Caribee

by Christopher Nicole

  'How long, do you think?' Solange asked.

  'We made good time. If Yarico did indeed delay, then we shall at the least have time to catch our breaths.'

  'And if she did not delay it is because she intends to betray us, so a breath here or there will make no difference. Eh, Captain?'

  'As you say, monsieur. But she saved my life on more than one occasion in the past. It would not be in her now to wish to take it.'

  'Supposing there can be such a thing as constancy in a savage. Hark.'

  The sound of a pistol shot drifted faintly through the air.

  'Our signal, by God. Prime your pistols, lads. Quickly now. Remember that at this moment Tony Hilton is fighting for his life.'

  He scrambled to his feet. Christ, how his heart pounded. Not at the prospect of the desperate encounter which lay only seconds in front of him. He had no fears of that. He intended to conquer this day or die, and he worried little winch outcome came about. But the conquering, or the dying, involved seeing Aline again. Seeing what Wapisiane had made of her. And through her, what he would have made of her husband.

  "We'll make as much noise as possible,' he said. He pointed his sword up the hill, and shouted, 'Attack, my friends. Attack.'

  He led them forward at a jog trot, up the slope and into the clear night air. Now they heard the rumble of the volley fired by Hilton's men, away to the left, a ripple of deadly sound. But it would be the only one; Wapisiane would hardly give them time to reload. And now too they saw the glow of the fire in the centre of the Carib village, burning low but none the less ready to be rekindled with daylight, and by its faint fight they could also make out the first of the huts.

  Three Indians emerged from the bushes near the village, where they had clearly been placed as a guard, but from where they had sadly neglected their duties. Now they stood in front of the white men, brandishing their wooden spears and shouting, uncertain whether they were facing men or spirits. Edward swung the first thrust of the spear to one side with his sword, and bringing the blade back felt it crunch on bone even as the man fell at his feet. Then he was through and running into the village without stopping to look at what had happened to the others.

  He could hear the shouting of the savages from in front of him now, and the cheers of Tony's men. But in seconds they would have to be overwhelmed. 'To me,' he shouted at the full extent of his lungs. 'To me. Warner.'

  His men joined him by the fire. The huts appeared to be empty. The Indians had prudently sent their non-combatants into the forest until the outcome of the battle could be decided.

  'Over there,' Connor gasped, pointing to the trees where a mass of people could be seen in the darkness, and the cries of the English party could be distinguished.

  'We'll burn them back.' Edward seized a glowing brand from the fire, thrust it into the palm roof of the nearest hut, and watched the smoke rise, even if it was slow to catch. He ran for the next, the ember now flaming hi his hand, and saw Aline.

  Beyond the glowing fire, only now visible as his eyes became accustomed to the light, there were two stakes, driven into the ground, dreadfully reminiscent of the Carib village in St Kitts on that unforgettable day so many years ago. And to the nearest there still clung a tattered skeleton, such flesh as remained hanging from bone and skull already rotted into nothing by the heat. Beyond, Aline crouched at the foot of hers. She was naked, and secured by the wrists to the foot of the stake, so that no matter what happened she could not stand upright, nor indeed do more than crawl. In the gloom it was impossible to see what, if anything, had happened to her; she was a white blur with a mass of mahogany brown hair, but she was still capable of movement, and indeed had risen to her knees, shoulder pressed against the stake, as she tried to discover what was happening.

  'By God.' Edward dropped to his knees beside her. 'Aline? By Christ, Aline?' He held his breath against the stench which rose from her, so indicative of all that she had suffered during the past three days.

  She gazed at him, her brows knitted. Her face was bruised and swollen, and her lips were puffy. Her eyes were dull, but there was recognition and excitement coming into them. 'Edward?' she whispered. 'Oh, God, Edward.'

  They are for us, Ted,' Connor shouted.

  'But a moment,' Edward promised, and rose to his feet. His men had, without bidding, ranged themselves in front of the stake, and now the Indians, discovering themselves assailed in the rear, were coming back through the trees.

  'Present,' Edward yelled. Take your aim, now. Fire.'

