The Island

by Derek Gunn

  The burly man was new to the ship and had faced an uphill struggle since he came on board. Not only had his gruff Southern Irish accent been quite difficult to understand but the previous Boson had been well-liked and respected by the men. It hadn’t been his fault that the previous Boson had lost an arm to a wayward splinter during a fire-fight with the French over two months ago, they may not yet be at war but there had been numerous ‘incidents’ over the last few months with brief and bloody engagements, many of which were never reported to the Admiralty. Regardless, the men had eyed the new Boson with suspicion. The fact that he had been Irish had not helped at all. Butler had sensed the closing of ranks as soon as Maguire had arrived.

  Butler had taken a chance placing the big Irishman in charge. His previous captain had been at pains to inform him that the man had been a smuggler and troublemaker, but Butler had seen something in the man when they had first met that intrigued him. He had been one of fifteen men that had transferred from the HMS Unique, a large Ship of the Line that had still been wallowing in port without a commission but with a surplus of crew when Butler had limped into port after his last mission.

  The Admiralty had sent a request to the Unique’s Captain for as many crew as he could spare to be sent on to the Swift, and, judging by the state of the poor wretches that had come aboard, the Captain of the Unique had used the opportunity to clear the decks of those least desirable among his crew.

  From the time they had come aboard Butler had seen something in Maguire that had set him apart. It was hard to define, but there was something about the way the man stood in front of the other men, protecting them from the glares of mistrust from the Swift’s crew.

  It was always something of a wrench for both sides when new men joined a crew. A ship like the Swift with over two hundred and thirty men had its own chain of command above as well as below decks and each man was concerned as to how his own position in that hierarchy would be affected by the new men’s presence.

  Maguire had ensured that the other crewmembers were settled before he looked to himself and that had appealed to Butler. He had interviewed Maguire and had found that he had been surprisingly well-educated. He had entered the cabin like a breath of fresh air. His clothes had been old and frayed, more so than many of the other new recruits, but they had been immaculately clean. He had been clean shaven and his hair had been dampened by water and pulled back neatly into a ponytail.

  Butler could sense the man’s trepidation but he also perceived something else. The man stood ramrod straight, despite his fear, though he did not appear arrogant; merely confident in his own abilities. There was an air of pride about the man which immediately impressed Butler. The reality of the man was far different from his previous Captain’s reports. Could his previous captain have really been so blinded by the man’s origins and his dubious past as to waste his potential? Was he really so racially bigoted that he had not see the potential in this man?

  He could see the mistrust plainly in Maguire’s eyes as he watched him in his cabin and sought to gain his trust. It was a familiar story. Circumstance and poverty, rather than actual criminal intent were usually the reasons behind many a smuggler’s beginning. Once they were caught, and most of them were, the courts offered the men the choice of prison or service in the Navy. Although he did not discuss Maguire’s past, Butler was a good judge of men. The mistrust he could see in the man’s eyes was more a product of how he had been treated by authority during his life, rather than any inherent hatred.

  Butler needed a strong man to keep his crew in line, but one who would also be empathic enough to not rely solely on brute force to impose his will. It would be a challenge for a new man to gain the crew’s trust but, as Boson, he would be the most senior man on the ship after the officers and it was unlikely that he would have any impact at all if he could not handle a suspicious crew. The post of Boson would generally have been filled from within the current crew but the same skirmish which had injured their old Boson had also killed the next most capable man so, Butler had made a snap judgement and promoted Maguire on the spot.

  Butler remembered vividly the look of shock and pride in the man’s face as he had announced the appointment to the crew.

  Since then Butler had been delighted to see Maguire go about his new position professionally, choosing to let his abilities speak for him rather than his mouth. And his abilities had quickly proved to be more than up to the task. There had been no abuse of his new-found position, no payback for any unfair treatments in the past. He had started his position with a clean sheet for all and, even the die-hards of the lower decks had to admit that, while he still wasn’t a proper Englishman, the man did know his way around the ship.

  His gruff voice, audible even over a roaring storm, had soon been accepted as a part of the ship and, though the old Boson was not forgotten, his memory had been finally laid to rest. Even Maguire’s lilting brogue had been accepted as most of the crew had gotten used to the strange accent.

  Butler knelt down beside Maguire and together they peered into the small tunnel. ‘Looks like it goes aways in, sir. I’ll go first.’

  Butler laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘I think it’s more suited to someone of my size, Boson. But thank you for the offer.’ Butler took the torch and held it in front of him as he squirmed into the tunnel.

  Although it had appeared to disappear into darkness from outside, the tunnel, in fact, took a sharp turn to the left and almost immediately opened out into a small chamber. It didn’t quite allow him to stand upright but Butler was able to kneel and look about him. The small opening was dominated by a plinth that rose only twelve inches from the dirt and was made of a bright substance that glittered in the pale light of the flame. A whole section had been removed towards the far end and, as Butler moved the flame closer to examine the cut, his heart seemed to catch in his chest.

  He jumped at the sound of another body struggling through the tunnel and he moved to cover the remains of the pedestal as the figure appeared into the small clearing. He sighed with relief as he saw the dirt smeared face of his first lieutenant and motioned for him to join him.

