The Fire Within

by Samuel T Clayton

  ‘Are you coming, lad? The captain needed to raise his voice the second time. ‘Are you coming, or are you planning on standing watch by yourself?’

  Tristan jumped to attention, put on his hat and grabbed his musket for the umpteenth time. It no longer felt like a gun but more like a millstone tied around his neck, wearing him down.

  Lieutenant O’Brien and his two soldiers led the way down the hill. The captain waited until they were just out of sight and ruffled Tristan’s hair.

  ‘You did well today, lad. Get a good night’s rest for tomorrow, we shall do it all over again.’ The captain smiled and gripped Tristan’s shoulder, squeezing it encouragingly. ‘Let’s go.’

  Chapter 16

  Dawn was announced by the pied kingfishers that nested in tunnels dug into the muddy earth banks all along the river. They were soon joined by other birds that called the river home, including a murmuration of noisy red-billed queleas, which left their weaved nests in the reeds, and rose and fell as one, on their way to the savannahs in search of seeds and insects. In the nearby treetops, a troop of monkeys voiced their protest over the occupation of their favourite hunting ground for grubs. Their angry calls amused the early-morning watch as it ended what had otherwise been a quiet and ordinary shift.

  In the camp below the hilltop, men started to wake from a restless slumber. For those who had managed some sleep, it had been a light slumber indeed for the strange sounds coming from the nearby jungle, accompanied by itchy mosquito bites, had kept them awake for most of the night.

  Tristan found himself in a tent with Jabari, the ship’s cooper and an ordinary seaman of Irish descent. The latter two rose with the rest of the camp and watched with envy as the African and the boy still slept like tops, one at home and the other too tired to fuss about his surroundings. The stirrings and sounds that coincided with the camp’s awakening and the smell of breakfast eventually woke the two up. Both felt well-rested and were sitting up straight, going through the morning ritual of yawning, stretching, scratching and rearranging crotches when the crack of a single musket shot echoed through the crisp morning air.

  They both scrambled to their feet and looked at each other questioningly, trying to confirm that they had indeed heard what they had heard. Two more shots followed in quick succession. Tristan hastily put on his boots and still half-dressed, grabbed his musket and ran out of the tent, closely followed by Jabari.

  They ran to the right side of the sandy beach up onto the riverbank where they could get a good view of the river and the hill above. Cutcliffe, O’Brien and a large group of men and officers had already found their way to the same spot, trying hard to spot what was causing the commotion. One of the soldiers signalled from the hilltop that everything appeared to be in order for they had not seen anything either.

  Tristan heard it, faintly at first – the sound of branches and reeds breaking under trampling feet. Then he saw it – reeds and bushes being pushed aside in the thicket on the other side of the sandy beach. Someone or something was in a rush to get somewhere fast. Around him, the men who had firearms lifted their guns and took aim at the greenery in front of them.

  ‘Hold your fire!’ ordered the captain. ‘Let’s first see what comes through those bushes.’

  ‘I see their heads! They’re ours!’ Hanlon’s voice was loud and clear from where he sat, perched up high in a red ironwood tree, his gun resting on a branch in front of him as he tracked the two people heading towards them. His voice from above startled the group and one of the men discharged his musket into the reeds.

  ‘Cease fire! Goddamnit!’ yelled the captain.

  ‘Hold your fire!’ chorused Lieutenant O’Brien, sharing the captain’s sentiment.

  Seconds later, two men came bursting through the reeds. A carpenter and one of the builders, who had been in the heated discussion with the captain, were both running for their lives. The carpenter on the left misjudged the soft sand, lost his footing and came crashing down. The builder gave a glance back over his shoulder but continued his run to the clearing where the group was waiting, not even contemplating lending a hand.

  Finally, they both reached the safety of the camp and slumped to the ground, exhausted. They were immediately surrounded by curious faces that stared at the two men whose clothes were shredded and their bloody arms and legs covered in tiny cuts from the needle-sharp leaves of the reeds.