  The pistols rippled flame and explosion and black smoke, and several of the Indians fell. The rest checked for an instant.

  'Stay close,' Edward shouted. Tony. Tony Hilton. Now, man, now is the time.'

  There came a whoop from the forest beyond the massed Indians, and one or two looked over their shoulder. The others advanced, checking at a distance of some twenty feet to hurl spears, and one of the Irish fell with a growl of pain.

  'Well charge those men,' Solange shouted.

  'No,' Edward bellowed. 'Stay close. They seek my wife.'

  The Indians came on, a shrieking mass in the semi-darkness. Spears thrust and clanged on breastplate and helmet. Swords swung and men cursed and screamed, and women too, for Edward realized with a thrill of horror that the Caribs were fighting as a nation. Blood flew, and splattered across his face. He thrust and cut, careless of any individual in front of him, aware only that Brian Connor stood on his left hand and the Frenchman Lafitte on his right, aware only that he must kill and kill and kill until he dropped himself from exhaustion, and aware too that this was all he wished to do, to die, while killing, to take as many of the savages to hell with him as he could.

  But Hilton had rallied his men and these too were close, charging the rear of the Indians, forcing them to fight at their backs as well, turning the conflict into an indistinguishable melee. For all their armour and their superior weapons the white men were outnumbered, and the issue might well have gone against them, had there not now come through the night, echoing above even the screams and the curses, the unmistakable baying of the hounds. Here was the decisive factor. Where there had been a mass of seething naked brown bodies and flailing wooden spears, on a sudden there were only exhausted armour-clad white men, resting on their swords, sinking to their knees, tearing their helmets from their heads and throwing them away, begging for water and help for their wounds.

  Edward ignored them as he knelt beside Aline. Trampled on in the fighting, she had shrunk closer to her stake, her cheek pressed against the bloodstained wood. He tore at the ties of his breastplate, released it, and pulled his shirt free. His knife slashed through the thongs holding her wrists, and then he wrapped his shirt around her sun- and dirt- and whip-roughened shoulders, and pulled her upwards. She came easily enough, and remained standing against him, hardly breathing, her head resting on his chest.

  Now he could properly draw breath, and look around him. The village was at last beginning to bum at his back, and send flames upwards to illuminate the night, accompanied by dense clouds of smoke and intermittent showers of sparks. The dogs had reached them, casting around, baying, snuffling at the dead bodies, their cacophony the paean of victory. The dead were being dragged into rows, and six of them wore breastplates. Several others were wounded, but the price for this triumph had been cheap enough, he supposed; not less than a score of the Indians lay dead.

  'A famous victory, Ted,' Brian Connor shouted. 'And is the lady all right?’

  'She will be. Now. . . .'

  'But look here, Monsieur Warner.' Solange pointed with his sword, to where two of Hilton's men had an Indian on the ground. "We have a dozen of these, too sore wounded to run away. What do you suppose we should do with them? But this fellow speaks your name.'

  Edward watched Wapisiane writhe on the ground in a combination of pain and self hatred, that he should have been so reduced. His leg was shattered by a pistol ball; the bone protruded and his blood drained on to the ground. And
now a sailor standing over him kicked him on the shattered bone to bring a moan of agony from his lips. Yet his eyes never wavered, and his gaze never left Edward's face. He expected no mercy, was perhaps not even concerned with the way he would be made to die, but only with his own manner and his own courage at the decisive moment.

  There he lies,' Tony Hilton said. ‘I had thought to have forgotten his face, these eyes. By God, but hell look good, dangling at the end of a rope. It must be hoisted slow.'

  Aline turned in his arms, her face pressed against his naked chest. Edward chewed his hp. He had given this man life once before, and it had turned out to be a dreadful mistake. And now he had reason to be harsh. His mind and his body at once called out for revenge. Only his heart suggested different. The Caribs had only defended their land, their islands, after their own fashion. The white men remained the intruders, the aggressors. Nor had they even proved themselves superior, save in the possession of their arms and armour, and their willingness to take advantage of an Indian superstition.

  Or was this but the emotion of a tired victor, which would very rapidly pass?

