H.M.S Valor: Treachery And Triumph: A war time adventure on the high seas by Cal Clement (best way to read an ebook TXT) 📗

some came out of the village. At one point a man with a musket and lantern had come close to Omibwe and Anaya, close enough for them to make out features on his face. He was a large man, with a big bulbous nose jutting out from a bushy mustache and his face had scars on it. Most white men wore hats, this one had no hat but Omibwe could make out scars in his hairline, dividing his scalp in several places. He was wearing a sword and several pistols on his belt. The man wandered out, drawing nearer and nearer to Omibwe and Anaya’s hiding place, at one point he was so close they could hear him relieve himself. But he carried on, eventually disappearing into the tree line behind them.

In the hot African night, Omibwe’s eyelids eventually grew heavy. Anaya had drifted into sleep, still latched onto his leg tightly. Even in sleep her grip on him had not slacked. His ears still straining for any sign of activity, Omibwe finally relented and let his eyes close. He was exhausted from the tense night spent hyper vigilant to any noise, any movement. The dark of night was fading as dawn began drawing a faint glow to the eastern skies. The village had been silent for hours and the smoke from several smoldering huts mixed with a low-lying early fog gathered through the coastal region where the village sat.

A party of men gathered at the edge of the village, holding lanterns and torches, they were all armed. The men fanned out in a line and began walking away from the village. In the pre-dawn light, their lanterns cast formidable shadows that danced back towards the village. Their gait was slow, each man near enough to the man next to him to hear without yelling. They walked in line for several hundred yards in silence, passing right by the sleeping siblings and then into the tree line.

Omibwe awoke to an awkwardly silent morning, no birds singing, no voices from the village. He instinctively reached down to check his little sister. She was still there, clung to his leg and still fast asleep. He woke her gently, gesturing for her to remain silent. The pair crawled as far as they could through the tall grasses beside the village, pausing every few seconds so Omibwe could listen for anything amiss. Finally, reaching as far as they could go in the tall grass, Omibwe stretched his head up out of the grass as far as he dared. Looking around he couldn't see anyone. He took Anaya by the hand and together they crept low to the ground into the village. The now breaking dawn revealed carnage in the village. Many men and women lay dead in the open, huts had been burned. Omibwe couldn’t believe what he saw, why would anyone do this to his village? Tears welled up into his eyes, he struggled to cover Anaya’s view, not wanting her to see her home and the elders who lay dead. He did not see his parents or any sign of survival of the others in the village. His hands shook as he looked around unsure of what to do. He didn’t know if the men had left for a ship or headed overland to somewhere else. Or maybe they would return. As he struggled over these thoughts and looked around the village, tears now streaming down his face uncontrollably, he did not notice that the masts of several ships now protruded from behind the thatched roofs of the village. Omibwe’s wander took him south through the village towards his own family’s home. Hoping against all hope, his entire being longed to see his family unharmed. His father would know what to do and that thought brought him both an uneasy comfort and foreboding sadness.

Approaching their family home, Omibwe noted it had not been set fire, the thatched door was intact, the few hand tools they owned were in place. It seemed as if he could walk in and find his mother and father inside, perhaps eating breakfast. After instructing Anaya to stay out front, Omibwe entered their family’s hut. Their belongings were scattered, what food they had been preparing to eat was all over the floor, and there was a small spatter of blood across the back wall, but no one inside. It was small relief not to find anyone, but he still did not know their fate, and this troubled him almost into a panic. Coming out of the hut, Omibwe thought to check on the beach. It is possible his family went that way to make it to another village up the coast. Starting up the path Omibwe cleared his eyes and looked up, seeing the masts. His eyes followed a mast that led down to a ship only a few hundred yards off the shore.

Omibwe quickly realized he needed to get out of the village, he needed to protect Anaya and get her somewhere safe in case the white men returned. He took Anaya’s hand and they began to hurry back toward the grass that had hidden them through the night. The pair came around from behind a hut to the sight of the search party returning. The large man with the big nose and scarred face in front, the party spotted the two right away. Omibwe heard some shouting, a shot rang out and the men started running. More shouting, Omibwe could hear clearly but didn’t understand the words. They didn’t sound like the men he had met before; their words were different. He held his sister’s hand tightly and ran away as quickly as he could, Anaya fell, unable to keep pace with her brother. Omibwe dragged her back up to her feet and they continued running through the village. The pair turned down a path that would lead to the shoreline, frantically racing away from the group of men now in pursuit.

Racing to the shoreline, Omibwe