Caribee

by Christopher Nicole

  But Leaming was dead, his body a tattered skeleton, coming closer as she was thrust forward. Oh, God, she thought. But it can only have lasted a few seconds. Less than that. Oh, God, she thought, give me courage, for those few seconds. I do not wish to scream and beg. Oh, God.

  There was another stake, set only a few feet from the first, and to this she was marched. Her arms were held wide while her clothes were torn from her body, cut free with sharp knives wherever knot or pad would have restricted the tugging fingers. But to be thus humiliated and manhandled seemed irrelevant at this moment. She was aware of some relief at losing the sweat-sodden garments, and even a momentary feeling of coolness before the heat of the sun mid the naked bodies pressing close had her panting again. Then her arms were dragged behind her back and secured, and her shoulders touched the stake. Another cord was being passed round her throat, and dragged tighter than she had expected, so that she had to stand on tiptoe to prevent herself being strangled. And now, without warning, there was a puff of breeze, which blew her hair in a cloud across her face, and left it there for a few precious seconds, shutting out all the horror around her, before dying to allow the strands to drift back onto her shoulders.

  Now, if ever, was the time to close her eyes. But now she could not. She gazed at the men surrounding her, shouting and screaming, waving knives and shells, and gourds, to catch her blood. They surged right up to her, pulled the hair on her head and the hair on her body, squeezed her belly and her breasts; she tensed her muscles against the coming cut which would be the signal for her destruction, and stared at them with as much resolution as she could manage, and discovered that she was still alive. Yet still they danced around her, driving thought from her brain with their maddening cacaphony. And still the terrifying cadaver that had been Hal Leaming hung to the stake only a few feet away. Were they trying to make her scream, as they had made him scream? Were they, after all, only children?

  Edward had told her, often enough, about the Caribs. 'They are not cannibals,' he had said, 'for the love of human flesh. It is almost a religious act, with them. They eat the flesh of a conquered enemy to obtain his strength, his speed, his brain, perhaps. For instance, you will never hear of a woman being eaten. Why should they, when they would expect to obtain nothing of value from her?"

  She sucked air into her lungs. She had been so wrapped up in her own terror that she had forgotten those words. She raised her head and looked through the throng, and found Wapisiane, standing by himself beyond the immediate crowd, arms folded across his chest, staring at her. He sought only to terrify her. Warner's woman must be made to grovel for her life. Whatever fate he intended for her, afterwards, this was a necessary first stage. Aline stared at him for several seconds, summoning all her resolution. Then she threw back her head and laughed.

  'You'll find the place has changed,' Robert Anderson said as he put the tiller over and brought the lugger round on the starboard tack. The wind was off the shore, and now they were moving into the shelter of the Christ child.

  ‘I'd not expected less,' Edward said, and shaded his eyes. Changed, was hardly a reasonable description. He saw first of all the French trading vessels anchored in a cluster in Great Road, and beyond, a series of docks and jetties protruding from the beach, and only then the houses of Basseterre. Here were dainty balconies and sloping roofs, a clock tower and what appeared to be a cathedral, all in white wood, gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. But already Brimstone Hill was looming into sight, and even this was different to his memory of it. In place of a bare rock with two cannon peering over its lip he looked at crenellated battlements sheltering a broadside, and behind the roof of a barracks, while above the fortress the cross of St George fluttered lazily in the wind. Soon they were off Sandy Point, scarcely inferior to Basseterre, although the houses were perhaps less imposing, and the streets more haphazard. Streets, where there had been but one? But now the town stretched in every direction, quite overlying the old tobacco field, while the forest itself had been cleared back to the very foothills of old Misery, and replanted entirely in the slow waving, graceful canestalks.

  A sloop was standing out of the roadstead, and now she hove to and hailed them. 'Dandy, of St Kitts. What ship is that?’

  Anderson glanced at his governor.

  "You'd best tell him, and warn him,' Edward said.

  Anderson cupped his hands. 'Susannah, of Antigua. You'll keep a watch for Caribs.'

