Caribee

by Christopher Nicole

  Galante gazed at him for a moment, and then allowed himself to look at the other colonists, and up the street at the women and the children, waiting at the rear. 'Spoken like an English gentleman,' he remarked, somewhat sadly. ‘It is but as I expected. However, I must be clearly understood on this point. The Sieur d'Esnambuc will allow no renewal of his offer. Should fire be exchanged, Sandy Point will be reduced by storm, and all within it become the property of the victors. No doubt, Mr Warner, you have been at the storming of a town? It is not an occasion you would forget. What took place at Blood River will become merely amusing in retrospect.'

  ‘In the name of God,' Mr Mailing said. "You cannot permit this, Ashton.'

  ' Tis the women,' Jarring said. 'And the children.'

  'And you call yourselves Englishmen?' Edward shouted. 'By Christ, what crawling curs have we here?’

  Ashton pulled his lip, took off his hat to scratch his head. ' 'This a grave responsibility your father placed on my shoulders, Edward. I would he had not done so.'

  'Then resign your post,' Edward said. ' Tis certain you are not suited to it. You never were.' He walked away from the group. ‘You'll remember, Hal. Father did this, in Guyana. He called for support. Who'll stay with me and fight for Merwar's Hope?’

  The men stared at him, and then at the ships of war waiting in the roadstead. Galante smiled.

  'You preach bloodshed and warfare,' Malling intoned. 'Beware, Edward Warner. Those who live by the sword shall perish by the sword.'

  'God give me patience,' Edward cried. 'You'd thus yield to anyone who presents a weapon to your breast? You talk of sailing away to safety? Where will you go?'

  'Why, we'll return to England,' Ashton said. 'This colonizing business has turned out to be a failure, unless supported in strength greater than we have ever commanded.'

  'England,' Edward said contemptuously. 'And what of Father? He will be at this moment on his way back here, with a fleet of war.'

  ‘I doubt that,' Ashton said. 'He has never obtained such support before.'

  'None the less, he will be coming, to a colony he left in your care, Hal Ashton. Only you'll not be here to greet him. You'll have betrayed your trust.'

  Ashton licked his lips. ‘I never wanted the responsibility. He forced it upon me, because of his disappointment in you. Well, I resign, now. This business is too much for me. I am a sailing master. I was trained to that, nothing more. These five years have brought me nothing but troubles. I'll sail those ships home to England. I will leave tomorrow, and I will take anyone who wishes to come. In my absence I appoint Edward Warner as Governor of Merwar's Hope. Now make your choice, and quickly.'

  'Spoken like a sensible man,' Galante said. 'Let us have done with this business. Now, Mr Warner, will you strike your flag?"

  Touch that flag, sir, and I'll break your neck,' Edward said. 'For God's sake, are there no men on this island? Do you not understand what these people are about? This is an act of war, perhaps justified by war. France seeks the surrender of Merwar's Hope. Now, should we acknowledge the presence of a superior force, and surrender, our case remains to be decided when peace is agreed. But should we evacuate the colony, why, we will have no claim upon it in the future.'

  They stared at him yet again. Then Philip pushed his way through the crowd. ‘I will stay with my brother,' he said. 'As I too am heir to this land.'

  ‘I stay,' Yarico, coming to them with Tom in her arms. ‘It is my land.'

  Galante burst out laughing. 'A boy, a child, and a woman. There's an army, Mr Warner.'

  How history does repeat itself, Edward thought. And now for the first time he realized how Father must have felt, that day on the Oyapoc. Only here there was not even a John Painton, standing by with a reasonable alternative.

  'Do not be a fool, Edward,' Ashton said. 'Why expose yourself to ridicule and mistreatment?"

  'Aye,' Galante said. 'For make no mistake, Mr Warner; do not suppose that you shall be treated differently to any other prisoner should you elect to remain. Nor the woman. Nor the boy.'

  'And there is a place for you on board the ships, Edward,' Ashton said. 'For all of you. Why, I will go further. Come with us, and the charges held against you will be dropped. I'll enforce an oath from every man present to that end.'

