by Seth Hunter
So far as supplies went, the ship was more or less ready for sea. Among the papers on Nathan’s table was a list of provisions sufficient for a three-month cruise. Nathan was very much taken with lists. Most men he knew were the same. There was something very satisfying about a list. It spoke of order and regulation, the opposite of the chthonic disorder he had encountered upon first entering the great cabin. This was not to say that you could trust it, any further than you could trust the man who had drawn it up. But it was something tangible, something you could get your teeth into. You could learn a lot from a list.
On the other hand, it sometimes raised as many questions as it answered. Why, for instance, had the governor ordered the Pondicherry – and presumably the other ships in the squadron – to be provisioned for a three-month voyage? The order had been given over a week ago, when Nathan was still on his way to Bombay. It was possible that Duncan had heard of the French invasion of Egypt but highly unlikely – and why should he dissemble? It was far more likely that he had already been preparing for a long blockade of Mangalore – or somewhere even further afield. Despite his assurances, Nathan was con vinced that Duncan contemplated an invasion of the Île de France and he was determined to resist it at all costs.
Before him lay the document the purser had presented to him detailing the weight of provisions, ordnance, powder and shot in tons, hundredweight and pounds. Pursers’ lists were notoriously inaccurate, but according to this information the Pondicherry carried 75 tons of water – or approximately 20,000 gallons – either in the ground tier or in casks, 12,000 gallons of beer, 1,000 gallons of rum and 1,000 gallons of lemon juice. No wine was listed – perhaps they did not grow grapes in India – but it would be surprising if they could not get hold of a few bottles. The crew would not care, provided that they had their rum and their beer, but Nathan would miss his wine. There was coffee, though, and tea – and 18 barrels of Virginia tobacco. As to more basic provisions, it looked as if they could sail to Africa and back without taking on fresh supplies.
Unhappily, there was no list of private stores for the captain – or commodore – but Mr Harrison had assured him that the deficiency could be remedied by the next delivery, with the expenditure of only a small portion of Nathan’s fortune.
The next list was concerned with the ordnance. Nathan scanned it with a more critical eye. The main armament consisted of forty-four long guns, equally divided between 24-pounders and 12-pounders, and half a dozen 6-pounders – two in the bows, four on the quarterdeck. The greater surprise was the amount of powder and shot at his disposal. Three hundred barrels of powder, five thousand rounds of round shot, six hundred of grape and four hundred of chain.
Nathan had never seen such a satisfying list in all his time in the King’s Navy. They had enough powder and shot to indulge in gunnery practice every day if he wished, and still have enough for a major action. And as for provisions, they would need to practise at the guns – and climb to the top of the mainmast ten times a day – if they were not to become fat as eunuchs. In addition to the items on his list, the purser had assured him that they had a quantity of livestock: goats, hens, even a milk cow.
The muster roll was rather less agreeable. The official Admiralty establishment for a ship of the Pondicherry’s class was for 370 men and boys including 5 commissioned sea officers, 2 officers of marines, 10 midshipmen and 6 senior warrant officers.
In fact, the muster roll told a slightly different story. The captain had died of a fever and there were only three lieutenants, one of whom was ‘gone ashore’, while the two marine officers had been replaced by officers of the 12th Regiment of Foot – a lieutenant and an ensign. The ship’s master, like the captain, had been carried off with a disease, and his place had been taken, temporarily, by one of the master’s mates. The ship was lacking a chaplain and a schoolmaster, neither of which Nathan considered too great a loss, and there were only six midshipmen. Again, this was no great problem, and it gave Nathan the opportunity to keep his promise to Blunt.
The crew was almost up to full strength but the list included an inordinate amount of French names – sixty-six in all. Nathan was aware that a great many French Royalists served in the British Navy, but he had not heard of quite so many in a single ship. It would not have bothered him quite so much if the rest of the crew were British. But they were not. Ninety-two of them were from a Danish frigate which had been wrecked on a voyage to the Nicobar Islands in the Bay of Bengal. They had all volunteered to serve in His Britannic Majesty’s Navy, according to the purser, and though Nathan had no reason to doubt his account, he thought it was quite possible that they had been told that this was the only way they would ever get back to Denmark. Denmark was at present neutral, but this situation could change – as it had in the case of Spain and the Netherlands, and several of the German and Italian states who were now allied to Revolutionary France.
Of the remainder, thirty-four were Irish Catholics, and while Nathan did not share the prejudice of many officers about Catholics, it was a fact that large parts of Ireland were currently in active rebellion against King George – or, at least, they had been when he had last read the newspapers six months before. This left just fifty-nine men from mainland Britain – including most of the commissioned and warrant officers. And, of course, the soldiers, who were mostly from East Anglia.
The Navy had relied on foreigners to man its ships for most of the present century, but it was unusual for there to be quite so few Englishmen among them. And there were other issues to consider.
