Caribee

by Christopher Nicole

  ' 'Tis true they sleep without watch, in the most utter confidence," Tom said. 'So, we could surround their camp, call upon them to surrender, and ship them off to Nevis or some such place.'

  'Mon Dieu,' Belain said for a third time. 'Captain Warner, I beseech you, understand what you are at. These men are not French soldiers or English sailors. They are not Dutch Protestants or even Spanish Catholics, who will solemnly give you their word and march away. They are savages, who know only the terrible urgings of their own heathen desires. Send them away, sir? Would that not be to invite them back, on some dark and silent night, to perpetuate a deed far more horrible than anything we could contemplate?'

  Tom gazed at him. 'You propose wholesale murder.'

  ‘I see it, sir, as a necessary surgical operation. This island, these people, governed by ourselves, are all part of a single whole, a body, if you like. But now we discover that in the very centre of this body there is a cankerous growth, a spreading gangrene which threatens to overwhelm us all. Now, sir, too often such a growth is impossible to remove without destroying the life of the patient itself. But here, sir, it is isolated. And we are fortunate. With a single cut of the knife, however painful that may be to you or to me, sir, we can eradicate this poison, and leave the body, our body, healthier than before. But it must be done now' Tom glanced at his companions.

  'There is a deal of truth in what Monsieur Belain suggests, Captain Warner,' Jarring said. 'Hal?'

  Ashton shrugged. ‘I have no wish to be murdered in my bed, Tom. Nor to spend the rest of my life in fear of being so treated.'

  'And will you ever sleep again?" Edward cried, as he suddenly realized that the Frenchman was carrying his point, that in a matter of seconds his own father would be agreeing to this deed. He traced it back to that dreadful day when the Dominican had perished at the stake. From that moment not one of the Englishmen had regarded the Indians as quite human, however much they pretended to like them. And once that point was conceded, as even Father was tacitly doing, to destroy them was but a logical projection. 'Would you not, in fact, be destroying this colony, and all within it, by destroying every Christian principle any one of us possesses? By making us no better than the savages you fear?"

  The boy is young," Galante murmured.

  'Aye,' Tom agreed. ‘I doubt you know much of what you speak, Edward. A conference like this were best left to men with experience of life. And death."

  'With. . . . Mr. Berwicke,' Edward cried. ‘I appeal to you, sir.'

  Ralph pulled his lip. ‘I can see little alternative, boy.'

  'My God '

  'Be quiet,' Belain said, suddenly very brisk. 'But the boy's interruption serves a point. We can be under no misunderstanding of what we arc about, gentlemen. Otherwise we are worse placed than before. This is no military adventure we consider. I repeat, it is a necessary operation. There must be no survivors.'

  'You mean we kill the women as well?" Jarring asked. 'And the children. Every last babe at the breast must be destroyed this day.'

  'You cannot mean that,' Edward begged. 'You must at least obtain proof that Yarico is telling the truth.'

  'Be quiet, boy, or take yourself off,' Tom snapped. ‘I take your point, monsieur, and I understand that considering the horror of what we have to do, one or two more lives seem irrelevant. Yet I will not destroy everyone. There are men on this island, yours as well as mine, who sorely lack the comforts of home. I am sure there are sufficient maids of between, say, puberty and womanhood, who can yet be assimilated into Christian thought and European habits.'

  Belain hesitated, and then smiled. ‘Including, of course, the Princess Yarico. Yet I imagine you are right. Eh, Galante? Our own people have too long been without the comforts of a woman's arms, as Captain Warner so aptly puts it, and our wives are a long way away. Very well, sir. Any woman who does not actually take arms against us will be spared. But there must be no male survivors. 'Tis understood?'

  ‘I understand,' Tom said. 'And so will my people.'

  Then summon them. We must be at the other end of the island by sunrise.'

  'By Christ,' Edward said. That I should stand here and listen to anything so dreadful decided in so matter of fact a manner. You would compound murder with rape and abduction? Sirs, you sink lower than the creatures you would destroy.'

  'Be careful, boy,' Belain warned. 'Your fondness for these people is well known. Caribee. Aye, you are aptly named. And so I have put up with your insults for this while. Be sure that I shall not do so indefinitely. And be sure, sir, that if I turn my blade towards you, not even your father will save your life.'

