News of the event spread like wildfire through the ship with each witness accounting for his own rendition of the fight. Jabari rushed to his friend's aid as soon he heard the news from Putt, who had come looking for him. As he reached the top of the stairs, he looked at Tristan for tell-tale signs of a fight but saw none. The boy was just standing there, staring pensively out into the grey horizon.
Jabari joined Tristan in front of the captain's cabin and rested his arms on the weather rail, breathing heavily from the sudden exercise. He too started staring into the grey unknown, but he was not searching for answers. He merely shared the moment. After waiting a long time for Tristan to say something, he decided to speak up.
‘Nyegere.’
The boy's eyes did not even blink.
The African said it again. ‘My people will call you Nyegere.'
Tristan slowly turned his head. His face was slightly pale, and his eyes were hollow, like an old man’s who had seen a great deal of suffering in their life. 'I could've killed him.'
‘And only time will tell if you’ve made the right decision, Tresten.’
‘No, you don't understand. I wanted to, but I couldn't. It didn’t feel right.’
The African heard the conflicting anguish in the boy's voice. He had thought that Tristan would have been happy to have beaten a grown man, a ruffian for that matter, but somehow the fight had brought about an emotional conflict within the boy. ‘’Tis the most difficult choice, Tresten, when one has to decide if another would live or die at your hand. Sometimes we don’t have that choice for the decision is forced upon us, but if you want my opinion, I think you’ve made the right decision. What good can come from killing a man, if you have a chance to save him?’ Jabari saw a flicker of life in the boy’s eyes. ‘My people believe that you have not tasted life until you have stared death right in the eyes. That man tried to end yours. You should be happy and celebrate. Only good things can come from this, Tresten. You will see.’
Tristan felt more at ease, hearing the African’s comforting words. He had given up a long time ago to try and understand all the intricate workings of the universe, and even though he seldom grasped the overall consequences of an event, he always knew there was a greater plan at stake in his life, likewise his perchance meeting with this tall dark, always-smiling African. That had been no coincidence.
Behind them, the door to the great cabin suddenly opened, and the captain came walking out together with the first mate and two of the men who had witnessed the fight.
‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ said the captain and the two men went about their business, but only after they had both nodded in Tristan’s direction with a silent concord.
The first mate, who was ordinarily a fairly fretful fellow, looked distinctly troubled. Tayler was part of his watch, and no doubt there was a sense of responsibility for the man’s actions. The captain joined the boy and the African at the weather rail. In his right hand, he carried an object that was wrapped in a grey cloth. It was his turn to lean on weathered wood and stare out over the ocean. Three sets of eyes could see that he was also exploring the horizon in search of something, and they let him be.
‘Interesting day, Mr Conway?’ The captain finally spoke up, still looking out across the vastness.
‘Unexpectedly so, sir.’
‘I think I’ve heard enough to get a clear idea of the truth. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t be complete without your account. Please give it to me now.’
Tristan told him. The captain said nothing but Jabari gave the odd whistle and a shake of the head as the boy relived the events. When Tristan mentioned the dagger that was aimed at his chest, the African became more animated and released what sounded like a barrage of expletives in his mother tongue, but a flinty look from Cutcliffe quickly subdued the outburst. Tristan finished his story without further interruption, but when he got to the final knockout blow, the African let out a proud, bone-chilling war cry that rang out across the ship, momentarily halting all activities.
‘That’s quite enough, Mr Jabari,’ the captain silenced him once more and turned to Tristan. ‘Lad, your version of events corresponds with those of the others, and that to me is enough evidence to find the perpetrators guilty as charged. Now it’s just a matter of finding an appropriate punishment that will fit the crime.’ Cutcliffe did not need it, but he wanted the child’s thoughts on the matter. ‘Trying to kill a fellow seaman is an offence punishable by death, Mr Conway.’ The captain let it sink in for a while. ‘What do you think I should do with Mr Tayler?’ Cutcliffe knew he had put a difficult question to the boy, and he was not sure if he was prepared for the answer.
