By Hannah Christensen
Captain Harding slashed away at the broad leaves obstructing the subtle jungle path. He could have let the elephant push through, but those big feet might obliterate any signs of the bandits filling current rumors.
A stream of tobacco shot the side of the trail a little ways from his feet. He glanced around sternly. “Discipline in the ranks,” he warned.
One Englishman, a tall, lanky soldier who tended to slouch, had the pertinence to answer back. “Sorry, sir, I thought we were on a Sunday excursion, what with your nipper tripping along and all.”
Captain Harding frowned at him. “I hardly think he will be in danger from a mere scouting expedition.”
“Of course, sir. The bandits would never think of attacking a mere scouting party.”
“The minister’s wife only required a party of six to conduct her safely inland to the East India Company’s quarters in Agra. If our party of eight with an elephant cannot keep a boy of six safe, then you are derelict in your duty, Wainwright.”
Wainwright hunched his shoulders up farther, but knew better than to say more. He glared at little Reever, who was chattering away with cheerful Private Burns.
When the path ahead suddenly broadened a little, Captain Harding raised his hand to call a halt. He carefully studied the surrounding vegetation. “This doesn’t look like a machete cut here. And the branch over here looks mangled, not cut. We may have found a place of conflict. Spread out and see what you can find.”
The soldiers began threading their way through the area. The mahout waited with the elephant which gently fanned its triangular ear flaps.
“Look, Papa!” called Reever. “I found something!”
Captain Harding strode over. The little boy thrust a bright flower into his father’s hand. A smile wrinkled the captain’s eyes. “A fine find, indeed. Your mother would love it.”
Reever beamed.
Burns whistled. “I’d wager someone was sorry over this loss,” he said.
Reever skipped and wove around the men to see what they gathered about. Burns held back a broad leaf to reveal a little pool of dark brown beans. The boy reached down to grab one, but Wainwright slapped his hand away. “Don’t tamper with the evidence.” He kept the snarled warning to a low growl. Reever bit his lip and shied away. Burns glowered at his fellow soldier, but the captain was too busy studying the ground to notice. Reever scooted over to a nearby fern and began to collect the sprinkling of beans there. Digging around for more, he inched further into the jungle until his hands were full. He pulled off his hat and began to fill that.
“I would say we can confirm this as a site of the attack in question,” said Captain Harding. “If we can get a trail from this point, what are the chances we would be tracking an escaped farmhand rather than–”
A scream whipped all their heads toward the jungle.
“Reever. Where’s Reever?” The captain’s pistol was already out.
Wainwright cursed under his breath as he plunged through the jungle where the boy had drifted away. The captain crashed through the underbrush directly toward where the scream had come from. He almost ran into a man. The native stood half crouched, facing a banyan tree where several others were centered.
The captain bashed the head of the man in front of him with his pistol butt, then swung it in the direction of the others, searching for a smaller form among them. Someone lay on the ground, and he started forward, but then saw it to be a man, not his boy.
A gunshot sounded from the left. The brush by the foot of the tree shivered.
Now the men from the jungle were beginning to turn and snatch out weapons.
Wainwright stood to the left, one arm stretched out with a smoking gun, the other clamping Reever to himself. The boy desperately clutched at his lumpy hat, eyes wide at the scene before him.
“Wainwright!” Captain Harding bellowed. “I’ll have you court marshaled for bringing a child into a field of conflict!”
“Me?”
“Hand him over to Burns.”
Wainwright shoved the boy toward his compatriot and stalked toward his foes, swinging as he went.
Burns scooped up the boy and hurried him away from the erupting conflict and back toward the path.
The mahout had mounted the elephant and pushed forward to where the party had been inspecting the path. Burns handed up Reeves, who squirmed and protested as beans trickled from his hat.
The clash lasted only a few minutes. Soon Captain Harding led his men back to the trail. A few gashes needed bandaging, including a saber cut across Wainwright’s left eyebrow, but only one bandit had escaped. The only death was by snakebite from the cobra Wainwright had shot. All in all, the politics of turning the prisoners in took longer than the capture itself.
Late the next afternoon Captain Harding rode through a gate into small garden with his son in front of him. He swung down. His feet had barely settled before a woman rushed over and flung herself against him.
“William! I was afraid you were wounded. Or…or…”
“Now then, honey, I don’t know what rumors you’ve been listening to this time.” He buried his face in her hair and kissed the top of her head. “It was nothing to speak about.”
“But Reeves! And I heard there were wounded.”
“A few scratches.” His voice dropped a shade. “Nothing that would prevent a court summons.”
She looked up fearfully.
“Just one of the men being saucy, sweetheart. Nothing for you to worry about.”
“I don’t think you should bring Reeves next time. I worried so.”
“Nonsense. The boy had a good head on his shoulders. Stayed as calm as—”
“Mama! Mama!” Reeves leaned over. “Look what I brought you.” He held out his hat, waiting for her to stretch out a hand. Glossy brown beans poured out into a cupped hand. She let go of her husband to form a better cup.
“Why, I believe those are—they look like—” She glanced at her husband for confirmation.
“Cocoa beans,” he said. His smile was almost as proud as Reeves’s.
“Cocoa,” she murmured. “I had chocolate to drink once when visiting the governor’s wife. I shall have to save this for a very special occasion. No, I shall plant them and grow enough to have chocolate to drink for every occasion. Wherever did you find it? Reeves, you truly are a captain in training.”
Captain Harding winked at his son over his wife’s head.
Reeves beamed.
Octopencil 