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Authors: Lloyd Lofthouse
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boat away from the others. Robert stared at a shore li ttered with empty sampans. He saw the outline of the prison stockade where the boat people were supposed to be. Inside that area, it was dark like spilled ink. What if they had been moved or what if they were already dead? He shivered at the thought, and Brian looked at him. Robert forced himself to smile to reassure the boy that all was well. He ran his fingers like a comb through the boy’s shaggy brown hair. Brian smiled but his eyes were filled with fear.
Campfires flickered around the stockade. Someone among the boat people in that darkness cried out in misery, and Robert ached for them in their predicament. He thought that at least one was alive to save.
Before the boat ran aground, the men with Patridge let off a ragged volley. Shortly after that, the Maryann and the Sampson fired their cannons. The combined blasts deafened Robert, and the bright flash of light left dancing spots in his blinded vision. Then the boat jerked as it slid into land. When his vision cleared, he saw that the chain and grape had hit this side of the Taiping camp turning men into pieces of raw, bloody meat-missing arms, legs and sometimes heads.
The men in the bow piled out and ran toward the stockade, where Robert heard voices screa ming in panic. He followed, but before jumping out of the boat, he fired a pistol at shadowy figures wearing the Taiping red and blue. As he crawled over the side and into the water, Robert sunk up to his knees in sticky mud and lost sight of Brian.
The ships fired another ragged and pitiful salvo into the camp b elow the stockade. A rattle of pistols and rifles roared again from the men with Captain Patridge. The guns from the ships began a constant barrage—their muzzles sporadically spitting jagged orange death flames.
A figure appeared before Robert with what looked like red eyes and a black gash for a mouth. The w ild creature, looking like a demon from hell, jabbed a spear at him. Robert’s cutlass knocked the spear aside while his pistol fired a bullet into the man.
It was as if Hart ’s weapons had taken charge, and his body was taking commands from them. He had just killed someone. The thought numbed him for a moment.
His boots made sucking sounds as he freed himself from the sticky mud. Just as he reached shore, he slipped and fell. When he looked up, his eye s met a man’s leg. The rest of the man was nowhere to be seen. The leg was naked. The muscles were twitching. Swallowing the bile that rushed into his throat, Robert regained his feet and staggered away in a daze.
He stumbled again but this time when he looked down he saw Brian, the eleven-year-old boy from the ship—the one that sat beside him in the boat. The boy was on his knees with both of his hands gripping the shaft of a spear embedded in his stomach. His discarded pike was beside him. He vomited blood and folded forward over the spear—his body going limp.
Oh, dear God, Robert tho ught. He saw the Taiping that speared Brian attempting to pull his weapon free. It appeared stuck in the boy’s guts, and Brian’s body was flopping like a fish on a hook.
“ Bastard!” Robert yelled. His fear fled as anger raged through him. He fired the other barrel of his first pistol into the rebel who had impaled Brian and yanked another pistol free. The rebel he shot dropped to the ground holding his hands over the hole in his abdomen. Robert stepped forward, put his boot on the wound and ran the rebel through the heart with the cutlass.
Robert spotted Unwyn, who stood with a furious expression at an open gate in the stockade. Unwyn lifted one of his pistols, aimed and shot a man running toward him. The other sailors took up kneeling positions beside Unwyn and fired into the panicked rebels.
Three older sailors knelt behind the small knot of firing men and quickly loaded empty pistols and rifles as fast as they were handed back.
“Hart,” Unwyn yelled, “use your Chinese and get
Campfires flickered around the stockade. Someone among the boat people in that darkness cried out in misery, and Robert ached for them in their predicament. He thought that at least one was alive to save.
Before the boat ran aground, the men with Patridge let off a ragged volley. Shortly after that, the Maryann and the Sampson fired their cannons. The combined blasts deafened Robert, and the bright flash of light left dancing spots in his blinded vision. Then the boat jerked as it slid into land. When his vision cleared, he saw that the chain and grape had hit this side of the Taiping camp turning men into pieces of raw, bloody meat-missing arms, legs and sometimes heads.
The men in the bow piled out and ran toward the stockade, where Robert heard voices screa ming in panic. He followed, but before jumping out of the boat, he fired a pistol at shadowy figures wearing the Taiping red and blue. As he crawled over the side and into the water, Robert sunk up to his knees in sticky mud and lost sight of Brian.
The ships fired another ragged and pitiful salvo into the camp b elow the stockade. A rattle of pistols and rifles roared again from the men with Captain Patridge. The guns from the ships began a constant barrage—their muzzles sporadically spitting jagged orange death flames.
A figure appeared before Robert with what looked like red eyes and a black gash for a mouth. The w ild creature, looking like a demon from hell, jabbed a spear at him. Robert’s cutlass knocked the spear aside while his pistol fired a bullet into the man.
It was as if Hart ’s weapons had taken charge, and his body was taking commands from them. He had just killed someone. The thought numbed him for a moment.
His boots made sucking sounds as he freed himself from the sticky mud. Just as he reached shore, he slipped and fell. When he looked up, his eye s met a man’s leg. The rest of the man was nowhere to be seen. The leg was naked. The muscles were twitching. Swallowing the bile that rushed into his throat, Robert regained his feet and staggered away in a daze.
He stumbled again but this time when he looked down he saw Brian, the eleven-year-old boy from the ship—the one that sat beside him in the boat. The boy was on his knees with both of his hands gripping the shaft of a spear embedded in his stomach. His discarded pike was beside him. He vomited blood and folded forward over the spear—his body going limp.
Oh, dear God, Robert tho ught. He saw the Taiping that speared Brian attempting to pull his weapon free. It appeared stuck in the boy’s guts, and Brian’s body was flopping like a fish on a hook.
“ Bastard!” Robert yelled. His fear fled as anger raged through him. He fired the other barrel of his first pistol into the rebel who had impaled Brian and yanked another pistol free. The rebel he shot dropped to the ground holding his hands over the hole in his abdomen. Robert stepped forward, put his boot on the wound and ran the rebel through the heart with the cutlass.
Robert spotted Unwyn, who stood with a furious expression at an open gate in the stockade. Unwyn lifted one of his pistols, aimed and shot a man running toward him. The other sailors took up kneeling positions beside Unwyn and fired into the panicked rebels.
Three older sailors knelt behind the small knot of firing men and quickly loaded empty pistols and rifles as fast as they were handed back.
“Hart,” Unwyn yelled, “use your Chinese and get
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