Scarlett

by Christopher C Tubbs

  They were ashore for an hour and the first full casks were being loaded into one of the boats when she got an itch between her shoulder blades.

  “Frank!” she called to the carpenter, who was opening an empty cask. He put down his hammer and walked over to her.

  “Skipper, can I be of service?”

  “We are being watched. Please spread the word for everyone to be on the alert.”

  His eyebrows rose, but that was the only outward reaction he gave as he touched his forelock and sauntered back to the casks.

  The only reaction from the men was to make sure their weapons were within reach and the sentries to pay a little more attention to the tree line.

  Scarlett reached across her body, pulled the hammer of the pistol holstered on her left side to full cock, and rested her hand on the butt. She looked at the tree line and took a couple of steps towards it.

  She paused, swept her gaze across it, and caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned, looked directly at the spot, and took another three steps forward.

  A man stepped out of the trees right in front of her. He was of a height with her, naked except a loin cloth and a feather headdress, and had tattoos on his biceps, chest, and legs. He was carrying a bow and arrows in his left hand but showed no sign of nocking or drawing.

  He looked at her curiously. She was obviously a woman but wore spirit questor paint on her face. He had never seen a white woman who carried weapons before. He recognised the sword and pistols and as he looked closer, he saw the main gauche just sticking out from behind her back.

  She had hair that glowed like fire, eyes that were the colour of the sea and highlighted by the spirit paint, and her skin was pale with a tinge of red from the sun. She looked back at him boldly and didn’t avert her eyes. He saw strength there and respected that.

  Scarlett stayed still as the man examined her, waiting for him to make a move. She heard an exclamation from behind her as one of the others spotted him and without turning shouted,

  “HOLD, nobody moves!”

  She has power over these men, Kefash observed as the men froze when she spoke. He wasn’t familiar with her language. It wasn’t the one the men that called themselves ‘Francoise’ used.

  “Je suis Kefash,” he said in their language, and placed his left hand over his heart. He wanted to know this woman who had power and wore the mark of the spirit questor.

  Scarlett was surprised he spoke French. She had learned a little but usually relied on Steven to translate for her.

  “Je suis Scarlett un moment s'il vous plait,” she replied as she reflected the gesture and called,

  “Frank, go to the ship and get Steven!”

  Frank jumped into the boat that was empty of flasks, and the oarsmen soon had it heading out to the Fox.

  “Shall we sit?” Scarlett asked and gestured towards some fallen tree trunks. Kefash didn’t get what she meant but followed as she walked to a fallen tree and sat on the trunk. He followed suit and the two sat in silence while she watched for her boat to return.

  He was intrigued with her hair; it didn’t look coloured with red clay like some of the women did. In fact, it looked like it grew like that. Then there were her eyes, which as he watched, seemed to change from blue to green and back as she looked at him.

  She smiled for the first time and he was almost dazzled. She wasn’t beautiful like his woman, but she was startling all the same.

  The boat returned, and a tall man walked up the sand towards them holding his hands out to the sides to show he wasn’t armed.

  “Hello, my name is Steven. I am Scarlett’s second in command,” he introduced himself.

  “I am Kefash, a Kalilango of the Carib people,” Kefash replied and waited for Steven to translate.

  “Is a Kalilango a warrior or a chief?” Steven asked.

  “I am a leader. What do you want with my land?”

  “We want nothing other than to take some water,” Steven replied.

  “The others want to take land and build houses; you do not want to do that?” Kefash asked.

  “We only want a place to get water and sometimes to store goods. We want nothing to do with the French or Spanish,” Steven told him after consulting with Scarlett.

  Kefash didn’t know whether to believe that or not but his men could slaughter these invaders like they had many before if they turned out to be lying. To make sure they knew that he wasn’t on his own, he stood and waved his arm before sitting again.

  About forty more armed Caribs stepped out of the tree line and the sight of them almost panicked Scarlett’s men into reacting poorly. She stood and turning her back to the Caribs, held out her hands and shouted,

  “Stand still! No man is to take arms unless I order it!” The men slowly assumed a relaxed stance, and as long as the Caribs were not showing any aggression, would maintain that. But Scarlett knew they were ready to fight at a moment’s notice and it was an uneasy peace.

  Kefash was impressed. If his men were in that position, he would have had more trouble keeping control. He stood and faced his men.

  “This woman who commands like a chief is on a spirit quest. See her face, we will allow them to take water now and later at this place,” he announced in the Carib language. He repeated his decision to Steven.

  Scarlett was surprised that they had gotten permission so easily and reached to her wrist where she was wearing a silver bracelet set with red garnets. She slid it over her hand and held it out to Kefash.

  “This is a gift and a symbol of friendship,” Steven translated.

  Kefash was entranced. His people had silver, but this was worked in a wonderful way. He would give it to his woman. He stood and took a feather from his headpiece and handed it to her in return as gifts should always be given when taken and the Caribs prized the feathers highly. He made a sign with his right hand by touching his heart and extending his arm out from the elbow while rocking his hand, then he shouted an order and walked back into the forest. His men followed.

