Purgatory's Shore

by Taylor Anderson

  “But we must survive to do so!” Reverend Harkin exclaimed, looking at Lewis. “We’ll need those blacksmiths, woodworkers . . . men of every conceivable experience. If this is a ‘purgatory’ of some kind, I believe God deliberately sent us to purge our ignorance of Him and grow in His understanding!”

  Lewis scratched his beard. “I’m glad you think so. Maybe—when they’re ready—you can preach that to the men and it’ll give them comfort. It may be difficult to sell to most.” Then he brightened as well. “But I’m glad you and Father Orno are getting along”—he looked at Varaa—“as our soldiers and warriors seem to be. It’s a good start.”

  “As I told you,” Varaa said, “they’ve fought and bled together. They won together. There’s nothing to pull them apart as yet, since their priests will not. We have the people—at least the Uxmalos and other city dwellers do if they’ll cooperate—and you have the tools and knowledge to build the army you spoke of. Consul Koaar and Ixtla were most enthusiastic about a union, and I’ll support it also. I see no reason why King Har-Kaaska will object. His support will sway every band of Ocelomeh and many of the cities as well.” Varaa-Choon blinked, something Lewis was beginning to think implied anxiety. “But it won’t be easy. Nothing will be easy.”

  * * *

  —

  AS PROMISED, WATER finally came later that day—in the form of a torrential rain Ixtla gave them plenty of warning for. Dark clouds quickly stacked up in the east and all the sails and tents salvaged from the wreck were quickly erected among the trees to create the most bizarre assemblage of shelter Lewis ever saw. But there was room for everyone underneath, and empty casks were positioned under creases by the time the sky turned black and the heavy rain came down. Fortunately for the fragile shelter and still-helpless Tiger, the wind and sea didn’t rise appreciably, though Ixtla warned violent storms would grow more frequent in months to come. As it was, Captain Holland had his sailors drop all three of the ship’s anchors (he was concerned by how well they’d hold the sandy bottom), and she rode the mild but soaking blow with ease. The soldiers and Ocelomeh huddled together (growing even closer and more familiar) during another night of rest from battle. The following morning, the rest was over.

  Three hundred Uxmalos in colorful, finely woven tunics, lace-up moccasins, and wide-brimmed straw hats came gaggling down the road at dawn, armed with a few long-barreled muskets, but primarily spears, bows, and farm implements. They hadn’t come to fight, however, since runners had informed them of the victory. They came rejoicing, and to work. They held a short but festive ceremony right on the beach east of the little fort while Varaa-Choon and her Ocelomeh were cheered by the townsfolk and Father Orno introduced the Americans to the portly, beaming Ikan Periz, alcalde and war leader of Uxmal.

  Only Periz and his retinue were mounted, on the strange, striped horses, and Periz himself looked more like a dark, smooth-faced version of De Russy than a warrior. The two quickly took to one another while Father Orno, Varaa-Choon, Ixtla, Captain Anson, Boogerbear, and even Reverend Harkin did their best to translate all around. Alcalde Periz and his attendants came under the copious shade of the fort now that the steamy sun was beating down again, where Periz marveled at the cannon and other weapons he was shown. Meanwhile, all his people—along with the captive Holcanos who’d perform more dangerous chores—went to work clearing every last thing of value out of Commissary’s wreck and started tearing the stranded ship apart. Large carts pulled by the giant armadillo-like armabueys arrived, and the beasts heaved on stout cables to pull large sections of wreckage up on the beach. There, all the now-mangled copper sheathing was wrenched from the hull, along with every fastener, bolt, spike, and strap. Most of the shattered wood was dragged over to be burned atop the common grave again, but knees and other framing timbers in good condition were saved.

  Still standing in the shade with the rest of the leaders, Captain Anson cleared his throat. “I understand other parties have already gone to the wrecks of Xenophon an’ Mary Riggs to break ’em up the same way,” he told Lewis.

  Lewis nodded at Alcalde Periz. “Between you and the others, please inform him that’s fine. The wrecks and anything they salvage from them are theirs to keep. But anything in or around them—weapons, powder, shot, supplies, even personal belongings—are ours.” He paused while this was conveyed, watching Alcalde Periz’s eyes begin to narrow. “That stance may change or be . . . modified as we get to know one another, but for now I must insist on it, and that the graves of our people near those ships be given the same treatment as those buried here.” He motioned down where flames were leaping once again, pushing up a new cloud of steamy gray smoke. Periz made a short reply.

