HF - 01 - Caribee

by Christopher Nicole

  'We are straying from the subject, sir,' Tom insisted. 'We mean to be no pirates.'

  Painton looked at their weapons. 'And the four of you, and this boy here, would seek to challenge me and my men? You'd die a madman, Captain Warner.'

  'You'd take arms against Englishmen, villain?" Ashton asked.

  'By God,' Painton demanded of the sky at large. 'And were you not just proposing to do that against me?" Then he laughed again. 'But I like your style, Captain Warner, and that of your men. Now, I'll tell you what is the custom of the sea, for those who would go against the will of the captain. 'Tis to place the offenders on some deserted isle, with but a single musket and a single cutlass, a barrel of water and a side of beef, and leave them there to make the best of it'

  'You'd maroon us?"

  Painton was suddenly serious. ‘It would be best. These men of mine are handpicked, and there's not a colonist amongst them. They'd give you short shrift if they thought you'd stand between their hands and a Don treasure chest. And we don'‘I mean that any word of what we do should ever get back to Whitehall. But I say again, I like your courage. Listen. I told you, before we left Guyana, that we had departed Plymouth Sound only a day or two behind your fleet. Yet it took us near a month longer to gain the river coast'

  'You were delayed by bad weather,' Tom said.

  'True. A gale blew us off course, and so we found ourselves amongst the islands of the Caribees. We were low on water by then, so we put in to one of them. There was no harbour, so we chopped our hook and went ashore. Oh, well armed, to be sure. Shall I tell you what we found?'

  'We're anticipating you'll do that,' Tom said.

  'Well, this island is green as a berry. Except where the great mountain peak sticks up amidships. But the soil is so fertile you'd grow a man overnight, I do swear. There's rainfall regular as you'd want a clock to lie. Two hours at neon. Neither sooner nor later. That keeps it watered, you'll understand, and yet never lets you in for a downpour such as you experienced in Guyana. There's a breeze, all the time, a brisk easterly, sometimes with a shade of south in it, sweeping across the hills. So you'd settle on the leeward side, see, where the mountain acts as a natural windbreak, and you'd just get the gentle zephyrs filtering down the passes. And tobacco? Why, it grows there wild, yet in such profusion you'd think God Himself planted it. As no doubt He did.'

  'You're sure this paradise didn'‘I happen in a dream?' Tom inquired, with some sarcasm.

  ‘It's on the chart. I'll show you.'

  'And it has a name?’

  The Spaniards call it St Christopher. You'll know the tale of the saint, with the boy Jesus on his shoulder? Well, this island has another, smaller island, hardly more than a rock, projecting to the southward, and connected to the main island by a narrow isthmus. So, seen from afar, to the Spaniards it suggested the picture of the saint and the boy. Thus the name.'

  'And if it is this splendid, why did the Spaniards not settle it?’

  'Because there is no gold to be found there, and that is all they seek. But you gentlemen are not after gold, I'd have thought.'

  Tom pulled his lip, glanced at his companions. 'And you'd put us ashore there, Mr Painton, with a single musket and a single cutlass?'

  ‘It's certain you'll need nothing more. But I'm not that kind of a man, Captain Warner. Ill put you ashore with every one of your possessions. You have my word on it.'

  'As you yourself went ashore armed,' Ashton observed. 'You have not told us the outcome of your adventure, Mr Painton. Is this island uninhabited?"

  'By no means, Mr Ashton. It belongs to the Caribee Indians, as do all the islands in this sea, except where they have exterminated by the Spaniards.'

  'And has not the very word, Carib, been corrupted into cannibal, meaning maneater, and with good reason?"

  'So I have heard," Painton agreed. 'And 'tis certain that these Indians are a sight more warlike than their brethren on the mainland. But their enemies are the Dons. As we also hate the Dons, they were our friends, and will be yours. Why, they welcomed us with open arms, and would have had us stay. And these are men, Captain Warner. And women. By God.' He glanced at Hilton. 'They are of the same race as the Arawaks, but far superior. Taller, and more straight, and more comely, and more proud, Savages, to be sure, but noble, fit to set alongside a white man. They'll be happy to see you, Captain Warner, can they but be convinced you mean them no harm.'