  'You leave it to us, Ned,' Hilton said. 'My sailors will soon enough fashion ropes from the vines that grow around here.'

  They are prisoners of war,' Edward said. 'And as such are subject to the jurisdiction of the Governor of the Caribee Isles. I’ll speak with my father.' He stared into the thronging mass of white men, for the main body had now come up. The main body, but no Father, and no Yarico?

  'Where is Sir Thomas?" he demanded. 'Where is the Governor?"

  They scratched their heads. ‘He was with us, Captain Warner,' they assured him. 'When we began the assault.'

  'Brian,' Edward said. 'You'll hold Mistress Warner. Do not let her go for an instant. Give her some water to drink, and see to her. Do not fail me in this.'

  ‘I’ll not, Ted. I have too much respect for the little lady. Come ye here, lass. Well soon have ye safe home again.'

  Edward hurried away from the glare and the noise and the stench, of blood and sweat and fear, and reached the edge of the forest, and Yarico. She knelt on the ground, next to Tom Warner.

  'What in the name of God....' Edward also dropped to his knees.

  Tom sighed, and tried to smile. ‘I am too old to run through forests, boy. I am afraid I have sorely disappointed the name of Warner.' His voice was faint, his breathing uneven.

  "What nonsense,' Edward declared, but he looked across the gasping man to Yarico, and her eyes were solemn. 'We have gained a victory.'

  ‘I never doubted that. You hold the reins of greatness, of unending success, in your hands, Ned. Would you but believe that, and dismiss forever the fears and uncertainties which haunt you, you need envy no man on earth. And now it is more than ever necessary that you do so. Yarico. Find me Tony Hilton. And Monsieur Solange. And some other men of probity. Hurry, girl.'

  Yarico rose, gazed at Edward for a moment, and then ran into the night.

  'By God, but this breastplate weighs as much as a cannon,' Tom grumbled. ‘I swear I am being pressed to death like any stubborn rogue.'

  'Let me untie it for you, Father.'

  'Leave it be. I'm a soldier, Edward, and if I could not even see action in my final battle, at least let me the dressed like one.'

  'For God's sake, Father, what nonsense you do talk. You, die? Why....'

  But now every word was interspersed with a gasp. "Where is that girl? By God, but they are a feeble sex, to be sure. Edward. Is your wife safe?’ 'Aye.'

  'But distressed? That is natural. Edward, remember our conversation on the ship. Men have died here this day. I command you, as your governor and your father, do not make their deaths vain. Hilton. Tony, lad, kneel here and give me your hand.'

  'By God, Tom,' Tony said. 'Here is a sorry sight. You are hurt?'

  'Aye. But you will not find a wound. Now listen to me. And you, Solange, because you will testify to this later on. I confirm Edward Warner in his appointment as Governor of Antigua, and I remove all jurisdiction of the Governor of St Kitts over him. Mark these words well, gentlemen. You are my witnesses.'

  Then write it out when we regain the ship,' Hilton said. 'And we will append our signatures.'

  'You'll bear witness to my words, Tony Hilton, and God damn you for an interfering whippersnapper. You'll acknowledge naught but the authority of His Majesty and his commissioners, Edward, but be sure you remember that authority at all times. My son, Philip Warner, will be Governor of St Kitts. You'll see to Yarico and little Tom, Edward. As you have always done.'

  'You may be sure of that, Father.'

  There is a weight from my mind. And you'll endeavour not to find fault with your stepmother, lad. She is ambitious, and now she will have no children to support her hopes. Be gentle with her. And you'll plant cane, Edward. There is my last command. Philip will supply you with slaves. Cane, Edward. Tis the crop of the future. Promise me that'

  'You have my word. Now you have talked too well, Father. You must rest, and Tony will have his men prepare a litter to carry you back through the forest. It were best we start soon, for with daylight the Caribs may regain some of their courage, or even attract support from their neighbours.'

  'But before we go, there is the matter of our prisoners,'

  Hilton said. ‘Including the devil himself. Wapisiane. Should we not hoist them high, Tom, as a warning to these people?’ Tom Warner gazed at him.

