Casca 17: The Warrior (15 page)

Casca's homemade explosive worked as well as he could have wished. His first test resulted in wild shrieks of terror from all over the village, a general flight from the vicinity, and a great deal of confusion.

But soon curiosity overcame fear, and for his next test he had an audience of the entire daytime population of the village. Casca added some torn strips of cloth to the mix, bundled the whole in banana leaves between two bibs wrapped in sharkskin and tied tightly with vines, and launched it, using for mortar a clay pot wrapped around many times in sharkskin.

The pot disintegrated in all directions as the first charge exploded, but contained the blast long enough to hurl the bibs aloft, where they burst apart mightily as their charge detonated. The air was filled with blue smoke and prettily fluttering strips of cloth. The show was a huge success with the villagers, and Casca himself was mightily pleased.

"Fuck Cakabau," he shouted, "we'll blow the bastard's balls off."

His hundreds of years of rigorous self-discipline, frequent lapses into comfortable daydreams, and a drastic awareness of the seemingly inevitable results of such lapses put a stop to his celebratory mood.
"Of course, if he strikes at dawn tomorrow, we'll be as defenseless as we were a week ago."

There was no time to be lost. Ten musketeers had to be selected and trained tonight.
Now.

Casca went looking for the carpenter chief. He needed a lot of help before tonight's meeting. He found Watolo making a stone-headed club, and explained to him what he needed while he watched him work.

Watolo had heated a stone over a slow fire of coconut shells, and using a length of split bamboo as a tongs, he now removed it from the fire and carefully dripped water on it, one drop at a time, chips of stone flying off. When the stone became too cool for his chipping to take place, he reheated it and repeated the process until he had formed a hole through its center. Forcing a tapered stick through the hole, he then hammered it on a large, hard rock until it was roughly rounded. Twirling the stick in his hands, he worked a saucer shaped dent in the rock till it was smooth.

He fitted a new tapered handle of the tough, hard, black root used for wooden clubs, with a few inches of the fat end protruding through the stone like the handle of a mattock. He fixed the handle in place with gum from the breadfruit tree. In use, centrifugal force would progressively tighten the head further onto the handle.

In the chief's house Casca had no difficulty in getting the villagers' attention. The afternoon's demonstration had seen to that. But Casca was worried that tonight's demonstration might move the villagers to such transports of optimism that he would be unable to get the necessary urgency behind the training of the musketeers.

So he opened the night's demonstration by taking one of the muskets, priming it with his homemade powder, ramming home a ball, the wad, and then shooting Semele's ceremonial war club into splinters.

The clamor to be allowed to use the weapon was immense, and Semele's amused amazement ensured that he be the first to try.

Mbolo was next, then his son, and finally Ateca, thinking that perhaps a woman's touch was needed. But none of them succeeded in putting even a scratch on the club they were shooting at.

Casca took a considerably longer time to load the next musket, meanwhile calling upon all the watchers to observe how much of the precious gunpowder was consumed.

He then blew to bits a second club, and pointed out that some training was needed, and called for competitors in
a contest to select the ten musketeers.

Every man and most of the women demanded to be allowed to compete, which suited Casca fine.
If he could teach the whole village at once, so much the better.

Casca firmly believed that there is nothing quite so useless as an unloaded gun, and also maintained that even in the hands of an untrained idiot a loaded gun will at least make a frightening noise, so he first set to work to teach everybody how to load the weapons.

Demonstrating with one musket, he quickly showed ten people how to pour in the powder, place the ball, ram home the wad, and set the cap. Within a few minutes each of the ten was giving a close demonstration to a dozen or so others, then more were trying and being corrected by Casca. Pretty soon everybody in the house knew what the loading operation looked like, and quite a number had tried it.

Next Casca took away all the powder and shot and showed ten men how to aim their guns at the men of coconut palm and bamboo that Watolo had made for him earlier in the evening. Each man target had a large hole where the navel might have been, and the contenders were told to aim at this point. By crouching behind the target and sighting through this hole, Casca could tell which men might have some chance of keeping a musket trained on a man.

An agreeably large number qualified on this rough test, and Casca soon had ten of them slowly squeezing off practice shots with the promise that whoever impressed him as being gentlest, slowest, and smoothest on the trigger would get to fire a live charge.

