Harry Heron: Midshipman's Journey

by Patrick G Cox

  “Ferghal’s sail maker friends have done as much as they can with my waistcoats and my coat,” Harry said. “I have shirts now that have been remade so many times they are more sailcloth than cotton shirt, even those I managed to obtain from the auction of our fallen friends’ dunnage.”

  “I am in the same case,” agreed Kit. “Mister Bell has found a local snyder and arranged with Peterson for us to share him. He is coming to the ship with his cloth and his tools, and he will make all that we need for a much smaller fee than any Englishman would charge. Do you intend to use him too?”

  “When does he come?” Harry asked. “Tomorrow we must depart with Mister Bentley for those caves he is so interested in seeing.”

  “He comes in the dog watches today so that he may measure us and have the items made for our return. How long will the expedition take?”

  “Four days, says Mister Bentley, a day to get there by elephant, two days to explore and a day to return. We stay in the residence of the governor while in the hills,” replied Harry. “They say there are tigers there. I hope we see one at least.”

  “Not unless it is from somewhere secure from its desire to consume us or across the sights of a suitable gun!” exclaimed Kit.

  THE TAILOR’S VISIT WAS A BUSY ONE. THE UNIFORM COATS ordered just days earlier were ready and waiting for them. Nor was the quality poor—far from it. In some respects, it was superior to anything some of the officers had previously owned. Harry dared to stretch his slender purse and ordered two uniform coats, a set of new waistcoats, several shirts, breeches, stockings and a new pair of shoes. He also ordered two shirts and a smart jacket especially for Ferghal as a gift to his friend. This raised Kit’s eyebrows, but he held his peace. However, the tailor, noting the unusual circumstance of a midshipman making such a purchase for a mere seaman, made some subtle enquiries and adjusted the cost downwards without further comment, unusual in itself.

  “I look forward to having something that fits, is not patched and darned, or chaffs in unfortunate ways and places,” said Kit as he and Harry took the cool night air on deck.

  “I too,” said Harry staring at the shore. “Do you not marvel at the strangeness of this place, Kit? There is every condition of man, cheek by jowl, and their religious men are so different from our own.” Lightning played in the distance in a fantastic display, illuminating the clouds above the city from within, and rolls of distant thunder reached them even as heavy drops of rain began to fall on the awning overhead.

  Kit laughed. “You and your pondering. But you are right, old fellow, we have made a fabulous voyage of discovery even if others have trodden these paths before us. Now that the war is resumed, I wonder more what fate awaits us on our return home.”

  “Aye, that troubles me as well,” Harry replied. “Our encounter with the deviousness of the French and their allies in Muscat suggests it will not be an easy path from here.” He grinned and added, “At least we may hope to make Lieutenant before it is settled again.”

  EARLY THE FOLLOWING MORNING, REVEREND BENTLEY’S expedition was rowed ashore. The group comprised Kit, Harry, Eamon Barclay, Dick Peterson and Tom Bowles. Lieutenant Rae was nominally in charge of the party, which made Harry feel easier about having to keep Barclay’s company in so small a group. They were first conveyed by rickshaw to a company compound on the outskirts of the city. Here they were introduced to the elephants that were to be their transport for the next part of the journey, which would take them some eighteen miles.

  Mounting the beasts proved interesting, as the elephants were first encouraged to kneel next to a mounting block from which the travellers could step across into the Howdah strapped to the elephant’s back. Taking his seat, Harry was grateful that Barclay and Peterson had been ordered to mount the lead elephant with Lieutenant Rae. He liked the Lieutenant, but preferred to have the company of Tom, Kit and the parson.

  “Have you travelled in this manner before, sir?” he asked.

  “Yes,” was the reply. “My father made his fortune here, and I was born in Madras, returning to England for my schooling and then Cambridge,” said Mister Bentley, causing Harry to marvel that he had travelled half way ’round the world with this clergyman and not known this simple fact. “It is not unlike the motion of the ship once the beast begins to walk,” he told them as the Mahout mounted the animal’s neck just behind the head and with a wide smile in their direction began to coax the elephant to its feet.

