The Fire Within

by Samuel T Clayton

‘Thank you, captain.’ With a smile as bright as day, the African’s hand engulfed Cutcliffe’s.

  When he got to Tristan, the Old Man searched for words and after a long silence, simply said, ‘Godspeed, Mr Conway.’

  ‘And to you, captain,’ came the reply. Tristan swallowed, forcing the lump from his throat. ‘Thank you, sir. For everything.’ A handshake conveyed where words were found wanting.

  The Old Man wanted to hug the lad, but instead, he turned around and headed up the quarterdeck while the officers moved in to say goodbye to friends and fellow sailors. Next, the shipmen got their chance, and temporary chaos reigned on the deck as each man tried to shake a hand or slap a back.

  Finally, the five started making their way down the side of the boat. Tristan was the last to step off the Raven, and as he lifted his leg over the gunwale, he heard the captain’s booming voice. ‘Mr Boulton, will you do the honours?’

  The master-in-arms was onto Tristan in the wink of an eye, grabbing hold of his leg. The boatswain’s mates seized his shoulders and arms and pulled him back onto the ship where his struggles quickly succumbed to the overwhelming force. They held him spread-eagled in mid-air.

  ‘Right, men, on the count of three!’ shouted Bolton. They started to swing him back and forth and on the count of three sent him flying over the gunwale, his arms flapping like a new-fledged bird. Men rushed to the bulwark to witness the impending splash, and they were not disappointed as a fountain of water erupted high into the air. Only when the last drops had finally settled back into the ocean, did a matted blond head appear.

  Tristan wiped the hair from his face and quickly drifted towards the nearest boat where helping hands grabbed and yanked his soaked body on board. Above him, those who lined the bulwark cheered and jeered as only sailors could, while from below the five men gave as good as they got, all under the confused yet watchful eyes of the native oarsmen.

  With the last of his drunken stupor dispelled by the cold water, a refreshed Tristan grabbed hold of the oar on offer, and together the group set off for Sonho, letting up occasionally to wave to the sailors on the ship. The voices on the ship eventually died out behind them, and as they fought the Zaire’s mighty current, each man was caught up in his own thoughts, in that place where a hint of excitement and a tinge of fear met in awkward silence.

  On the Raven, the captain headed for the quarterdeck. ‘Get us underway, Mr Woodford.’

  The boatswain saw the Old Man wipe his cheek as he walked past the first mate, giving the man his orders. With a slight pang in his own voice, Woodford yelled and waved the dawdling crew on. ‘Come on, you bunch of salted herrings! To your posts! Let’s put wind in her sails and point her nose south, for the land of the rising sun and her riches await us!’

  Chapter 19

  Resigned to their whereabouts, the group of men waited five days before they were able to board a ship east to Embomma, courtesy of a Portuguese merchant. The captain of the Santa Verdade, Francesco Silveira, was a well-dressed man, the archetype of a prosperous merchant. Wearing a light green justaucorps with dark, silk breeches and stockings, the flamboyant trader might have been successful, but the man spoke little English, and Tristan’s Portuguese linguistic skills were not much better either. After a few minutes of intense negotiation, which included lots of gesturing, Tristan finally gave up, simply pointed to their goods, then the ship, and offered the man a handful of silver which he could not possibly refuse. It was during this time that the man’s quartermaster, who had been occupied elsewhere, came to their rescue and helped to conclude the transaction with his broken English.

  With their passage finally secured through the universal language of coin, the five men and their four recently acquired natives, the latter proudly donning their new European shirts, loaded the containers with equipment and personal belongings onto the ship. The three-decked, square-rigged vessel with its sixteen cannons was a purposely bastardised caravel, complete with quarterdeck, poop and no less than four masts. The ship was a beauty, her slick lines built for speed, and the seventy sailors who called her home looked like an adept bunch.

