‘A slow and painful death if that snake bites you, Nyegere.’ The African walked past him to take the lead. ‘It gives you an infected wound that doesn’t heal, and with this one, there’s no medicine in the doctor’s bag that will cure it. Only one bite and death will take you slowly and painfully. And if you held onto life, it would slowly claim your limbs, making your body sick until it rots away and you have no choice but to die.’ Jabari shook his head while he looked at the terrain around them. ‘In this place, you have to keep your eyes and ears open.’ He said it like he needed to bethink himself too.
Still looking at the spot where the snake had vanished, Tristan had already changed his mind about the stick.
Nearly half an hour later, the two men exited the forest. Around them the dense jungle and thick forest floor made way for rocky outcrops and short green grass. They looked at each other but neither wanted to suggest a break and with quiet resolute, they started their ascent of the narrow path that wound its way up the first hillock. Onwards they trudged, crossing the hillocks and ravines to the east of their main objective. Soon their ascent became steep as they scaled the side of the mountain, only stopping to have a drink or to check their footing in those places where the path got somewhat precarious because of loose stones from earlier rockslides and looming cliffs that promised certain death.
They were close now. They could sense it. Their destination – the top of the largest mountain in the vicinity – did not just overlook Embomma but would also give them good views of the surrounding wilderness, and while they shared a common goal, the two also had their ulterior motives for making the journey. Without knowing, they sped up as they neared the peak.
‘There it is!’ Tristan pointed to the solitary redwood tree that had been their beacon from the outset and with what little vigour they had left in their legs, they raced towards it. When they finally reached the summit, they were too exhausted to quibble over who had won. Muskets were placed upright against the tree’s trunk, and both men fell onto the soft grass, catching breaths and quenching thirsts with long swigs from their flasks.
In between gasps, Jabari said, ‘This is what years on a ship will do to you, Nyegere. A ship can make you strong, but for this place, you need a different kind of strength, the kind that makes you endure long walks under a heavy load, like when I was a boy herding my father’s cattle and I had to carry most of my belongings.’ With tongue in cheek, he said, ‘But you did well today, for a man in your condition.’ When Jabari did not even get a glare, he changed to a more serious tone. ‘When we hunt, we will be on foot for days on end, so perhaps over the next three weeks, we should exercise, train our legs for long walks. You…we cannot show the African people that we are weaker than them, or we’ll lose their trust very quickly, which you don’t want in a place where your very existence and a successful journey may depend on them.’
Tristan mulled over Jabari’s advice, then handed the African a piece of bread from the satchel resting between his burning legs and said, ‘I agree, my friend. We shall inform the rest at dinner tonight. I’m sure the doctor can come up with a plan to get us all fit before the expedition starts. And anyone who complains‘ – Tristan pointed to the tree above – ‘can fetch a leaf from that branch and see for himself.’
There was stillness around them as they ate and drank. Up here, away from the settlement and its people, tranquillity befell them. It seemed too precious to break with a spoken word, almost unnatural and even uncomfortable for a sailor used to a chaotic life, yet they gratefully basked in it. Replenished, they rested with their arms on their knees and took in the sight below.
Taking up his spyglass once more, Tristan could see that both village and town had come alive. From the safety of the village walls, men and older boys were herding their cattle and goats to green pastures to the east. North of the plantations, which they had walked past, men and women were using hoes to prepare new fields for planting.
Nearer to them, they had a clear view of the fort and its inner layout. A simple palisade of tree trunks from the forest nearby surrounded a cluster of buildings, within which the Portuguese entrenched themselves. The stockade was not dissimilar to the walls that surrounded the native village except the stakes were higher and sharpened. Right in the middle of the fort, rising high above the walls, a pole bore the Portuguese flag with its crown and coat of arms. Tristan counted around fifty men out in the open and four cannons which all faced south over the village, town and river. The cannons were raised on wooden platforms and pointed through square portholes in the stockade, angling slightly downwards. He had a quiet laugh to himself. Some of the European brick buildings in town would be less destructible and easier to defend than this wooden fort which could fall to a couple of well-placed fires on any day. However, the cannons did make him wonder as to Portuguese’s presence, whether they protected the peace, their own interests or maybe oversaw the slave trade. Another question for Cuthbert, he thought.
Tristan found it fascinating how a view from up high can change your perception of a particular place or event — from the top of a building overlooking a market, from a crow’s-nest on a ship and now from a mountain, overlooking a town. He remembered joking with the Old Man one time that a fleet’s commander would be better off directing a battle from the crow’s nest or the ratlines. The captain did not agree with his spontaneous comment, but if he remembered correctly, neither did the Old Man disagree, saying that the poop was as high as he would go.