As the finale of the evening Dukuni's son Lobo was awarded the privilege of actually firing at the target.

To Casca's immense satisfaction he punched a hole through the target's belly just alongside the target hole. He was especially delighted at Lobo's lament that he had not succeeded in placing the ball exactly through the hole.

By the time he and Vivita walked to their hut, Casca felt confident that the village was capable of giving Cakabau a very bad shock should he appear in the morning.

But to Casca's delight Cakabau did not appear in the morning. Every day counted, and that day Casca made determined use of every minute that passed.

He now had all of Sonolo's authority as war chief, and Semele and Mbolo willingly added all of theirs, but it was the novelty of playing with the muskets that provided him with the main incentive for the warriors to undergo his prescribed training.

He had selected an elite group of thirty warriors, all, he judged, likely to prove competent shots, and swift, sure loaders. He kept them practicing all day, loading the muskets with fine sand, balls, and undersized wads, then unloading them and repeating the process over and over.

From what Kim
i had told him, it was clear that Cakabau's men were less than competent with their weapons, and especially slow and clumsy at reloading. By using his weapons in relays and reloading quickly, Casca hoped to maximize the effectiveness of the ten guns to the point where Cakabau, and perhaps even Savage—if the white man accompanied his slave raiders—would believe themselves hopelessly outgunned, giving the villagers a big psychological advantage.

If the psychology didn't work, then speedy reloading and accurate fire would be all the more urgent.

By way of relief, and as reward, the fastest loaders were allowed to play at shooting at the targets, one man crouching behind to sight through the hole and shouting when the shooter's musket lined up exactly on his eye.

There was not enough power for practice firing, but from time to time Casca would reward especially good work by allowing a live shot at the target. He manipulated this reward to ensure that each of the thirty men got to fire at least one shot.

Casca was delighted with his musketeers, and was also more than pleased with his two club-wielding squads of about the same size. With the assistance of Semele and Mbolo he had modified some of the movements of the traditional war dances so that, on command, the warriors could speedily execute some maneuvers that were new to them, and he hoped would be devastatingly novel to Cakabau's men.

That night he persuaded Semele to bring the kava drinking to an early close, and he went to bed with Vivita, hoping earnestly that Cakabau would attack in the morning.

Casca was not disappointed.

The wooden drums roused him just before dawn, as usual, but sounded again while he was enjoying a leisurely breakfast.

The village fishermen, hanging off the reef for the early morning catch, had spotted six great war canoes approaching from the eastern end of the island, and had raced for the shore to give the alarm.

"They come then from the Lakuvi village. We can expect the Lakuvi men to attack us, too, from the land side."

"Damn," Casca muttered, annoyed. He should have posted lookouts on the mountaintop to watch for Savage's schooner sneaking into anchorage on the northern side of the island. Well, it was all right. So they must also face the Lakuvi and their clubs, but at least Savage had not sailed into the lagoon with his cannon.

Almost the entire population of the village ran to the beach to wait for the invaders, dancing, shouting,
waving war clubs.

The fishermen deployed themselves about the lagoon in another show of strength, hurling abuse and insults and small rocks at the enemy canoes as they came through the opening of the reef. But whenever one of Cakabau's men put down his paddle to reach for a musket, the fishermen would retreat, dodging across the water so that the enemy warrior could not get a clean, close shot.

By the time canoes reached the beach all six of the enemy muskets had been discharged, but none of the Navola fishermen had been hit.

For a moment Casca contemplated a pitched battle on the beach before the enemy could reload. But his own muskets were in the village, a fight with clubs might be inconclusive, and a defeat would be disastrous.

As the men from Bau got out of their canoes to push them ashore they were assailed from all sides with a hail of flying stones. The small missiles, thrown from a great distance, did no real harm, but served to irritate the attackers and to let them know that they could expect a fight.

Casca was relieved to see that there were only the six muskets, and he was delighted to see how slowly and carelessly they were re
-readied for firing.

At a signal from Casca everybody withdrew from the beach, and the fishermen ran their boats ashore as far away as possible from the attackers. Before the last of the enemy had waded ashore, the villagers were safely behind the palisade.

All, that is, except Vivita and five of the prettiest women in the village, who hid themselves in the jungle fringe near where the enemy canoes were drawn up on the beach.

