Free Nobody's Slave by Tim Vicary

in!’
    Tom ran out of the hut after the Admiral in a confused rush towards the gate in the thorn hedge where they had come in. He saw two Africans - three - hurry through the gate before them, away among the low trees. One turned to face them, quite still for a long, fleeting instant as he lifted his bow. Tom saw the black skin striped with bold white and red paint, the face a fierce mask, the proud lift of the shoulders - then the arrow was loosed, and even as Tom fired his second pistol the man was gone.
    The arrow grazed the Admiral on the neck - a little to the left, and it would have been through his throat. Tom and the bosun offered him help, but he pushed them roughly aside.
    ‘It’s nothing - leave it now! Shut me this gate! Come on, sirs, heave! Now, watch both ways. You lad - stand there! There may be some more still within the village.’
    Tom stared back towards the village. But no more attackers appeared from the huts. Simon stood beside him, his cutlass held manfully before his face to ward off danger. There was a smile on his face that angered Tom. He was sure it was only a bluff.
    ‘Don't be afraid, Si. Stay close to me - I'll look out for you.’
    ‘I'm not afraid!’ said Simon indignantly. ‘I'm glad! 'Tis a fine hunt, this!’
    ‘Oh aye; except they've set a trap for us ,’ Tom answered irritably. ‘I never knew a deer or fox do that.’
    ‘That's just it, don’t you see? At least it shows they’re not animals! We shan't catch ’em without a fight!' Simon laughed, his face happy, almost radiant. Tom could not understand it - perhaps Simon was mazed.
    Shouts, shots, and cheers came from the other village gate, where Francis’s men were.
    ‘Sounds like they've caught some there, anyway,’ he said. ‘Though we'll have a job to get them to the boats.’
    But return to the boats was what they had to do. Francis's party had indeed caught two men - tall, proud warriors with painted, mask-like faces, who stared down at their captors disdainfully. Somehow they had to get these prisoners back to the boats, as well as the injured sailors. There were four walking wounded, including the Admiral, and two who had to be carried. Quickly, they made litters made from the beams and thatch of the village huts. Then they set out. 
    The arrows began again as soon as they were out of the village. It was as though the forest itself was fighting them. They saw no enemy at all; just a sudden curse, or cry of pain, and another sailor staggering, clutching the shaft of an arrow sunk in his arm or chest; and the quiet rustle of someone hurrying away in the woods. The sailors hurried on, sweating, afraid, while the mocking chatter of monkeys and parrots echoed weirdly around them, and their own breath rasped in their lungs.
    Tom wished he had made Simon stay at the boats, and felt sick with guilt at having led him into danger. But every time he looked at Simon, there was a silly, brave grin on his strange young cousin's face, as though he were enjoying himself in some way; and Tom felt an unusual, irritated admiration.
    Suddenly they stopped, stunned by the sound of drums throbbing menacingly ahead of them. This time it was less like a message. There were several drums beating together, throbbing louder and louder to a crescendo of sound which numbed them. The sailors stared at each other, awed, unable to think. Then the drums stopped, and the sudden silence was pierced by a scream, then a chorus of bloodthirsty yells and a scattered volley of shots from the direction of the beach ahead.
    ‘They're attacking the boats! Make haste there, or we'll be stranded!’ Admiral Hawkins leapt into life, hurrying ahead with the men who could still run. Tom was dragging Simon along, and the others about him were running too, pushing the reluctant African prisoners, giving a hand to those carrying the litters. But a gap began to open between them and those in front, and Tom saw more than one man about him glance anxiously over his