The Spoils of Conquest

by Seth Hunter

  At any rate, Joyce had not chosen to meet on church premises. Their rendezvous was in one of the private rooms on the first floor of a tavern down by the seafront, with a view through its windows of the shipping moored in the Roads. Nathan could just make out the vessels of his own squadron on the very edge of the crowded anchorage, over towards the mouth of the Cooum, with the Shiva tucked in between the Pondicherry and the Bombay. He would be more than happy to see her moved into the dockyard in the next hour or so, if they were to stand any chance at all of getting her ready in the three days the governor-general had allowed him.

  ‘I am delighted you were able to spare the time to call upon me,’ Joyce beamed after he had sent the potboy for some refreshments. ‘We saw you come in with the Shiva and the Falcon and could see you had been in the wars.’

  ‘I am very glad to see any friend of my mother’s,’ Nathan assured him insincerely. ‘But Mr Joyce did say you had some information concerning the Shiva which might be of interest to me.’

  ‘Indeed, sir, indeed I do. You are, I believe, presently in the service of the East India Company?’

  ‘I would not say that at all.’ Nathan shot a glance at the first lieutenant who shook his head sadly at this misapprehension. ‘It is true that I am presently in command of a squadron of the company’s ships, but I am wholly in the service of King George.’

  ‘Quite so, quite so. Indeed, I am glad to hear you make the distinction. It is one that far too many people tend to forget.’

  Nathan frowned. ‘I am not sure I take your meaning, sir.’

  ‘I mean that the interests of His Majesty and of the Honourable Company are not always in accord. Though, to hear some people talk, you would think the King and Parliament were mere instruments of company policy. However,’ he added quickly as he saw Nathan’s frown deepen, ‘I have not brought you here to give you my views on politics. I am sure you hear quite enough of that from your mother.’

  The potboy came in with a bowl of some crimson liquid very like blood, if a little on the thin side, which Joyce introduced as Stobart Gin. ‘Dutch gin mixed with pomegranate juice and sugar,’ he elaborated as he filled three cups with the ladle provided for that purpose.

  ‘Let us drink to our reunion, sir.’ He raised his cup with apparent relish. ‘And to ours, Brother William. Until this morning we had not seen each other for two years,’ he informed Nathan, ‘so my thanks to you, sir, for bringing us together again.’

  ‘I believe you must thank the French for that,’ Nathan advised him. Their encounter with the French squadron was no secret, though he must be careful to say nothing of the silver.

  ‘Well, it is an ill wind,’ remarked Joyce. ‘The Shiva, I under stand, was flying French colours when she was taken.’

  ‘This is true.’ There was no harm in confirming it. The tricolour could clearly be seen from the waterfront, with the blue ensign and the flag of the Honourable Company flying above. ‘But what, may I ask, is your particular interest in the Shiva?’

  ‘In India we say that she is employed in the country trade,’ said Joyce. ‘In England we would call her a smuggler. Or a free trader. She smuggles goods into China, did you not know that, sir?’

  ‘It had been suggested to me.’

  ‘And was it suggested to you what might be the nature of those goods?’

  ‘It was not. I am sure you can instruct me.’

  ‘Opium.’

  Nathan inclined his head in polite interest, but it did not cause him any particular disquiet. He knew that it was a prime ingredient of laudanum and that his mother considered it injurious to the health of women, but, so far as he was concerned, the Chinese were welcome to it. Just as the British were welcome to their Dutch gin and their French brandy, taxed or untaxed.

  ‘Do you know the value of the company’s exports from India to England?’ Joyce enquired in an apparent change of subject.

  ‘No idea. Substantial, I imagine.’

  ‘On the contrary. It barely covers the running costs. A few years ago the company was close to bankruptcy. What saved it was the China trade. English wool and Indian cotton in exchange for China tea, porcelain and silk. But tea was the main thing. It is said that all the wealth and power of the Honourable Company has come down to the price of a cup of tea. Until the Chinese took it into their heads to demand payment for it in silver.’