  Anson snorted. “He asks—in a friendly way, he assures me—how we mean to retrieve things they find abandoned and unguarded.” Anson’s voice held a trace of amusement.

  “Nothing at Mary Riggs was ‘abandoned’ or ‘unguarded,’ ” Lewis reminded, “and I better not hear any of our people were abused in any way. Damn it, I want to help his people—and we need his help to do it—but we can’t do anything for his or ours if we’re pillaged.” His expression turned hard. “And I won’t see any difference between him and the Holcanos if he allows it.”

  “Captain Cayce!” De Russy objected.

  “You promised you wouldn’t interfere in military affairs,” Lewis reminded.

  “But surely this is a diplomatic matter,” De Russy sputtered.

  “No. Nothing that threatens the well-being of our soldiers and impairs their ability to fight, to not only survive but have value here, is a ‘diplomatic matter.’ ”

  Varaa-Choon’s eyes had grown wide at this exchange, and she spoke very rapidly to the alcalde, blinking fiercely, tail lashing. Occasionally, she gestured out where the battle was fought, sometimes motioning at a cannon. Periz listened carefully, alternately smiling and frowning, but his expression changed first to one of disappointment, then fear, then something that looked like hope. It may not have made any difference, but the scouting and raiding party that left the day before and spent the night in the rainy forest chose that moment to return. The Ocelomeh appeared from the woods, encircling at least an equal number of captives and quite a few more armabueys. The dragoons and Mexican horsemen came last, as if herding the whole bunch in. Alcalde Periz’s face brightened at once, and he jabbered in apparent happiness.

  Varaa sighed and blinked her huge blue eyes at Lewis, ears and tail now only twitching. “That was close, as you say. These people, Uxmalos, Holcanos, even Ocelomeh”—she only rarely differentiated herself from her Jaguar Warriors—“behave so much like younglings around loot. Probably no different from anyone, I suppose,” she qualified, “but it’s difficult to make them take a longer view.” She flicked her ears at De Russy. “We’ve already hinted at the army, and even a possible union, and Periz is agreeable to discussing it. But as you know, little remains to be seen of the aftermath of the battle, and it’s hard for him to imagine we actually broke the Holcanos and Grik, and they’ll find it difficult to trouble us for a considerable time. Much less that a union might provide real security for his people, even against the Doms. I described the . . . numbers involved, and now that he sees even more captives, I think he begins to understand.” She kakked a laugh. “Besides, not only could your scheme benefit him, you might already be as strong as any force the Doms could quickly send—and you’re here already. I strongly counseled him not to make you angry,” she ended with a touch of irony.

  Alcalde Periz spoke again, eyes gleaming at De Russy, then Lewis.

  Varaa nodded politely. “He says all your equipment will be returned—as long as you teach his people how to use it and how to make more.”

  Lewis nodded with relief. “That was the idea from the start.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Even more colorfully dressed Uxmalos came over the next three days, loading and hauling off salvage. Soon, there was no
sign Commissary had ever fallen on this shore, or even that a battle had been fought. Most of the bones not already gnawed to splinters had been tossed up into the forest, where they eventually would be. Only the blackened sand and blowing ash over the mass grave remained. Captain Holland used the time to complete sufficient repairs for Tiger to get under way, and the most seriously wounded Americans and Ocelomeh Dr. Newlin feared would have trouble reaching Uxmal overland (roughly ninety miles west-northwest) were ferried out to her. Lewis spent the time ensuring his men remained soldiers, working personally with the artillerymen on their flying artillery tactics. Unfortunately, at present, he had to share horses with the dragoons and mounted riflemen so Captain Anson could get them used to working together with his Rangers and Alferez Lara’s men. Anson told Lewis he’d try to work out new tactics to maximize their diverse strengths. Captain Beck drilled all the infantry and unoccupied artillerymen together by battalions, combining companies of regulars and volunteers. Lewis cautioned him against implying their units’ identities would be compromised. That might prematurely confirm the fear too many already felt: that they were stuck here indefinitely.