  Edward gazed at the man, big fists opening and shutting in helpless desperation. He knew nothing of swordsmanship. Nor was his accuracy with a pistol anything to match a soldier like Belain's. 'You outmatch me now, Belain,' he said. 'But be sure that I shall grow larger, as you grow smaller. As for what you intend, I'll have naught to do with it.'

  'To be sure,' Belain commented. ‘I had been told that your stomach in no way matches up to your words.'

  Edward gazed at him for a moment in impotent rage, and then ran into the house.

  And beyond, into the forest, his brain a raging tumult. Hilton? But Hilton and Susan had left that afternoon, and would be on the other side of the island by now. And what could one man do, even a man like Tony Hilton? Besides, he could not be certain that Hilton would not agree with the Frenchman. Tony was utterly pragmatic.

  Yarico? But she had inspired the whole dreadful deed. No, she would not have known what she expected. She had but sought ... to accomplish what? Something dreadful. And why? It made no sense. Just as it made no sense to seek her now and acquaint her with what her gossip had inaugurated.

  And to do anything would be to arm and prepare the Caribs. Then even more blood would be shed, and amongst that blood might be Tom Warner's. Christ, how could a son send his own father to his death? But how could any man deserving of life contemplate a deed so terrible?

  He checked for breath, and to scratch his shoulder where a thorn had torn his flesh. He travelled this forest like any Indian, as a rule, yet this day he was stumbling like a white man from the streets of London. Yet was he also moving insensibly towards the Carib village. For what?

  The beach, and the canoes drawn up in orderly rows. And the sky beyond, suddenly showing faint pink streaks against the blackness. Streaks which would soon enough turn the colour of blood. And a figure, moving stealthily through the shallow water off the beach. Wapisiane, tending to his nets. Belain and Father had forgotten the boy. But then, they knew nothing of his habits.

  Edward knelt in the last of the bushes, slowly getting his breathing under control. 'Whist,' he sounded through his pursed lips.

  Wapisiane's head came up.

  'Whist,' Edward said again, and stood up.

  Wapisiane gazed into the blackness of the trees, and then came ashore. He moved with deliberation, stooped and picked up his spear without hesitation, and walked towards the forest.

  'Here,' Edward said.

  Wapisiane came through the trees. 'Ed-ward,' he said. And looked at the trees, the sky, the darkness before the dawn.

  ‘I have no time,' Edward said. 'Awake your people, quietly, and take to your canoes. Make for Nevis. Do this, now, Wapisiane, and do not ever come back.'

  Wapisiane gazed at him.

  Edward seized his arm, and pointed at Nevis. 'Go, quickly. War-nah, Be-lain, Ber-wicke, Ash-ton, Gal-ante, they come. Many men come. Swords, pistols. They come. Take your people.'

  Wapisiane turned, slowly, to look at the village. His face was silhouetted against the growing light. No twilight, on Merwar's Hope. In one instant it was too dark to see a man's face. In the other it was light enough to see a quarter of a mile. Too far. Wapisiane stared at the village, and beyond, at the dark line which had suddenly spread across the beach, men, their morions glinting dully in the first rays of the rising sun, placing their staffs and resting their firepieces for the initial
volley.

  Wapisiane looked at Edward, and his face changed. Edward gazed at the other side of the village. Another line of men, waiting, beyond musket shot, armed with swords and pistols, holding the dogs in check.

  Wapisiane threw back his head and uttered a tremendous howl, like a wounded wolf. The sound burst out of the trees and screamed across the morning, picked up the breeze and disappeared over the bay, perhaps over all the neighbouring islands.

  But he had done no more than signal the destruction of his people. While his yell still hung in the air, it was overtaken by the rumble of the arquebuses, and the glow of the exploding powder, running across the beach like a touch cord. Almost they seemed able to feel the hot wind which scared the beach and the huts. Perhaps the bullets did little actual damage, but the noise and the crackling of the ball bemused the slowly awakening Caribs, and into the village there now rushed the white men, swords drawn, proceeded by half a dozen mastiffs, snapping and snarling. Wapisiane gave a groan and stepped forward. Edward seized his arm and pulled him back into the bushes. For a moment they faced each other, and then the Indian attempted to free himself. There was no time for a wrestling match which would cause noise, and which he might not win, Edward realized. He closed his fist and drove it with all his strength into Wapisiane's chin; the boy gave a grunt, and his knees sagged. Edward caught him before he could crash through the bushes and laid him gently on the grass. Then he turned his gaze back towards the village.

