Another wind gust rattled the lines close to his head, and he realised he had been lost in another one of his daydreams, perhaps brought on by the future that awaited him.
The grey-bearded man was indeed waiting on the poop deck on the windward side, leaning with his hands on the taffrail. Instead of observing the Raven’s crew, the Old Man watched the ship’s wake and must have felt the footsteps for he spoke without even looking.
‘Mr Conway! I was just about to assemble a search party!’
‘I’m sorry, sir’, came the hangdog reply. ‘I came as soon as I heard.’
The captain pushed himself upright and gazed at the young man in front of him. Tristan was a head higher than the captain, but his lean built and broad shoulders made him look even taller. The long blond hair was a tangled mess, matted by sea and sun. The wind blew a few rebellious curls across his tanned face, but they could not hide the piercing blue eyes and mischievous grin that was always present. Cutcliffe remembered the pale-faced boy that came onto his ship more than four years ago. What a far cry from that sorry sight, he thought.
‘I’d better have a word with my chain of command then, don’t I?’ Much to the captain’s amusement, the usually witty lad did not have a clever answer and allowing himself a delightful chuckle, Cutcliffe’s concealed frame of mind lightened. He looked down at the wake once more. ‘You can tell a lot by the wake of a ship, lad. Ever noticed it?’
Tristan shook his head. Then he looked at the sailor and officer on the leeward side of the poop deck. One operated the chip log and the other a sandglass.
‘The speed, sir?’ Tristan had to grip the rail tight as another gust of wind stormed across the deck, threatening to take with it anything that stood in its path.
‘Yes, yes.’ The old man nodded. ‘A good observation. To the learned eye, an idea of the ship’s speed can be had.’ The captain waited to hear if there was more, but Tristan shrugged his shoulders. The captain then pointed to the frothing wake and traced it with his finger until he lost sight of it. ‘The trail of a ship shows us where it has been, lad. For a wee while, before it disappears back into the vast ocean where it will be forgotten by time, it gives us a glimpse of her past.’ The captain was scratching his beard when he turned sideways to face Tristan. ‘But more importantly, if you take everything around you into consideration, it gives you a sense of her direction. But only a sense, for her past holds not much sway over her future.’
Tristan looked at the long slick trail amidst the chopping sea just as the Raven went over the crest of another big swell. The Old Man is right, he thought. But surely I was not called away from my duties during these blustering conditions to discuss the wake of the ship.
‘Follow me,’ said the captain, who abruptly headed downstairs and told the first mate that he was not to be disturbed unless it was of utmost importance. Tristan overheard the Old Man giving directions to the first mate while he looked longingly to foremast where his mates would be aloft for the next few hours, furling and unfurling sails based on the first mate’s commands. Glancing upwards, he saw the large grey clouds starting to congregate directly above their heads.
Back in the captain’s cabin, they both took a while to catch their breath, the wind still whistling in their ears no different to the way it did through the small crevices of the great cabin windows.
The captain walked over to his cabinet and retrieved two mugs together with a jug of rum. He poured the mugs half full and offered one to Tristan, an indulgence that was normally reserved for the quiet of the night. Standing by the windows, they sipped the lukewarm yet burning liquid.
‘Have you thought about our conversation, lad?’
Tristan nodded. He had. A lot. It had been a week since he had made his intentions known to the captain. The Old Man had had his reservations and true to his nature had made them known, after which he had given Tristan a few more days to think it through.
‘How old are you, lad?’
‘I’ll be turning eighteen at the end of this year, sir.’
‘You’re no longer a wee fry now, are you?’ chuckled Cutcliffe. ‘At your age, I already served as midshipman on a ship very similar to this one.’ The Old Man savoured his rum thoughtfully, as if he relived his childhood memory. ‘And an expedition into Africa is where life’s journey will take you next? Remember what I told you about Africa. You have but scratched the surface. She'll rive and devour you in a heartbeat, and if you’re lucky, spit out your measly white bones.’ Cutcliffe’s inquisitive eyes searched for answers on the young man’s face. ‘Are you certain about that, lad?’