  The swaying was a little violent as the animal lurched to a standing position, forcing the occupants of the Howdah to cling to the sides as it did so. Then they were up, and the great beast set off at a slow pace, its rolling gait not unpleasant as it followed the lead elephant through the gate and onto the road. They had not gone far when the first of many rain showers swept over them and set the pattern for the journey.

  “I fear our expedition will be a wet one,” said the parson. “But it is no great thing; in this warmth, one is soon dry enough, and it is a relief from the heat.”

  Chapter 37

  The Vihara

  The sun was descending into the western sea as they arrived at the guest house in the hills. “Not the fastest mount I have ever used,” commented Lieutenant Rae as they took the steps leading to the veranda, stopping to appreciate the magnificent gardens surrounding the residence.

  Liveried servants hastened to meet them and took their baggage then provided washing bowls, towels and, inevitably, tea, a practice that Harry in particular was coming to enjoy more than anything else.

  The sun was already below the horizon when Harry joined Tom Bowles, the Lieutenant and the parson on the veranda. Towering clouds around them could be seen by the lightning that lit their interiors at regular intervals, and for some minutes, they watched a particularly dazzling display further to the west.

  “Refreshed, I trust, Mister Heron?” asked the Lieutenant as a servant refilled his glass.

  “Aye, sir. It is cooler here in the hills, though I suspect we will have an interesting walk tomorrow. I have learned that to reach the caves one must climb.”

  “Yes, but there is a stairway cut into the cliff,” Mister Bentley informed them as Eamon Barclay joined the group.

  He dropped into a wicker chair next to Tom Bowles and accepted a glass from the waiting servant. He sipped gratefully and emitted a relaxed sigh. “This is more like it. The gunroom has become a hellish place in these climes, do you not agree, Harry?”

  “It has,” Harry replied civilly, suspicious of this unusual geniality. He indicated the approaching storm. “The smell is much better too.”

  Barclay opened his mouth to speak but froze as there was a brilliant flash and a thunderous crack as lightning struck an outcrop less than fifty yards from where they sat. The brilliance of the strike blazed in their eyes long after the event had passed, but before they could recover their voices, the rain began, at first a steady thrumming then the sharper patter on the roof, and finally a hammering sound as the heavens opened and the deluge descended while all around them lightning played and thunder rolled to an increasing crescendo. Only Harry seemed to notice that Barclay’s glass lay shattered on the floor.

  “Worse than the gun deck in action,” Harry managed above the almost continuous thunder.

  Barclay gave him a sickly grin. “Aye, though not, I wager, as dangerous.”

  “I should take it, Mister Heron,” said the Lieutenant. “For while there are no shot or splinters, one strike and we would all be no more.”

  When the rain began to ease and the thunder moved away, Harry said to the clergyman, “We had best consider carefully before we set out tomorrow. If this weather holds true, it may be that a visit to these caves, though I want to see them myself, would be unwise. The stones in these hills seem to attract the lightning, and the route to the caves is very exposed.”

  Kit Tanner and Dick Peterson joined them as Harry was saying this, and Peterson added, “I think the lightning has stru
ck a dwelling behind the house; the servants seem to be much exercised, and there is a smell of fire.”

  “I think he is right, sir,” Tom confirmed. “Perhaps one of us should investigate.”

  “Perhaps.” The Lieutenant beckoned to the hovering servant and asked, “Has someone or some house been struck by lightning?”

  The man bowed and said, “I do not know, Sahib. Shall I ask in the kitchen?”

  “Please do,” said the Lieutenant. “Go with him, Dick, and see what is afoot.”

  IT DID NOT TAKE LONG FOR DICK PETERSON TO RETURN. “There is a fire,” he said, out of breath. “Lightning hit the workers’ barracks a little way to the rear of the house. There are a number of people dealing with it.”

