A private revenge nd-9

by Ричард Вудмен

  Morris's forbidden passion had awakened sympathetic lusts elsewhere on board, to become not a secret cabal which might have existed undetected by authority, but a hell's kitchen that dealt in intimidation and murder. It was whispered that sodomy was as old as the Bible; that some men deprived of any outlet for physical passion would inevitably be seduced by its specious attractions to relieve the misery of their lives aboard a man-of-war. Some such men might be forgiven the aberration if it impinged on no one unwillingly, whatever the raillings of the Articles of War. But Morris had made of his vice a weapon with which to terrorise, a means by which to indulge and fulfil a cruel megalomania. At the end of the affair, when he had been tactfully dismissed from the ship to avoid scandal, Morris had laid the blame on unrequited love. The thought still appalled Drinkwater.

  'You sired siblings on your Elizabeth then.' Morris nodded at the portraits on the forward bulkhead. The indelicate remark presumed the familiarity of old friendship.

  'You presume too much. Hold your tongue here!'

  'Ah, I forgot. Captain Drinkwater commands here.' The sarcasm was as smooth as the yellow silk robe Morris wore. 'But I am beyond your orders, muy Capitán. I am no longer in your navy. I resigned my commission from His Britannic Majesty's illustrious service. I am passed far beyond you and your lash.'

  'Two boxes of specie do not purchase you immunity from authority,' Drinkwater cautioned, a horrible thought occurring to him of Morris and Rakitin in some unholy confederacy, combining with the disaffected elements of his tired and impatient crew. Morris smiled, unconcerned at Drinkwater's attitude.

  'I have taken some insurance. More specie went aboard Guilford. Odious though it may seem to you, my arrival at Calcutta will be expected. You will have to attend to your duty most assiduously in respect of the Guilford, my dear fellow. As for me, I will not insist that you pander to my every whim; I doubt, candidly, that you would be able to ...'

  Drinkwater stood stock-still, half listening to Morris's baiting sarcasm. He could see, beyond the rim of the table, the lip of the half-opened drawer where, prior to his arrival, it was clear Morris had been inspecting the contents of his journal. He opened his mouth to inveigh further, but thought better of it. A knock sounded on the cabin door. Midshipman Dutfield announced Lieutenant Fraser's compliments and the intelligence that they were approaching the Bogue.

  'Very well, Mr Dutfield, I will be up directly.'

  'A handsome young man, Captain.' Morris's laughter followed Drinkwater in his retreat to the quarterdeck.

  Lieutenant Quilhampton flung his hat on his cot and wrenched at the stock about his thin neck. He turned to find Tregembo at the door of his tiny cabin. 'May I speak with 'ee, zur?'

  'What the devil is it, Tregembo?'

  'Do 'ee know who's come aboard, zur?'

  'You mean that fat mandarin is, or was, Commander Morris? Aye, I know, and I doubt the captain is much pleased about the matter ... why?'

  Quilhampton stared at the old Cornishman. He had never seen the weather-beaten face seamed with so much anxiety.

  'Zur, forgive me for saying so, 'tis more than a fancy, but you only remember that bugger from the Hellebore ...'

  'I mind enough that he was an evil sod with one of the midshipmen there ...'

  'No,' interrupted Tregembo urgently and lowering his voice, 'I mean more'n that, zur; I mind him from way back on the old Cyclops, zur. 'E swore then as how he'd spavin the Cap'n, zur, and I know, zur, I feels it now as he's come to do just that.'

  Quilhampton frowned. 'Spavin? You mean ruin Captain Drinkwater? How can he do that? You ain't suggesting this counterfeit mandarin fellow knew who commanded this ship? Come, come, Tregembo, I understand your dislike of matters as they stand, but he's clearly been engaged in trade and wants to leave Canton ... anything else is sheer foolish conjecture.'

  Tregembo opened his mouth, shut it and stared at the lieutenant.

  'Beg pardon for troubling you, zur.' And he left Quilhampton staring at the closed door.