‘Certain? No, sir. But then I have learned, from you, that there is not much in life that one can be certain about.’
The captain chuckled once again. The lad was indeed an astute learner and just as wilful as himself. Cutcliffe had already made up his mind, but he would not be doing his duty as captain if he did not try to persuade the stripling to reconsider. Smirking to himself, he thought he would have some mirth at the young man’s expense. ‘And the life that you have made for yourself on board the Raven, does that count for nothing?’ A low, well-placed blow it was.
Tristan was caught off-guard by the sudden change in tack. ‘No, sir. For what you have done for me, I could never repay you and will be forever in your debt.’
Cutcliffe had him right where he wanted him and could have closed the deal with a simple request, but he could not get himself to do it. ‘Damn it! I can’t.’ He shook his head and hit the table with his hand in frustration, spilling some of his drink at the same time. ’You see, lad, the narrow-minded prig inside of me says stay. You have a bright future as a merchant, or even in the Navy, but the adventurer in me says to let you be. In fact, he wants to join you. You’d of course forgive me for sounding like an apprehensive relative or friend.’
Tristan nodded. The captain’s sincere affection came as no surprise to him.
‘Although this intended venture of yours puts me in a somewhat precarious position, I too have given it the contemplation it deserves and…you have my blessing, son.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Tristan sighed with relief. The Old Man’s approval meant everything to him. ‘Thank you kindly.’
‘Now, a few of my men have expressed interest in joining you. God knows why, but perhaps they too see some promise in you. Or perhaps they think there is more money to be made in the African jungle than on this ship.’
‘Aye, sir. A few have asked. Mr Purvis wants to study animals and insects. Hanlon has neither house nor spouse and has become a good friend. The same with Tayler but then again, he might just be looking for trouble. As for Jabari, well, he has a score to settle. I can assure you, sir, I promised them nothing and expect nothing in return, but if they want to join me, I will gladly agree to their company.’ Tristan knew this could not be an easy conversation for the captain.
‘Rightly so. And what about you, lad? Why the urge to do this?’
‘I have nothing to lose, sir.’ Tristan was reluctant to tell the Old Man more, but then realised what he had just said. ‘To be honest, sir, I can’t explain it. Africa…I fear this may sound a bit crazy, but every time we anchor off her shores or set foot on her, ‘tis like this invisible voice calling me, almost begging me to come seek her out.’
The captain laughed, and Tristan immediately wished that he had not uttered those words, but then the Old Man spoke. ‘I believe I know what you mean, lad. The ocean speaks to me too, albeit a bit more amply than your Africa. See, son, she’s in the wind, in the waves, in the salt that crusts on your face. She’s in the rustling of the sails and the creaking of the timber, and on some days her voice is vehement, while on others, a mere whisper.’ The captain’s eyes became distant. ‘I think every sailor hears it. And ‘tis a calling that we cannot ignore, for it’ll drive us mad.’ He laid his hand reassuringly on Tristan’s shoulder. ‘Keep on hearing her voice, lad, and you act on her calling because either we are hearing it or they should throw our demented
arses in bedlam.’ He pressed Tristan’s shoulder, and the defiant look on his face removed any doubt that it was the latter. Tristan also sensed that any residual hesitance about his venture into Africa had finally left the man.
Cutcliffe walked around his table, took out a well-used map from the cabinet in the corner and laid it out on the flat surface. He pulled out his chair and signalled Tristan to join him. He refilled the mugs, and together they scrutinised the worn chart.
‘Tell me your plan again and let me see how I can contribute.’
The captain listened closely as Tristan laid it out. Tomorrow afternoon they planned to disembark at Sonho, then take a boat upriver for about fifty miles. They would hunt and trade out of Embomma, an entrepot for merchants from all over. Details were scarce, but one of the sailor’s had a vague remembrance of the place and had shared with them his insight.