  'Caribs, you say?" queried the captain of the Dandy.

  'Aye. They attacked us yesterday, destroyed the settlement, and took prisoner the Governor's wife.'

  Edward walked away from the tiller. There was a sensation: The Governor's wife. He looked down into the waist of the lugger, where the men and women clustered to stare at the shore. They were crawling back, with their tails between their legs. And as yet no one in St Kitts was even aware of their plight. What sort of a welcome would they find? What sort of a welcome would he find? Home the prodigal, the beaten man, who wanted only blood. But where would he find those willing to spill their blood for Edward Warner?

  The sloop was gone, and the lugger's draft was shallow enough to allow her alongside the largest of the jetties. Edward scooped Joan into his arms—she had wailed the night, a mixture of hunger and alarm, no doubt, and only recently fallen into an exhausted sleep—took little Tom by the hand, and stepped ashore, to be stopped by the armed guard on the dock.

  'You'll be from Antigua. Your business, if you please.'

  'My name is Edward Warner,' Edward said. 'And I'd be obliged if you'd stand out of my way. And out of the way of my people.'

  The man scratched his head. But he stood aside. Edward handed Joan to Tom, and walked up the dock to the sand, to gaze in amazement at the series of buildings which dominated the foreshore, some distance to his right. The first stood close to the edge of the nearest canefield, separated from it by a stream of water, clearly man-made, for he recollected no stream there in the past, but which now came tumbling down the sloping fields, perhaps laid out from the very spring where Yarico had first taken him swimming, when they had been children. Now its purpose was less to irrigate than to drive, for the rushing water forced a huge wheel into constant rotation, and this in turn drove three massive rollers, round and round, placed so close to each other that the stalks of cane being fed into the first by the attentive slaves were ground into straw; while the juice dripped through the slatted floor into a wooden duct which ran off for a distance of some twenty yards to the next shed, where it entered a huge copper vat, beneath which was an immense fire, constantly being fed, as Father had prophesied, by the crushed cane stalks, while the boiling juice was stirred and skimmed by another group of black men. At the far end another duct took the by now thickened liquid into cooling pans, where it slowly solidified, and waiting here there were several more slaves to cart off each filled pan to the third shed, where more of their compatriots were waiting to put it through a final purifying process, separating the molasses from the crystals, these last being placed in casks, over the top of which a clay paste was set in place, to keep the sugar fine until it was ready for shipment.

  The whole scene was one of such bustle and endeavour on the part of the blacks, and such evident discomfort too, for the heat was intense, the fires adding their efforts to that of the sun, and naturally the aroma as well as the presence of so much sweetness seemed to attract every insect from the entire forest, that Edward almost forgot his own misery.

  'Edward? Edward? By God, but what brings you to St Kitts?'

  Philip, wearing a white shirt over loose white breeches, and brown boots, and carrying no weapon save a whip. His hat was a broad-brimmed straw.

  Edward squeezed his hand. ‘I was but admiring the industry.' He glanced at the whip. 'Are they lazy, then?'

  'As lazy a pack of devils as you'll ever have encountered. But they respect the lash.' He peered at his brother. 'But what ails you, man?' He stared at the Antigua people, already surrounded by a cro
wd of women from the town. 'And all your people? There has been trouble?'

  ‘I would speak with Father.'

  ‘I shall send for him on the instant. Meanwhile....' he waved his hand. 'Mother will be pleased to care for you.'

  Mother. She too had adapted herself to the climate and her circumstances. She wore the pale blue which was her favourite colour, in linen, with certainly nothing more than a single shift beneath; the sunlight silhouetted her legs through her skirt. No gloves, but a wide-brimmed hat, to which was added a parasol carried by an attentive Negress. And of course, all the perfume she had ever enjoyed.

  'Edward.' She extended her hand and he bent his head to kiss it. 'How good to see you, and after all these years. How is Aline? And the children?’

  Edward turned; little Tom staggered up the road behind him, carrying Joan.