One of them was Nathan’s own legitimacy. He had no official Admiralty commission to command the Pondicherry. His authority as commodore came from Admiral Nelson, with the approval of the Governor of Bombay. In the circumstances, the governor’s approval was the more important. And this meant that he had to do pretty much as the governor ordered. He had an idea that Duncan had played him for a fool – giving him the illusion of power while telling him exactly what to do. Which was worryingly close to the way the East India Company treated the British Government.
Then there was the problem of the missing lieutenant – Lieutenant Joyce. The story that he had ‘gone ashore’ was somewhat disingenuous. It had later emerged that he had gone to Surat – about a hundred miles to the north – and that he had taken the thirty-two-foot pinnace with twelve men, including the ship’s coxswain and a midshipman. The official reason for this expedition was to bring back a spare set of rudder braces from the shipyard there. Nathan doubted this very much. Partly because the carpenter had assured him that there was nothing wrong with the rudder braces, and partly because the lieutenant had taken his wife with him.
And that was another thing. The lieutenant’s wife was apparently Indian – and the women Nathan had encountered in the great cabin had been her women. Either her relatives or servants or both. It seemed that the lieutenant and his wife had taken over the whole of the stern cabin as their private lodgings. Some might view this as perfectly reasonable when there was no flag officer or captain aboard – but it seemed to Nathan to be something of a cheek. He would have to have words with Mr Joyce – if he ever met him. If he had not returned by noon tomorrow, Nathan planned to sail without him. He was most unhappy about this – more for the loss of the pinnace and twelve men than for the loss of Lieutenant Joyce.
He had an idea that there was a lot more to this than met the eye. He thought Tully probably knew more about it than he was prepared to say – either because Troy or one of the other officers had told him in confidence, or because he did not wish to be thought of as an informer. However, Nathan was determined to get to the bottom of it, not least because he might have to replace Mr Joyce as first lieutenant, and this had implications both for himself and for Tully. He turned his head away and raised his voice, frowning in some embarrassment.
‘De Fournier,’ he shouted. ‘De Fournier there.’
This was the name of the captain’s steward – a rather unfortunate name, in Nathan’s opinion, a
little too close to ‘Fornication’ for his comfort. He was one of the French men, of course. Possibly of noble origin. Certainly he gave himself the airs of a nobleman, though quite what he was doing as a steward was anyone’s guess. On their brief acquaintance, Nathan had taken an unusual dislike to him. He would rather have had Blunt, for all his failings as a servant. But the man he missed most – of all his old ship mates – was his previous steward, Gilbert Gabriel, a former highwayman, known ironically to his fellows – from his short temper and his propensity for violence – as the Angel Gabriel. Gabriel had been saved from the hangman by Nathan’s father and had repaid the debt by serving both father and son faithfully for many years. He had been Nathan’s guardian and mentor during his childhood in Sussex and had continued in this role when Nathan first went to sea, initially as a shipmate when Nathan was a humble midshipman, and then as his steward when he was made post. But he had been taken captive by the Venetians during one of Nathan’s previous ventures ashore, and not been heard of since. Nathan had spent a good deal of money in an effort to trace him, but thus far his efforts had been in vain.
‘Sir?’ It was remarkable how much derision and disdain De Fournier could inject into that one simple syllable. Sooner or later Nathan would have to do something about De Fournier, but not now. He had too many other things to think about.
‘Pass the word for Mr Troy,’ Nathan instructed him, with as much courtesy as he could muster. ‘And while you are about it, perhaps you would be good enough to fetch us some wine – some white wine, chilled, if possible – and three glasses.’
‘The De Fourniers would be noblesse oblige, I suppose,’ he remarked to Tully, when the steward had departed on this errand.
‘I doubt they are nobles of any description, obliging or otherwise,’ Tully replied. ‘The “De” is a recent addition. He was plain Fournier when he was in the French service. The literal translation is “man of the oven”, as you probably know. His occupation was steward’s mate.’
Nathan raised a brow. ‘How do you know that?’ He never ceased to be astonished at Tully’s insights, especially where members of the crew were concerned. He suspected his friend’s rise from the lower deck had enabled him to tap into lines of communication denied the more privileged of his associates. But the answer, in this instance, was more prosaic.
‘By looking in the French muster roll,’ Tully explained. ‘The purser has a copy.’
‘Does he, indeed? He did not tell me that. And why were you looking at it?’
‘A natural curiosity. Also, if we are to live in such close proximity with sixty-six Frenchmen, I would prefer to know something of their history.’
‘And is there any cause for alarm?’
‘I think not. Most of them are from Brittany or the Vendée.’
This would explain their reluctance to return to France. Both regions had risen in rebellion against the Revolutionary government and had been brutally repressed. Nathan had some personal knowledge of this which even now caused him some pain. But from a practical point of view, they probably hated the present French government even more than Nelson did.
‘You sent for me, sir?’
‘Ah, Mr Troy, come in, come in. Take a seat, take a seat.’ Nathan realised, a little too late, that the grand surroundings were having the undesirable effect of making him appear grand. He would be strutting about like Old Jarvey next. He quite liked Troy, from what he had seen of him. He seemed to have been running the ship more or less single-handedly since the first lieutenant had gone off on his jaunt. Admittedly, he had the support of one other lieutenant – or rather acting lieutenant, Mr Bowyer – but here Nathan was less impressed. Bowyer had been a midshipman well into his thirties, having failed several examinations for lieutenant, and Nathan was inclined to think he had been promoted out of necessity, rather than from any show of promise on his part. But Nathan had only known him a few hours; the man was probably nervous.