  ‘Silver?’ Nathan’s interest quickened.

  ‘Silver bullion. Shipped out from England. Which the company could ill afford. They came up with all kinds of schemes, including a plan to grow tea in India. No less an authority than Joseph Banks said it could be done, and I have no reason to doubt his opinion – it grows wild in the jungle, I am told, in parts of Assam – but in the meantime the company had no choice but to obtain it from the Chinese, and pay through the nose for it. Then some bright spark – who doubtless knew the names of the kings and queens of England way back to Alfred and his cakes – came up with a new idea. Let us sell the Chinese opium, he proposed. Let me fill your cup, sir.’

  Nathan declined. He felt the need to keep a clear head about him and it had suffered sufficient a pounding of late, what with the French and Sister Caterina.

  ‘There was already a large market for opium in China. And the company had plenty of the stuff. It is grown all over Bengal – for medicinal purposes. Bengal opium, I am told, is the best there is. So the Bengal farmers were induced to stop growing rice and wheat and whatever else they grew, and to sow their fields with poppies. But there was a problem. The Chinese Emperor does not approve of opium. Not for the masses. And who can blame him? Millions of his subjects lying comatose, mere skin and bone, no use for anything but filling a pipe and sailing down the River Lethe. No work done. The economy in ruins. So he made the trade illegal – with the death sentence for anyone caught dealing in it. And all their goods forfeit, ships and all. The company could not be doing with that. So they decided they would not trade directly in the stuff – they would sell it at auction in Calcutta, and let the buyers take the risk of smuggling it into China. But – and here’s the really clever part – the buyers had to pay for it in Canton – in silver. Which the company could then use to buy China tea. And silk and porcelain and anything else they wanted. Brilliant, was it not? No wonder they are the biggest trading company in the world. Everyone a winner – except the Chinese, of course. And the Bengal farmers who are made to grow poppies instead of food. You cannot eat opium. You cannot feed it to your children. It is only a matter of time before Bengal faces a major famine. And then the company will throw up its hands and say, “Oh, you cannot teach these people anything, they do not even know how to grow enough food to eat!”’

  Nathan was silent for a moment. Lieutenant Joyce was sitting with his hands on his knees staring out of the window at the ships in the Roads.

  ‘You make a strong case,’ Nathan agreed at length, ‘but I was never of the opinion that the East India Company was dedicated to the betterment of mankind. The world is a wicked place and the world of commerce more wicked than most. I am not a member of the London Missionary Society; I am an officer in the service of King George and until—’

  ‘But it is the interests of King George that concern me, sir – you smile, but I am not the man you knew as a schoolboy. I am a lawyer and I have been a Member of Parliament. I, too, have sworn an oath of loyalty to the King. Do you think His Majesty would approve this business if he knew of it? Do you think Parliament would?’

  ‘You will think me cynical, sir, but I do not suppose that Parliament would lose a moment’s sleep over it, not while the East India Company makes a profit and distributes some of it in their direction. And as for His Majesty, I am sorry to say that even in his right mind, he would have little regard for the affairs of the people of China.’

  ‘He would when he has to fight a war against them, with all the blood and treasure it would cost him. And believe me, that is what will happen if the East India Company is allowed to persist in this enterprise.
Besides, you are wrong about Parliament. I represent a group of members who are very much concerned with the activities of the East India Company.’

  ‘Mr Fox, I suppose, and Mr Sheridan?’

  ‘Yes, they are part of it. But so are a number of Tories. So was Edmund Burke while he lived and he was no friend to the radical cause. Burke believed that the greatest threat to Britain’s interests came from the French Revolution and the City of London. And at the heart of the City was the single most pernicious threat of all – the headquarters of the East India Company. The Spider of Leadenhall Street, as he called it, spinning its web about the globe. Not only exploiting the people of India but corrupting the entire political establishment of England.’

  Nathan sighed. ‘Well, I do not wish to argue with you, sir, or offend the ghost of Edmund Burke, but what would you have me do? I have no more influence with the Directors of the East India Company than I do with the Governor-General of Bengal, or the King of England. Far less influence than you, I suspect, and there is no other service I can do you.’