  Edward seemed to see a red mist rising out of the forest behind him, to come shrouding down over the houses and the beach, to encircle every head. Once he had dreamed of leaving this island. Driven to it by his own uncertain desires. But now, to be driven to it by a pack of cowards and traitorous Frenchmen? Then indeed was he a traitor himself, to the colony, to the dream, to the very name of Warner. Better to stay and perish, here.

  And he no longer possessed even a sword.

  'My father left this colony in the certainty that no matter what happened,' he said, 'there would be a Warner here when he returned. I shall not betray him. I surrender Merwar's Hope to your superior force, Monsieur Galante, but I do so under protest that it is an act of war, and I intend to remain here, in whatever capacity I may, to await the conclusion of peace, and whatever arrangements may then be made, or the return of my father with sufficient force to regain what is rightfully his, whichever may be the sooner.'

  The prisoners stood in a line, to be inspected by the victors. The sun was high, the sky clear, the day hot. The sails of Ashton's two ships had disappeared during the night, and the fleur-de-lis fluttered from the flagpole in front of the courthouse. Edward stood at one end of the line, with Philip beside him, and Yarico and little Tom beside Philip; beyond them the seventeen Irish labourers and the three Carib women deserted by their erstwhile husbands also waited, with the four other children. All that remained of Merwar's Hope.

  'A barbarous name,' Belain remarked, taking a pinch of snuff. 'We shall restore the original, St. Christopher. It has a ring to it, and is more fitting to a Catholic Government. Would you not say, Cahusac?'

  The Sieur de Cahusac bowed. Although he sported as much satin and lace as Belain, with his silk stockings and the ridiculous high red heels to his shoes, he was less of a dandy and more of a seaman, both in appearance and in speech. 'Nor is this the best position for a seaport.'

  indeed, you are right. We shall leave this place, of course, with its quaint little buildings, as the centre of our tobacco industry, but I had already intended to build myself a real town, indeed, a city, in the bay over there, where the ships may lie close to the beach and the land is low for some distance back from the shore, giving us more space to grow. Hence the architects. But wait, the ladies have arrived.'

  The soldiers from the ships had been drawn up in a guard of honour, and now, walking up the beach, there came the flutter of skirts. Not less than twenty women, in all the splendour of silk and satin, with hair pulled back in great mounds on their heads and little black patches on then faces and chins, with masses of jewels on their fingers, with bare shoulders and plunging bodices, although each lady was protected from the sun by a brightly coloured parasol held above her head by an attentive young Negro, wearing coat and vest and breeches and stockings and shoes in materials and colours hardly less splendid than those of their mistresses.

  'You'll bring your men to attention, Joachim,' Belain said. 'We must give the ladies a treat.'

  Galante nodded, drew his sword, and signalled his officer. A bugler blew a blast, and the pikemen brought their weapons upright with a clatter and a slap of hands on hafts. The women clapped their hands and exclaimed with pleasure, a babble of high-pitched French. Edward avoided looking at them. They represented the ultimate in achievement. More. They represented the enormous confidence which accompanied Pierre Belain like an aura. He had sailed from France to conquer Merwar's Hope, but not merely with a fleet of war. He had brought his officer's wives, and even the women for his common sailors and soldiers, and he had brought architects, and God alone knew what else, to create his conception of a colony. The idea of failure had not crossed his mind.

  But if Edward would not l
ook at the women, the women seemed determined to look at him. They wandered down the ranks of the prisoners, talking to each other behind their fans, laughing and exchanging comments, stopping to gaze at Yarico, and then at Edward, no doubt acquainted that one was a member of the terrible Carib race and the other the surrendered Governor of the colony. They exuded perfume, but little beauty, to his eyes; he disliked the caked eyes and the puffy cheeks, the flashing insincere eyes, the obvious layers of clothing which must be clammy with sweat, all the effulgence of court ladies. He had not known this style for too long.

  'Now then, Mr Warner,' Belain said. ‘I would have you and your people put forward your best appearance. Stick out your chest, man, and take on a manly look. You have a reputation to uphold.'

  'A reputation, monsieur?' Edward inquired.