  The first Indians, all men, these, had come running out of their huts, one or two retaining sufficient wits to carry spears, but the majority unarmed. Into them the swords of the colonists and the French buccaneers, and the teeth of the dogs, scythed. Blood scattered, and with it the limbs and the howls and shrieks of the vanquished mixed with the yells of the victors. It was not in the Carib nature to run. Bare handed they threw themselves at their assailants, clawing and clutching; Edward watched one brave seize William Jarring at the neck, but Jarring held his sword in both hands and thrust it up with such force that it passed right through the brown body and showed its tip on the other side.

  Now the women attempted to join in the fight, and the morning grew more bestial. By Carib law there could be no old women in the village, and the attackers were rendered maniacal both by the blood and the excitement, and their creeping knowledge of what they had done. Suddenly there was no humanity left on this island. Edward watched one of the women thrown on her back by two of the buccaneers. One held her shoulders and cut her throat while the other knelt between her legs. A little boy was dragged across the beach by two of the shrieking colonists, his penis pulled high as they sliced away testicle and flesh beneath, and then rolled him into the shallow water to drown as he bled to death. And yet perhaps he was more fortunate than his sisters, hardly older than Sarah, one impaled on a sword which entered between her buttocks and seemed to emerge at her throat, another the bleeding bone of contention between two of the dogs.

  And yet he did not vomit. His belly had hardened, as had his mind. He left the bushes and walked down the beach, watching the sand scattering from his toes. Sand which coagulated into blood, little cakes of red and yellow, mingled, looking almost good enough to eat. Save for the smell. Merwar's Hope had always smelt unbelievably sweet. But it would never do so again. The stench of blood and fear and hate and death rose from the still beach, and even the morning breeze could not waft it away. The water of the stream, rushing down to the sea, was tinged with red. The very surf had turned crimson.

  How long had it taken? Not more than a few seconds, certainly. Now a dozen of the girls were huddled in one corner of the village, surrounded by their captors and their tormentors, sure at least of their lives and yet in the process of being picked clean of feeling or even womanhood by a hundred hungry fingers. And around them, in front of them, behind them, and to either side of them, their mothers and fathers, their brothers and husbands, their sons and their daughters were dead. Some still died, swords protruding from their bellies, hands and arms cut off, mouths gushing blood. Others lay in silent humps, still attacked by the beasts who had descended upon them, still being reduced to steaks, as no doubt they would have done to their vanquished had they won.

  And over the whole, already, there descended the insects from the forest, the mosquitoes and the sandflies, the butterflies and the bees. They sought their prey with an enormous buzz, to render an already hideous morning unspeakable.

  Edward walked up the beach to Tegramond's hut, for there he saw his father. Tom had dropped his sword, or lost it in the melee. He stood by the hammock which contained the remains of his friend. A sad end for a warrior chieftain. Tegramond had been killed before he could even leave his bed. At the least he had fallen to a bullet wound, and he had not been mutilated. His tooth necklace still clung to his throat.

  Belain stood on the other side. ‘It is done, Captain Warner. We have not lost a man.'

  Tom gazed at Tegramond. Perhaps, Edward thought, he recalled the day of their landing, the firm fingers on his shoulders, the uplifted hands pointing at the sun.

  Now he felt the presence of his son. His head half turned, and then checked, and instead he gazed at Belain. 'This day will not be forgotten.'

  'Nor should it,' Belain declared. 'This day we have made this island, your island, Captain Warner, a fit place for Europeans to inhabit. Now come, let us rid ourselves of even the memory of these people, saving their women. We shall accumulate all the dead, here in the village, pull down these useless shelters, and pile them on top, and create a funeral pyre which will be seen for miles.'

  'And attract other Caribs to vengeance,' Tom muttered.

