The Fire Within

by Samuel T Clayton

  The black man filled the door frame and walked into the sick berth, followed by the second mate. ‘My name is Jabari, sir.’ The black man introduced himself, slightly alarmed at his friend’s motionless body in its unclothed state.

  ‘What’s this all about, Mr Purvis?’ Putt was annoyed with the interruption of his morning’s duties and the black man who had brought him a heap of extra work.

  ‘I need to speak to this man,’ said the doctor. ‘Alone.’

  ‘But doctor, I need this man to—‘

  ‘Thank you, Mr Putt.’ Purvis had a boorish manner about him at times, and today was one of those days. But the second mate knew Purvis well, and the man would not be so abrupt without good reason, so he let them be.

  After the door had closed, the surgeon focused his attention on the black man. ‘Has he been in contact with any sick people?’

  ‘Not that I know of, sir. Why?’

  ‘What about animals?’

  ‘No, sir. Why?’

  ‘Because your friend over here is displaying fever, weakness and other symptoms of the great pestilence, Mr Jabari…the Black Death.’

  Jabari’s eyes widened, and an immediate look of worry spread across his face. When he had first arrived in London, he had heard the elders talk about the Black Death from 1665. They had said that the white man’s sickness had a deathly stench they would never forget and that the general mayhem had nearly brought the city to a standstill. They had said that the disease did not ask for your name or status, or cared about the colour of your skin or where you lived. When your time was up, it was up.

  ‘Not a word of this to anyone Mr Jabari, no one! At least until we find the cause. And you are going to help me find the culprit,’ ordered the doctor.

  ‘What culprit? Me, sir?’

  ‘Do you see any assistants? Yes, you! Don’t you understand? If this boy has the plague and we cannot find the pest that has caused it, then this whole ship goes into quarantine. That means that no one can leave this ship in the next forty days, and the same goes for the three of us in this room!’

  Jabari needed no further motivation. Africa was calling him, and her voice grew stronger by the day. ‘What do you need me to do, sir?’

  ‘Finish taking off his breeches, shoes and everything else. Throw ‘em in the bucket o’er there. I’ll start at the head. Look in every nook and cranny, between the toes, back of the legs, everywhere. Look for anything that doesn’t belong.’

  While the black man did as instructed, the doctor started cutting Tristan’s long blond hair, discarding the locks in another bucket. Then he looked over the scalp, inch by inch. He lifted the boy’s arms and did the same.

  Jabari finished with the feet and legs and worked his way up to the top of the legs. He looked at Tristan’s pale white genitals and frowned, not sure if he should continue.

  ‘Here too, sir?’

  ‘Of course!’

  Jabari carefully lifted the small flaccid penis and laid it down on top a few sparse hairs. His young friend was becoming a man. Next, he gently cradled the testicles that were hidden in an almost transparent pouch, lifted them out of the way and pulled the top of the thighs apart. Then he saw the redness. ‘Here, sir!’

  The surgeon dropped Tristan’s left arm and quickly examined his groin, delving between his legs where the red swelling had spread. With Jabari’s help, they turned the boy over and saw the large inflamed area right at the top of his left thigh, bulging like a ripe fruit, ready to be picked. He looked closer and found red teeth marks covered in small scabs in the centre of the infected area. Next, he looked for any red streaks under the skin that would show if the infection had spread but found none. ‘Thank God!’ The doctor sighed with relief. ‘You keep on looking while I get ready to fix this!’

  The doctor walked over to the cabinet which housed most of his instruments and remedies and took out several items which were all neatly placed on a small shelf next to the table. He grabbed the razor, the same one that he had used on the boy’s hair, wiped it with a rag doused in whisky and placed it with the other instruments. Working with haste now, Purvis took a bronze mortar and pestle from the cabinet in which he ground up willow bark. Together with some herbs from a glass jar, he mixed in a dollop of honey until he had a thick paste which he then applied to a bandage. Jabari peeked suspiciously out of the corner of his eye as the white man performed his witchcraft.

  Next, the doctor placed a cloth over Tristan’s back and ran a rope underneath the table and over the top so that he could secure the boy’s torso and arms, which he did with a typical sailor’s knot.