Tristan had had enough time to contemplate what had happened and surprised Cutcliffe with an immediate answer. ‘I’m not sure how to advise you on that, sir. If you wanted him dead, I could’ve done that already but something, and I don’t know what, stopped me. I don’t think he’s a bad man, sir, but a hot head and a big mouth. Aye, now that he most certainly has. Perhaps he’s also been spending too much time with those three good-for-nothing rogues.’
Cutcliffe could not hide his astonishment as he regarded the young lad who had spoken those words yet was still looking out to sea as if he thought nothing of it. Most of his men would have requested, perhaps even demanded Tayler’s head, yet the boy merely made a candid but objective observation, unlike someone who had been on the receiving end of malefaction. It was the captain’s turn to let the information sink in, and then he proposed what he thought was a fitting punishment. ‘It goes without saying that I need to punish them, Mr Conway. A captain never appears to be weak and without just cause on his ship. Perhaps ten days in the brig should do it for Mr Tayler. We’re coming up to the tropics, and the heat and seclusion will certainly take its toll. As for the other three, the older two men will receive seven lashes each, and the younger one will be mast-headed for two days. I will inform the master-at-arms to carry out the sentences at once.’ He was very lenient, but they were getting close to their destination, and he needed every single man to be in good health.
‘Permission to visit Mr Tayler in the brig, sir.’
‘I’m not sure why you would want to, Mr Conway. But granted nonetheless.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘And, Mr Conway, not that I believe that it would’ve made any difference, but I think you deserve this back.’ The captain handed him the grey cloth.
Underneath the cloth, Tristan felt the familiar contours of his stiletto. He beamed as he unwrapped and unsheathed it. He noticed that it had been thoroughly cleaned and polished, then quickly sheathed it and stuffed it into his breeches. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he muttered.
‘You surprise me, Mr Conway.’ The captain moved away from the rail and as a parting remark said, ‘Today you showed rectitude, resolve and above all, courage, more than many grown men that I know. If sailing the ocean is the path you’ve chosen, then you’ll make a good officer one day.’ Cutcliffe left the two, motioned the first mate to follow him and set out to fulfil his obligations.
After they had disappeared, Jabari slapped his friend on the back and with a proud smile, tried for a second time. ‘Nyegere. That will be my people’s name for you.’
‘Why? What does it mean?’ Tristan was intrigued. The black man’s sense of wisdom never disappointed.
‘Today, you fought a big man and won. Only a person with the heart of a simba, a lion, can do that. But you’re also tough and clever like the badger that loves honey. In my language, we call him nyegere. He’s not scared of anything, animal or man, and even a spear and arrow struggle to kill him. Maybe one day, I shall have the privilege of showing him to you.’ Jabari relished the idea of showing Tristan a honey badger in his country, a small fearless warrior he had come across many times while watching over his father’s cattle as a young boy.
Tristan liked the black man’s explanation and who was he to say no if the man wanted to bestow such an honour on him. ‘I like it,’ he affirmed.
/> ‘So then come, mighty Nyegere,’ laughed the proud African, ‘we have plenty of work to do. I know you’re only a boy, but you’ve already played too many games today.’
Tristan laughed. The black man stood tall over him, almost blocking out the sun. With his pain-free shoulder, he pushed Jabari out of the way before he raced down the stairs, the black man short on his heels.
Later that evening, Tristan made his way down to the brig and emerged an hour later.
Jabari immediately noticed the difference. ‘Where is the ring?’ he enquired.
‘I gave it back.’
‘Why? What did he do?’ The black man pushed himself upright, making his intentions clear if something sinister had come to pass.
‘Nothing. We talked. He needed it more than I,’ said Tristan, twirling his mother's cross between his fingers.
Seeing that his friend was wool-gathering, Jabari just grunted his disapproval and turned on his side. Perhaps it was a discussion best had come morning.