  ‘Mr Blackwell,’ the shocked builder breathed heavily, while colour slowly returned to his pale face, ‘they got him.’

  ‘Who got him? Crocodiles? Lions? Speak up, man!’ The captain was in no mood for sincerity.

  ‘We went for a walk along the river, following the track.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Just the three of us, sir. And then the bastards got him!’ A look of dread returned to the man’s face, and his bottom lip started to quiver.

  A large crowd had gathered around the men, waiting to hear their story. The noise was buzzing all around as those in the front passed the news to the ones in the back, only for those to ask more questions. The captain finally had enough.

  ‘Back to your duties, all of you! Now! And make sure you carry your muskets, pistols and swords at all times. Officers, see to it that today’s tasks are completed as per schedule.’ Cutcliffe ordered the quartermaster to make sure the group dispersed as ordered, to oversee the day’s activities and to send word to the first mate on board the Raven that all is well, for by now the anxious man would probably be loading the cannons. ‘Lieutenant O’Brien, Mr Putt, join me please.’

  Tristan was on his way to get breakfast, wondering what had happened to the men when he heard his name being called.

  ‘Mr Conway, fetch these men some water.’ The captain pointed to the river.

  When Tristan arrived back with two mugs of water, filled to the brink, the two men were still sitting on the ground catching their breath. They gulped the water down, and for a second time, more patiently, the captain tried to extract the details from them. The carpenter, who looked less spooked than his colleague, told of their ordeal.

  ‘We decided last night to slip out early this morning, sir. It was Mr Blackwell’s idea, sir, I swear.’ Next to him, the builder nodded in agreement. ‘He spoke to the sergeant who led yesterday’s excursion and got all excited when the man told him about some clay banks and the endless supply of timber. Mr Blackwell said that he wanted to see the mud for himself. To use for bricks, sir.’

  ‘Yes, yes, get on with it. What happened to him?’ The captain wanted to grip the man by the neck and wring the rest of the story out of him.

  ‘We had just finished taking a sample of the mud and were on our way back to camp when he saw these big trees to the right of the track. He said that we should go and see if they were hardwood and suited for a jetty, sir. The trees stood in a small clearing, and when we reached the first one, that’s when they attacked us.’

  ‘For crying out loud…WHO THE FUCK ATTACKED YOU?’ Cutcliffe’s voice echoed across the clearing into the camp and momentarily brought to a standstill those who were close enough to hear. Unfortunately for Cutcliffe, the bewildered carpenter lost his will to speak, or perhaps what was to follow was still too overwhelming to recount.

  ‘Natives, sir,’ the builder answered for him.

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Mr Blackwell killed one, and I’m sure I wounded one. That leaves about ten to fifteen, sir, but I cannot say how many were hiding in the bushes.’

  ‘Weapons?’

  ‘Spears, clubs and shields, sir. Some of them also carried what looked like a type of sword.’ The builder sighed loudly, still dazzled by the speed at which his morning had turned to shit. ‘To be honest, sir, after I had fired, I just ran for my life. That’s how we got lost, we ran right across the track and ended up at the river. We knew the camp was this way and chose the shortest route.’ He looked down at his tattered clothes and the state of his arms.

  The captain reached out to the builder and pulled
him to his feet. He smiled reassuringly to the man and asked, ‘Was Mr Blackwell still alive when you last saw him?’

  ‘Yes, sir, but he got hit over the head with a club. He fell to the ground, but I’m sure he was still alive. They meant to take him alive, sir.’ The builder suddenly went quiet. Then he asked the question to no one in particular. ‘Why would they want to take him alive?’

  No one answered.

  ‘A bow, sir.’ The carpenter finally came back to life. ‘I saw at least one carrying a bow.’