  ‘Hold him down here, by the ankles.’ Purvis showed him how and without wasting any time he made two lengthy incisions in quick succession, both sides of the bite mark.

  A fountain of puss erupted from the two cuts and splattered on the table. The murky yellow liquid had a pungent smell that filled the room as it ran down the boy’s legs and genitals. The surgeon dug his fingers into the sides of the cuts and pressed until red blood started to flow freely. Tristan’s agonising screams reverberated around the cabin, his head lifting as he strained against the rope. His face was contorted with pain and with bared teeth, he hissed at the two men, damning them to hell. Then his head slowly slumped back down and tossed from side to side while he whimpered strange sounds.

  Then Jabari heard him say something. He leaned closer. ‘What is it, Tresten?’

  ‘The dogs…coming,’ whispered the boy, ‘I see them…they…’

  ‘What dogs, Tresten? What dogs are coming?’ Jabari could see the boy had turned ashen grey in his face. Soon after Tristan’s eyes rolled back in his head and his body went completely limp. ‘What’s wrong with him, sir?’ he asked, quickly followed by a more dreaded question. ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘He’s asleep for now, Mr Jabari. But he’ll awake again soon. The rest will do him good,’ said the surgeon while he wiped the wound clean and started to apply the dressing. ‘I will keep him here for a week and ensure he gets enough fresh food. I’ll see to it that the wound is kept clean, but now he needs to fight the poison in his body.’

  ‘Thank you, sir! Thank you.’ The appeased black man reached over the table and clasped the doctor’s blood-soaked hand in his big black ones.

  Purvis nodded with a wry smile. ‘Pray he be well, Mr Jabari. If he makes it through the night, he should return to health in full.’ The doctor started to clean up. ‘Take that bucket and steep the clothes for two days in water from the sea. The hair goes into the sea or the cook’s fire. And then you take a good look at yourself, Mr Jabari, and make sure nothing is hiding on your person.’

  The black man did as he was told and then went looking for Putt, ready to begin his first day as a seaman on board the Raven.

  A thunderstorm had brought with it torrential rain that wreaked havoc on the Raven overnight. The order to batten down the hatches had come through in time, but nothing had prepared her occupants for the deluge that followed. The Raven was a good and solid ship, but the cataract of water that had swept her deck had seeped through every little gap it could find and had put a sodden crew in a sullen mood.

  While the bilge pumps worked overtime, to the west the sun finally punched a hole through the dark clouds just as the rain started to clear and for a brief moment, these two natural occurrences inhabited the same space in beautiful harmony. From beyond the clouds, a beam of light came forth which tunnelled its way down to earth before it exploded into the dark water in a circle of golden shimmer.

  Outside the captain’s cabin, Tristan leaned on the quarterdeck bulwark as he watched over an almost windless ocean, taking in its beauty while he sniffed the fresh salty air. Next to the slow-moving ship, a shoal of fish glimmered in the water, each one giving off a silver flash as it darted, dancing in perfect unison with the others.

  A bell broke the silence as the forenoon watch replaced the morning crew. But it was not just the watchmen who came aloft. It was like someone had poked a hornets�
�� nest with a red-hot iron for the main deck of the Raven suddenly came alive as seamen emerged from hatches all over the ship. Sailors carried bundles of wet clothing and bedding which were laid out on the deck or hung over lines and very soon, the peacefulness made way for a boisterous bunch, longing for some sun on their backs. Orders were barked, and songs filled the air as crews started to scurry about to get the day’s activities underway and forget the miserable night.

  Of the seven days Tristan had been confined to the infirmary, he could only remember the last four. The doctor had told him that he had drifted in and out of consciousness a few times while his body tried to expel the poison and the relentlessly concomitant fever. The man, who was a staunch academic, had rarely left his side. Instead, the doctor had studied him and compiled notes on his condition and recovery, including names and places that he had cried out in a feverish and delirious state.