Troy, too, was nervous, but at least he was not gibbering. He was presentable, he had an engaging manner and, more important than either of these facilities, he appeared to know what he was talking about. But it was time he came clean about the first lieutenant, and Nathan was not prepared to put up with any more nonsense about rudder braces. Perhaps a touch of Old Jarvey was not misplaced.
‘Everything seems to be in very good order, considering,’ he said, with a careless wave at the purser’s papers. ‘But I am more than a little concerned at the continuing absence of Mr Joyce. I am very much afraid that if he has not returned by the start of the afternoon watch, we shall have to sail without him. This would have serious consequences, not only for Mr Joyce himself, but also for those who accompany him. It is quite likely that they would be classed as deserters and exposed to the full rigours of a court martial.’
Troy chewed his bottom lip. ‘But Mr Joyce is not a deserter, sir,’ he protested. ‘And the men are under his orders.’
‘Then what are his orders? Come, sir, out with it. You cannot be accused of breaking a confidence. Mr Joyce could have had no notion, when he left, that the ship was about to receive a new commanding officer – could he?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Well, then?’
Troy looked miserably at Tully who may have made some small gesture of encouragement, for after a heavy sigh he poured out the story.
‘He has gone on a pilgrimage, sir.’
If Troy had said Mr Joyce had taken up piracy, this would not have been more surprising.
‘What – to Jerusalem?’
Troy could not restrain a smile. ‘No, sir. Not quite so far, sir. He had only gone to Udvada, about a hundred miles to the north.’
‘And what is Udvada?’ He thought for a moment it might be one of the places St Thomas had visited after his arrival in India. But it had nothing to do with St Thomas, or, indeed, with Christianity.
‘It is a shrine of the Zoroastrians, sir. A fire temple. Containing the oldest burning fire in the world.’
Nathan slid his eyes over to Tully to see how he was taking this. His face was impassive. Possibly he had heard it before. ‘And who, pray, are the Zoroastrians?’
‘They are the followers of the Prophet Zoroaster, sir. Otherwise known as Zarathustra, or the Magi. He lived in Persia, in the sixth century before Christ.’
‘I see.’ This was an exaggeration. ‘However, what I do not see, Mr Troy, is why Mr Joyce has gone there.’
The troubled look returned. ‘The fact is, sir, I would rather Mr Joyce told you that.’
‘Mr Joyce is not here, Mr Troy. So I am asking you.’
‘Well, Mr Joyce is a student of the philosophies of Zoroaster, sir.’
‘A what? Who?’ Nathan shot another glance at Tully who only shrugged.
‘I believe – that is – well, his wife is a follower, sir. And I believe that – that Mr Joyce has undertaken something in the manner of a conversion.’
‘Good God. So what are the philosophies of this – Zoro – what did you call him?’
‘Zoroaster, sir. From what Mr Joyce has told me, they believe in one universal and transcendental God and in the struggle between good and evil. Between truth and order, on the one hand, and falsehood and chaos on the other. That the soul is sent into the mortal world to collect experiences of life and that the avoidance of – of such experiences – is a shirking of the moral responsibility and duty to oneself, one’s soul and one’s family.’
Nathan’s gaze was unblinking, but he felt the corners of his mouth begin to twitch. He did not dare to meet Tully’s eye. He cleared his throat.
‘But Mr Joyce is an officer of His Majesty King George …’ It was no good. A hysterical laughter bubbled up in his throat. He attempted to disguise this by a fit of coughing. A glance at Tully showed him apparently deep in thought, his chin cradled in one hand, but a certain strain about his features revealed his own inner struggle. Nathan rallied. ‘He must, by law, be a Christian. Indeed, a member of the Church of England.’
/> ‘Lieutenant Joyce would argue that being a Zoroastrian is not incompatible with membership of the Church of England, sir.’
There was a small explosion from Tully. Nathan gave in. For a moment the two officers sat silently shaking. Mr Troy watched them with concern. Nathan made another attempt at sobriety. ‘Would he, indeed? And how does he come to that conclusion?’
‘Well, sir, you may not like this, sir –’
‘Go on, Mr Troy.’ Nathan tried to ignore the strange noises from the far side of the cabin.
‘Well, sir, he argues that if killing people is accepted by the Church of England, in certain circumstances, then nothing in the Zoroastrian philosophy—’
‘Wait a minute, wait a minute.’ Nathan felt it incumbent on him to correct this delusion. ‘The Church of England does not condone killing people. Only in time of war.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘And we are presently at war with the French, who are – or at least whose government is composed of atheists and anarchists and – and—’
‘Sybarites?’ put in Tully.
Nathan quelled him with a glance. ‘I am surprised at you, Mr Troy. You seem to be sticking up for this man.’