‘Embomma, you say?’
‘Yes, sir. Do you know the place?’
‘Aye, I’ve been, many years ago now. An old friend of mine resides there, at least I think he still does. Alfred Cuthbert, a fellow merchant, who has traded his ship in return for a warehouse and life on land. You be sure to look him up when you get there. The man is a clever and resourceful trader, but you better tell him who sent you his way, for I fear he’s a merchant first, and everything else thereafter. He might decide to take advantage of you and – don't take this the wrong way, lad – your lack of experience when it comes to African expeditions.’
Tristan took no exception at all and said, ‘Thank you, sir. We’ll take all the help we can get.’
‘Very well, then.’ Cutcliffe frowned. ‘But hitherto there is something that I can’t quite grasp, for it strikes me as really odd. I can’t see you subsidise this venture out of your own pocket.’
‘That’s correct, sir. However, I have done the sums, and I have enough coin and a few wares to trade. This should allow me to acquire a couple of guns, limited supplies, some porters and perhaps a few guides to get us started. The men who are joining will have to pay their own way until there are profits to be shared.’
The Old Man had waited patiently for this moment and wasted no time making his proposal. ‘Then, perhaps you will allow me the opportunity to sponsor your endeavour?’
Tristan gasped with surprise. ‘Sir, I cannot—‘
‘Wait, let me finish first. I shall lend you the money, in silver and shell. You’re to pay me back, of course, including any profit you see fit.’ The Old Man took a deep breath and leaned in closer, resting his elbows on the oak table. ‘’Tis not so much about the money, lad. At least this way you’ll be going into Africa well prepared, and it allows me to ensure, only to a certain extent, the wellbeing of my crew. You can employ more hunters and porters, you know, some decent men, to help grow your venture faster.’ Cutcliffe spoke explicitly. ‘You can’t go into Africa short of hand, lad. It’ll be the end of all of you. If the natives won’t try to kill you, the wild beasts surely will. Go on, think about it.’ The captain stood up and walked to the cabin windows that were being pelted with small drops of rain and allowed the young man some time to stew over his proposal.
Tristan had never owed anyone anything, except the Old Man, who would be an eternal recipient of his gratitude, for the man had given him a life away from London. Above all, the captain’s proposal sounded reasonable. He remembered his own words from only moments ago. We’ll take all the help we can get.
Still staring out the window, Cutcliffe interrupted his train of thought. ‘You can get a head start, lad. Firstly, all five of you can take with you all your belongings, including those articles deemed property of the company such as cutlasses, bedding and in your case, the clothes on your back. Furthermore, you and Mr Jabari can raid the slop chest and take whatever supplies you may need to see you through the first week. I will also instruct Mr Boulton to prepare ten muskets, ten pistols and enough gunpowder and bullets to last you a few weeks. ‘Tis just a drop of what you will need, lad, but ‘tis a drop nonetheless.’
Tristan knew there was not much more to consider. To reject the man’s offer would be a foolish decision, for it was an offer that went far beyond their immediate needs. ‘I gratefully accept your help, sir,’ said Tristan, and suddenly found himself with a slight tremble in his voice.
‘A wise man,’ the captain expressed his approval. ‘Now, you have a day to prepare, and there’s no time to waste, so I suggest that you move your arse, Mr Conway.’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. You won’t regret it.’
‘I have no doubt, lad.’ The captain smiled contently, pleased with the outcome. ‘One last thing, Mr Conway. While you’re on my ship, you’ll still look the part, so clean up that unkempt head of yours, or I’ll ask Mr Purvis to do it for you. I think we both know he’d be the first to admit that his cutting of hair does not exactly match his skills as a surgeon.’
‘Aye, sir!’ he said with a wide grin on his face for the man was not talking to him like a captain would to a sailor. No, the Old Man reprimanded him like a father would his son.