  His fever had broken on the eve of the third day when the redness of the wound had finally subsided. Without fail, a concerned Jabari had visited him every day, and by day four, when his sense of reality had come back to normal, the African had started to bring him news of their travels, the ship and its men. Tristan wondered if they had told him the truth about his blacked-out state for Jabari had undergone a complete metamorphosis during the time. The black man was wearing different clothes, and he even sounded differently, his heavy English accent making way for an African one, which became more pronounced by the day.

  By day six, the cuts on his thigh had closed up nicely, and the doctor had him hobbling around the sick berth on a makeshift crutch, courtesy of the ship’s carpenter. He had asked Tristan questions about the names and places he had uttered in his fuddled state, and whether Tristan had been or if he only knew of them by name. Intrigued by the answers as fact and dream intermingled, the doctor, whom he had come to know as Mr Purvis, had made one meticulous note after the other. They had gotten to know each other very well, and when word had arrived that morning that the captain wanted to see him, Tristan had left behind a well-acquainted friend, one who had also warned him about the Old Man’s mannerisms and wit.

  While the deck below became more vocal, inside the captain’s cabin, a conversation also took on a fiery nature, mostly from the captain. Standing outside in borrowed clothes, which had swallowed him whole, Tristan could not hear it all but was startled when the door suddenly flew open and the boatswain, Woodford, stormed out while he muttered to himself.

  ‘Always right…always right! If he is so goddamn brilliant at auguring, why can’t he forewarn me before these acts of nature unfold?’ He almost bumped into the boy. ‘Out of me way, boy! ”More caulking,” he says. I will make this bloody ship unsinkable, the first of its kind, so help me God!’ Woodford stormed off only to turn around with a devilish grin. ‘Good luck to you, lad. His mood is a tad foul today, so you are likely to come away with a fly or two buzzing in your ears.’ He turned around and headed down to the main deck, yelling at his crew, ‘Come on you bunch of swabs! We gotta fix ‘em and fix ‘em well, before the sun is yonder.’

  Not far from Tristan, Putt had also been enjoying the morning’s tranquillity after the raging storm. He just shook his head at the boatswain’s verbal barrage and signalled for Tristan to join him, after which he knocked on the door, and they both entered the lion’s den.

  Inside they found the captain standing by the cabin window looking out over the sea. Still red in the face, he turned around and saw the second mate enter, followed by the boy who limped in with a crutch clutched tightly under his arm. He regarded the sorry sight in front of him. The bald boy’s frail body was pale from the toll the illness had taken, and he almost disappeared in the bulky clothes he was wearing. Yet, despite his appearance, two piercing blue eyes showed a defiant resolve.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Putt.’

  ‘Aye, sir,’ said the second mate, ‘I’ll be right outside,’ and closed the door on his way out.

  ‘So you’ve met the bosun on the way in?’

  ‘He briefly spoke to me, sir.’

  ‘Pleasant man, is he not?’

  Tristan was sure it was a trick question, exactly the kind that the doctor had warned him about. ‘He seems alright to me, sir.’

  The captain laughed. ‘Mr Woodford has sailed with me for over twenty years, but sometimes I need to remind him that I’m still the captain.’ The captain left the window and sat down at his desk.

  ‘Mr Tristan Conway, is it?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And your age, lad?’

  ‘Thirteen, sir.’

  Cutcliffe knew it. They are the same age. ‘Do you know who I am, Mr Conway?

  ‘The doctor told me, sir.’

  ‘Of course, he did. I understand you were quite unwell, Mr Conway?’

  ‘I don’t remember much, sir.’

  ‘Well, you were in good hands. Mr Purvis is an amazing man, and I’ve seen his handiwork. He has brought back many of my men from certain death. A finer surgeon, you will not find.’

  Tristan was not to be outdone. ‘I know a barber surgeon, back in London. Also, a great man, sir.’

  ‘Is that so?’ The captain tried to appear intrigued. ‘Perhaps I should speak to your surgeon and offer to employ him.’

  Tristan smiled for he could not imagine the barber on a boat. Surely it would be the death of him.

  ‘And what brings you onto my ship, Mr Conway?’

  The sudden twist in the conversation caught Tristan off-guard. ‘’Tis a long tale, captain…sir.’

