A private revenge nd-9

by Ричард Вудмен

  Convoy, escort and new arrivals lay to in a calm through the night. The continuing windlessness of the following morning, with the sea like blue steel, pricked here and there by the lifting spearheads of flying fish, allowed much boat-trafficking between the ships. Drinkwater, watching the masters rowed about the wallowing fleet, knew that tittle-tattle was being plied about, mostly pejorative to his reputation, a fact confirmed by the boats' avoidance of the Patrician.

  After an hour or so of this feeling of having been sent to Coventry, Drinkwater ordered the signal hoisted for 'all captains'. In the event only two boats pulled towards the frigate, one from the Ligonier, bearing an embarrassed Cunningham, the other from the Arrow. Cunningham made the introductions and Drinkwater was aware that, in the Company's service, the commander of an Indiaman outweighed an officer of the Marine. For this he was profoundly grateful, for the young prig seemed ready to read Drinkwater a lecture.

  ' ... And so, sir,' concluded Cunningham with a decent preamble about Drinkwater's able, though unfortunate, escort, 'Captain Hennessey here ...', Hennessey footed the meagrest of bows by way of identification, 'is of the opinion that he should take over the escort.'

  'And what is your opinion, Captain Cunningham, might I ask?'

  'Why, sir, that you continue to accompany us to Penang; only a fool would opine that your guns are not valuable.'

  There was the slightest emphasis on the word 'fool'. Clearly Hennessey was attempting to arrogate command of the escort against Cunningham's inclination. The young commander flared his nostrils in a spiritedly equine fashion, registering well-controlled indignation.

  'Well, sir, since I am ordered by Admiral Drury to command and escort this convoy, I shall continue to do so until I see it safe at anchor at Penang. Captain Hennessey and his colleagues are welcome to join us, subordinate to my command, of course.'

  It did not gratify Drinkwater to argue about such matters. The thing was plain as the nose on one's face if one took the trouble to look at it.

  'Might I ask what Captain Hennessey's orders are?'

  The young man spoke for the first time, a nasally superior voice, just as Drinkwater had expected, wondering, in an errant moment, if the salons or withdrawing rooms, or whatever they called them in Calcutta, made a point of turning out such stuffed shirts.

  'I am ordered upon a cruise, sah, reports having reached Fort Cornwallis that Dutch and French cruisers were active in the Rhio Strait. Captain Cunningham informs me that you saw nothing and passed safely through. Therefore I shall consider it my duty, there being, according to Captain Cunningham, no further trade coming down from Canton, to see these ships back to Prince of Wales Island.'

  Are you apprehensive of attack between here and Penang, sir?' asked Drinkwater.

  'I have no reason to be, but one never knows, and the Company cannot stand the loss of a second of its own ships ...'

  'Ligonier will be the only Company ship to get through from Canton, Captain Drinkwater,' broke in Cunningham, as though to add a reasonable weight to Hennessey's plan.

  'It occurs to me, gentlemen, that Captain Hennessey, with his local knowledge of these waters, might double that score and recover Guilford.'

  Cunningham and Hennessey exchanged glances; it was clear they had already discussed the matter and Cunningham's anxiety had prevailed.

  'I would go myself, but for a lack of charts,' Drinkwater added quickly. Hennessey shot him a swift glance. Was the young dandy subtle enough to spot the gauge flung at his feet? 'Is Admiral Pellew at Penang?'

  'He is expected, sah,' drawled Hennessey, speculatively, add­ing, 'I have charts, Captain Drinkwater, Dutch charts ...'

  'Perhaps you will allow me the use of them. Now I shall escort the convoy to Prince of Wales Island and then we shall see ...'

  He ushered the two men to the rail. Hennessey left first, Cunningham hanging back a little.

  'I am sorry for the outcome of all this, Captain Drinkwater. I am aware that you have done your utmost.'

  'You imply repercussions, sir. I am conscious of having done my duty. There may be a little more I can do. At any event I shall make my report to Admiral Pellew in due course.'