  Varaa-Choon’s Ocelomeh were warriors, not laborers. Unlike the American soldiers who Lewis insisted must at least help the Uxmalos load their carts, especially with their own critical supplies, the Ocelomeh were content to sit and watch. They did participate in the various military drills, however, falling in with gun’s crews or joining a line of infantry practicing close-order drills in the sand. This induced considerable hilarity from time to time, but Lewis was adamant that their allies never be discouraged from learning. He even persuaded Alcalde Periz to allow his Uxmalos to pitch in and get a feel for it when they weren’t otherwise employed.

  “You have to start somewhere,” Samantha Wilde told him and Varaa as she urged Anson’s Colonel Fannin to join them where they watched the training from the road above the beach. It was here, Lewis remembered, where I led my men out to their first real battle . . . on this world. He was sitting atop Arete, of course, and Varaa had accepted the short loan of one of the dragoons’ horses. She’d learned to ride “in her youth” but still refused to reveal the slightest hint where she spent it. Lewis noted with interest that Samantha rode confidently as well, even sitting sidesaddle.

  “Yes,” he agreed, awkward as ever around her, diverting his gaze from her pretty, smiling face, back to where artillerymen and dragoons were trading horses again. Drill had actually become a welcome relief from fatigue parties helping the Uxmalos. The Ocelomeh training with them simply changed from one military branch to another, or sauntered back to the shade to listen to music made by all the combined drummers and fifers practicing together. Lewis patted Arete’s neck. “We’ll need recruits,” he said as if she didn’t already know. “I’ve no idea how many men we’ll eventually have fit for duty, of course. Some are still at Mary Riggs and are supposed to meet us on the march to Uxmal. And Varaa has reports that more of our men were found hiding in the vicinity of Xenophon’s wreck. But some of the wounded may never return to duty, and . . . even some of the healthy may not be fit for it for it once they understand the enormity of our situation.” He sighed. “I doubt we’ll have more than seven hundred when all is said and done”—his voice turned bitter—“out of over fifteen hundred from all the ships that came here!”

  He banished his frown and waved down at the troops. “But we’ll have arms for many more, so recruiting is important.” He patted Arete again. “Actually, our most pressing shortage is horses. We can’t even pull all our guns and mount the horsemen we already have.”

  “They seem to be trying to cope,” Samantha suggested, referring to a group of artillerymen under Sergeant McNabb, working with some Uxmalos to fashion a kind of harness to hitch a gun and limber to a bored-looking armabuey. McNabb’s cursing was audible even here:

  “The limber’s got a single goddamn pole out front, for hitchin’ between pairs o’ animals!” he ranted. “You wanna just tie it tae that fat bugger’s tail? He’ll snap it the first time he gets happy an’ wags it!”

  Samantha concealed a chuckle behind her hand.

  “We’ll get you as many horses as we can,” Varaa promised. “The indigenous sort aren’t exactly scarce—they run wild in herds. They’re quite different from what you’re used to, however. They haven’t been domesticated long, and few people raise and train them. The wild ones are very difficult to catch and train. That makes them somewhat scarce in practice. The Doms raise horses from another world, as . . . Mi-Anakka do, and have all they need to mount their lancers.” She blinked confusion. “But Doms pull their great guns with armabueys. Why won’t they serve for you?” She pressed on over Lewis’s growing frown. “A simple modification to your ammunition vehicles would suffice. Armabueys may be slow, but they’re tireless, fearless, and can eat almost anything. It takes only one to pull larger guns than yours, and they’re not spooked by monsters or battle.”