  Tom Warner leaned on the rail and gazed at the empty ocean. A tumult of thoughts chased themselves through his mind. Painton had indeed described what he had hoped to find in Guyana, where a man might after all make a home, for himself and his family. But there was the problem. 'And yet would we be marooned,' he said. "Without hope of succour, or of seeing our families again. Every argument raised by Mr North against our remaining in Guyana is valid also for your St Christopher.'

  'Except that on St Christopher a man might very well live forever,' Painton pointed out. 'But if you've no taste for that, Captain Warner, why, I but sought to save you from participation in my crimes, supposing I commit any. Why not try the place, man? I promise you in a six month you'll have a crop of tobacco, and then, why, it is on my route home and I shall need water in any event. You'll see the Plymouth Belle again before Easter. But I'll make a small wager that by then you'll refuse a passage home.'

  Tom smiled. 'You make this place sound a paradise, Mr Painton. The kind of place of which I have ever dreamed. I find it hard to believe that such an enchanted land can exist.'

  ‘It exists,' Painton vowed. ‘I have seen it, and so will you, for it lies just over the horizon, not two days' sail from our present position, by my reckoning, if this wind holds. And you have put your word to it, Captain Warner. It is enchanted. Aye, to the very Indians it is known as the Enchanted Isle.'

  4

  The King's Lieutenant

  They're peaceable, you say,' Tom Warner observed, as the long boat approached the shore. For the people gathered there carried spears and bows and arrows, although they were not actually making a noise or hurling their missiles.

  They are,' Painton said. 'Or I'd not have come with you.' He pointed. 'And you'll admit, Captain, that it's a fair sight.'

  Tom nodded. He could not deny that. The island, and several others, had been peeping above the horizon at dawn, purple clouds clinging to the eastern sky. The Leeward Islands, so called because they were downwind of the outward bulge of the Caribees, which were known, appropriately enough, as the Windwards.

  They were volcanic, reputedly, although he was relieved to see that there were no patches of smoke to suggest that there was anything active in the neighbourhood. And certainly they were beautiful. Deep blue water gave way to pale green, and the pale green to the dark sanded beaches; behind lay the lush green forest, which in turn dwindled into the purple of the mountain, and in St Christopher the mountain seemed higher than most, thrusting its peak towards the heavens, a time-hardened lava finger. But the central mass, if easily the highest point on the island, was not the most distinguished. There was another hill, lower and closer at hand, protruding over the sea a few miles to the left. 'Now there is a natural fortress,' he muttered. ‘It would require fire and brimstone from Heaven itself to reduce that rock, properly defended.'

  Then there was the peninsular to the right, which ended in another mountain. The Christ child. Perhaps there was no water there. In any event, there was little vegetation, and no promise of tobacco.

  His only worry was that the island was not so isolated as he had been led to believe. To the south there were the peaks of another island, which Painton said was called Nevis, and they had seen other peaks earlier in the day. They were venturing deep into the heartland of the Carib nation, and there could be no doubt that the people on the beach belonged to this most vicious of savage tribes.

  "You'll observe that I spoke the truth.' Painton's hand closed more tightly on the tiller as they entered the gentle surf leading to the beach. "These people are far superior t
o the Arawaks.'

  Tom nodded, again, and was relieved that he had left the boy on board. Time enough for Edward to land later, when they were assured of a welcome.

  "They are that.' Tony Hilton wore a sword and carried two pistols in his belt. A dangerous man. But dangerous, at this moment, only to the savages, whatever problems his lusts might cause later.

  Tom frowned. 'You'll observe, gentlemen, that they truly are different.'

  'By God,' Berwicke said. 'The women wear skirts.’

  ‘If you can call them that,' Ashton pointed out. "Tis to be sure they cover their privies,' Hilton said in disgust. 'And the men . ..'

  ‘It is a sort of pouch, in which they hang their genitals,' Painton explained. "Tis but a device, you'll understand, dictated not by modesty, but by their warlike characteristics. Tis difficult for a man to carry himself well in battle with his all waving in the wind.'

  'But surely the women take no part in warfare,' Berwicke said.

