The Spoils of Conquest

by Seth Hunter

  Nathan could think of no more intelligent response than to nod wisely. He screwed up his nose. ‘What is that smell. Not burning, I trust?’

  ‘No, that is the men’s dinner. They are having a mutton curry.’ He caught Nathan’s eye. ‘Would you like to try some while you are here?’

  Unhappily, their attention was diverted by a hail from their starboard quarter and they moved to the rail to observe a boatload of Redcoats approaching from the direction of the shore. And with them, sitting composedly at the stern, was the unmistakeable figure of Colonel Arthur Wellesley.

  ‘Good day to you, sir.’ The colonel removed the straw hat he wore in place of the customary military shako and delivered himself of a cursory bow. ‘You may remember me from our short acquaintance at the governor’s house. I have the honour of commanding the troops at your disposal.’

  Nathan’s formal congratulations masked a strong measure of disquiet. As senior naval officer he was, of course, in overall command of the operation, but in any such undertaking there was bound to be a certain overlap of authority. It was bad enough, in Nathan’s opinion, to share command with any soldier, but when that soldier was the brother of the Governor-General of Bengal, it could only add to the complications.

  ‘I trust you have not had too much trouble accommodating my troops,’ the colonel remarked, wrinkling his nose in response to the strong smell of curry.

  ‘Not at all,’ Nathan assured him, noting the use of the personal pronoun and adding it to his list of reservations. In fact, it had been as much trouble as one might expect to embark 1,500 troops with their weapons and equipment in a matter of hours. Beside the gunners, there were almost a thousand British troops from the light and grenadier companies assigned to the invasion of Mysore; young Wellesley having had his way in that, too, despite the objections of General Harris. Most of them were stowed aboard the Falcon, and the rest distributed fairly evenly about the rest of the squadron.

  ‘And how do you find the Shiva?’ enquired the colonel airily, as if he personally had been responsible for her repair.

  ‘As well as could be expected,’ Nathan replied cautiously. ‘I have just completed my inspection, and if you would care to accompany me back to the flagship, I will see to your own accommodation.’

  Wellesley would have to have the cabin so recently vacated by Caterina, which was a great inconvenience, but probably not the worst Nathan would have to endure in the days and weeks ahead.

  ‘Excellent,’ declared the colonel, ‘but first I have brought you a little gift – with the compliments of His Excellency, the Governor-General.’

  He stretched a languid hand and received a rolled-up document from one of his aides which he presented to Nathan with a small inclination of the head. For a moment, Nathan thought it was a knighthood or some such honour at the governor-general’s disposal. It was not. It was a chart – of the Andaman Isles.

  ‘Made in the year ’89 for the East India Company,’ Wellesley informed him. ‘I am told you will find it superior to the one you took from the Shiva.’

  Nathan noted the name of Lieutenant Blair at the top – the officer Neville Joyce had told him about who had made the first survey of the islands. The port that now bore his name was a large indent on the eastern coast of South Andaman. A natural harbour projecting inland for a distance of about five miles, roughly the shape of a monkey hanging from a branch and reaching down with one long, grasping paw. There were no buildings marked, but careful soundings had been taken and there was a detailed note of the depths all around the coast and in the harbour itself. It was, as Wellesley had indicated, greatly superior to the chart they had taken from the Shiva.

  ‘This will do very well,’ Nathan remarked, rolling it up again. ‘The only problem with it, is that it is does not show us if the French are there. Or what defences they may have at their disposal.’

  ‘Well, I expect we shall find that out when we get there,’ declared the colonel complacently. ‘Maps are all very well, but there is nothing like seeing the place for yourself.’ He raised his weathered countenance to the heavens as if daring them to oppose this ambition. ‘Let us hope the weather is on our side.’

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The Bay of Bengal

  The cyclone struck on the third day out of Madras. In the manner of cyclones it delivered a series of warnings before falling upon them, as if it knew they could take all the precautions in the world without in the least altering their fate.

