The Fire Within

by Samuel T Clayton

  While the officers took care of his instructions, the captain kept looking through the spyglass for any sign of life until he received word that the anchors were set and the longboats ready to depart.

  ‘Very well then, let’s see what this land can offer,’ said Cutcliffe, addressing the landing parties that had already gathered, eagerly waiting to board the longboats. One boat would take the captain, Putt, Woodford and few carefully selected seamen. The other one would take Lieutenant O’Brien, a coxswain, oarsmen and several soldiers. Finally, everyone had made it down to the boats and the first mate, who had taken command of the Raven, wished the two parties God’s speed before they set off on a reasonably calm sea.

  When the second longboat returned it was Tristan and Jabari’s turn to climb down the ladder, and they took a seat opposite each other, each one grabbing an oar. Tristan could sense the anticipation in the big African. The last two weeks had been hell, getting ever so close to his native land, but never close enough.

  ‘Out oars!’ The coxswain’s raucous voice got everyone’s attention. ‘Give way together!’

  Tristan and the African followed the more experienced men on the boat and quickly settled into a rhythm, both of them feeling the strain as the oars bit into the water. Very soon they reached open water and with coxswain’s guidance managed to avoid the mighty current that angrily spewed forth from the river’s mouth. The small waves in the bay posed no problems and not long after they had left the Raven, the longboat was beached on the white sand just north of the river.

  Tristan leaped onto the beach with jubilation, and his feet sank into the warm, soft white sand. He immediately looked around for his friend to celebrate and saw Jabari not far from him. The man had slumped down on his knees and was taking big handfuls of sand which he slowly sifted through his fingers while he watched it get blown away in the cool onshore breeze. Then he took two handfuls and proceeded to wash his face as one would do with water. Tristan watched the spectacle, as did a few of the sailors who were seated under windswept palm trees scattered along the beach. No one said a word. Jabari dipped his head forwards and did the same with his hair. The sand streamed through his frizzed hair and down the sides of his face while he spoke a language that no one understood.

  Tristan was about to follow his mate’s ritual when it hit him. He suddenly felt like he was still on the boat, his body bobbing and swaying yet he was standing still. He looked down at his feet, buried in the sand, trying to comprehend the drunken fogginess that was setting in. A feeling of nausea came over him, and his legs started to buckle just as Jabari grabbed his arm.

  ‘You still have your sea legs, Nyegere.’ The black man, with his face covered in sand, roared with laughter which was echoed by the spectators under the trees. He made Tristan sit down with his head between his legs, resting his comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. Minutes later the nausea passed, and when the African brought him fresh water in a hollowed-out coconut shell, he washed his face and poured the rest over his head letting the coolness of the water freshen him up.

  Tristan sat there on the beach and watched Jabari strip off his clothes. The naked African sauntered into the cold sea and scrubbed his body while he sang a beautiful song in a deep baritone voice that carried far inland on the breeze. Tristan guessed that the man was thanking whomever he needed to thank for bringing him home. Tristan let him be, got up and tested his legs, which felt fine.

  It was his turn to drink in the beauty of his surroundings. The calm bay, blue ocean, white sandy beach and deep green jungle was as vivid as it had been in his dreams. The captain sure picked a nice spot, he thought and searched out the Old Man on the beach. He saw the captain further down the beach and started walking to where he, Putt, O’Brien and two of the builders were engaged in what appeared to be a serious discussion that bordered precariously on an argument.

  Both builders, who were overseeing the construction of the port, were directly employed by the company and like the captain, they reported to the committee. ‘Captain, time is of the essence. We need to find a suitable location to start on basic accommodation and storage right away. We also need to inspect the nearby forest to see what sort of lumber we have at our disposal. As you already know, we’ve brought a limited supply of wood,’ said the senior of the two men, a chubby fellow of small stature who always had something to say about anything.