  ‘Good man,’ nodded the captain. ‘Alright. Now try and tell me exactly where this happened. Over here.’ They all walked to the soft sand. Tristan knew what the captain wanted, quickly grabbed a broken reed from the water’s edge and handed it to the builder. The man started to draw the camp, hill and the deer trail. Everyone watched on closely as the picture started to take shape.

  Once the builder had given them the directions, Cutcliffe dismissed the two men and started mulling over all the information. Both men were still in shock, so he added an extra five to the number of enemies they had given him. The captain looked at Lieutenant O’Brien, who was also pondering upon a plan. Cutcliffe knew they needed to act fast if they wanted to save Blackwell, so he laid out his idea. Tristan still stood beside the three crouching men and listened intently to the Old Man’s plan, which was more a rescue mission than a full-out attack. O’Brien added his advice, and it was then that the captain sent Tristan to fetch the sergeant who had led the scouting party. With his help, the four men carefully constructed a plan to find Blackwell and all the while Tristan stood by, listening and learning.

  Ten minutes later, the captain stood up. ‘That is the course of action, gentlemen. Good luck to us all.’

  ‘My men will be ready to march in ten minutes, sir.’ O’Brien turned around swiftly and headed back to the camp, the sergeant close on his heels.

  ‘Lieutenant, one more thing.’ The captain called after him. ‘Double the watch. All men who work outside the camp are to be escorted. And extra lanterns around the perimeter tonight. We don’t know what we’re up against, and until we do, we shall take every precaution.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’ The lieutenant’s quick nod conveyed not only his confirmation but also his accordance with the captain’s orders.

  Putt left as well, to organise the captain’s contingent who would partake in the search for Blackwell, and while the two men were gone, the captain turned to the river and watched as it facilely flowed by calmly and peacefully, all the while thinking about the hectic chase that would soon follow. Tristan stood by his side, still amazed at how quickly things had gone pear-shaped.

  ‘That’s what you get when people don’t follow orders, lad,’ said the captain, not taking his eyes off the gurgling waters. ‘Let that be a lesson.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Fetch Mr Jabari and tell him that I need him to join this search party. He herded cattle before so he sure as hell can help us find a track in the sand if we need him to.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And you too. I need your gun and sword.’

  ‘My gun and sword, sir?’ Tristan shook his head in bemusement. Why does the captain need my gun and sword when they have so many in the armoury? And what if I need to defend myself?

  Cutcliffe chuckled when he saw the puzzling look on the boy’s face. ‘I need you to join the search party too, Mr Conway. I need a good shot and an able swordsman. Besides, we need to get you properly blooded sooner rather than later.’

  Confusion was immediately replaced by excitement when Tristan heard the captain utter those words. ‘Yes, sir. I will fetch Jabari right away, sir.’

  The captain watched him run off, no doubt fervent to share the exciting news with his best friend. The eagerness shown by the boy pleased and confused Cutcliffe simultaneously. Most boys Tristan’s age would be scared to death of meeting an unknown enemy in battle, quite possibly even look for a way out, yet it seemed that he was looking forward to it. Then Cutcliffe realised, there were no bonds that held the boy back, and no preconceived ideas about what could and probably would happen. The boy was to be truly blooded, and he briefly wondered if he had made the right decision.

  Soon Cutcliffe’s thoughts turned back to the more pressing problem, and he milled through their plan once more, trying to think of anything he might have missed when a far-off yet bone-chilling cry of a human being in sheer agony interrupted his thoughts as it carried over treetops and filled the ear of every man in the camp. It had been a while since the captain had felt that old familiar shiver run down his spine. It was not the scream itself that bothered him but rather the knowledge that it was coming from the lips of a dying man.

  ‘Fix bayonets!’

