Andrew Swanston - The King's Exile

‘What in the name of God is that?’ exclaimed Charles.

‘A man either drunk or demented or both. He seems to be trying to reach a boat,’ replied Adam, shaking his head in astonishment.

Thomas squinted at the figure. It looked familiar. Shots rang out and the man fell to the sand. ‘He won’t reach one now. Must have escaped from Bedlam.’

Adam turned to Charles. ‘Good of you to join us, Charles, although you were scarcely needed.’

‘No indeed. I could see that the battle was as good as won but could not restrain my troop. My apologies, gentlemen.’

‘Charles, is that your blood on your shirt or someone else’s?’ Charles had not noticed that his sleeve was drenched in blood but now realized that he had been wounded. A ball must have taken him in the forearm.

‘Here, let me look,’ said Thomas, rolling back the sleeve. Charles grimaced. ‘It’s gone straight through, leaving a neat but bloody hole. It’ll hurt and you’ll need a sling, but it should mend. I don’t think we’ll require Sprot.’

‘Thank God for that,’ replied Charles. ‘Now that you’ve told me it’ll hurt, it does.’

The cleaning up began as soon as the departing boats were out of range. Thomas supervised the movement of the wounded of both sides to the Serpent, and of the dead for burial once they had been stripped of armour and weapons. He walked along the beach with Adam and Charles, counting the casualties and giving instructions for their care. Crabs were already emerging from their holes in the sand to examine the flesh and guts that lay all about. They would be feasting for days.

Charles held his wounded arm to his chest. In due course they came upon the bearded lunatic unmoving and face down on the sand. He had taken at least one musket ball in the back. Idly, Adam turned the body with his foot. He had also taken at least one in the front. ‘Shot by both sides,’ he said. ‘Most unfortunate.’

The body groaned weakly. It was still alive. Adam stooped to be sure he had not been mistaken and peered at the man’s face. ‘God’s wounds, it’s one of the Gibbes and he’s still breathing.’

Charles too stooped to look. ‘By God, it is. Samuel Gibbes. And shot front and back. One bird with two stones, you might say.’

Thomas said nothing. It was Captain Brown who called for help. ‘This man lives. Take him to the inn.’

One of the soldiers who stepped forward pointed at Gibbes. ‘This is the madman who tried to reach the boats. He was shouting something about oaths and sugar. Must have been at the rum. Deserves to be left here to rot.’

‘Possibly, private. But take him to the Serpent. He can die there.’

‘Well done, captain,’ said Charles, clapping the young soldier on the back, ‘you did well. When you’ve cleared the beach, issue a decent tot of rum to the men. And issue one to yourself, too.’

Captain Brown was pleased. ‘Thank you, sir. Let’s hope that every battle goes as well.’

‘I fear they won’t. I heard last night that Bridgetown was attacked yesterday. We lost fifty men and a hundred taken prisoner.’

‘A hundred prisoners? Did they surrender?’

‘I don’t know, but Lord Willoughby has ordered me south with two hundred men. I’ll send Skeete and as soon as my wound has been attended to I must join him. Your men have done enough, captain. I won’t trouble you for a contribution to my company. But keep close watch. There’s no saying they won’t try again.’

‘Depend upon us, Mr Carrington, and good fortune in the south.’

‘And what of white platoon, Charles?’ asked Adam. ‘Are we dismissed?’

‘Certainly not. Take Thomas and return to Mary for now. I shall go home and have my steward attend to my scratch. We’ll go south in a day or two. I’ve an idea we’ll be needed again.’

Before they left, Thomas went to inspect the wounded and to make an accurate count of numbers. Outside the Serpent they had been laid out in neat rows. A dozen victors to one side and three times that number of the vanquished to the other.

Women from nearby villages moved up and down the rows, offering comfort, swabbing wounds and mopping brows. There was no surgeon among them so there was nothing but rum and water to be done for those with musket balls lodged in flesh or organs. One or two might survive, no more. Sword wounds were more easily treated. They could be cleaned and bound.

If the victors received more attention, the vanquished were not ignored. They too were given what little help there was. Thomas walked up and down the lines, offering advice to the women and counting the injured.

He did not go inside the inn. If he had, he would have found John Gibbes sitting miserably in one corner, tears running down his festering cheeks. Samuel lay outside, not clearly in one row or the other, mortally wounded and unconscious. Without his brother John would be lost. He had never had to fend for himself. He sat in the corner and wept.

A woman had told John that there were three musket balls inside his brother. Two had entered from the front and one from the rear. All three were lodged somewhere in his chest and any one of them could kill him. He had tried to stop Samuel but Samuel would not be stopped. They had a great deal of capital tied up in barrels of sugar sitting in a warehouse waiting for an end to the blockade and Samuel was getting worried. He was also worried that they had sworn the oath. What if Ayscue demanded they pay for their crime? What if he sequestered their estate and took their gold? They had lost enough from the blockade already. They would be broken.

Samuel had convinced himself that he must make contact with Ayscue’s men to assure them of his loyalty to the cause of Cromwell and Parliament and had been waiting for the right moment to do so. It had come when they heard musket fire from the direction of Six Mens Bay. Samuel had leapt on to a horse and galloped off, shouting to his brother to follow. They had left the horses in Speightstown and crept up to the bay, where they watched the battle from the safety of the outcrop of rocks.

When the swordsmen had arrived and the invaders had to retreat, Samuel feared their chance had gone. He had left his hiding place in the rocks and run out along the beach. John had seen him fall but, fearing for himself, had stayed hidden until the battle was over. He could see where his brother lay and assumed he was dead. With no better idea of what to do, he had sloped off to the Serpent. He would find Samuel’s body later. He would not leave it to the crabs.

But Samuel was alive and had been brought up to the inn with the others. A woman had said he would be dead before dusk. Thomas did not notice two women among those tending to the wounded, much alike in looks, both with auburn hair and green eyes. They moved from body to body, gently wiping off blood, dripping water on to parched lips and silently assessing each man’s chances. When they came to the black-bearded man set apart from the others, they found him alive but unconscious. The older woman looked at his face and jumped back, startled. ‘Is it him?’ she whispered.

‘It is. The other is inside.’

‘Stand there,’ said the older woman, indicating a spot between the man’s head and his nearest neighbour. Then, with a quick look to be sure she was not observed, she bunched a wet cloth and held it tightly over the man’s nose and mouth. For two minutes she held the cloth in place. When she removed it the man did not move or utter a sound. She felt for a pulse in his neck and put her hand over his heart. She nodded to the younger woman and they moved on to the next man.

When John Gibbes eventually stirred himself and went outside, his brother was nowhere to be seen. ‘Where is the man who was here?’ he asked the younger woman.