  ‘Peter, thank God it’s you. Is anyone else coming?’

  ‘No, Captain,’ Lieutenant Fowler replied with a frown, ‘I thought it best to limit the number of bodies in case of trouble. Is there anything wrong, sir?’

  ‘Have a look at this, Peter and then perhaps you can tell me.’ Butler replied and swung the flame over the dais.

  ‘My God, Sir,’ Fowler gasped, ‘is that silver?’

  ‘I believe so. We can’t let the men know.’

  ‘But, Sir…’ Fowler began.

  ‘Think, man,’ Butler interrupted. ‘We have a good crew, one of the best in the fleet I’ll wager. But this is a King’s ransom and many a man would be tempted by a small fraction of what this is worth.’

  ‘But what’s it doing here?’ Fowler was finding it hard to concentrate as the silver glittered in the flickering light.

  ‘I’m not sure, but there’s a piece missing from the top so somebody helped themselves to a small fortune.’

  ‘But why take such a small piece, why not take it all?’ Fowler frowned as he examined the ragged tear at the top of the silver slab.

  ‘Something was dragged from this tunnel, a long box of some sort by the look of the tracks,’ Butler pulled the flame away from the silver and noted that Fowler’s eyes still peered into the darkness towards the plinth. ‘Concentrate, man,’ he snapped. ‘If they left this silver behind then they must have thought that whatever lay on top of it was far more valuable.’

  ‘Do you think whatever was in the box caused the infection that turned those men into those creatures?’

  ‘It seems likely,’ Butler agreed. ‘But it doesn’t explain why someone put it here on a slab of silver. Why not just lay in on the bare ground or on rock?’

  ‘The silver must have some significance,’ Fowler agreed. ‘Although whether it is to the good or
not, I do not know.’

  Butler ran through their options as they knelt in the small clearing and then seemed to come to a decision. ‘Peter, we will take a piece of the slab with us in case it proves useful later on. But keep it hidden for now. I don’t want a mutiny on our hands; we can not afford to let the evil on this island lose in the world.’

  The two men set to work and a few minutes later crawled back through the tunnel and sighed with relief as they emerged again out into sunlight.

  Captain Jonathon Purcell was beginning to wish he had obeyed Doctor Sinclair and stayed in his quarters. His arm hurt like hell, especially where his uniform rubbed against the bandages. He knew that he was very lucky not to have lost it. He still had no idea what had caused the wound, however, Sinclair had worn a worried frown while he had treated it.

  Whatever had cut him had been filthy. The doctor had guessed at either rust or caked dirt but he wasn’t sure and the chance of infection was too high to take a chance. Sinclair had actually cut away the flesh around the wound, taking as much of the substance with it as he could. He had then poured as much alcohol on the wound as he could spare and left Purcell with strict instructions to rest before he had moved on to his next patient.

  Purcell had almost fainted as the flesh had been cut away and the journey back up to the deck had left him exhausted and dizzy. However, it hadn’t stopped him catching the next available boat to shore. Now, as the sun baked down on him and the loss of blood took its toll, he knew there was no way he could make the trek all the way across the island.

  ‘Halt!’ he called and then had to repeat the order as his voice croaked. He had already promoted William Peters to Sergeant to take up the empty position left by Casey’s death. He had tried to feel sorrow for the Sergeant’s demise but the man had been a mean bastard and the platoon would be far better off with Peters in charge. The adolescent was younger than many of the other men but he did have his head screwed on and the men respected him despite his years. He nodded to Peters and called him over.

  ‘Sergeant Peters,’ he began and, despite his exhaustion, he couldn’t help but smile at the obvious pleasure his new title gave him. ‘We’ll split the patrol here.’

  He noted the young man’s puzzled frown and ran the options through his mind. He could not appear weak in front of the men, especially when they needed stability in the face of their current losses. But he also had to ensure that his new Sergeant knew that he could trust his superior officer if they wanted to work well together. He lowered his voice and continued.

  ‘To tell you the truth, William, this blasted wound has taken more out of me that I thought.’ He noted the man’s surprise at his admission, British officers were not known for their honesty, especially where their own failings were concerned. Most would bluster about and hide their shortcomings with ill-advised, snap decisions. But this was too important. He couldn’t afford to delay the whole platoon due to his injury. He held his breath as he waited for his new Sergeant’s reply. Peters may not realise it but his response now would lay the foundation for how they would work together in the future, if indeed they all had a future.

  ‘I can take half the patrol on to our destination, sir, and you can focus your search here. We can meet back here in about two hours or so.’ Purcell smiled at the man’s response, relieved that his choice had been well-founded.

  ‘Excellent …’ he began but was interrupted by an excited shout from one of the men.

  ‘Sir,’ he turned towards the marine who had shouted. ‘Sir, there’s a cave of some sort over here.’

  ‘You go on with your patrol, Sergeant,’ Purcell turned to Peters. ‘We’ll meet back here around midday. Send a runner if there’s any change in plans. Good luck,’ Peters nodded and then saluted and called his men to him and quickly disappeared into the trees.