  “Really?” Lieutenant Rae hesitated. Standing up he said, “Come on, you fellows; let us see what assistance we may render.”

  The lightning was still rippling through the clouds as they followed the Lieutenant through the rambling residence. More a palace than a house, Harry thought, as there seemed to be several wings and interlinking structures. Following the servant, they arrived at a partially enclosed yard. At the end of this stood an extensive low building fronted by a veranda, from which flames were emanating at one end of the roof.

  Already the estate workers were busy pumping water using a small manual fire engine mounted on wheels, the jet directed at the flames. A smaller group were engaged in salvaging furniture and possessions from the rooms directly below the fire. Another group arrived with ladders and began to mount the roof with long poles and billhooks.

  “They look as if they know their business, sir,” remarked Tom Bowles. “Those fellows have the roof open—see, they are striking the fire with that water jet.”

  “That’s the way,” Lieutenant Rae mused as he watched with a critical eye. “You’re right; they do know what they are doing.”

  A commotion broke out in the watching crowd, and a small stampede of people seemed to be trying to escape something on the ground. “What the devil have they there?”

  Tom stepped to where he could better see. “It seems to be a snake, sir, a big one too!”

  The crowd parted suddenly, and Dick Peterson squawked, “The damn thing’s coming toward us.”

  Several of the men in the crowd slashed at the swiftly moving serpent with whatever weapons they carried, and the creature seemed to veer away, making for the space beneath the veranda. A brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the tableau briefly as the snake vanished beneath the structure.

  The distraction had lasted a bare few minutes, yet in that time, the fire seemed to have been brought under control and extinguished.

  Lieutenant Rae looked around and nodded. “That seems to be that, fellows.” He paused as his eye fell on a knot of Indians gathered around a small and simply clad man carrying a basket. “Hello, what have we here? A snake charmer, perchance?” He called one of the servants over and asked, “What is that fellow going to attempt with the snake?”

  “He brings the mongoose, Sahib. The mongoose will kill the snake. Bad snake, very dangerous, Sahib, cobra—he spit in the eyes and blind, then bite and kill.” The man paused. “The mongoose kill the cobra and eat. Sahib safe when mongoose finish.”

  The party watched in amazement as the man produced not one mongoose but two from his wicker basket. Carefully he introduced the animals into an opening underneath the veranda, and the party looked on in fascination.

  “Looks like a ferret to me,” said Eamon Barclay. “Game keepers often hunt with them for rabbit and rodents at home.” Harry noticed that the pallor Eamon had been showing earlier was fading, and his normal ruddy colouring was returning.

  “Looks bigger than a ferret,” said Tom Bowles, taking the words right out of Harry’s mouth. The sinuous grey creatures darted under the veranda as everyone watched and waited. There followed a short interlude in which nothing much appeared to be happening, then a squawling and mewling noise issued from beneath the floor followed by a brief scuffle. The man who had released the mongoose bent and began calling in a rather strangely cadenced tone. After a few minutes, one of the animals appeared, and shortly afterward, the second appeared dragging the now dead snake with it.

  “Well, I’m damned,” breathed Lieutenant Rae. “Who would have credited it?” He turned to the servant. “Ask that man to attend me here. I wish to see these animals of his.”

  The midshipmen were fascinated by the mongoose the little man presented to them. Lithe, covered in grey fur and cat-like in their agility, the animal studied them with bright-eyed curiosity, chittering softly as it lifted its nose to test their scent. The animal was large, almost two feet in length, and the bright eyes missed nothing. The snake’s corpse showed that they were quick and efficient killers: its head was severed almost completely from its body. Harry, who had a deeply ingrained dislike of snakes, which had been reinforced by the death of one of their number in Australia, refused to touch it. He stood well clear when the mongooses’ owner tried to show the snake to him. Even in the dim light of the lamps and the occasional flash of lightning, the snake was impressive, and Harry hoped that no more lurked in the house or beneath it.