All hands were called for the occasion. Up on deck, rowdy men pushed and shoved to get a last look at the departing crew. On the starboard side of the ship, two fishing boats manned by friendly natives lay drifting, waiting patiently for their passengers. On the dock, only sixty yards away from the ship’s bow, stood their personal belongings and other cargo for the trip up the river, all piled into a small mountain.
The five seekers of fortune were lined up along the bulwark. Opposite from them stood the captain and his officers, most of them still reeling from the unprecedented festivities which had unfolded in the great cabin the night before. Food and wine had flowed in exorbitant quantities, unlike anything the veteran sailors had ever seen. The late-morning sun started to bake down on them, adding to their discomfort as some of them swayed on unsteady legs.
Only the captain appeared as lively as ever. He looked each man in the eye and silently acceded their decisions with a nod of the head. When his eyes settled on Tayler, he tried to make light of the situation and bellowed, ‘Mr Tayler, are you sure you still want to join this indigent bunch of swashbucklers and give up your life of riches and leisure on board the Raven?’
The crew on deck laughed. They were in merry spirits too after the good night they had had, all thanks to the captain’s generous hand.
Tayler picked up on the sarcasm. He leaned forward and looked at Tristan, whom he had already promised his accompaniment. ‘Aye, with your permission, sir, I’d still be keen on joining the young fella and in all fairness, who else is going to keep his snotty nose clean?’ The big man deflected the captain’s mockery with a smug grin on his face.
The crew, who knew the history between the two, burst out in laughter. Even Tristan, who felt the dagger hit home, managed a smile.
‘And I would prefer nothing else than to keep this big fella in check, sir,’ he quickly countered.
Tayler’s grin disappeared in a flash, and then he mumbled something inauspicious, lowering his head, knowing that he had been outplayed. At the back, some of the men nearly doubled over with uncontainable laughter, but those in striking distance were much more subdued. For good reason too, because when Tayler looked up, his fiery eyes dared them to do otherwise. He inadvertently touched the scar on his right hand, a stark reminder of what the young man was capable of. Yet he owed Tristan his life and would make good on his promise, for most men on board this ship knew that despite his many flaws, which had led to many blunders, his word had always been his bond.
‘Well, enough of this blather!’ The captain, who had started the banter, ended it and walked over to the group where he started to say farewell, shaking each man’s hand with a firm grip and a wry smile. Cutcliffe knew he was saying goodbye to some good men, and while a ship’s crew was always replaceable, it did not make his task any easier. ‘Mr Hanlon, may your bullets continue to fly true and may Africa put some marvellous beasts in your sights.’
&n
bsp; ‘Thank you, sir.’
The captain stopped in front of the doctor next. ‘Thank you, my friend, for your great service and learned ear.’ The captain hinted at the surgeon’s young mate who had worked and excelled under Purvis’s guidance. ‘You have taught him well and certainly left us in good hands. May you too find some marvellous creatures for your studies. Perhaps one day, I shall see you back in London.’
‘It’s been an honour and a tremendous pleasure to serve under you, sir. Keep a fresh bundle and a bottle of gin ready. In fact, make that two, for I’m certain that when we next meet, there will be many tales to tell. Both of us.’ Purvis shook Cutcliffe’s hand with companionable warmth.
Tayler was next in line. ‘Look out for these men, Mr Tayler. Could you do that for me?’ In front of Cutcliffe, the big man with the small heart nodded, obeying his captain one last time with the full intention of keeping his promise. ‘And for God’s sake, and for the sake of your fellow travellers, try and stay out of trouble!’
‘Aye, sir,’ said Tayler, rather self-consciously.
Jabari towered over Cutcliffe, but what the captain lacked in stature, he made up for doubly in authority, and the African felt small by comparison when the captain spoke to him. ‘Mr Jabari, not once have I doubted your commitment and courage. For your loyalty and service, you have my eternal gratitude, and for as long as I captain this ship, you shall always be welcome back on board.’
The Fire Within Page 28