Tristan made himself comfortable. Tayler told him a long story and the man had no reason to lie. Giving back the ring was the right thing to do. Besides, he still owes me the ultimate prize. His life. Tristan smiled. The barber would have been proud.
The two-week journey from Cape Coast Castle to Cape Lopez through the Gulf of Guinea went without a hitch. The wind was in their favour and made for a speedy voyage. Plenty of merchant and slave ships travelled up and down the coast. Only once did the ship go on alert, when they passed the islands of St Thome and Principe. An unidentified sloop followed them for a day and would have overhauled them the next morning. When she got too close for comfort, Cutcliffe ordered all guns to be rolled out. They turned to starboard and the captain gave the command to heave to, and the Raven slowed down to a gentle pace, able seamen at the ready to gybe and put full wind in her sails once more. It took a further hour for the sloop to disengage from the chase, and when she showed her stern, heading back the way she had come from, loud cheers rang out on the deck of the Raven.
Throughout the pursuit, Tristan’s heart was pounding in his chest as he prepared for his first battle. Word about his shooting ability had reached the captain and, together with Hanlon, he was put in the fighting top, a platform halfway up the mainmast. Their instructions were clear. Kill the enemy captain should we get into combat. He could not believe they were patiently sitting in the ocean just waiting for the attack.
Putt later explained to him the captain’s tactics. It was not the first time Cutcliffe had used the size of the Raven and her impressive armament to intimidate an enemy ship into submission. Putt gave an account of the number of times they had used the sheer size of the vessel and her cannons to scare off would-be attackers. ‘The captain’s a master tactician,’ said Putt, ‘but he will avoid unnecessary bloodshed at all cost, and that was another brilliant example.’ He did not hide his admiration.
From Cape Lopez they hugged the coast as they moved further south along the Central African seaboard, travelling from one river mouth to the next. The captain, the first mate and lieutenant painstakingly scoured the coast for a suitable location to establish a port. It became evident to Tristan that the captain knew every nook and cranny of these waters and could navigate the ship safely along the coast without the reliance on instruments. Only once did the lead line come out as they manoeuvred through shoals to scout the shore and this was only due to a receding tide and a sandbank that had shifted, the latter showing how mutable the ocean could be, even to the most learned of sailors.
While the ship slowly travelled southwards, Tristan spent most of his days learning everything that made a sailor. Putt taught him and let him work with able seamen so that he could learn the intricacies of every sail, yard, brace and line, and how to use them all in any sort of weather. Tristan was an apt pupil, and under Putt’s guidance, he quickly went from greenhorn to mastering the tasks of an ordinary seaman. Putt discussed attack and defence strategies and talked about past battles. ‘Keep your plans simple, lad, and you will always have a chance of success.’ Any time not spent on sailing was allocated to shooting and fencing. For weeks Tristan continuously practised both, proving himself an ace shot over and over again. Numerous competitions were held to sharpen the men’s skills for the inevitable disembarkation and on a few occasions, he came close second to Hanlon only. With the stiletto he practised by himself, leaving some of the old hands in awe as they watched his fluid, yet quick thrusts and blocks, but for fencing Putt pitted him against seasoned swordsmen, deliberately frustrating the boy and fuelling his thirst for success. Putt constantly matched Tristan against someone better, faster and stronger. The second mate’s relentlessness gave Tristan no time to become complacent, and any smugness or sense of achievement soon gave way to a quick nick or cut which would instantly grab his attention and increase his concentration. Only after Tristan was able to match some of the most skilled swordsmen on the Raven, did Putt offer himself as an opponent, to refine everything that the young man had learned from his early beginnings under the barber’s guidance. Putt drove him hard, for he had seen a skill and desire in the boy that knew no bounds, and it did not lie in the quest for knowledge or strength, but the perseverance to succeed and become the best at everything he did.