  The sound of metal upon metal filled the air as the fifteen soldiers fastened the bayonet rings around their musket barrels. Upon completion they stood to attention, ready to begin their march under the command of Lieutenant O’Brien and his sergeant. Twelve sailors, which included Tristan and Jabari, joined Captain Cutcliffe, Putt and the doctor, each of them fully armed with a musket, two pistols, cutlass and whatever else they preferred, which meant an extra blade in the form of a dirk for most of them. The captain himself had a special leather harness that holstered four pistols, and on his hip, a beautiful talwar swung long and menacing.

  Their plan was simple. The search party would follow the deer trail up until the point where the three men had left the main track and headed into the bush. From there they would follow the tracks until they had found Blackwell. Apprehending the perpetrators would only be done if the situation allowed for it. They would then make a hasty withdrawal back to camp, and their retreat would be covered by soldiers up on the hill, with musket and cannon. The hill would signal the camp to have men ready in case a larger than expected force was following them and should the camp be overrun, all men would retreat to the hilltop. If the search party failed to return before sunset, the remaining officers and men would secure the camp and return to the Raven at first light, where they would wait two more days. Should no signal be received from the search party by then, they were to set sail for Cape Coast Castle and return with more soldiers. Those on the Raven had already been briefed, and while the first mate did not like the idea of sailing away with his tail between his legs, the captain’s written orders had given him no choice in the matter.

  The mood in the camp was a solemn one as workers quietly went about their business, the enormity of the situation not lost on a single person who was remaining behind. Most of them appeared busy, digging holes, putting up timber walls, but could not help looking at the thirty men who were getting ready to head into the unknown.

  ‘Are your men on the hill ready to engage the enemy?’ asked the captain.

  ‘I have extra shooters up there, sir. The two 10-pounders have been turned around and are now facing inland. Six cannons will be covering our retreat,’ the lieutenant assured him. Both men knew the firepower that the cannons brought were more for their own peace of mind. With their loud explosions, the big guns would most likely serve as a scare tactic only, for finding an enemy in the sea of green below would be a hard task for any master cannoneer.

  ‘Excellent.’ The captain looked over the men, who, except for a chosen few, had all volunteered. No glory in delaying the inevitable, he thought. ‘Let’s get going.’

  The soldiers led the way as the group walked through the camp and then stretched out in single file as they headed straight for the deer trail. They did so under spontaneous applause from the men in camp with cheers ringing out while others screamed, ‘Get the bastards!’ Out of the thirty walking men, Tristan was the only one who returned their well-wishes with an agreeable smile as great excitement and a little dose of fear mingled on his insides.

  It took a brisk walk of ten minutes to get to the place where the three men had veered off the trail. Fingers on triggers, the group inspected the area. To the left of the trail, the jungle was still dense, but th
rough small gaps in the thicket, they could see that it was thinning out after about fifty yards like it was opening up into a small savannah. Through the greenery, they could also spot the grey silhouettes of three tall dried-out trees, the same ones that had sparked Blackwell’s interest.

  ‘Right, men, this is it. Spread out. Keep your eyes open for anything suspicious.’ Cutcliffe tried to keep calm, but the silence around him unsettled his voice. Out in the open sea, he could always see his enemy and plan his tactics accordingly. He did not like this green enclosure, and he could sense that the men were feeling the same.

  The men started their noisy approach towards the clearing, tearing apart bushes and breaking off branches as they pushed their way inland. The clanking of metal on metal as uniforms, muskets, pistols and swords bashed together, reverberated through the forest and added to the mixture of sounds already being generated by foot and hand. Tristan watched Putt on his right. The man just shook his head at all the commotion. Tristan then looked over to Jabari on his left. The African said nothing and just pointed at the green canopy above them where birds leaped through openings into the blue sky, spreading their wings to escape the clamour coming from below.

  The group finally arrived in the clearing where the delicious smell of roasted meat filled the air. Everyone was on alert for they knew the enemy was close. The tracks in the white sand showed clearly where the skirmish had taken place. Jabari showed the captain the continuous drag marks where the natives had pulled Blackwell along the ground. They followed the track to the other side of the dead trees and found what they were looking for.