  'And frighten away other Caribs for all eternity,' Belain insisted. 'Mon Dieu, we must look upon this day as a victory. It should be a holiday in our annals, forever more.'

  ‘In yours,' Tom said. ‘In ours it will be a day of mourning.' He looked down at the dead chieftain. Even in his death Tegramond appeared to smile. 'He was a happy fellow.'

  'Tom.' Ashton hurried up the beach. 'Ralph has fallen. I would have you come, quickly.'

  Tom glanced at Belain. 'You told me we had suffered no casualties.'

  'Nor did we. He has been taken ill.'

  'Aye,' Ashton said. 'No doubt the heat, and the excitement.'

  They ran down the beach kicking their way through the bleeding bodies and blood-caked sand, disturbing mosquitoes rising in clouds above them, and Edward followed. He wondered if he was dreaming, experiencing the most horrible of nightmares.

  Berwicke lay on the sand by the water. He had been rolled on his back, and Jarring pillowed his head on his knees. There was blood on Jarring's hands, where he had thrust his weapon clear through the savage who had resisted him. But with these same hands he smoothed the greying hair from Berwicke's brow, and attempted to fan some air over the dying nostrils. Berwicke's face was no less the colour of blood, and he breathed, but slowly.

  'Just the heat, old friend,' Tom said, kneeling beside him. ‘We shall get you to shelter, and a cooling drink, and you will be well again.'

  Berwicke stared at him, his face suffusing even more, until Edward thought it would burst with effort. But he could manage no words, not even a tremor of his lips.

  ‘It is a seizure,' Belain said. 'We must bleed him. I will do it.'

  But Berwicke's face turned ever more purple, even as they watched, and the staring eyes grew ever more fixed, and suddenly he was all veins, swollen and still, in his cheeks and forehead.

  'By Christ,' Jarring said. 'He is gone.'

  'He was an old man,' Belain said. ‘I am sorry, Captain Warner, I had looked for no such death, today.'

  'He was an old friend.' Tom slowly straightened. 'Tegramond was an old friend. They say these things travel in threes.' He glanced at Ashton.

  The sailing master chuckled. ‘I am not yet done, Tom, you may be sure of that' He pointed. 'Someone had best stop the women.'

  The men watched the fluttering skirts coming along th
e beach. A terrifying awakening, for the women of Sandy Point to discover their men gone. But how much more terrifying for them to come here.

  'Edward, you'll send them back,' Tom said. ‘I’ll not have your mother see what has happened.'

  Edward gazed at the skirts, the drifting hair, and felt his stomach rising into his chest. 'You stop them,' he muttered, and ran up the beach, away from the blood and the stench, and the pitiful helpless bodies. He reached the coolness and the shelter of the trees, and checked. Wapisiane knelt there, staring at the village, his face expressionless.

  Edward crouched beside him. 'You cannot stay here,' he whispered. 'You must get away, into the interior of the island. Tonight you must come back to the beach. I will have a canoe for you, and you will get away to Nevis. There are no Indians on Nevis, to our knowledge.' Wapisiane stared at the white man.

  'Can you not understand me?' Edward asked. ‘I am sorry for what happened. Sorry. By Christ, there is a profound statement. I would not have had it so. They were afraid. But it is done, now. Nothing can make your uncle and his people come back to life. I would have warned them, but I was too late. Now you must think of your own life. You are the only survivor. They have kept some of the girls, but you are the only male.'

  Wapisiane's head remained still, but his eyes seemed to have spread, until his face seemed nothing but eyes.

  'Say you will take care,' Edward begged. 'Say you will make your escape tonight.'

  'Wapisiane take care.'

  'Thank God for that,' Edward said. "We have had our differences, Wapisiane. But I would remain your friend. Perhaps we shall meet again, one day. Until then, here is my hand.'

  Wapisiane looked down at the outstretched fingers. 'Wapisiane take care,' he said. 'Wapisiane live. Wapisiane return. War-nah.. . .' he drew his finger across his throat. 'Belain. ...' again the gesture. 'Ber-wicke, Ash-ton, Hil-ton. ...' the finger moved to and fro. 'Gal-ante, and women. Rebecca. Susan.' Now his hands came together, and then moved apart with hurried, brutal strength.