  Morris had been put in command of the brig Hellebore at Mocha, at the end of 1799, or beginning of 1800, he could not quite recall. He had superseded Commander Griffiths, killed in action, and had relieved Lieutenant Drinkwater of his temporary command. Quilhampton remembered Morris getting the step in rank that properly belonged to Drinkwater. Surely that fact would atone for any earlier disagreement between the two men? Doubtless so partisan a champion of Drinkwater as Tregembo would see such a miscarriage of justice in an unfavourable light as far as Morris was concerned. But he remembered other things too; those rumours about Morris that concerned allusions of sodomy with one of the midshipmen, and the scuttlebutt that the surgeon and his woman, a convict they had rescued from an open boat, had been poisoning Morris.*(See A Brig of War.) He had dismissed it at the time; young Midshipman Quilhampton had not then learnt the extent of the perfidy of ordinary mortals.

  Was there something in Tregembo's alarum? Or was the old man a victim of senility, of over-anxiety on behalf of his master?

  Of course, that was it! He was known to be jealous of his assumed influence over the captain. So what if he remembered the petty squabbles between a pair of midshipmen in an ancient and long-rotten frigate? Lieutenant Quilhampton shrugged off the matter and bellowed at the wardroom messman to fetch him a basin of warm water from the galley. While he waited he fell to calculating how long it would be before he might present himself in the Edinburgh drawing-room of Mistress Catriona MacEwan and whether, after so long a commission, he had accrued sufficient funds to take a wife.

  Drinkwater's thoughts were hardly on the convoy he was marshalling off the Bogue. Patrician lay with her sails clewed up, only her mizen topsail still sheeted home and backed against its mast. Above his head a flutter of bunting tested his signalling system and already, in conformity with his orders, boats from the various ships were converging on the frigate. First to arrive was Phaeton's, to collect his final despatch to Admiral Drury. Her midshipman was of the same age as her commanding officer.

  'Tell Captain Pellew that I'd be obliged if he would stand to the southward in company until sunset tomorrow.'

  'Very well, sir.'

  'And that I shall discharge him from his obligation at that lime by a gun and the union at the foremasthead.'

  'Union at the foremasthead ... aye, aye, sir.'

  Drinkwater turned to greet Callan. 'I did not expect you would come in person, Captain Callan,' he remarked, surprised.

  'I do not think you understood my hail in the river, Captain Drinkwater, but I loaded several chests of specie from a junk, sent by order of the Hong without guard to avoid rousing the suspicions of the Imperial Customs. I counted the amount, ten thousand taels less a few score, some three and a half thousand sterling at seven shillings the liang. I think Drury and the Selectmen should be informed.'

  'I agree. I have sent the substance of your news by Phaeton's boat.'

  'You have?'

  Drinkwater nodded. 'I also shipped specie, though I have not counted it, two chests.'

  Callan's eyes lit up. 'By God, Captain, we've done it! The Hong must be under diabolical pressure ...'

  'Captain Callan,' Drinkwater broke in, 'I'm not certain you are correct. It is my understanding that the removal of the specie may not necessarily have been with the full approbation of the Hong. It was brought off by a European, a man in mandarin costume named, I believe, Mister Morris ...'

  Callan's expression darkened and his forehead furrowed. 'Morris? You say "brought off", is he here, on board?'

  'In my cabin,' Drinkwater nodded.

  'I must speak with him ...'

  'One moment,' Drinkwater restrained Callan. 'What d' you know of him?'

  Callan reflected a moment. 'He is a man of irregular habits, Captain, not approved of by society in Calcutta, but not unknown in these parts. He was ostracised to Canton but was undeniably successful as a man of business, holding high influence over certain of the native houses in Calcutta, Rangoon
and now, here, in China.'

  'If by "irregular habits" you refer to the sin of Sodom, I take it you forgive him on the grounds that you and your colleagues find his acumen of use to you.'

  The veiled sarcasm in Drinkwater's voice stung Callan, who flushed. 'This is the east, Captain, things are not ordered here the way they are in England.'

  'Come, come, sir,' said Drinkwater acidly, relieving himself of some of the bile formed by the encounter with Morris, 'it is unfair to suggest that Mr Morris's pederasty is unique to the orient. You find him useful, that I understand ...'

  'Captain, you are under a misapprehension if you consider men of trade to be inferior to men of your warlike stamp ...'

  'I infer no such imputation, Captain Callan. I simply remark upon your tolerance. Mr Morris does not strike me as a man upon whom, sodomite or not, I would put the least reliance.'