  Scarlett and Steven just stood and watched the treeline for a minute or two, half expecting the Caribs to reappear, but then Scarlett heaved a sigh.

  “Damn, but that was scary!”

  Steven laughed.

  “And there was me thinking you were as cool as ice.”

  They were just finishing watering when the Merlin came into the bay. Françoise had already watered at his stopover at Vieux Fort, so Scarlett invited him to dine with her to discuss where to go next.

  “We can use this bay to water in the future as we have the permission of the local chief,” she told him and described the encounter with Kefash.

  “Very much the noble savage, was he?” Françoise teased.

  “Intriguing more than anything else. The bow looked powerful and I would wager that the tips were poisoned as they had an odd sheen to them. He had bushels of confidence and wasn’t frightened of us at all.”

  “That is probably because they have successfully massacred several groups of white settlers. The French think they are cannibals, but the Dutch say they just take trophies. Either way, they are formidable fighters.”

  “Can they be trusted?”

  “You can trust Kefash’s tribe to honour any agreement you have with him but if you run into one of the other tribes, I expect you will have to start again.”

  “If they even want to talk. I think we got lucky this time.”

  “Probably, but we will face that if we come to it. Where do we go next?”

  “I was thinking,” Scarlett grabbed a chart of the Caribbean from the rack on the wall and opening it, “we are here on the Southwest tip of St Lucia. The islands up to Puerto Rico are all owned by the French except Barbados then everything else is owned by the Spanish except St Kitts and Jamaica,”

  “Should be a rich hunting ground,” Françoise commented. “Why don’t we take advantage of the fact that we have hit further South and just run up the islands, pick up a few prizes on
the way, and stop off at St Kitts to see what that’s like.”

  Scarlett agreed. It made no sense to pass over an opportunity when it presented itself.

  The next morning, Bill Martin, who had the dawn watch, banged on her cabin door.

  “Yer friendly savage is on the beach with a woman and a couple of youngsters. There be a pile of something next to them.”

  Françoise rolled over in the cot and said,

  “A family visit? You must have made an impression.”

  Scarlett poked her tongue out at him and dressed. As he pulled on his clothes, she applied the black stripe to her eyes.

  “By God! No wonder you made such an impression on him,” Francois gasped in admiration.

  They had the men row them over and stepped ashore in front of Kefash,

  “This is my family, my woman asked to meet you,” he grinned.

  “This is my companion, Françoise,” Caroline introduced her lover, who was impressed at the man’s command of French.

  “You must have a strong spirit to have Scarlett as your woman.” Kefash smiled at him.

  “What did he say?”

  “He said I am a hero to put up with you,” Francois teased.

  “You do talk bollocks at times,” she reposted.

  Scarlett ignored the men and stepped over to the woman and children.

  “Scarlett,” she said and touched her chest.

  “Unkata,” responded the woman with a smile then pointed at the boy and the girl in turn, “Shnaka, Unala.”

  The children smiled shyly at her as she went to one knee so she could greet them at their height. Unkata said something in her native language then made signs that Scarlett understood. Soon, both women were conversing over the pile of roots, vegetables, and fruits on the beach.

  Scarlett wanted to give Unkata something personal as a gift, so she braided a piece of her hair using a piece of thread to tie it off at the end and again about an inch from her scalp. Then taking her dagger, she cut it off and handed it to Unkata. She had no idea what she had done; in Carib society she now pledged sisterhood to Unkata and her family. The woman’s eyes went wide, and she took her by the hand to lead her up the beach while she sent her son to the village. A short time later, he returned with an old man who held a bowl with a mix of carbon and water in it and a stick with a large thorn through the end.

  Unkata showed her a tattoo she had between the base of her thumb and forefinger of a stylised animal and Scarlett suddenly understood she wanted her to have one as well.

  In for a penny, she thought and took a deep breath.

  “The women seem to have made friends,” Kafish observed then frowned as he saw the old man arrive with his tattooing tools.

  “If you are lucky, Scarlett won’t teach her anything,” Francois observed dryly, which got a rare laugh from the Carib.

  Kafish started up the beach towards where the old man was working on Scarlett’s hand and was intercepted by his woman, who spoke rapidly and firmly to him.

  He turned back to Francois.

  “My woman has told me Scarlett has been accepted as a woman of our tribe,” and when Francois looked concerned, “do not be afraid. My woman is the mother of our tribe and has taken Scarlett as her daughter. She says it makes her sprit quest real for the Carib people.”

  They walked back to the food and Kafish waved at it.

  “We have seen that white people get sick here very easily. We think it is because they do not eat well, so my woman insisted we give you food.” After Françoise thanked him, he added, “Will you leave soon?”

  “Yes, later today. Scarlett wants to sail up the islands. What is that about a Spirit Quest?”

  “She is hunting. She is on a spirit quest and she needs to face many foes before she finds her answer.”

  Francois nodded even though it made no sense to him. These people were enigmatic! He asked the question that had been on his mind from the start,

  “Where did you learn to speak French?”

  “A good warrior learns as much about his enemy as he can, and I captured a Frenchman many moons ago. I made him teach me his language before I honoured him in my totem. His head watches over my village still.”