  ‘There is, as a matter of fact,’ Joyce assured him genially. ‘I need evidence of what the company is up to. Written evidence that I can present to my friends in Parliament.’

  Nathan’s expression was cold. ‘And you think I can provide you with it? I am sorry, sir, I do not know what or who can have given you that impression, but they did you a disservice.’ He glanced at Lieutenant Joyce who was still staring out to sea with a fixed expression on his face, doubtless wishing he were back with his wife and his Zoroastrians in Bombay.

  ‘I understand there were some papers taken from the Shiva …’

  Nathan stood, carefully placing his cup upon the table and picking up his hat.

  ‘I am sorry, sir, but I do not believe there is any point in continuing this discussion.’

  ‘I beg of you, do not take offence. The Shiva is a smuggler, sir, and as an officer of the Crown there are some things you should know about her. If you do not already.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Her owner is a Frenchman. Fabien Maurice de Montclair, Marquis de la Marche. He claims to be a Royalist, but he was a close friend of Paul Barras when Barras was in India and it is my belief that he is still in his service. Montclair is a soldier of fortune and an adventurer, but two years ago he set up a trading company with a licence from the Governor of Madras, taking a number of company servants as his partners. This year he bought the entire opium harvest of Bengal. Payment to be made, as usual, in silver – in Canton.’ He smiled at Nathan’s expression. ‘Now I hope you understand what a monstrous spider this is.’

  Nathan sat down again. ‘Montclair, I take it, is based in Pondicherry?’

  ‘He is, but a year ago he took the lease on an island in the Bay of Bengal. Until a year or two ago, it was used as a penal colony by the East India Company – where they could send those Indians considered a threat to their interests. Unfortunately, a good many of their own employees also died – of the fever. It is not a good place for Europeans who have no resistance to the local diseases. It was widely known as the Island of the Dead. But it suits Monsieur le Marquis very well, being sufficiently remote for him to run his business without undue interference, and conveniently close to the Strait of Malacca, which is the most direct route to China.’

  ‘And what is the name of this island? I assume the Island of the Dead is not how it is marked on the map.’

  ‘So the ship’s papers did not tell you?’

  ‘They told us nothing save the name of the ship’s captain – and that the ship was under hire to the East India Company.’

  But Nathan was wondering now, if there had been other papers that Picket was keeping to himself, until he had enjoyed a private interview with the Governor of Madras.

  ‘Well, that is interesting in itself,’ Joyce mused. He appeared to come to a decision. ‘Very well. I will tell you. It is one of the Andaman Isles, some seven hundred miles west of here. There is a natural harbour on South Andaman called Port Blair, named after the company officer who made a survey of the islands back in the eighties. If you are looking for the Marquis de la Marche and the silver you have lost – yes, I know about the silver – then you might be advised to look there before you look anywhere else. Before he pays for the company’s opium with the company’s own treasure.’

  Nathan stood up again, reaching for his hat. ‘I am indebted to you for your confidence,’ he said.

  ‘Not at all,’ replied Joyce. ‘I suppose you know how best you may repay me.’

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The Cosmic Dancer

  Nathan stood amidst the debris of the Shiva’s stern cabin as the carpenter concluded his report. It was not the most encouraging he had heard. The dockyard had done the best they could in the time available to them but in the carpenter’s opinion, it was far from good enough. The ship was, he considered, ‘barely seaworthy’.

  ‘You could say that for half the ships in the King’s Navy,’ Nathan remarked dryly, ‘it does not stop their lordships from sending them to sea.’

  Nor would it stop Nathan. The Shiva was his wild card, his one hope of evening the score, if only she could stay afloat for long enough to be of service. He gazed about the cabin, remembering that glimpse of hell afforded him during the battle. They had boarded up the shattered stern windows and reinforced the splintered planking with heavy timbers, so the only natural light now came in through the open gunports. The dismounted guns had been repaired or replaced, but even in the poor light he could see the dark stains in the deck planking from the blood that had been shed by their unfortunate crews. The bulkheads had been restored, but the oak panelling was beyond repair and the beams supporting the upper deck were riddled with shot. The cabin reeked of violent death, but probably more in his imagination than in his nostrils.