  ‘Believe me, Mr Blackwell, there’s no other man on this voyage who understands the value of time more than I do.’ Cutcliffe was starting to lose his temper and spoke tautly at the obnoxious little man. ‘But there’s no way I’m sending anyone into that jungle or risk men’s lives without a report from the scouting party. And until then, no equipment will be brought to shore either.’

  Blackwell, who thought of himself as the man in charge on land, replied, ‘Very well, captain, but remember this is on all of our heads, need I remind you?’

  ‘No need to remind me, Mr Blackwell. My orders are crystal clear,’ said Cutcliffe dismissively whereby the two men left the group abruptly to carry on their conversation elsewhere. The captain turned his attention to Lieutenant O’Brien. ‘How long?’

  ‘Another hour, sir.’ He pointed to the rocky outcrop. ‘We got a signal from the top about twenty minutes ago. They should be on their way back.’

  ‘Very well. Let me know as soon as they arrive.’ The captain looked at the thick jungle. We have a lot of work to do, he thought. He had eight weeks to get a camp and the basic infrastructure up and running before he needed to start the journey back to London. Every person would have to do his fair share. There and then he decided to smooth things over with Blackwell that night after dinner, for he needed every single man to be on board. Perhaps it was time also to remind his crew what would be expected of them and remind the landlubbers of the perils this continent held.

  ‘Mr Putt!’

  ‘Yes, sir?’ The second mate, who had wandered off, came racing towards the captain, his feet kicking up puffs of white sand.

  ‘Let the ship know we shall not set up camp tonight. All hands will be called at six o’clock, and every man will attend.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir.’

  Those who had stayed behind on the beach heard the excited voices before they saw the group of men emerge from the bush beside the riverbank.

  Lieutenant O’Brien signalled the leader of the scouting party – a thickset, red-faced sergeant – to join him and Captain Cutcliffe. The exhausted sergeant huffed and puffed as he strode briskly along the riverbank. The high humidity had drenched his clothes with sweat and sapped almost all his energy. When he reached the two men, he took a big gulp of air to steady his breathing, had a swig from his costrel and without further delay started to inform the senior officers of their findings.

  A hundred yards upstream, there was suitable clearing for setting up an encampment. The clearing sloped slightly down towards the river and then opened up onto a sandy beach right on the river’s edge. Closer to the river mouth, not far from where they stood, the sandy beach gradually inclined and turned into a bank about six feet above the waterline, which gave an elevated view of the river upstream as well as the mouth. On the other side of the sandy beach, reeds and brush formed a curtain of impenetrable green. At the back of the clearing, a trail, presumably made by deer, split into two. The path on the left wound its way to the top of the rocky outcrop where a small plateau gave a 360-degree view of the surroundings. The area was big enough to set up a couple of cannons which could overlook either the bay or inland, or both. With only one way in and out, the hill would also be an easy task to defend it and a good place to keep watch over the bay, the river and the camp below. The other deer trail veered to the right and hugged the base of the hill before it headed inland. They had followed it for a few hundred yards and found a few places where the trail came close to the riverbank before it headed back into the dense jungle, with its never-ending green canopy.

  From the hilltop, they had been able to see the pat
h that the river carved through the thick tropical forest. It snaked its way inland for about three miles before it reached a large lake. They had seen what looked like logs drifting slowly downstream and could not see any settlements around the lake. However, they had found a set of footprints in the soft river sand next to a deer trail. Not far from the footprints, they had discovered an old campfire under a large tree, and they had also found strange markings in two places which looked like someone had pulled a log out of the water across the soft river sand. ‘This will require further investigation,’ said the man. Then he disclosed their most important find. From the hilltop, about seven miles further inland, to the southwest, they had seen a trail of smoke rising into the air.

  ‘As you can hear, sir, we’re not alone, and whoever they are, they’re not that far away,’ said the sergeant ominously.

  ‘Excellent report, Sergeant. Can the trail leading up the hilltop be widened to move cannons up there?’ enquired Lieutenant O’Brien proudly.

  ‘Yes, sir, most definitely.’

  Cutcliffe had been quiet throughout the man’s report. ‘Is the smoke coming from close to the river?’