  ‘Lucky then for you, young man, I am running low on patience this morning, but time, now that I do have.’ Cutcliffe sat back in his chair. The boy seemed a bit reluctant. ‘Go on then. But first, sit down and take some weight off that leg.’

  Tristan accepted the man’s invitation. There was no need to be elusive about the truth so he started from the beginning and recounted every little detail that had led him to this ship, all the events that had transpired and the people that had conspired. The captain listened intently, and when the boy had finished, he stood up and walked over to the windows. He gazed out over the calm sea that was set alight by the bright sun. The last traces of the storm had disappeared over the horizon. Directly underneath, a small wake followed the ship. We need wind. My God, do we need wind, he thought. Cutcliffe walked back to his desk, opened up the left-hand drawer and pulled out a neatly folded buff coat on top of which a stiletto laid. He handed Tristan the coat and placed the stiletto on the desk

  ‘The stiletto that you killed the man with,’ said Cutcliffe and Tristan nodded diffidently as the captain sat down again and inspected the dagger closely. For a second time, Cutcliffe was impressed by the craftsmanship as he turned it around a couple of times. At his touch, flakes of dried blood, which still clung to the blade and the hilt, peeled off and scattered across his desk. ‘I’m going to hold onto this for a while, lad, until I think you’re ready to have it back again.’

  Tristan nodded again. He did not see a problem with what the man suggested.

  ‘Well, Mr Conway, I’m certainly no magistrate, but just as your negro friend has done, I do believe you’ve told me the truth. Consider yourself in luck for on the Raven, you will not be judged by your past actions.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘So what happens now, Mr Conway? Where’s your future taking you? Aboard my ship for that matter.’

  ‘The last time I thought about my future, Africa seemed like a good idea, sir.’

  ‘Africa?’ The captain shook his head. ‘Not a land for the faint of heart, lad. She can certainly ruin you. She will eat the careless alive and spit out the bones, if you’re lucky. Many men have disappeared around her dark corners, never to be seen again. Imagine what she’ll do to a young boy such as yourself.’ The captain drummed his fingers on the table. ‘Ever considered becoming a man of the sea?’

  ‘Since I can remember, sir. I was told my fa…never mind, sir.’ Tristan could not get himself to say th
e words.

  The proposition had come to Cutcliffe the first time he had laid eyes on the ailing boy down in the sick berth. ‘Well, how would you like to stay on the Raven? Become part of her crew? I’m sure we can find something for you to do. As I said, you won’t be judged by your past, only by the amount of work that you’re prepared to put in.’ The captain busied himself with a map on his table, giving the boy some time to think over his proposal.

  Across from him, Tristan did not know what to make of the captain’s offer. He was not expecting such compassion for the man could have easily washed his hands with him, yet the captain was offering him a new future, one he had always dreamed of. But at the same time, he could not help but wonder if the man had another motive. There was no reason for the captain to be so gracious, but in the end, it was the fact that the man had already made the same offer to Jabari that helped Tristan with his own decision. ‘I’d like that very much, sir,’ he said, struggling to contain the excitement that was slowly building inside.

  ‘Well, ‘tis settled then. But in saying that, there’s no such thing as free passage on my ship. So, this is what will happen. As of right now, I bestow the title captain’s servant onto you, and thus you are under my protection. Mr Putt will explain to you all of your duties. You’ll obey all the officers, and in return, you will be treated with the same respect. If you break any of the rules on this ship, you will be punished like any other sailor, and as an added bonus, I will unload you at the first port that we reach. Would you accede to such an agreement?’

  Tristan knew there was no alternative. ‘Very much so, sir.’

  ‘Very well, then. Mr Putt!’ he yelled. The door opened immediately. ‘Mr Putt, young Mr Conway here reckons he loves the smell of the sea more than life itself, so please let me introduce you to our new cabin boy. Please ensure he understands his duties on this ship. He should clean himself up first and make sure he has a place to lay down his head. He will get an equal share of rations. Give the word to the other officers and make sure you treat him like any other man on this ship. And get him proper clothes from the slop chest, something…something more his size. Ask the sailmaker to make some alterations if needed. Understood?’