  As for the rest of the ship, to his own eye, it seemed in reasonably good shape considering the mauling it had received. They had replaced the foretopmast, patched up the sails and the rigging and fitted a new rudder. In the parlance of dockyards, they had performed miracles. But in Mr Pugsley’s view, the ship needed a complete overhaul. Either that or a merciful ending. It was forty years since she had left the Blackwall yard at Deptford and there were prison hulks in the Medway, the carpenter insisted, that were in a better condition.

  Nathan had a great respect for carpenters but they were not the most encouraging of God’s creatures.

  ‘Well, so long as she gets us to the Andamans,’ he concluded blithely. ‘And she may go out in a blaze of glory.’

  Exactly on cue there was a rumble of iron wheels on the deck above, where Mr Joyce, who had been placed in temporary command, was practising the men at the guns. He could do little more than load and run them out, as they were still within the confines of the Madras Road, but Nathan seized the excuse to end his gloomy converse with the carpenter and watch how they performed. The survivors of the Shiva’s former crew had been pressed back into the company service on the promise of a pardon if they acquitted themselves well, but to ensure their loyalty they had been joined by a company of the 33rd Foot and several hundred men of the 1st Bengal Artillery who would work the guns. Like most of his kind, Nathan was entirely prejudiced against the employment of soldiers on the great guns – it smacked of Spanish practice – but he had little choice in the matter, unless he wished to strip the rest of the squadron of their gun crews. They seemed competent enough at their drill, but it was a far cry from working the guns in action, and their only experience of the sea had been on the voyage down from Calcutta. Yet another reason to hope for calm weather on the run across the Bay of Bengal.

  Joyce declared the practice at an end and dismissed the men to their dinner. The galley stove had been spared the devastation on the gun deck – it was shielded to some extent by the bulk of the fore capstan – and at least they would have hot meals for the duration of the voyage. If they were in a fit state to eat them. The native troops had brought their own coo
ks aboard and there was a rich smell of mutton curry rising from the galley chimneys. Nathan’s stomach stirred in response, but it would be at least an hour before he could satisfy its cravings – unless he offered to sample what was on offer, to ensure it was suitable for human consumption. It was not normally within the province of a commodore, but it might be seen as a noble gesture, a sign that he had the men’s interests at heart. He wondered how he might best frame this suggestion to Joyce who was standing uneasily at his side, doubtless awaiting some remark concerning the gunnery practice they had just witnessed.

  ‘Well, they seem to know what they are about,’ Nathan conceded. ‘And you may practise with live ammunition during the voyage out. Have you been able to accommodate them to your satisfaction?’

  With well over three hundred of them crammed into a space the size of the average taproom, it was doubtful if it would be to the men’s satisfaction, but fortunately no one had consulted them in the matter.

  ‘It will take them a little while to adjust to life aboard ship,’ Joyce replied diplomatically, ‘but they are a stoical bunch and provided they have food in their bellies and a job to do, I doubt they will voice any complaint.’

  Exactly the opening Nathan required, but before he could act upon it, the lieutenant continued, ‘And the ship itself, sir? Were you satisfied with your inspection?’

  ‘More satisfied than Mr Pugsley, I think, but you know what carpenters are. He is more inclined to think her more Shiva the Destroyed than the Destroyer.’

  He thought that was rather good on the spur of the moment, but Joyce confined his mirth to a tight smile.

  ‘Shiva is, of course, a masculine deity,’ he informed Nathan diffidently. ‘And the Hindus think of him rather as the God of Transformation. He has many benevolent as well as fearsome forms. Indeed, he is sometimes depicted as the Cosmic Dancer – dancing among the stars. And in his fiercer forms he is seen as slaying demons.’