  Despite the ship already being crammed with wares and crew, the five men and their native helpers tried to make themselves comfortable among the Portuguese sailors for the journey upriver. Tristan noted her gleaming lantakas with their beautiful engravings, mounted as swivel guns on the forecastle and quarterdeck. The polished decks themselves suggested a well-kept ship and a captain who took pride in her appearance, unlike many of the other Portuguese ships they had encountered on their travels.

  They waited patiently until finally in the late afternoon, an onshore breeze picked up, and journey up the river got underway. The freshening wind helped thrust them across the river mouth, and the men watched in awe as the mighty Zaire River swished and hissed like an angry black snake beneath the waterline.

  For the remainder of the day, the five men took in their new surroundings and the ever-changing landscape. Salt marshes made way for large mountains to the north and an unbroken chain of hills towards the south. Floating islands, mostly made up of lilies, occupied the centre of the river, some so large that they carried brushes and small trees, and even wildlife which, unless they had wings, would no doubt suffer a merciless death in the west coast’s big waves and strong currents.

  When dusk approached, they were about fifteen miles upstream, and the captain gave orders to anchor close to a small settlement on the northern bank of the river. Tristan was impressed by the efficiency and skill with which the Portuguese sailors moored the ship amidst the swift current. He was equally amazed by how quickly the local natives from the village surrounded the ship in their small wooden dugouts, holding up wares to trade, from exotic fruits and animals in small wooden cages, to puku deer horns still attached to the original and unfortunate owner’s head. Among the hive of activity, Tristan spotted some of Jabari’s maembe fruit and procured a basketful for his crew, who greedily sucked on the sweet orange flesh and discarded the pale-yellow pits over the side of the ship. For Tristan, it brought back pleasant memories, as he clearly remembered the first time he had heard the faint voices.

  Closer to the evening, as the men enjoyed the tranquillity of an African jungle saying good night, they had their first real taste of Portuguese cuisine and did not find the food too unpleasant. For most of their lives when it came to food, sailors could not be choosers, and it certainly worked in their favour tonight. While they enjoyed their meals and tried to make conversation with their fellow seaman through gestures and sounds, a language not uncommon to sailors, Tristan was a guest in the captain’s cabin.

  On Captain Silveira’s request, Tristan joined him for dinner and with the Portuguese quartermaster, an amiable man named Silva serving as translator, the two men enjoyed a pleasant conversation, matched by equally ambrosial food and wine. Tristan found the Portuguese captain an amicable host and was surprised to learn that Silveira, a man who Tristan had estimated to be in his late fifties, had settled in the African town of Embomma almost a decade ago. Even more of a surprise came only moments later when Tristan heard that the man was a husband and father in a place that Tristan had thought to be almost inhospitable.

  Over the course of three meals, Tristan bombarded the man with as many questions as he possibly could, from Africa, its interior and riches, to the captain’s travels, and found mutual ground in places they had both frequented. Tristan mentioned the heavy armament the Santa Verdade was carrying for what was considered to be a classic merchant’s ship because of its speed and ability to hold ample cargo. To this, the captain quickly replied through his interpreter, ‘These are turbulent times, Mr Conway, and these waters are no different. Is it not better to be prepared for the worse than to wonder what could have been afterwards?’ His wise words resonated with Tristan, and he gave the man an affirmative nod. For some reason, Tristan decided not to disclose too much of his past or the Raven for that matter, and chose to focus more on their planned expediti
on, which immediately grabbed the merchant’s attention, for there was the possibility of more coin to be made, and he had been paid in silver after all.

  With dinner over, a well-fed and well informed Tristan found himself back in the company of his men, and they soon settled in for the night. Purvis, who still needed his late-night smoke, was the first to stand watch over their cargo. For the rest, the gentle chop of water against the ship’s hull and the sounds from the nearby African bush had a lenitive effect, while in the distance the African drums spoke with an ancient rhythm as they carried the day’s news, perhaps even spoke of the newcomers’ arrival, and lulled them to sleep.