  ‘I would give my vote to that, Sir Thomas,' Solange said. 'As you have yourself said, these people understand only force, and we would do best by leaving a reminder of our victory, and of our power to repeat it'

  Tom Warner gazed at him.

  'He dead,' Yarico said, very softly.

  'Dead?' Edward leaned forward, over the short, heavy body, the bluff features, the grey-black beard, the staring eyes. 'By God.'

  A hand rested for a moment on his shoulder, and then was withdrawn. He would not look at them. He knelt beside his father, hardly hearing the noise which came from behind him, the cries of the wounded and the triumphant whoops of the victors. Pie was aware of Yarico, but it was some minutes before he could raise his head.

  ‘I love him too,' she said.

  ‘I think we all did that, even when we went against him,' Edward said. 'We must leave this place, Yarico. He will be buried in St Kitts. It will be what he wished.'

  She remained crouching by the body. Edward walked back towards the village, checked in dismay. As Hilton had said, his men were sailors, used to creating ropes out of string; the jungle vines had provided them with an easy task. Now the twelve Indians dangled from the branches of trees; three of them were women. They had been stripped of even the scanty clothing they wore into battle, and their wounds had not been tended—most still dripped blood, which ran down their legs and hung from their toes. And they had been hoisted slowly. Several still kicked feebly, and strained their weakening muscles against the thongs which bound their wrists.

  'You have done the future of our colonies in the Caribee no good here, Tony,' Edward said

  Hilton grinned. ‘I'd argue that point, Ned, seeing that we've ended the lives of a dozen more of these red devils. Your colony, and mine, will only be secure when the last redskin is rotted. You'd do well to bear that in mind. As to any feelings you may have that we owed them some debt because of Blood River, you'd best ask your wife about that.'

  Edward turned to Aline, who had once again sunk to the ground. She knelt, his shirt pulled into a ball on her lap by her clutching fingers, staling at the fluttering men and women. Her face was hard, but it was too dark to read the expression in her eyes.

  The Plymouth Belle beat north, the Caribee Queen wide on her beam. Each ship flew all the flags and pennants she possessed, and most of the crews remained on deck to shout congratulations at each other and to be sure they were amongst the first to give the great news to the people of St Kitts. On deck, too, were the seven white men, wrapped in canvas but exposed to every possible gu
st of wind, for the weather was warm, and the journey north had already taken a whole night. Tom Warner lay by himself.

  This, then, was the end of a man, who dreamed, and who had made so many of his dreams come true. He had been a soldier, and so had died, on a campaign. He had been surrounded, not by his wife and children and his grandchildren, but by his comrades, and that mast have been comforting enough. And he had died in the moment of victory, and with a great many other victories to look back upon. He could have had no doubts about the future of St Kitts, Edward thought. Now it but remained necessary to make sure that Antigua was protected from the possibility of another Carib raid. Not the possibility, the certainty. They had, indeed, fired the first shots of an Indian war. But had not Tom Warner himself done that, ten years before? They could but carry on his dream, and be prepared to resist the occasional nightmare.

  He could but do that, and carry on his father's instructions and admonitions, as well. If he were man enough.

  He left the poop and went down the ladder and through the companion doorway into the great cabin. For so short a journey it had been cleared of all gear, and all occupants as well, save two. Aline lay on the starboard bunk, covered by a blanket Yarico had washed her, and brushed her hair, and now sat by her, watching her, looking up anxiously as Edward entered. 'She ask for you,'

  'And I am here. Leave us for a spell.'

  Yarico got up, and hesitated. 'Ed-ward... .’

  ‘I’ll not be preached at, Yarico.'

  She closed the door behind her, softly.

  Edward sat down, and Aline's head turned. For a few moments they looked at each other. 'You must be very tired,' she said.

  ‘I have gone three nights without sleep.'

  ‘It must have been a horrible experience for you,'

  'And for you?' he asked.

  ‘It is worse for those who wait, and imagine.’

  'That is not true,' he said. ‘It must be worse to suffer. I would know, Aline. I must know. Listen, I will tell you first. You know that Joachim is dead?'