  Drinkwater paused, he did not want to give Callan the information that he and Morris were old acquaintances. 'Well, perhaps I am wrong. He brought off the silver and has redeemed the trade for this year, at least. Tell me, whence did he come? Is he Country born?'

  'No ... he came out in an Indiaman from the Cape, found employment in the Marine at Bombay, but shortly afterwards resigned. There was a whiff of scandal, I believe. I first knew him some six years ago when he arrived at Calcutta. He caused a flutter then for appearing in native costume. Shortly afterwards he moved to Rangoon on behalf of some Parsee interests, and then here, to Canton. But I must see him ...'

  Callan went below, escorted by Belchambers to admit him past the marine sentry. Drinkwater was fully occupied himself as officers, mates and a master or two came aboard from the merchant ships. Patiently he answered their questions and issued his last-minute orders. Chiefly he impressed upon them the necessity of keeping in company and of not passing the Rhio archipelago without escort, for which purpose he named Pulo Tioman the rendezvous. Few demurred, only an officer off the Ligonier, with Guilford the only other Indiaman, objecting on the grounds of delay, while the second mate of a Country brig, the Hormuzeer, claimed his ship was swift enough to outrun even the fastest cruiser the French could send against them.

  'Well, sir,' Drinkwater replied testily, 'the responsibility for his vessel lies undisputedly with your master, but if I were he I would prefer the company of others to the risk of isolation.'

  The man went off grumbling and Drinkwater turned away, only to be confronted with Callan. 'Have you answered the purpose of your visit?' he asked the India officer.

  'Yes, thank you. I am not certain I trust him, Captain Drinkwater, but he has shown me accounts which indicate the money is indeed from the Hong in just and equitable payment of debts. I would like to believe him ...'

  'What possible advantage could he derive from the matter, his having admitted the sums to you?'

  Callan shrugged. 'That is what makes me uneasy; on the face of it I cannot see any.'

  'Then perhaps he will be content with a commission. Did you ask him from what he was running?'

  'Why he abandoned his post at Canton?'

  'Yes.'

  'He volunteered that he was in danger of his life after the repulse of Admiral Drury and on account of the disfavour in which the native Chinese presently hold Europeans ... but that will pass', Callan added, 'the minute their supply of opium is throttled.'

  'Nevertheless, he himself may well be in fear of some retribution.' Drinkwater did not know why he sprung thus to Morris's defence. Perhaps, he thought, as Callan summoned his boat, because at the back of his mind was a suspicion forming that was too dark, too terrible and too preposterous to be anything other than the invented phobia of a disturbed mind.

  CHAPTER 8

  Fair Winds and Foul Tempers

  December 1808

  It was symptomatic of the confusion in Drinkwater's mind caused by the presence of Morris that he forgot the matter of the deserters during Callan's visit. Fraser reminded him later that day, asking also if he felt well.

  'Quite well, thank you,' Drinkwater replied tartly, 'do I give you the impression otherwise?'

  Fraser almost visibly quailed: 'I had it in mind that you were not yourself, sir ...'

  'Then who the devil should I be, eh?'

  'I beg your pardon, sir ...'

  'Damn it, Fraser, I beg yours. Yes, I'm deuced distempered and out at all elbows with a festering passenger occupying my cabin. Needs must when the devil drives and the ship is so overcrowded, but tell Marsden I want the place screened ... decently too, no parish-rigging, but a decent slat-and-canvas job.' Drinkwater paused, judging how far he could take Fraser into his confidence. 'That man is to be allowed as little liberty as possible. His boy-servant will attend his needs and he will be permitted the freedom of the quarterdeck only when I give my permission and at no time in the hours of darkness. He will dine at my table, damn it, and I shall be consulted in all matters concerning him. Mount is to advise his sentries of this. The invitation of the wardroom is not to be extended to him.'

  'Aye, aye, sir ... er, may I ask why you ... ?'

  'No, sir, you may not. You have your orders, now attend to them.'

  'Very well, sir ... and what about Chirkov?'

  Drinkwater swore. 'We are down by the head with idlers, damn it! Send Mr Comley to the gunroom, Fraser, and in the presence of all its inhabitants have him administer a dozen stripes of his cane. Let's have done with that young gentleman once and for all!'