  Early the next morning, Tristan was awoken by the chattering and screeching of guinea fowl, rummaging for food on the sandbanks, close to the water’s edge. He struggled to find his bearing for his sleep was so deep that his immediate surroundings seemed completely foreign. As he came to grips with his whereabouts and slowly roused from his slumber, the sound of horses nearby was like a splash of water in the face. Knowing that they needed some sort of pack animal for their expedition, he jumped up and rushed to the larboard side of the ship looking for life among the reeds.

  ‘This side, Nyegere!’ The voice from the opposite side of the deck startled and confused him simultaneously.

  Horses? In the water?

  ‘Over there!’ Jabari and Purvis were both pointing to a nearby island. Submerged in the water were a large number of broad-headed animals with tiny ears mounted on the sides. They disappeared and re-emerged uttering low grunting sounds what could only be described as a mixture of horses neighing and whales blowing.

  ‘I thought ‘twas horses.’ Tristan was disappointed but excited at the same time. He had heard of these animals but had never seen them, never mind a whole bloat.

  ‘You’re not far off, lad. Hippopotami, as they are known, actually means “horses of the riv—“.’ The doctor was interrupted when a large male exploded from the water to chase away two pelicans that had been sitting too close to the water’s edge for his comfort.

  The sheer size of the animal shocked them, except the African who knew its power and angry nature. ‘When confronted by that animal, ‘tis best to yield your weapon and run as fast as your legs can carry you.’

  ‘No shit,’ yawned Tayler, joining the ranks, while he rubbed his eyes then his crotch in his usual morning routine.

  ‘I’ve seen the body of a man bitten in half by such a beast. Not to eat him. It killed him to protect its young. That’s what the elders of my village told us,’ continued Jabari.

  As if to make its presence felt further, the massive bull opened its mouth and exhibited an impressive set of tusks, the very same thing that had excited Tristan earlier on. The bull rushed back into the water and the herd set off for a tributary further downstream, which held rich grass plains, grunting loudly as they made a speedy crossing while using the flow of the river to propel them along.

  ‘Nice set of tusks on that bugger,’ said Hanlon, who had also noticed the potential. ‘But it would take a couple of well-placed shots to bring such an animal down. There’s a lot of tough skin and fat for a bullet to travel through.’

  ‘Well, you all saw those tusks. That’s what we’re here for, lads. That’s exactly what we’re here for.’ Tristan let it sink in, while to the east, the new day finally broke.

  By late morning the wind was blowing favourably. They made good progress, and soon, Sonho and its flat marshes were long forgotten as they ventured deeper into the great unknown. Late afternoon a lighter wind, strong current and a river dotted with small islands made for a much slower journey and gave the men time to get accustomed to their new surroundings. For the first time in their lives, the five sailors were guests on board a vessel, an aberration to them all. The oddity of watching others handle the ship’s yards and sails and a never-ending jungle that wanted to engulf them did not sit well with some of the men, especially Tayler and Hanlon who had come to realise that they would not see the ocean for a long while.

  Purvis who had spent most of his time on the ship in a confined space was less bothered and armed with a glass jar was making round after round on the ship searching for any strange-looking insects. The rest of his time was spent drawing sketches and making notes while studying the small creatures inside their little glass prison, all under the fascinated gazes of their Portuguese hosts.

  Tristan sat on the forecastle deck and watched his compatriots wrestle with their own thoughts. There were no ranks here. They were all equal. It was the first thing Tristan had changed after they had left the Raven that first night in Sonho. ‘We shall make decisions together,’ he had said, ‘but the final say will always lie with me.’ No one complained about the arrangement. Never before had they had an equal say in their future, and it was a prospect that both thrilled and daunted them.

  Jabari was standing opposite from him, staring at the river ahead. The African had undergone a complete metamorphosis in the last four years. Gone was the British coal backer and in his place stood a proud African warrior, albeit an English-speaking, seafaring one. Tristan knew what was going through his mind. This was the closest they had ever been to his fatherland and no doubt, the closer they came, the stronger those lingering voices grew.

