undergrowth.
DAN CALLED a halt when the sledge was still within cover, ten yards short of the open ground. ‘No point exposing ourselves to enemy fire,’ he said. The scrub and bush were sparse enough for them to see the town gate set in the line of the palisade. He crouched behind the gun and squinted down the length of the barrel. ‘A little to my left,’ he said. Jezreel and Hector used their hand-spikes to line up the gun until the Miskito was satisfied. Next he asked Jezreel to place the tip of his hand-spike beneath the cannon’s breech and to lever upwards.