  'And the deserters, sir? Word has it that the people know their whereabouts and ...'

  'And ... ?'

  'Begging your pardon, sir, but that you do too.'

  Drinkwater stared at his first lieutenant. Fraser was a good, competent officer. Drinkwater had taken him as a favour to Lord Keith and though there was not the intimacy that existed between the captain and Quilhampton, there was a strong sense of mutual regard between them. He had never known Fraser attempt to meddle with his own method of command before, yet here was a direct, if obscure, inference.

  'Go on, Mr Fraser, and do stop begging my pardon; you are, after all, the first lieutenant.'

  Fraser's diffidence seemed to slip from him, and Drinkwater mentally reprobated himself for his cross-grainedness. He sometimes forgot the age difference between himself and his officers and the intimidating effect it could have on their confidences.

  'Well, sir, I got wind o' scuttlebutt that the people had heard you knew the whereabouts o' the deserters ...' (How? Drinkwater asked himself. Not Tregembo, certainly; perhaps Mullender or the Quaker Derrick, whose loyalty lay closer to his moral creed than any imposed regulations of the Admiralty.) '... and that you wouldn't reclaim them on account o' the fact that you didna' want trouble.'

  'I see. But such an assumption of weakness might provoke trouble nevertheless.'

  'Aye, sir, that's true,' said Fraser, relieved that the captain took his point.

  Drinkwater recalled his remark to Callan about not wanting to disaffect the men when the ship was idle. Misinterpretation of such a speech was not surprising. He still had Phaeton in company, he could alter course for Macao and arraign the recaptured deserters before a court martial which would assuredly hang them. Or he could affect to ignore the matter a while longer, and deal with it when he judged proper.

  'I shall recover the deserters tomorrow, Mr Fraser, if the sea permits it. In the meantime deal with Midshipman Chirkov and get Marsden to rig up those screens.'

  In the gloom of the gunroom, lit by the grease-dips' guttering flames, the Patrician's midshipmen stood alongside their Russian counterparts. In the main they had got on well together. Frey, partly by virtue of his personality, partly by his acting rank, was the acknowledged senior, and there was some evidence that Chirkov was not liked by the other Russians on account of his overwhelming idleness. There was, therefore, no particular objection to the first lieutenant's announcement of the punishment, nor any move to release Chirkov when he struggled, protesting the indignity of being held by two of Comley's mates
. It was no fault of the other midshipmen, British or Russian, if Chirkov failed to understand that he was being let off lightly, given what amounted to a private punishment on a crowded man-of-war, rather than the spectacular public humbling of being beaten over the breech of a quarterdeck carronade.

  Comley laid on over Chirkov's breeched backside to the count of twelve, and when he marched his mates out of the cockpit he respectfully touched his hat to them all. 'Gentlemen ...' he said.

  'There, sir,' Frey remarked reasonably to the straightening Chirkov who was choking back tears of rage, pain and humiliation, 'you have had the honour of a thrashing from one of His Britannic Majesty's bosuns, he is senior to you and therefore your submission is without prejudice to your character as an officer.'

  Grins greeted this droll speech, but its humour was lost on Chirkov.

  'A Mister Bosun is not superior to a Russian Count,' he hissed.

  'Perhaps not, sir,' replied Frey quickly, 'but he is most assuredly superior to a midshipman.'

  'Particularly a Russian midshipman,' added Belchambers boldly.

  Enraged, Chirkov turned on the diminutive Belchambers, but the boy adroitly dodged him and the sudden movement sent agonies of pain through Chirkov's buttocks. As Belchambers slipped past his would-be assailant and made for the companionway to the deck, Frey, Dutfield and the rest barred his retreat. Chirkov was faced with an unsmiling wall of bodies.

  'You deserved it, Count Chirkov,' said Frey, 'recall you are a prisoner of war. You would do best to forget the matter. I can assure you that Captain Drinkwater has dismissed it from his mind.'

  'What do I worry about your Captain Drinkwater's mind? Captain Drinkwater can go to the devil! I am insulted. I cannot call for satisfactions from Mister Bosun but I can from you!' Chirkov rammed a finger into Frey's face. 'You are only acting lieutenant, you are challenged!'