When they had walked past the African village this morning, everything seemed out of place, but now, from up here, Tristan saw a neatly planned community, as if an architect had climbed this very same mountain and had advised the chief of what building to put where. Everything was tidily laid out, almost with mathematical precision, and fitted into a large rectangle made of wooden walls. The village sprawled over several hundred yards as it sloped up towards the hill and in the centre stood an imposing hut, which could only be the chief’s. It was surrounded by other, rather large buildings and wooden structures, all of which seemed of similar importance. Close to the chief’s hut, Tristan saw a large group of natives waiting. Perhaps advisories or those wanting to settle disputes or discuss important problems or even trivial ones. Like any monarch, Tristan was sure the chief had to deal with all kinds of matters.
Only when Tristan looked beyond the southern wall at the bottom, where village met town and town met water, did the design appear to fall into disarray. The town’s European buildings were indeed a congeries of styles, as different dwellers undoubtedly tried to leave their mark on the place. Normally it would have been an eyesore, but instead, it was adding flavour and balance to Embomma, breaking it free from the uniformity. His eye caught the market which had sprung to life. Both traders and locals wandered among the stalls, and Tristan knew he would be among them tomorrow, perhaps even this afternoon. As he looked through the spyglass, he could make out some dissimilarities with other markets that he had come to know. Although there were exotic animals like monkeys and parrots on display and for sale, he noticed no performers, no deformed humans, no beggars or charlatans trying to swindle people out of money. Tristan’s eyes were getting sore from all the squinting through the spyglass, so he switched to the buildings once more.
Between the town and the village walls, and scattered throughout the landscape, were the outcasts, the ones who had fallen out of favour with their chief. A shanty town in its own right, it consisted of huts with thatched roofs and crude shelters covered with branches and palm leaves. It was the same dwellings they had passed earlier this morning that stood randomly plotted outside the village walls.
In the low-lying areas, closest to the river, runoffs had carved deep gutters into the land. Tristan looked for the stream that he had seen upon their arrival and found its mouth a couple of hundred yards downstream from pier one. He followed it northwards, noticing that it formed a natural boundary, hugging the outskirts of the town and village until it melted away i
nto the greenery of the hills.
He moved back to the docks where two smaller ships had arrived, both moored at pier three, while at pier two, Mr Silveira’s caravel was taking on cargo, including some of the exotic animals he had seen at the market. The man certainly didn’t waste any time. The warehouses looked like beehives as porters appeared and disappeared time and time again.
Beyond the docks, he now had a clear view of the river and the path it had carved through the valley over many years.
‘Look.’ Tristan pointed to the river. For the first time, the mighty Zaire River laid open some of its secrets. Right in front of the town, a large island split the river in two. The farthest channel was dotted with smaller islands, where fishing boats were beached on the sand and men were busy setting their nets among the rivulets in the hope of a fruitful bounty. Further downstream, what they had thought was the main river when they sailed, it was just another wide channel. There the river itself broke up into multiple runs, and Tristan quickly lost count of the multitude of islands and the narrow twists and turns as streams parted and rejoined. A large mountain to the west hid the rest of the mighty river from sight. ‘I reckon a man could get lost on this river, the same as you could on the open ocean.’ Then as an afterthought, Tristan added, ‘At least you can follow it downstream until you reach some sort of civilisation.’
Jabari nodded. Tristan had only talked about getting lost, not the dangers one would encounter if such an event ever unfolded. But he knew Tristan was already coming to grips with their circumstances and the challenges that lay ahead. He did not need to remind him, for the young man had enough responsibility as it was, and the weight on his shoulders would only grow when what had seemed like a tremendous idea slowly transpired into reality.
Tristan turned his attention east but was quickly disappointed when the river made a sharp bend north before it disappeared behind the surrounding hills. ‘We will need markers and proper guides if we are going to use the waterways for transport. I need to find out what it looks like further upstream. Mr Cuthbert will know whom to talk to.’ He made a mental note as he looked further south beyond the river, a thick green boscage as far as the eye could see.
They sat there for a while, recuperating further and enjoying the quiet until cicadas in the tree above started their irritating buzz.
‘Let’s have a look at the hunting grounds.’ Tristan rose up, swung his satchel and musket over his shoulder and started walking along the ridge towards the northern end of the mountain with Jabari close behind.
The vast expanse of wilderness to the northeast was an uneven tapestry crudely woven from all possible shades of green, an endless sea of dark forestland with patches of light savannah that stretched for miles until it touched the blue sky. Tristan remembered what it was like when he came onto the Raven’s deck the first time and only saw a vast ocean around them. How small and insignificant he had felt and how the momentous occasion had twisted his gut. His stomach briefly fluttered before he took up his spyglass to canvass the land some more.
Further to the east, he saw what appeared to be patches of swampland. It was only recently when three sailors from the Raven, including him, had gotten stuck in a swamp on the island of Mauritius while helping the doctor find some beetles for his insect collection. It had happened during a brief stay-over when they had to wait for the passing of a tropical storm. Tristan could just imagine how much worse it would be in the jungle, trying to move all your equipment along saturated ground while getting pelted by rain from above. He doubted that they would find any animals in the swamps, and definitely not the kind they were looking for.