While Tristan’s bond with Putt grew strong, he also carried out his duties as a cabin boy with the same diligence that he tackled all of his other tasks. He ran errands and messages for the captain, whom he came to know as the Old Man, from one end of the ship to the other. He helped everywhere – anywhere they were short-handed or where a vacancy occurred in the ship’s complement due to an illness. Even the basic of errands like shining the captain’s boots did not fuss him. It only took two strokes of the brush before he settled into a well-known rhythm, his mind quickly wandering off, reminiscing about his old life. The long hours of training and running errands strengthened Tristan, and soon, the sun, sea and salt shredded the last evidence of the ailment that he had had.
It was during one of the quiet and contemplative moments, while Tristan was brushing the captain’s uniform that the Old Man, who was busy going over his maps and journals for the umpteenth time, decided that he needed a break from his life as captain. Cutcliffe just started talking out of his own, first telling Tristan about his family back in London, about his erstwhile years as a naval officer and captain, then as merchant captain on his own ship and how he conducted business up and down most of the West African coast. When the Old Man had finished, Tristan thought he had brushed a hole in the man’s coat for fear that any sudden movement might interrupt the man’s fascinating stories.
It became almost a nightly institution where the captain would take some time out from his customary duties and talk as one normal human being to another, mostly about his travels. And those stories that his own blood had no interest in were lapped up by Tristan like sweet bone marrow by a stray dog. Cutcliffe talked about trade and his hunger to explore new and exciting destinations, and that he would trade in everything but slaves. Although his ship was perfectly suited and sized for it, the captain refused to take part in what had become known in Britain as the lucrative triangular trade. Instead, he focused on forging relationships with native chiefs and exchanged firearms, clothes, beads, liquor and metal trinkets for ivory, gold and spice. He told of battles with pirates off the Barbary Coast, clashes with Algerines, the Spanish and the French, from great victories to those narrowly won or escaped.
Cutcliffe found joy in sharing his tales with the open-mouthed, wide-eyed child who savoured every moment as if it was his own and it was usually early in the morning when Tristan headed down below to get some sleep. As for himself, many of those nights his lantern continued to burn until dawn as he searched for that elusive place until one morning just as daylight started to light up the Raven, Cutcliffe finally found what he was looking for. The Kingdom of Loango beckoned.
On African Soil
Chapter 15
From the Raven, through
both spyglass and naked eye, it appeared to be a suitable location. The bay was in the shape of a half-moon and provided shelter from the southerly winds while the same stretch of land also formed a natural breakwater. To the right of the river mouth, a sandy beach stretched all along the bay. The river itself flowed strong and dyed the deep-blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean a blackish brown, the same colour as a strong cup of coffee. Either side of the river the luscious jungle rose up and created a thick wall of green, while a few hundred yards inland from the left riverbank, a rocky outcrop rose up high above the treetops. A small plateau on top seemed ideal for setting up defences for both land and sea. Also to the left of the river, another white sandy beach ran for miles up the coast until it got lost in the ever-present thin grey mist that rose up out of the cold ocean. The bay was teeming with large fish, their tails breaking the surface while they fed on tiny baitfish that in turn were feeding on the nutrients deposited by the mighty river.
‘By the deep eight, sir!’ yelled the leadsman while he pulled in the line. Within seconds it reached the captain’s ears. He checked the ship’s location in relation to the river. He was satisfied with their position and cast one last eye across the deck. Every seaman on the Raven was at his post, awaiting orders, ready for anything.
This particular stretch of the coast was foreign to the captain, yet he got them to within a few hundred yards of the sandy beach on the northern end of the bay. ‘That will do. Let go the anchors and make haste! Mr Woodford, prepare the longboats!’ His orders rang out over the deck of the Raven as they were passed from officers to seamen. Crews scurried unorderly but with purpose as they started to anchor the ship, take in the sails and hoist out the longboats.
The Fire Within Page 21