  Tristan let the African be and busied his mind by going through their inventory once more. He had to constantly remind himself that this venture was not just a madcap expedition. They were well equipped thanks to the good captain. The Old Man went far beyond what he had promised with equipment like ropes and hatchets, proper accoutrement for the men, guns and clothes. The items were neatly stashed in crates and barrels, and even the latter would probably come in handy at some stage. We are prepared, he thought. We just need a few helping hands. Several in fact. And a bit of luck!

  He stood up and stretched his legs. There were several uninhabited islands not far off the ship’s starboard. Most had their reeds flattened by successive floods and had a sparse covering of green grass. One larger island further out had a clump of brush in its centre from which a tall tree rose, like a solitary sentinel keeping watch over the water. Its lower branches were stripped of leaves and looked like outstretched arms that signalled passers-by to heed the dangers that lay ahead. On its sandy banks, a few crocodiles lay bathing in the sun, not intimidated in the slightest by the large ship that was sailing past. Only when Hanlon fired a shot at one of them and the loud crack echoed across the water did they slither hastily into the deep.

  On the larboard side, the Congo’s tropical forest looked rampant, like an impenetrable green fortress. Dark, yet fascinating. Dangerous, yet inviting. Like it was waiting for someone to peel back its layers to look what was hiding underneath. Only God knows what creatures lurk in her depths, thought Tristan, as the excitement built within. While others dreamed about the riches that this virgin land might hold, Tristan could not believe that they were the lucky ones that would set foot on her unspoilt soil. All five of them knew that a good quality skin, horn or tusk to the right buyer could change a man's life. They were merchant sailors after all, and like freebooters, gold ran thick in their veins.

  A lack of favourable wind for the remainder of their journey meant that they arrived at the port of Embomma a day later than expected. Twice during the upriver voyage, Captain Silveira had ordered his men to retrieve the long oars from the ship’s hold. While Tristan and his men were no strangers to the use of oars on smaller boats, seeing the use of the long oars to manoeuvre a ship was foreign to them, but they soon realised it to be a necessity for a large ship to navigate these waters. It was these same oars that the Portuguese sailors were now using to show off their skills as they expertly guided the ship until it was anchored and docked at pier one.

  Africa’s inner recesses were everything Tristan and his crew had thought it would be, and more. However, the town of Embomma itself was much larger than they had preconceived. Apart from a long wharf and its three piers, there were several factories and wa
rehouses along the shore. A Dutch cargo ship was anchored at the second pier while a British Navy sloop was docked at pier three. The sloop, a two-masted warship, was an unexpected sight so far up the river.

  The lack of cranes they would normally expect at a wharf this size explained the antlike behaviour they witnessed. Masses of native freighters were carrying items by hand, in particular to and from the Dutch ship. It appeared that the power of man was the key to get business done in this place, and their business here was no different.

  Tristan looked beyond the wharf, further to the north. In the distance, a series of hills and mountains covered in low cloud formed a natural barrier around the town. Through gaps between the riverside buildings, he caught glimpses of a few European-styled houses and a shop or two, while above one of the warehouses, a church tower soared. As the land started to slope upwards, he could see the upper part of a neatly laid-out African village. Beyond the village, right at the foot of the closest and also highest mountain in the immediate vicinity, a wooden fort rose up out of the greenery – a Portuguese garrison, if he had understood Captain Silveira correctly.

  Tristan took it all in. ‘Right, fellas, this is what we’ve been waiting for! Our base for the next couple of months.’

  They all looked at him. He could see it on their faces, such were their expressions. They knew that, once they stepped off this boat, there was no turning back.

  ‘I hope they have bowse,’ was all that Tayler remarked, making his concern known once again.

  As soon as the ship had docked, they started to unload their cargo. Tristan thanked the Portuguese captain for his hospitality using a few of the words he had learned during their short trip. ‘Muito obrigado, capitão Silveira.’ Unfortunately, Mr Silva, the Portuguese quartermaster who had been their interpreter, was overseeing the unloading of the ship and when the captain showered him with a verbal barrage of incomprehensible words, Tristan just nodded with a smile and interrupted the man by shaking his hand gratefully before walking to the nearest crate to help his men.