  THE VIOLENCE OF THE PREVIOUS NIGHT’S STORM seemed to have cleared the air, and the morning brought cooler and somewhat drier conditions. The party set out early, Lieutenant Rae declaring, “If we go now we shall avoid the heat of the day for our climb to the caves.”

  “Indeed,” replied the parson. “Though we shall have the full heat and probably the rain again for our return.”

  “Better that than while we are climbing,” retorted the Lieutenant.

  The parson had no reply to this truism, but there was nothing to be done for it. The monsoon season was marked by daily rainstorms that stopped and started at will.

  The group made good time, though a little to their surprise, they found themselves accompanied by several attendants bearing hampers. They were grateful for these and were ready for refreshment when they finally arrived at the barren rock faces that housed the caves. A hamper was swiftly unpacked and a spread of tea and fruit produced for their enjoyment. With this repast suitably reduced by the voracious appetites of the younger men, the serious business of the exploration of the caves was put in hand.

  HARRY PAUSED AT THE ENTRANCE TO THE THIRD CAVE and mopped his brow. The previous two had been stunning in the variety and artifice of their carving and decoration, clearly the work of master craftsmen. The caves had been themselves hewn from the rock by human hands.

  Saffron robed men and boys squatted or worked in several of the caves at a variety of tasks, and welcomed them solemnly in each.

  “Hot work,” puffed Kit. “But worth the effort, don’t you think?”

  “Every drop of sweat,” agreed Harry, eyeing a row of seated figures in niches. “Look at these; every one of them is individual. I wonder if they are portraits.”

  At the next cave, they gasped in surprise. Having negotiated the entrance they found themselves in a cathedral like hall, the walls lined by pillars and the ceiling high and barrel vaulted.

  “Ah,” exclaimed the parson. “This is the Great Vihara! Remarkable, is it not?”

  “What was it used for?” asked Kit, staring in wonder at the carved capitals topping the pillars.

  “According to my research, this one is still used as a prayer hall. The others are apparently used for living quarters, teaching and prayer. Once it was a centre of Buddhist worship, but now it seems to have fallen into somewhat less popular usage.”

  The Great Vihara proved to be the highlight of the visit, and soon it was time to return to where their guides awaited them on the lower slopes. A brief pause for some refreshment was curtailed by the approach of yet another storm, and Harry noticed that Eamon seemed to be nervous and anxious to leave. He nudged Kit and pointed this out quietly.

  “Our guide says that we should descend quickly to the house again. If we leave now, we should be under sh
elter by the time that storm strikes,” the Lieutenant said. “Come on, my fine fellows, we had best make shift to escape it.”

  Eamon Barclay, his face flushed with the heat, looked at the gathering clouds and said, “A bit of rain won’t go amiss, sir.” He plucked his shirt from his chest and added, “At least it will cool us, but I hope we may reach the residence before the storms begin.” He followed Kit and Harry as they began their descent along the pathway, grumbling, “Surely we could take shelter here and then descend in the coolness after the storm.”

  “Perhaps, Eamon; perhaps not.” Tom Bowles said. “The guide says these storms usually follow one another through the afternoon and evening. If we descend now, we may miss the start. If we wait, we may spend the night waiting for the train of storms to cease.”

  THE DESCENT SEEMED INTERMINABLE, AND THE HEAT increased as they followed the guides down the track. Overhead the clouds were swelling and expanding rapidly, but at last, the residence compound was in sight. Lightning flickered among the lower edges of the overcast sky, and the rumble of thunder increased in menace. The wind began to gather strength, though it was already quite gusty. These gusts were swift and sudden, dying away to almost nothing while the smell of rain hung heavy on the air. With a bare hundred yards to cover before reaching shelter, the storm broke over them. Lightning flashed in a dazzling display as they hurried toward the house, and the rain began to fall.