The women waited until the enemy started toward the village then moved toward the three warriors standing guard over the canoes. When they were close to the canoes Vivita, Takuni, and Luisa stepped out of the jungle and approached the guards.

The women stopped a few yards away, as if now realizing that these were the enemy. The guards looked at them, looked at each other, and looked carefully around at the space between the beach and the village, where there was nothing to be seen but the backs of their own men.

Nonalau grinned to his companions. "They know we get them later, anyway, so they come to give themselves first. Good."

"Very good. Very good," the others agreed. .

Nonalau held out his hand in a gesture of friendship, and Vivita responded, slowly moving toward him one step at a time.

When she was only a few paces from his canoe, Nonalau ran for her, the other two warriors running for her companions. The women shrieked playfully and ran away, allowing themselves to be caught after only a few paces.

As the enemy warriors bore them to the ground the other three women slipped from the jungle and ran to hide in the water behind the sterns of the canoes. They went to work on the hulls with augers of obsidian stone.

The sticks of volcanic glass had been chipped to broad, sharp points, and as each girl turned the stone in her hands the sharp edges bit into the wood, drilling a neat hole below the waterline.

The guards had lost all interest in the canoes and in their own warriors, who were advancing on the village.

Casca had made Lobo his deputy, and he dispatched him with thirty clubs to meet the attackers halfway down the slope to the beach.

Cakabau's men were advancing in no particular order, and reacted with some surprise to see the village warriors blocking their path.

The biggest and most powerfully built of the enemy warriors was at their head, carrying a musket, and Casca assumed that this was the mighty Cakabau himself. He brought up his musket and fired at the village defenders.

But as he raised the weapon, Lobo gave a warning shout and the Navola men threw themselves to the ground, as Casca had trained them to do.

The ball fell harmlessly short.

"Trigger happy," chuckled Casca behind the palisade. "Good.
Very good."

The enemy vanguard was now closer, another warrior stopping to level his musket.

Again the defenders flattened themselves, and this time the ball passed harmlessly over their heads.

Casca signaled the drummers to beat the retreat, and the defenders scrambled to their feet and ran back toward the village.

Cakabau stopped to reload his musket, and his warriors gathered around him. It was clear from the tone of their shouted conversation that this battle was already going disturbingly differently from any of their previous raids. An enemy who knew how to avoid the power of their deadly fire sticks was something entirely new to them.

Casca's drummers sounded a halt to the retirement and the warriors made another stand, clubs at shoulder as if determined to come directly to blows with the attackers.

Cakabau barked an order, and all six of his musketeers raised their weapons.

Immediately, in another of Casca's rehearsed maneuvers, the line of defenders fell apart, warriors running wildly in all directions away from the guns.

Moving targets were outside the experience of these shooters, and they tried to aim their guns first this way, then that way, and all six shots went harmlessly wild.

There was a great outburst of confused shouting, and for a moment Casca toyed again with the thought of a sudden attack while the guns were unloaded. But the day was very young. There was plenty of time for the undoing of the great cannibal king, and the longer it took, the more thoroughly he might be undone.

Casca had carefully thought through the whole battle plan and intended day-long harrassment of the enemy under the hot sun while most of his own troops rested in the shade and ate at their leisure, relaxing until the cool of the late afternoon, when the real battle would commence.

When the muskets were reloaded Casca's drummers again sounded the retreat, and this time the defenders retired behind the palisade before any shots were fired.

Cakabau's men pursued them, stopping about a hundred paces from the fence, where they formed up in three formidable-looking ranks, all but the six musketeers in the center hefting war clubs—a hundred twenty of the biggest, healthiest warriors Casca had ever seen. They began a fierce, challenging war dance.

At once, and before Casca had time to speak, about half the village defenders leaped over the palisade and took up an opposing position, dancing, shouting, gesturing.

Casca shouted to the drummers for the retreat, but had to repeat the order several times before they responded.

Then the sound of the drums was lost in the crashing explosions of the six muskets and two men were lying dead on the field and another was flapping about in agony like a wounded bird, a shattered arm hanging useless from one shoulder.

The rest of the men made it back inside the palisade where Casca was tearing his hair in frustration.

Next to him
Semele groaned, "We have lost."

"Like fuck we have," Casca shouted. "The battle hasn't even started."