  'But....' Anne Warner's mouth opened into a round O, and she laughed. 'You use the lad as a nursemaid? Capital.'

  'He saved her life,' Edward said.

  Anne's smile faded as quickly as it had come, and she frowned as she glanced from him to the boy, and then to the jabbering crowd by the waterfront. 'There has been some catastrophe here.'

  ‘If I could speak with my father....'

  ‘I am here, boy.' Tom Warner came bustling down from the canefields; he was dressed very much as his younger son, except that he carried a gold headed cane rather than a whip, and his face wore too deep a flush for health. But he moved with all the vigorous haste Edward remembered from the past. 'Edward. Tis good to see you. But there has been trouble?'

  'A Carib raid, Father.'

  'By God. You suffered losses?’

  'We have buried fifteen women, seven children, and three men, Father.'

  'Fifteen ... by Christ. You were defeated?'

  'Outwitted, Father. They made a feint attack on St John's, and we marched across to repel them, and in the absence of our main force they landed at English Harbour. There were only four men left to defend the settlement.'

  'By God,' Tom said. 'Strategy, from savages. They took prisoners?'

  'There are three people unaccounted for,' Edward said, speaking very slowly. 'Hal Leaming, who was in command in my absence, Yarico, and Aline.'

  'Oh, my God,' Anne Warner whispered.

  'By God,' Tom said, and stared at little Tom and Joan. ‘Your son....'

  is dead.'

  ‘You'll take some wine,' Anne said. 'Come, Edward, dear Edward.' She grasped his arm. 'Tom. ...'

  ' Tis not the Carib custom to take female prisoners.'

  These are not usual circumstances, Father.'

  Tom frowned. There is some mystery here. You had dealings with them in Antigua?'

  ‘I have neither seen nor spoken with an Indian for two years, saving Yarico. But this business goes back farther than that. It is the work of Wapisiane.'

  'Wapisiane? Wapisiane? Was that not the name of Tegramond's heir?’

  'You never found his body, amongst the dead at Blood River.'

  ‘I had assumed he had been.. . .' Tom glanced at his wife, and flushed. ‘You mean you think he escaped?’

  ‘I know he escaped, Father, because I assisted him. I could not send him to his death. We met in the forest at the moment the assault started, and I persuaded him to leave. We had been friends.' 'By God,' Tom said.

  'And yet he swore vengeance, against everything Warner.'

  'And now he has claimed that vengeance,' Anne Warner said. 'Oh poor, poor Edward.'

  'By God,' Tom said. 'We'll call a council. Aye, well call a council.'

  Harry Judge took off his hat, and wiped sweat from his forehead. 'They're assembled, Tom,' he said. 'And I've sent messengers to Nevis and Montserrat, by fast sloop, to see how they feel down there, and also to be sure that the Caribs have gone south,'

  'They will have gone south,' Edward said. He had drunk three glasses of wine, but refused food. He could not permit a single morsel to pass his lips without risking the break down of the cocoon in which he had wrapped himself. He dared not risk thought, or imagination, or worst of all, memory. He could remember too much about the Caribs.

  'Well, it'd be best to make sure. I've also doubled the sentries in the fort, Tom, and alerted the guard on Windward.'

  'And the French?'

  'Monsieur de Poincy is outside now.'

  'You'd best meet him, Edward,' Tom said, rising from the table. 'He's a good man. No Belain there. Come in, monsieur, come in.'

  De Poincy was as tall as Edward, thin, with a pointed beard and a curiously arrogant toss to his head whenever he spoke. But his voice was soft and his manner entirely courteous. He bowed to Anne Warner, and then held out his hand. 'Mr Warner. I have heard a great deal about you, and about your beautiful wife. It grieves me that our first meeting must take place in circumstances of such gravity.'

  ‘I am honoured by your grief, monsieur.'

  De Poincy gazed into his eyes for a moment, and then nodded. ‘I have brought my principal officers with me, but you must speak with them later. We are very eager to discover what action you intend, what aid you seek, from us in St Kitts.'