  The first, for Nathan at least, was when he went out onto the stern gallery towards the middle of the first watch. There was a moderate swell running but nothing out of the ordinary and the rest of the squadron was ploughing along quite steadily in their wake with a cable’s length between each ship. The sky was clear with a great panoply of stars, and though the wind had freshened somewhat in the last hour or so, they were holding steady on a course east-south-east without the necessity of taking in sail. They would soon have to wear ship but at their present rate, Nathan reckoned they should sight the more southerly of the Andamans before nightfall upon the following day.

  The Shiva was the next ship in line and she appeared to be riding the swell quite comfortably with no more than a creamy moustache of spray at her bow, the pale figure of the Archangel Gabriel, or, as he was now known, the Cosmic Dancer, clearly visible in the moonlight. Nathan experienced a momentary sense of unease, not quite a premonition but not far from it. It was bad luck to change the name of a ship and it had happened to two of the ships in the squadron. Changing the Hannibal to the Pondicherry was bad enough, but the Gabriel to the Shiva smacked of deliberate provocation. He found himself thinking of his old friend and servant, Gilbert Gabriel, and wondering where he was now and whether he could see the stars as clearly as Nathan could, or whether he was rotting in some Venetian prison, or long removed from the torments and afflictions of mankind.

  He put the thought aside and began to relieve himself, steadying himself with one hand on the balustrade and taking care to aim between the rails so as not to splash his boots. He was gazing idly at the night sky when, somewhat to his consternation, the stars went out, one by one, as if they had been snuffed.

  Besides some divine intervention, which he dismissed as far too much of a coincidence, it could only be caused by the rapid onset of cloud – and an enormous cloud at that, for there was now not a single star to be seen.

  He had seen something like this before, just once in the Caribbean, when it had presaged the advance of a hurricane. They did not have hurricanes in the Bay of Bengal but they had something very like them, and they were invariably preceded by a strong swell.

  Making his excuses to the colonel he betook himself to the quarterdeck to find Tully in consultation with the sailing master and the officer of the watch. They were all of the same opinion. They were in for a blow, and in this part of the world, at this season of the year, it was likely to be violent. And with that, the first drops of rain began to fall upon the decks.

  Tully took the usual precautions. The watch was summoned from below and all hands were put to taking in sail, sending down the topgallant masts, rigging preventer braces on the lower yards and doubling any gear that might conceivably part. The guns were lashed fore and aft, cow fashion, against the inner planking, and the ports themselves secured with port-bars caulked with oakum.

  There was now a considerable swell running but the wind was by no means alarming and, considering the ship was in good hands, Nathan took to his cot on the very sensible grounds that if the weather turned as bad as they expected it was likely to be the last sleep he would have in some days.

  He awoke halfway through the morning watch, with a grim, grey light filtering into his cabin and the sound of heavy rain drumming upon the skylight. The swell had increased considerably but the real shock was the barometer. It had fallen so far during the night he suspected a fault, but no amount of tapping upon the glass could shift its stubborn level and he pulled on his tarpaulins with the grim e
xpectation that it would be some while before he took them off again.

  When he emerged on to the quarterdeck it was to observe a very different sea from the day before. The waves had increased considerably in size and they were covered in white caps, with streaks of foam skimming across the surface of the ocean like grim outriders of an advancing army. Looking up, he saw that the low clouds seemed to be keeping pace with them, and the wind that drove them both was whistling through the rigging, bringing heavy gusts of rain.

  Tully had taken in all but three staysails and a single reefed topsail on the mainmast – his favourite rig for facing down a storm – but Nathan doubted if they would endure for long. His own preference was for running before the wind, scudding under bare poles or with the barest scrap of canvas on the main topmast in an attempt to keep the ship steady. But with the wind in its present quarter this would take them far from where they wished to go, and clearly Tully was of the opinion that this would be to throw in the towel before they had been battered sufficiently to warrant it. He had four men at the helm, fighting to keep her steady into the howling wind.