  Francois swallowed; it would appear the Dutchman was right; they were trophy hunters. Scarlett returned from the meeting with Unkata and the tattoo maker. The black stripe across her eyes had been replaced with a red band outlined in black. She would say nothing about what happened and carried a packet of red clay.

  Chapter 7: The Lay of the Land

  They sailed up the leeward side of the islands as they assumed if they were to find any prey, they would find them there. They didn’t hurry, and the Merlin ranged out to the horizon to increase their search area.

  Scarlett rubbed the scab left by the tattooing process and thought over what Francois told her as they rowed back to their ships. Apparently, the giving of a lock of her hair somehow meant something significant to Unkata and led to Scarlett being adopted by her as a daughter of the tribe. Her face makeup, in honour of her brother, was interpreted by the Carib that she was on a spirit quest and now she had the tattoo as well. The quest was now somehow formalized.

  Life is strange, she thought as this was the last thing she expected from the Caribbean. I wonder if they know something I don’t.

  They were passing Martinique when the Merlin spotted a sail. Scarlett soon had the Fox in pursuit and had the target ship in their sights. It was a French merchantman that looked as if it were heading towards the newly settled Guadeloupe. Martinique and Dominica hadn’t been settled yet, so they probably weren’t heading there. If it were heading to, rather than from the island, then it would probably be laden with settlers’ goods which would fetch a good price in the markets.

  They soon caught up and put a shot across her bows as they swooped down on the wretched ship. It let go its sails and drifted to a stop, allowing them to get alongside. They boarded and lined the crew up on the centreline along with what looked like several families.

  The ship stank, was badly worn from a rough crossing, the adults and children were filthy, and Scarlett swore she could see lice crawling over their skin. She kept her distance. Everyone got vermin but on her ship, she encouraged the crew to wash down at least once a fortnight. Her ship was clean and relatively vermin free apart from the usual rats and a few fleas.

  The women and children were crying, the men looked desperate, and after Steven talked to their captain, they discovered they were emigres trying to start a new life in the Caribbean. They left France where they were persecuted for being Jewish. The ship was loaded with personal goods and what they needed to get farms started in Guadeloupe.

  “Is there anything worth taking?” Scarlett asked Steven after he had a good look around.

  “No, this lot will be lucky to survive the first winter with what they’ve brought. We are better off letting them go and if they are successful, raid their trade goods later,” he scoffed.

  “Ok, let’s get off this shit hole,”

  They set sail and Scarlett looked back at the floating wreck of a ship and wondered if they would even make it to their landfall. She felt dirty and itchy, so she went to her cabin, stripped, and had a sponge bath. They didn’t wash their clothes often but she checked hers over for lice and redressed.

  They sailed past Guadaloupe and took a look at the embryonic settlement the French established. It was more like a fort than a town with a long wooden palisade surrounding the harbour and town. Piles of lumber stacked, ready for loading, showed that the main export was wood, but that would change as they cleared more ground.

  The next island up the chain was Montserrat, which was settled by the British, so they decided to stop over and make contact with the locals. The South end of the island was dominated by an active volcano and its peak was girded in smoke. They moored by the town of Plymouth, and with the prevailing wind, could smell the brimstone stench of the mountain.

  “What be a grand gir
l like you be doin’ in this god versaken hole?” the landlord of the only tavern in the town asked in a broad Irish accent.

  “Just stopping by to say hello, and get a drink,” she replied and threw some coins on the bar, “drinks for my men,”

  “An’ what can I get fer you now?”

  “Whiskey.” She smiled.

  “Oh, whiskey, is it? Well, we only have Irish Poteen.” He pronounced it Oyrish. “That’s potato whiskey to you.”

  “I’ll try that then.”

  The landlord, who introduced himself as Michael Mulligan from Kilkenny, poured her a shot of clear liquid and handed bottles of rum to her men. Scarlett took a big sip and choked as liquid fire ran down her throat.

  Mulligan chortled at her discomfort,

  “’Tis a wee bit fiery.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ! That’s got a kick like a mule!” Scarlett gasped as her men had a good laugh at her expense.

  That broke the ice. Mulligan became much more open and she learned that even though the island was ‘British,’ most of the people were Irish and had moved there from St Kitts and Virginia. Consequently, the island was considered independent by its inhabitants and had stronger links to France than England, the Irish being long-time allies with their catholic cousins.

  “And what be you lookin’ to make oh these here islands?” he asked.

  “We’re privateers. We will take what we can for as long as we can and then go home rich.”

  Mulligan looked at her and cocked his head to one side as he assessed her.

  “With that bonny head of hair, you could be Irish, but I never met a colleen with steel in their eyes like you, and where did you get that?” he asked, pointing to the tattoo on her hand.

  “From a Carib woman,” she sighed, remembering the the tap, tap, tap, of the stick the old man had hit the thorn stick with to make the pattern.

  “Let me see it,” he demanded, and she held her hand out. “That’s an iguana of the Kalingo people. The women wear that mark if they belong to the leader’s family. Why did they give that to you?”