  There was a moment's silence, as the Warners exchanged glances. This question had been carefully avoided during the hours since Edward's arrival.

  'Why, sir,' he said. It is my intention to regain possession of my wife.'

  They stared at him. 'From the Caribs?' Philip asked at last.

  'You must know that is impossible,' Judge said. 'The Caribs do not take prisoners, except. . . .' he hesitated.

  'To eat them at the stake,' Edward said. 'Believe me, sir, I know the Caribs a deal better than yourself. And I grieve for poor Hal Leaming. But they do not eat women, sir. They can perceive no advantage in it to themselves. Nor, as you say, do they take them prisoner. Their rule is to commit whatever mayhem they may choose upon their victims on the spot, and then murder them, on the spot.'

  'And the only two taken were Aline and Yarico,' Tom Warner mused.

  The one because she is my wife, and the other because she betrayed her people.'

  ‘I must confess,' de Poincy said, 'that I do not follow this conversation.'

  'My son is convinced that this is no mere raid, monsieur,' Tom explained. 'But the result of a long-standing feud between our people, and yours, and a certain Carib by name of Wapisiane. He is the sole survivor of his people here on St Kitts, following their destruction by myself and the Sieur Belain.'

  'Mon Dieu' De Poincy said. ‘I was not aware that there was any survivor, other than the Princess Yarico.'

  'Neither was I, up to this moment,' Tom said. 'But it appears that there was, through some misguided generosity on the part of my son. And it would seem that events have confirmed his fears.'

  'But this changes matters entirely. I had supposed that your son had come to warn us of the opening shots in perhaps an Indian war, in which my people and I would be willing to play the fullest part. But if indeed this affair is the result of a feud, concerning an event with which no Frenchman now in these islands has the slightest connection, why, then, sir, I do not see how I can ask my people to risk then lives.'

  'Can you not see that their lives are already at risk?' Edward shouted. 'Wapisiane makes no distinction between those who were here when Tegramond was killed and those who were not.'

  'Yet is he also a man of some ability and common sense,' de Poincy observed. 'Judging by the way he out-manoeuvred your people on Antigua. And as such, believe me, sir, he will always have more sense than to attack a colony as heavily populated and as well defended as St Kitts.'

  'That is true, in my estimation,' Judge agreed. ‘I have observed this when I was with the Dons, that the Indians would never risk an attack upon any force they were not sure they could overcome.'

  'Monsieur, one of the women Wapisiane took was a French girl, my wife, the daughter of Captain Joachim Galante. Can you condemn her to.. ..'

  ‘I condemn her to nothing, Mr Warner. You may rest assured that she is alre
ady dead. Of this I have no doubt at all. I grieve for you, young man, believe me, but you are young, and your heart and your spirit will recover. And, no doubt, you will know better than ever to show generosity to a Carib again.'

  'But she is not dead,' Edward insisted. ‘I am sure of it. What more terrible punishment could Wapisiane have inflicted on me other than to spreadeagle my wife upon the sand as he did all those other women, if only to kill her? His only possible reason for taking her was to make his revenge even more complete.'

  De Poincy half bowed towards Anne Warner. 'You will excuse my bluntness, madame, but if that is the case, then she is more than ever dead, to European eyes. What, would you risk dozens, perhaps scores of lives to regain possession of a woman who has been bedded by a savage? What would you do with her? Chop off her head?'

  Edward gaped at him in impotent despair.

  'Monsieur de Poincy is right, Edward,' Anne Warner said gently. 'This is a terrible, horrible, ghastly event, but it is not one which can be altered, now it has happened. We can only be more determined to make sure that it never happens again. Antigua is clearly in need of strengthening. Believe me, we all understand your desire to make the colony a success on your own, but now that has failed, why, you must accept help from your father. He will send you fresh people, in sufficient numbers to make the colony impregnable against further attacks. You must build again. God knows you have done that often enough in the past. As for Joan, you may leave her with me for the time being. It will be my pleasure to care for her, and to secure for her a wet nurse.'