  'Do not suppose that these are ordinary females. They will fight shoulder to shoulder with their men, and hurl a spear with as much power and accuracy. You'll do well to present a peaceable front, and a confident one. They regard courage as the only virtue, in either man or woman. Follow my example.'

  The long boat rushed at the beach, carried on the last of wave. The sailors backed their oars, and then shipped them, and keel grated. Two men leaped over the bow to hold the boat steady, while the gentlemen disembarked. Painton went first, followed by Tom Warner, Ashton, Berwicke and Hilton. The Indians remained in a group where the sand faded into grass, perhaps a hundred feet away; they fingered their spears and bows, men and women, but they made no move towards the white men.

  Behind them, amidst the trees, could be seen the houses of the village, if they could be so called. For each hut was nothing more than four uprights sheltering beneath a palm frond roof, leaving the interior exposed to every careless glance and every quirk of the weather. But it was easy to suppose, looking at the clear blue sky and feeling the steady gentle breeze, that there were no quirks of the weather in these surroundings.

  Sanitation and fresh water were provided by a stream which rushed through the bushes before dissipating itself in the sand. The atmosphere was entirely different to the oppressive stillness of Guyana. The very air smelt cleaner.

  'Wait here,' Painton said, and walked up the beach, his boots leaving deep prints on the sand. Certainly he was a brave man, or he had complete confidence in his relations with these people. After fifty feet he stopped. 'Pain-ton,' he said. 'Pain-ton.' He pointed at the sun, and then stopped and with his finger drew several lines on the sand, before sweeping them away with a flick of his hand. He stood straight again. 'Tegramond.'

  There was a moment's hesitation, and then one of the Caribs came slowly down the beach. Undoubtedly he was a chieftain, although now he was isolated from his fellows it was possible to observe several differences between himself and Tuloa. He wore his hair long; it lay on his shoulders in a straight black shawl. His features were not quite so flat, although his cheek and jaw bones were as pronounced; the firmness of his lips, no less than the height of his forehead and the intelligence in his eyes, all suggested a nobility which had been lacking in the Arawak. His body, too, if less heavily muscled, was far more agreeable to European eyes, for he possessed long legs, suited for running and walking rather than penetrating thick forest, and he stood very straight. He wore nothing on his head, but rather indicated his authority by a necklace of what appeared to be shells, and like his fellows he wore the breechclout, although this apart he was naked.

  He stood in front of Painton, and extended his arms to place a hand on each shoulder of the white man. 'Pain-ton,' he said, and pointed at the sun.

  'He bids us welcome, gentlemen,' Painton said, without turning his head. 'You'll advance, slowly, if you please.'

  Tom glanced at Berwicke, and then set out. The other three men followed in a row; Hilton rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, but a shake of the head from Berwicke had him marching like the others, hands swinging at his sides.

  'War-nah,' Painton said. 'Tegramond. He is the cacique of this tribe.'

  The Carib chieftain stared into Tom's eyes, and Tom felt a sensation of weakness, and although he was not prepared to admit it even to himself, almost of humility.

  Painton walked along the row. 'Tegramond, Ash-ton, Tegramond, Hil-ton. Tegramond, Ber-wicke.'

  Tegramond looked from one face to the next, without moving.

  'By Christ,' Ashton whispered. ‘I had thought they were shells.'

  For now they could see that the necklace was composed of human teeth.

  'You'll keep your opinions to yourselves,' Painton recommended, for the cacique was frowning. 'War-nah,' he said throwing his arms wide, to encircle the entire island. 'Ashton. Hil-ton. Ber-wicke.' He put his hands together, rested them against his cheek, and closed his eyes.

  Tegramond gazed at Tom.

  Painton opened his eyes and drew his sword being careful to hold it in both hands. He thrust the point into the sand, and turned over the soil.

  Tegramond continued to gaze at Tom.

  Painton cleaned his blade, and restored it to his scabbard.

  Then he knelt beside the small hole, and pantomimed planting, before covering up the hole again. Next he stood up, put his hand to his lips, inhaled, and gave a great sigh of pleasure.

  Tobacco,' Tegramond said. His voice was deep, but entirely lacking in the guttural intonations of the mainland Indians.