  “They sound almost perfect, don’t they?” Lewis appeared to concede. “Easy to understand why the Doms use them. And they would be perfect—for siege guns or heavy supply trains in friendly territory. But the greatest advantage our guns have enjoyed over . . . previous enemies is that they’re light and easy to move quickly, both to and around the battlefield.” He glanced at Varaa. “As you said, armabueys are slow, and armies relying on them must keep the same pace.” He sat silent a moment, then continued, “We were badly outnumbered in the battle here and whatever enemy we face in the future—Doms or whoever—will likely have a numerical advantage. We’ll assume so.” He smiled tightly. “As long as we always balance caution and boldness and make allowances for the worst that can happen . . . our surprises may not always be pleasant, but they shouldn’t be debilitating.” He nodded at the soldiers on the beach. “I can’t say the leaders of the United States’ little armies have always done that, but I’ve learned the keys to beating larger, more ponderous armies are superior training and leadership, and better-disciplined, more confident troops. Just as important is the ability to quickly maneuver in the face of an enemy whose size and power makes him too arrogant to prepare for ‘the worst.’ ”

  Varaa and Samantha were both looking at him intently. “You seem to know what you’re about,” Varaa said at last. “Very well. You may have to pull your beautiful guns with lowly armabueys for now, but we’ll get your horses.” Swishing her tail (the high brass-bound cantle of the Grimsley must’ve been uncomfortable) and cutting her huge eyes between Lewis and Samantha, she cleared her throat. “I believe I’ll go talk to Alcalde Periz. He’s listening to that charming if somewhat squeaky music with Colonel De Russy.” She grinned. “They’ve grown quite comfortable, and I’m not sure either is ready to dismantle that monstrous shady contraption we’ve been enjoying, or begin the long march to Uxmal in the morning.”

  Lewis nodded out at Tiger where she lay with new yards crossed. “At least she’ll carry all but the marching tents. And Captain Holland’s ready and anxious to sail.”

  Varaa nodded, then urged her borrowed horse into a gallop that took her pounding across the white sand “parade ground,” through the drilling men, and up to the tree- and canvas-shrouded fort.

  “An interesting creature,” Samantha said brightly when they were alone. Lewis looked at her. “Person,” he stressed.

  “Of course,” Samantha assured. “I didn’t mean it like that. It was just a figure of speech.”

  Lewis gazed at her a moment, then nodded. “I’m sure. I guess I’m a little touchy. Considering all the sectional, cultural, racial, even political differences my troops already had and brought here with them—not even counting the friction between various branches, regulars, and volunteers . . .” He snorted. “Somehow, relations have remained surprisingly good between our people and . . . all these others. We have to keep it that way to survive, and it won’t last if we start thinking of them as less than we are.”

  Sama
ntha bit her lower lip. “I know it doesn’t matter now, but I get the impression you weren’t entirely enthusiastic about your country’s war with Mexico.”

  Lewis hesitated, then shrugged. “As you say, it doesn’t matter, but I honestly never gave it much thought,” he confessed. “The annexation of Texas might’ve sparked it—and I believe Texas had the right to join the Union if it chose—but that was only the spark. The tinder for the fire had been gathering a long time and the United States and Mexico both went to war with their eyes wide open. Like overproud, mutually aggrieved gentlemen meeting for a duel, both expecting to win.” He smiled faintly at Samantha’s expression. “Regardless of the fact most of the world is—was—betting so firmly on Mexico. Understandable because, ever since Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma, the president of Mexico has been on the defense, on his own soil, with contracting lines of supply. His armies have always been larger and—one would think—better motivated. That hasn’t proven to be the case, largely because they’ve been so poorly led. You remember what I said about arrogance crippling the larger, apparently more powerful force?”

  He looked away. “I abhor the bloodshed of war, but must admit I’m proud of how well our troops have performed in battle. So in the end I’m just a soldier,” he stated simply. “I fight who I’m ordered to, and believe in the founding principles of the government that sent me to do it.” He frowned. “And though I’m no convert to the rousing notion of ‘manifest destiny’ that seems so suddenly popular, I’m sympathetic to people and places who’re oppressed by their own governments and would embrace the principles of mine.

  “On the other hand, I dislike how divisive the war was becoming back home among civilians and politicians: the ‘slave state’ versus ‘free state’ factions. Being opposed to slavery myself, you might find it ironic that I consider many ‘free state’ politicians the most hypocritical. I believe the one, single flaw in the American Constitution is that it abandoned the notion laid down to your king in our Declaration of Independence, that all men are created equal. Perhaps I’m an idealist, but that should’ve been settled from the start. Yet instead of pressing for the universal abolition they claim to seek, many ‘free state’ politicians think only of political advantage, to the extent, in some instances, of subverting support for troops in the field, already at war!”