  'Oh, indeed. Terrible people, the Warners and their colorusts. Men who would massacre even the fierce Caribs in their beds.'

  'And you played no part in that, monsieur?"

  ‘It is not really my style, Mr Warner,' Belain said. 'Besides, I would seek to tarnish none of your glory. For to these ladies it is glorious, you know. As they have naught to do with their lives save their flirtations and their amours, it amuses them to consider men, whom they conquer with such ridiculous ease, as very devils incarnate when opposed to other men. For where is the satisfaction in conquering anything puny?"

  Contempt. All contempt. But none to match the laughter of the girl.

  His head turned, without meaning to. She stood next to Captain Galante, and was obviously his daughter, or his very young sister, for she had his height, and even his face. But the features which in the man were gloomy and even sinister, in the girl were almost beautiful. Almost. Her nose was strangely short, and looked out of place beneath the wide set green eyes, and above the equally wide mouth. Symmetry was supplied by the chin, which was also too small for the rest, as it came together in a point. Her neck was long, her shoulders bare, and the cut of her bodice revealed swelling breasts. Yet strange to say, the possible delights of her figure did not at this moment hold his attention. Nor even the splendour of her pink satin gown, not quite brushing the sand and allowing her shoes, of a similar colour and material, to be seen. Her gloves were white, and her hat, broad-brimmed and drooping over her eyes, was of a dark shade of pink, and sported a tremendous white feather. Her hair was a splendid rich brown; she also wore the fashionable bun, but her ringlets undulated gently from beneath the huge hat to rest on her shoulders and wisp behind, with just a strand in front. It all added up to a picture of grace and health and confidence and wealth he had not seen since leaving England, as if an entire rose garden had mysteriously been picked up and transplanted to this empty shore. Certainly she dominated the other women. Yet none of these obvious attractions equalled the laugh. Here was no simpering smile and no coquettish giggle, no suppressed amusement, and not even the delightful wicked shriek which was Yarico's. This girl laughed, with genuine humour, mingled with, he feared, a good deal of contempt, and above all, with a joyous pleasure in being alive, in being where she was and what she was. He received an impression of pink tongue and gleaming white teeth, of head moving backwards to display neck and chin.

  And then the laughter died, for just a second, as she said something else to Galante, before another peal of amusement drifted across the sand.

  Clearly she was not the most popular of the ladies, amongst the ladies. They muttered to each other behind their fans, and moved on down the line of men.

  'Now there,' Belain said, 'you have already caused a disappointment, Mr Warner. My niece cannot believe that you are the pirate you have been depicted. You must impress her. And she speaks English, you know. Aline, would you care to meet the monster?'

  She came closer. She carried a fan, dangling by its string from the forefinger of her right hand. And her dress had a sash, in the same colour as her hat, sucking in her already restricted waist, so that it was a miracle she could breathe at all, while every breath brought a vision of swelling white up to meet his gaze. The Negro boy with the parasol hurried behind her.

  'Aline, I would have you meet Edward Warner, eldest son of the famous captain. A very devil in his own right, I do assure you.' Belain watched Edward.

  ‘I am enchanted, monsieur.' Her voice was liquid, but it sparkled.

  Edward bowed. 'And I, mademoiselle. It is seldom that Merwar's Hope, I beg your pardon, St Christopher, is graced with such beauty.'

  'A gentleman,' she said. 'And a pirate, and a murderer.' Her voice had dropped to a whisper, but now suddenly it exploded into sound, bringing all her scented breath into his face. 'Monsieur, monsieur, quickly.'

  He swung round, as did Philip and indeed everyone present, to gaze at the empty street.

  Aline Galante's laughter rushed around his head like a tumbling wave. 'My apologies, monsieur,' she said. And once again her voice dropped to hardly more than a whisper. ‘I thought I saw a Carib warrior, sneaking from house to house. And I was sure you would wish to be informed.'

  Her gaze held Edward's for a moment, her mouth widely smiling.

  'And you were mistaken, mademoiselle,' he said. 'And perhaps disappointed.'