  ‘Not sure, sir. We couldn’t see where the river leaves the lake or indeed whether the two do meet up somewhere. But as for the smoke, it could be a hunting party or a settlement. It’s hard to tell, sir.’

  ‘We need to establish at the soonest if there’s a settlement further upstream. The success of this port will rely heavily on peace and trade with the natives.’ Cutcliffe knew he had to meet with the local chief or headman at the soonest but had not expected people so close by. ‘But first, we need to build a camp and fortify it as best as we can.’ He was about to commend the sergeant on his report when one of the soldiers from the scouting party shouted excitedly.

  ‘Sergeant, look! One of those logs has made its way here. Here’s the wood those bloody chips wanted.’ The man pointed to the large object that was drifting in his direction before he waded waist-deep into the dark water and took his musket by the barrel to try and hook it with the butt section.

  Cutcliffe was the first to act. ‘That is not a—‘

  ‘Crocodile! Get out of the fucking water!’ On Cutcliffe’s right, the lieutenant yelled at his soldier who had frozen on the spot when the log in front of him suddenly became alive.

  Tristan and Jabari, who were sitting close by, both witnessed as the sixteen-foot crocodile exploded out of the water and snapped its jaws shut over the soldier’s arms and hands.

  ‘Mamba!’ cried Jabari out loud, but silently knew there was little they could do.

  The unlucky soldier’s two friends, who had accompanied him on the earlier mission, stood mesmerised on the riverbank and could only watch as the tragedy unfolded right in front of their eyes. Through its sheer weight, the monster jerked the soldier headforemost into the water and immediately went into a death roll twisting its body in a violent motion which turned the water around it into a raging maelstrom. Beast and man disappeared momentarily underwater, and when they resurfaced in deeper water, the poor man cried out loud. The horrific screams floated on the water to the ears of every sailor nearby, and they all rushed to the water’s edge just in time to see the reptile’s broad head throw the man’s right arm in the air before swallowing it.

  The young man pleaded for help, from his friends, God and then his mother. His remaining arm flapped helplessly in the water, the broken bones and torn muscles no longer able to do anything meaningful. One of the man’s friends lifted his musket and fired at the crocodile, and his attempt to scare off the large reptile was immediately followed by a barrage of wild musket fire most of which ended up splashing futilely in the water. A few hopeful cheers rang out when the crocodile disappeared for a second time.

  ‘Enough! Hold your fire!’ commanded the captain and called behind him, ‘Mr Hanlon. Please end the man’s agony.’

  Hanlon was standing on the bank above the water’s edge. He lifted his musket, aimed and shot the soldier through the head. The body lolled backwards, and just as it started a slow drift towards the river mouth, a big swirl broke the water before the dead man disappeared for good. It all ended as quickly as it had started and the river continued to flow undisturbed, just as it had done for thousands of years.

  A stunned silence followed. No one dared to speak, too afraid that the monster might reappear. Cutcliffe looked upriver towards the west and said, ‘That racket would’ve announced our arrival. Let’s hope whoever comes looking for us, will do so in a peaceful manner.’

  It was a sombre mood on the Raven that night. All hands were called at six o’clock, and with the news of the dead soldier’s passing and the manner thereof, everyone did attend, just as the captain had requested.

  Not one to mince his words, Cutcliffe spoke to the men about the soldier’s death and what they needed to do to stay alive in this godforsaken country where just about everything was out to kill them. Wide-eyed and in complete silence, they listened as he instructed them to be vigilant at all times, to carry their weapons with them and be wary of the many dangers that might lurk out there. ‘Crocodiles, lions, snakes. You name it, gentlemen, and ‘tis probably out there, ready to get you when you least expect it.’ He wanted them scared, for he needed them to be alert at all time.

  He laid out their plans for the next few days and instructed the officers to put teams together for all the tasks ahead and to plan a relief schedule so that the heavy workload is shared by all. Work would commence one hour after dawn and end one hour before dusk each day, with every team getting one hour to eat lunch, rest and recuperate. Cutcliffe had no concerns about his own men for they could almost work in their sleep, as any sailor worth his salt could do. But it would be gruelling on the rest of the men, so he ended his speech by promising them all a well-deserved feast by the end of every week and a full day’s rest every fortnight where they could do as they please.