  Purcell took a deep breath as his head swam dizzily. He forced himself to remain stationary for another moment and then moved towards the waiting marine. ‘Now,’ he began with as much authority as he could muster. ‘What have we got here?’

  The hollow, Purcell had established at first sight that the term cave was far too grand a description to label the small tunnel the marine had found, was very well hidden. Branches and undergrowth crowded the opening and blended perfectly with the surrounding forest, in fact the marine had only discovered the opening when he had leaned against what he had thought was a small mound and had fallen through into the darkened alcove.

  Purcell ordered the men to pull back the remainder of the camouflage and stood back as he examined the opening more closely. The area seemed to have been roughly cut out of the earth by crude tools. The opening had been hacked through earth and roots with equal abandon and the finished result was rudimentary at best. The sunlight splashed into the first few feet of the enclosed area but the entrance was facing away from the sun at the moment so it was impossible to see more than a few feet inside.

  ‘Let’s get a fire lit,’ Purcell ordered and then turned to the marine who had found the hollow. ‘Gather something we can use as a torch.’ The man nodded and set to work.

  Purcell ordered the rest of his men to take up station around the entrance and to keep alert. He reminded them of the speed of the things that had attacked them on the boat and nodded in satisfaction as the men raised their muskets and kept them trained on the opening.

  It wasn’t long before they had a fire lit and a crude, but functional, torch ready. Purcell approached the entrance with more than a little trepidation and he turned briefly back to his men. ‘Keep alert, men. We can’t let any of these things get away.’

  The men focused all their attention on the small entrance and on their captain as he moved closer, which made what happened next all the more disruptive. Purcell paused as he heard a deep growl from within the darkness of the hollow. He gripped the torch tightly and swung back his hand as he prepared to throw. He could feel the men’s eyes upon him as he swung the torch underarm and watched it sail through the air.

  There was a dull thud behind him and he heard a brief cry. He snapped his head back towards the sound and watched in puzzlement as one of the men dropped to his knees and then fell forwards. He gaped as he saw an arrow protruding from the man’s neck but his mind wasn’t quick enough to process this new attack from behind them. A second man fell, screaming as the arrow struck him high in the shoulder and, finally, Purcell snapped out of his shock.

  ‘Turn and prepare to fire,’ he shouted and noted with satisfaction that the men turned and shifted their aim with precision. He offered silent thanks to his deceased father as he noted the men’s sharp response. His father had been a Colonel and had always maintained that drilling the men was essential. Any battle was a confusing mix of terror, horrendous noise and terrible suffering. The only constant was a soldier’s belief in his own ability. If the men were not drilled to instantly respond to certain orders then the confusion of battle would win out and the men would be ineffective. If, however, the men had been drilled to such an extent that they naturally followed their orders, then even a small number could turn an entire battle.

  Purcell couldn’t see where the attack was coming from but he was gratified that the men were ready to fire despite their confusion. Purcell scanned the forest and held his breath as if his breathing would betray their position. Their attacker must be similar to those who had attacked the ship if he was able to travel during the day. The attack had come from behind them and each man now stood and scanned the general area. Purcell had six marines left and their combined firepower could handle twice as many opponents with their well-drilled three shots per minute. Unfortunately, they still couldn’t see their attacker.

  Purcell saw movement to his right. ‘Movement at two o’clock,’ he shouted and jumped as the muskets thundered their response. The air was suddenly filled with acrid smoke as the men lowered the weapons and began the ritual of reloading. They moved in unison and Purcell was proud of them as they ignored all else and concentrated on th
eir orders. Purcell scanned the forest to see if they had hit anything but, except for some shredded foliage, he couldn’t see anything.

  The men finished and raised their muskets again and awaited further orders. Purcell heard a scream behind him and turned just in time to see something fly from the darkened hollow towards him. He had a brief impression of something pale move incredibly fast and then he felt himself thrown to the ground. He landed on his bad shoulder and pain shot through him and forced him to twist violently away from the pain. The movement saved his life as the thing that had hit him missed his head and clawed at the ground beside him instead. He looked up and saw that the creature above him was screaming in agony as it sat on top of him.

  The trees above formed a dense canopy but the sun still pierced the cover as the trees swayed in the breeze. As each shaft of sunlight swept over the thing it left deep, smoking lacerations in its wake. Purcell could see that the thing on top of him had once been a man but that it was human no longer. Its face had grown longer to accommodate over-large teeth and its chin had extended a few inches further than normal. Its eyes were black, surrounded by a deep red and Purcell could actually see the hate and pain fight for dominion. Its nails were blackened and had grown to an incredible length. All of these impressions were burned in Purcell’s mind in an instant and he was already bucking violently as he tried to unseat his attacker.

  The sun burned across the creature’s face and forced it to draw its hands upwards to protect its eyes. Purcell used the creature’s misfortune to twist his own body violently to the left. The creature shot out its hand to steady itself but the sun splashed again against its face and it fell to the ground beside Purcell. The marine captain scrambled on his hands and knees away from the screaming creature and instantly the men fired a volley into its twitching body.