With the spyglass in hand, he turned his attention northwards to the rolling hills. The terrain was too mountainous without any grasslands from what he could see, apart from the hills themselves. Next, he focused on the northeastern area again. There, Tristan thought, as he looked out over the carpet of thick forest, there lies our treasure. Unspoilt jungle and numerous grasslands, ripe for the picking. The sense of adventure rekindled on his insides, the uncertainty and concern momentarily lost among the African hills and plains, but above all, realism reigned, and it exceeded all imagination and expectation. We are really here. He savoured the moment, drinking in every little bit.
‘It looks promising, Nyegere.’
‘Aye. We should head northeast towards those small hills. See the green grasslands beyond them? That’s where I reckon we shall find all the game we will need.’
Jabari borrowed Tristan’s spyglass and looked at the Promised Land. ‘A good place it might be, but only the people who live here can tell us exactly where to go.’ He handed the spyglass back to Tristan. ‘We have only one chance at this. Even if Mr Cuthbert provides guides, who I’m sure can track a deer in the dark, we should still speak to the local chief, tell him of our intentions and perhaps trade some of our goods in return for information. They can make their drums talk and speak to the people who come from further upstream. At least that way, we hear what’s new, not what’s old.’
Tristan nodded earnestly. ‘I’m planning on seeing the chief, to get his blessing for our trip. ‘Tis what the captain would’ve done. And when I do, I’ll be sure to take some valuables with because it’s not just information that I’m after.’
‘What else then?’
‘Trade. You once told me that your tribe valued cattle almost more than their own lives. Well, I don’t think these people are any different. ‘Tis probably worth more to them than gold or shells. What if I can supply them with a steady stream of fresh or salted meat?’
Jabari thought about it for a while. ‘It will require more planning, but it can work. Meat will waste quickly in this warm sun, especially this time of year. I would suggest that we take some of his people with us on the hunt. What we shoot on the way will be for our use, but once we reach the savannahs, set up camp and start killing more and larger animals, then his people can butcher the meat and bring it back to the village.’ He looked over at Tristan. ‘You said trade. What do you hope to achieve with this?’
‘His trust, of course.’ Tristan smiled at the African. ‘But more than anything, I need him to feel indebted to me. You see, Jabari, unlike Mr Cuthbert, I don’t think the so-called baron, Mr Morgan, is the most powerful man in this town. I reckon if you need help in this place, the chief would be the man to see. Hell, it’ll take him less than a day to take that fort, flatten the town and chase the Europeans out of here, so I need to instil a sense of obligation in him – a trick that I’ve learned at a very young age.’
Jabari grinned. He needed no further explanation.
Not far to their right, close to the edge, was a large flat rock, and the two men sat down as they pondered the immense load of work and planning still required. From up here on the hill, the hunting grounds looked so enticingly close, you could almost reach out and touch them.
‘How are you doing, Tresten?’ asked Jabari as he kept looking out towards the distant north where light-grey storm clouds were gathering. There was no reply. He was not sure if Tristan had heard him. ‘I’ve kept a close eye on you ever since we left the Raven.’ He scratched his head. ‘I’m not sure how one man can ask this of another because as sailors, we do as we are ordered. But you’re no longer just a sailor. You’re a captain now. A captain of a different type of ship who needs to lead his men to victory in a foreign place, with a foreign crew and where most circumstances are far beyond anybody’s control once they leave the safety of that town down there. That’s a lot of responsibility for a young man, Nyegere. So, I shall ask again. How are you doing?’
‘I heard you the first time.’ Tristan, who had been staring at the same clouds, was looking for some peace and quiet. Away from the others and the noisy town, he had hoped “to gather his thoughts” like the Old Man used to say whenever Tristan had found him alone on the poop. ‘I just didn’t know how to respond to it.’ Shall I tell the man about the uncertainty that’s been tormenting me?
‘The tr
uth is always a good place to start.’ Jabari watched his reaction. ‘Being a man, ‘tis sometimes difficult to admit our fears or troubles but I’m your confidant, Tresten, and fate that has bound us together will never allow me to break that special bond.’
Tristan turned towards his friend but could not speak the words. In life after London, he had never shared his troubles with anyone. Jabari was right. A sailor did not have the privilege of talking to someone about the things that troubled him. On the Raven, those few days when he missed his mother, Finn and parts of his old life the most, he had climbed to the moonraker and ridden the wind until every last bit of yearning had blown away.
Jabari could see Tristan was struggling to get the words out. ‘You need to learn how to trust people, Tresten, especially those close to you. I don’t have to remind you, but anything you tell me will go with me to my grave.’
Tristan thought back to the night before. In a moment of weakness – and he had heard men talk about the vulnerability that followed a bout of fierce lovemaking – he had blurted out his whole life story, to a stranger of all people. Isabella had accomplished in one night what his best friend could not have done in five years. Tristan knew he owed it to the big man, for they had been through so much already. And Jabari was entitled to know if any doubt existed in the mind of the man he was about to follow into Africa, the man to whom he had basically pledged his life.
‘Alright, while you think about it, I’ll start and share something that I have only told one other person.’
Tristan breathed a sigh of relief.
The Fire Within Page 36