  'Oh, indeed, monsieur. But then, so much of life is disappointing. Or have you not yet discovered that?"

  'Enough,' Belain said. ‘I would address the prisoners.' He stood before them. 'Now mark my words well. I have accepted your surrender in good faith, and would place no more restraint upon you than is necessary. You will work the fields, as in this you are more experienced than my people. You may build yourself some huts at a suitable distance from this town of yours, for my people shall require those houses until our own city is built. Now, your governor has elected to remain with you, and so far as you are concerned his authority is undiminished. I would have you know that. As for you, Master Warner, I hold you responsible for the behaviour of your people, and also for their work. Be sure that you understand me.'

  ‘I understand you, monsieur.' He attempted to meet Belain's stare, but always his gaze kept straying to where Aline Galante stood next to her father, once again laughing at something, it could have been anything, which had caught her fancy. A woman, who either had lived too much, and found all life contemptible, or had not yet lived at all, and therefore found all life excitingly amusing. He wondered which it could be.

  'By the great God Himself, I’ll work no more this day.' Yeats threw down the axe, and threw himself with it.

  His compatriots exchanged glances, and then slowly lowered their own tools. It was the middle of the afternoon, and the day had been one of extreme heat. But it wanted yet three hours to dusk, and there was a great deal still to be done. Over the past week they had cut down the trees that Edward had estimated they would need, and this day they had commenced cutting the wood into planks. Houses were their first necessity; since the coming of the French they had slept like savages on the beach. Savages? Why, that was all they were. At the least they had all been so exhausted that even Yarico had gone rapidly into a deep sleep, and he had feared her more than any other. Although perhaps even Yarico, as she cuddled little Tom to her breast, had changed.

  Yet he had known all along that the Irishmen would become his most pressing problem, and this confrontation bore no comparison with the brawls he had indulged in during his months in gaol. Then he had still been the Governor's son, with all the weight of government there to preserve his life until the return of his father. Now he lowered his own saw, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. At least they were all in front of him. Only Philip, still chiselling away at what would eventually be a door, was behind him. And Philip, at this moment, he could trust. His plight was no different.

  Now, as he straightened and pressed a hand to the aching muscles in his back, the whole afternoon seemed to wait upon Iris reply. It did not, of course. Even at this distance he could hear the rumble from farther down the beach, beyond Brimstone Hill, where the French were commencing their city, their Basseterr
e, as they called it. And on Brimstone Hill itself the sentries patrolled between the great cannon; unlike the Warners, Pierre Belain was not the man to risk surprise. He had less faith in human nature. In Sandy Point, the ladies were gathering for one of their soirees, for the first tiring brought ashore from the ships had been a virginal, and the last few evenings even the Irish had gathered in a group on the beach to listen to the clear sweet sounds drifting through the breeze.

  Perhaps there was reason for the absence of hate. The French had behaved with treachery, no doubt. Yet war had been declared, and if the English were uncaring of it, the fault was surely theirs. Nor had Belain, in seizing the colony while the Governor was absent, behaved any differently to Tom and himself in assaulting the Carib village; he was in pursuit of the most profit for himself and his people. And the

  French knew more of living than the English. In scarce a week they had changed the very air on St Christopher. The music was but a symbol of the whole, of the perfume and fine clothes and the styled hair and the glittering jewels and the lilting laughter. Mama should have lived for this, for then she would have lived forever. This was, indeed, the dream that had given substance to the colony. But it would take men like Belain and Galante, and women like Galante's daughter and Belain's wife, to give that dream substance. Because they were gentlemen, and their women were ladies.

  And for the Warners? A disappearance from history. A disappearance which had already begun, and was now to be hastened on apace. For the Irish were watching him, knowing too well his reputation for sliding away from violence.

  ‘I agree with you, Yeats,' he said. ‘It is damnably hot. Yet are we not our own masters, and must continue working until dusk. Or we shall have the Frenchmen standing over us with whips.'

  "Let them come,' Yeats said, stretching. 'They can hardly be different to Jarring's bully boys. And this time they'll take to you and your brother as well. Aye, and the brown-skinned bitch. That'll be amusing, that will.'