  Nathan looked for the rest of the squadron – and found them spread out over a mile of ocean with no pretence now of sailing in line ahead. His eyes sought out the Shiva, the most vulnerable of them. She had set the same storm sails as the Cherry, but she was struggling badly, rolling so far that her lower yards were almost in the sea, and the figurehead at her prow was now obliterated by spray. She should take in all but the foresail, Nathan thought, and try to hold her own against the wind. But there was no signal he could devise to convey this opinion, and in any case, he must leave it to Joyce now. He must leave it to all of them.

  He spent the rest of the day on deck, a lonely, hunched figure at the rear of the quarterdeck. He was no use to man nor beast, but he felt it gave Tully some moral support – and he was there to be consulted if needs be. Rarely had he felt so miserable or so alone. All his endeavours were at the mercy of the wind. But then they always had been; the wind and the sea and an impenetrable destiny.

  He could not think of destiny. The wind and the sea were enough to be going on with; they were certainly frightening enough. The wind was now a legion of demons, howling through the rigging; the grey-green sea a frenzy of monstrous waves, sweeping the decks fore and aft. He could see nothing now of the rest of the squadron. He could only hope they were keeping station, or still afloat. He had appointed a rendezvous in case of separation – in Hut Bay off Little Andaman, the most southerly of the islands. His great fear, though, was that if they held to their present course they should run upon the Nicobars, the neighbouring archipelago to the south. But given the present fury of the waves, they might founder long before that.

  Tully had taken in the staysails – as Nathan had known he must – and they were now barely holding their way under a single goosewinged topsail, the weather side made fast and the lee clew set. But even with that little scrap of canvas, there was a very great danger they would be taken aback, driven backwards on themselves, when the very least they might expect was to lose the rudder.

  He wondered how the Shiva was faring. The soldiers would be battened down below decks, in a hellhole beyond their imagining, until now. Three hundred men rolling in their own stinking piss and vomit. Jesus. And how she would roll. Every roll must appear to be her last, at least to them. They were Mohammedans. Faithful sons of the Prophet in a ship that had once been called the Angel Gabriel and was now named after a Hindu God. Shiva the Destroyer, or the Cosmic Dancer, as Joyce would have it; it was all the same to them. He had done for them with his dancing.

  Tully came to him. The ghost of Tully, his features drawn, his face streaming with water and a trickle of blood from a cut on his temple. He shouted in Nathan’s ear – it was barely possible to hear a word, even this close, but Nathan gathered he was suggesting he go below. Nathan shook his head firmly. The next question was unbelievable and Nathan had to ask him to repeat it.

  ‘Shall I set you a chair?’

  ‘A chair? Here? In this?’

  ‘We can lash it to the deck for you.’

  ‘No. The men have enough to do, to keep the ship afloat.’

  Tully had sent the off-duty watch below – there was no point in keeping them on deck – but it would be scant relief for them. Everything swimming in water, the galley fires doused, no hot food, the ship rolling like a barrel and the water with it. Nathan would rather be on deck.

  Suddenly, towards the end of the afternoon watch, the wind began to slacken. The sky was brighter. The rain stopped and the clouds began to break. There was even a glimpse of blue sky. It was like a miracle. The wind fell to a near calm and huge walls of cloud appeared on all sides, brilliant white in the sunshine. The air was warm and humid. Every man on deck stood staring about them, almost in wonderment. There were even smiles, bewildered, wondering smiles. Nathan caught Tully’s eye. No smiles there. They had reached the eye of the storm. Or rather it had reached them. It was a pause, not an ending.

  The wall of cloud was moving towards them from the north-east and soon it had enveloped them. And as the sky darkened, the wind and the rain returned as violently as before.

  And so they battled through the night. All hands now were either on deck or at the pumps fighting to keep the ship afloat, for there was above a foot of water in the well and the ship felt dangerously sluggish to Nathan. When she rolled, a huge weight of water rolled with her, and he could feel her struggling to come up: the old lady wondering if it was worth the effort, and could she not just roll over and die? And all these human parasites aboard, striving not to let her. He lent a hand at the pumps himself, to encourage the men, and for something to do. Anything to feel he might make some contribution, no matter how small, to his own fate.