  'He knows the word,' Tom said in wonder.

  ‘It is his word, Captain Warner,' Painton pointed out. ‘War-nah, Ash-ton, Hil-ton, Ber-wicke, friends. Place your swords on the sand, as gifts, gentlemen.'

  'What?’ Tom demanded. 'Leave ourselves unarmed?'

  That I shall never do,' Hilton declared.

  ‘If you would live here,' Painton said. 'You will depend upon this man's goodwill. Not your strength, which, when pitted against that of these savages, is worthless. And you’ll still have your pistols, in the last resort'

  Tom hesitated, stared at Tegramond for a moment, and then took off his sword belt and laid it on the sand. Reluctantly, his companions followed his example. Tegramond picked up Tom's weapon, and his followers crowded round to examine the wonder.

  'Now,' Painton said. 'Give him your hand, Captain.'

  Tom stepped forward, hand outstretched. Tegramond looked at it for a moment, and then grasped it. His grip was firm and dry. Then he handed the sword to one of his people, and placed both hands on Tom's shoulders. His fingers ate into the flesh, and his eyes gleamed. 'Tegramond, hammock, War-nah hammock.'

  'What does he mean?" Tom asked, still gazing at the chief.

  'He offers you the sharing of his bed,' Painton said. It is symbolic. You have naught to fear from these people, Captain Warner, so long as you treat them right'

  They marched, following the beach. Tegramond went first, followed by one of his men; the cacique wore the sword belt Tom had given him; the blade slapped his bare thigh. Tom Warner came next, Edward by his side, Painton walking immethately behind. Then came Berwicke, Ashton and Hilton, carrying the belongings of the white party. Behind them were four Indian women, laden with plaited straw baskets containing fish and fruit.

  The sun was high, and the white men sweated. Behind them, the Plymouth Belle rode at anchor, dwindling in size with every step. On their right hand the sand gave way to forest, above which the huge central mountain peak loomed towards the sky. Ahead of them the hills swerved towards the sea, ending in the massive seven-hundred-foot-high outcrop which had attracted Tom from the first.

  ‘It is a fair land, don'‘I you agree, Edward?" he asked.

  'Oh, beautiful, sir. Exactly as Mr Painton described.'

  'Aye. I wonder if we shall at last find our El Dorado in this place, in this warmth and this health, this vigour, these charming people. Do you think your mother and Philip would be happy here?’

  'Oh, ye
s, sir. Why, it is so ... so beautiful.'

  'And more than that,' Hilton observed. 'A man could truly be content here. These girls could walk anywhere and bring a coach and four to a halt. I say, my pretty, why don'‘I we exchange loads? I'm sure that would be more fitting.'

  The young woman gazed at him in surprise. She was certainly far more attractive than any of the Arawak females. Her black hair was even longer than Tegramond's; it brushed her thighs. Her pointed, big boned features were handsome rather than pretty, but there could be no argument about the beauty of her body, unless it was merely that the white men were quite unused to seeing blooming womanhood walking around wearing nothing but an undersized apron. Here were narrow shoulders giving way to full and high, but curiously pointed breasts, with dark nipples which seemed less teats than extensions of the paler flesh supporting them. Here were wide thighs containing the disturbingly pouted belly—but then, these girls had never been taught posture or worn a corset—so scantily endowed with pubic hair which but attracted the men's attention the more. And here were strong, muscular legs; too muscular, perhaps, for beauty, with feet and toes flattened by endless shoeless walking, but suggesting endless pleasure when separated. And above all, here were smiling black eyes and the purest of white teeth.

  He attempted to relieve her of her basket, using his opportunity to pass his hand over her breasts, which seemed to offend her not a whit. She continued to smile.

  But Tegramond had stopped, and was watching. Tom Warner stopped also. 'Mr Hilton,' he said. 'You'll cease that. And mark me well. We shall exist in this place only by continued friendly relations with these people. I say here and now that we must all swear, by everything we hold holy, that we shall forever treat Chief Tegramond and his people with respect and friendship, acknowledging them as our equals, using their women as we should use our own, granting them all the honour that we should extend to our closest friends.'