"The battle is over," Semele wailed. "We have lost two men."

Looking at the chief, Casca realized that he had indeed already surrendered. He drew his .38, clapped it to the head of the nearest man and blew out his brains.

There was one great communal shriek,, then silence. Casca pointed his little revolver at the man with the wounded arm and shot him through the heart, then turned the gun on Semele.

"This weapon needs no reloading," he lied. "One more word of surrender and
I will kill you."

He turned the weapon on Mbolo and then Ateca. "
I will kill you and Mbolo and Ateca, and everybody in the village before Cakabau reaches the outer wall."

Semele and Mbolo looked at each other. Ateca and Duana shook their heads. Semele closed his eyes for a moment,
then looked at Casca.

"What do you wish for us to do?"

"Fight, you bastards, fight. We're going to win this day. We're going to drive Cakabau from this island forever."

As if to answer this boast there was a great beating of war drums in the near distance, and a hundred or so Lakuvi warriors burst into the clearing, war clubs at the ready.

"Shit," muttered Casca, "just what I need."

He grabbed Lobo by the arm. "That's the end of our harrassment plan. We've got to fight now. Get the men back outside."

Lobo nodded vigorously and started yelling at his warriors.

They formed up inside the palisade, as they had rehearsed all the previous day. They were puzzled, worried, and not a little afraid, but when Lobo shouted the order they leaped over the wall to take up positions only a dozen or so paces from the attackers. They executed a brief war dance and suddenly charged.

Cakabau and his men were astonished to see less than a quarter of their own number charging at them, but quickly prepared to repulse the attack. Those with the muskets ran to the rear to get out of the fight while they reloaded.

The front ranks of the two armies met in a great clash of wooden clubs. Cakabau's superior numbers milled around, trying to get at the much smaller group of defenders.

At a shout from Lobo the whole front row of defenders dropped to the ground as if felled by the enemy's clubs.

The astonished attackers found themselves looking into the muzzles of ten muskets. And a second later five of the muskets roared and five of the attackers fell, clutching their bellies.

At the same instant another squad of the thirty men came leaping over the wall, and then another.

The men from Lakuvi were still racing toward the scene, under the impression that the musket fire came only from the ranks of their allies, the men from Bau.

The Navola men who had dropped to the ground scrambled back to their feet, laying about their clubs. The five defenders with real muskets turned and ran back to the palisade to hurl their guns over the wall and snatch the clubs that were handed to them to race back into the battle.

The two new squads had run to the flanks of the attacking force, and Cakabau's force divided to meet the assaults that were now coming from three different directions.

Cakabau and his other musketeers came rushing from the rear, but ran into the solid wall of the backs of their own men.

While Cakabau was trying to reorganize his men, the confronting squad of Navola men suddenly broke off the action, turning to run back to the palisade.

Cakabau had just succeeded in restraining his front row in order to bring his muskets into action, and now their targets were fleeing to safety. He swung his own musket on the squad to his left, shouting to the others to fire too.

His men were still adjusting their aim when the front ranks of both Navola squads dropped to the ground, revealing what looked like twenty muskets. Five of these muskets fired and three Bau men fell mortally wounded.

Casca appeared in the small opening in the palisade, where he set up three mortars tilted up just slightly from the horizontal. One after another the charges exploded, hurling their missiles amongst the enemy ranks, where they in turn exploded, spattering almost every man with small stones and seashells. This small shrapnel did little real harm, but completely demoralized the attackers.

At the same instant ten more men, armed with what looked like muskets, leaped over the wall, followed by Casca, a war club in his left hand and the .38 in his right.

The men from Lakuvi were now close enough to see this white warrior who had already defeated them once. They were also close enough to see that Cakabau was getting very much the worse of it and that the defending villagers seemed to have many, many more muskets than the attackers.

They turned and ran back the way they had come, throwing away their clubs as they raced for the safety of their own village.

Casca called his men to a halt, the muskets were leveled, the five real ones belched flame, and five more of the attackers lay writhing on the ground.

Cakabau's men broke and ran for the beach, three more falling in the new crossfire from the defenders' reloaded muskets. Followed by his men, Cakabau raced for the beach and the canoes that would carry them to safety.

On the beach the three guards were trying to disentangle themselves from the arms and legs of the women as they realized that something had gone very wrong.