  Lieutenant O’Brien followed Cutcliffe and said a few words about the fallen soldier. After him, the quartermaster, who was also the resident chaplain, held evening prayers and a vigil for the dead man. The officers then divided the crew into teams and started to allocate tasks after which the whole lot dispersed with most of them heading below deck to get some rest. Tristan and Jabari returned to their usual spot on the forecastle and chattered late into the evening, one more excited than the other to set foot back onto that wildland which now lay shrouded in darkness. Tristan would be running orders and errands for the captain in the days to come, and it was he who bid Jabari goodnight, leaving the African alone, giving him some time to talk with his ancestors and properly introduce himself to his people and his land – his home.

  The sun had not even reared its head properly in the west when the first longboat’s nose was pointed in its direction to take a boatload of men and equipment to shore. It immediately returned to the Raven and repeated the same journey for most of the day, ferrying men and equipment from and to the ship.

  While soldiers took up strategic positions to keep watch over all the activities, workers enlarged the clearing for the encampment by cutting away some of the surrounding trees and undergrowth. They pitched canvas tents in the form of a circle, with soldiers and sailors spread out in a mingled sleeping arrangement.

  A firepit was built right in the middle of the camp, and upon its completion, the cook and his mate immediately started preparing a hearty lunch for the ravenous crew. Close to the centre of the camp, the carpenters started building a large wooden storage room to house most of the building materials and equipment for the labourers. In time this would become living quarters for the captain and other officers.

  By early afternoon, the first 12-pounder cannon, with its carriage, started making its way up the hill and by evening fall, two 12-pounders and two 10-pounders pointed out towards the sea. As the sun started to set, the captain and Lieutenant O’Brien, followed by Tristan and two soldiers, climbed up the hill one final time.

  ‘Lieutenant, I do
n’t have to remind you, but I will be neglecting my duty if I don’t. I want this hill turned into a fortress.’ The captain pointed out some obvious places where they could be breached. ‘You will need to cover those well, get some spikes in there and ask the blacksmith if you need some more. Gather a pile of boulders to push down that gully. And move these tents more to the side so that the men working the cannons in front have a clear view of those at the back.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The lieutenant turned around and spoke to a corporal, a young man who hailed from Norwich, relaying the captain’s orders.

  They looked at the positioning of the cannons. All of them had been set up to cover the Raven where she lay quietly and peacefully in the bay below. Tomorrow she would relinquish her four 4-pounders which would cover the rear of the hill.

  ‘This will be the place where we shall make our last stand, God forbid it ever happens,’ said the captain. ‘How are the defences for the camp coming along, Lieutenant?’

  ‘We’re making good progress, sir. Another day and we will be done. Obviously, these are all just temporary arrangements. A proper fort in the months to come will significantly increase our defensive position, sir.’

  ‘Of course, Lieutenant. But until that time, use this hill to your benefit, for there are many lives at stake.’

  Both officers found it hard to believe the amount of work they had accomplished in one day but knew that it was only a small taste of what was to come. While Cutcliffe and the lieutenant continued their discussion on strategies for attacks by land or sea, Tristan sat down on one of the cannons, took off his hat and wiped the sweat off his brow as he looked out across the bay to where the golden-red sun was setting. He was beyond exhausted, his throat parched and stomach grumbling. Last time I was this tired was…that night, he thought. One single thought triggered his mind to go back to his life in London, and he wondered if the Hungry Ones had completed their deliveries for the day, if Sissy had already started preparing the evening meal and if the sun setting over the Thames was as beautiful as the one in front of him now. For a fleeting moment, he was not in Africa anymore. Through some miracle he was transported to Southwark, sharing a laugh and an ale with Finn and the barber at the Two Daggers. For a fleeting moment, his life was normal again.