  They lost two men overboard during the night. There was no possibility, of course, of lowering a boat. A lifebuoy had been made fast to the deep-sea lead-line and secured aft to offer a last chance to a man in the water, but in the darkness and in such waves, it was of little use. Nathan stayed on deck with Tully through the long, lonely night. He was practically asleep on his feet, his fingers clasped tight around the knife in his pocket in case he was obliged to cut the lifeline about his waist. He could think of no reason why this might be necessary. If the ship were to founder, he would drown with it, for there was no swimming in that sea, and nowhere to swim to, though he still feared the islands in the darkness ahead and the terrible sound of the sea beating upon the rocks.

  Dawn brought some relief. The rain now came in gusts and the wind was dropping with each passing squall. The sky was rising, and so was the barometer, as fast as it had gone down. By mid-morning the clouds were breaking into fragments and becoming whiter. The waves were still large and capped with white foam, but the wind was steadily dropping. Tully clapped on more sail – the staysails reappeared and even a reefed foresail. But there was not a single ship in sight, in all the vast, turbulent ocean.

  At noon they sent the hands to dinner – and their first hot meal for several days. Nathan was invited to join the officers in the wardroom and though it was a simple meal of beef hash and pease pudding, washed down with a small beer, it tasted better than any banquet. He joined in the grace with more sincerity than usual.

  They reached the rendezvous early in the morning of the sixth day out of Madras. The sky was a cloudless blue, the sea almost calm, gently caressing the rocks Nathan had so feared during the storm. The island was a mass of forest and foliage, rising to a height of several hundred feet, alive with the sounds of birds and monkeys. A stream could be seen tumbling down to the beach. It was a perfect tropical anchorage. All it lacked was ships.

  And then they came, one by one over the course of the next two days, like Mary’s little lambs, dragging their tail of boats behind them. Bedraggled, broken, missing bits of mast and yard, and one – the Eagle – with her bow sprit snapped right off at the stump, but in good shape, considering what they had been through. Al
l but one. The Shiva.

  By the end of the second day, when she still had not come, Nathan held a council of war in the stern cabin of the Pondicherry.

  There was no question, of course, but that they must press on with their mission. They still had five ships – and a thousand troops. The loss of the Shiva was a blow, but it was not decisive. It was quite possible that the cyclone had done as much damage to their opponents, even in their anchorage on South Andaman – if they were still there. If it had not, well, he would be heavily outgunned but their lordships of the Admiralty had never accepted that as an excuse for ducking a fight, and nor would the Governor-General of Bengal.

  ‘At first light I propose to sail the squadron to the main group of islands,’ he announced. ‘We will moor in the lee of Havelock Island to the north-east of Port Blair.’ He pointed it out on the chart. ‘And if Colonel Wellesley is in agreement, he and I will go ashore in the cutter and see what awaits us there.’

  Wellesley nodded. But many of his men needed at least a day to recover from the effects of sea sickness, he said. Most of his officers appeared to be in a similar plight, and even Wellesley himself looked a lot less cocky than he had in Madras.

  ‘You shall have at least a day,’ Nathan pointed out, ‘while we are making our reconnaissance.’

  There was the usual quibbling over details. Details which amounted to very little compared to the abiding question of whether the enemy would still be there. Nathan felt an unfamiliar apathy. Or rather, the kind of apathy he felt after a battle, rather than before it. Possibly he was drained by the storm. He felt the loss of the Shiva keenly. It might not be crucial but it was, he thought, ill-omened. He suspected that he had made the wrong decision in waiting for her to be repaired in Madras – and that everyone present knew it. If they had sailed three days before, they would have reached the islands just before the storm broke – though, of course, this might have been worse than meeting it on the open seas. But he felt as if nothing he could do was right, as if he was pursued by a malignant fate and nothing would prevail against it.