  'Pellew will stand by you. He is himself under attack by the merchant houses of Calcutta as well as the Company.'

  Drinkwater was close to grinning. With Dungarth dead and John Barrow hostile at the Admiralty, he expected little further employment. What did it matter if providence had made his name smell in the noses of the Court of Directors in Leadenhall Street? The baying of the Calcutta merchants could touch him very little. He longed to be home with Elizabeth and the children. 'Let us hope poor Callan survives,' he added, as Cunningham shook out the man-ropes that lay down the curve of Patrician's tumblehome.

  'Indeed,' said Cunningham, 'but I fear 'tis not Callan that will upset the Directors, but his thirty thousand sterling ...'

  'I beg your pardon?' Drinkwater's sharp interrogative held Cunningham one-footed at the rail.

  'The specie, aboard Guilford...'

  'How much, though, sir? How much did you say?'

  'Thirty thousand sterling.'

  'God's bones, the man told me three!'

  Cunningham frowned. 'Three? Three thousand? Good heavens, no. Mind you Callan was a thoughtful fellow, perhaps he did not wish to worry you.'

  Drinkwater stared after the boat as it pulled Cunningham back to the massive bulk of the Indiaman. What a bootless concern, Drinkwater thought ironically, as if anything could stop him from worrying.

  It took some eight days to work their way northwards in the capricious winds of the land-locked strait, eight days of bracing yards and tacking, of easing sheets and hauling tacks, of setting studding-sails and dousing them when they began to outrun their charges. And for Drinkwater eight days of brooding introspection. He had decided to return and make a sweep along the Borneo coast; perhaps his luck might come back and he would catch a sleeping Dutchman in a river mouth — he hardly dared hope for the recapture of Guilford. At any rate Pellew would approve, he had no need to report to the Admiral in person, merely to send in his written account via Cunningham and then turn south off Pulo Penang.

  The green and lush island hove into view at last, and the cluster of ships, steadied finally before a westerly breeze, stood north along its west coast to avoid the shoals to the south of the island.

  They bore away round Muka Head and Drinkwater stood in until he could see the low, embrasured ramparts of Fort Cornwallis commanding the anchorage on the eastern flank of the heights, between Prince of Wales Island and the mainland. Here he anchored, hoisted out all boats and divested himself of his Russian prisoners. Pellew was not at the anchorage, but a frigate was, commanded by an officer far junior to himself, who grudgingly obeyed the order by the hand of Acting Lieutenant Frey to hold the prisoners against his return. Three of the moujiks, Lithuanians from the old Duchy of Kurland, swore their oaths to King George and remained aboard Patrician.

  Drinkwater bade a civil farewell to Rakitin. The man was far gone in lethargy, a catalepsy tending, according to Lallo, to suicide and common among the Slavic peoples. Rakitin had eaten Morris's opium, but it was not the white poppy that killed him, nor remorse over his defeat. He died within a week of leaving Patrician of a cancer undiagnosed by Lallo.

  Midshipman Count Vasili Chirkov left under protest, swearing that when Patrician returned, he and Frey must settle their affair of honour. It was perhaps fortunate that Frey was employed upon his errand in another boat at the time, for Drinkwater was impatient to be gone. Frey had secured the promised charts, poor enough things by the look of them, and had filled them a few stummed casks of fresh water.

  All day Drinkwater was active on deck, aware that below Mullender and Tregembo were clearing his cabin, dislodging Morris from it and burning gunpowder within, to stum it like the water-casks of any impurities.

  'Mr Fraser, do you see the launch? Damn it. but I want to be under weigh within the hour, before sunset at the
latest ...'

  Both men strained their eyes to locate the launch amid the anchored ships and bum-boats, praus and tonkangs that teemed in the sheltered waters.

  'Beg pardon, zur.'

  Distracted, Drinkwater turned. Tregembo stood before him.

  'Well? What the devil is it now?'

  'It's Morris, zur ... he won't leave your cabin.'

  CHAPTER 14

  The Winds of Fortune

  January-February 1809

  'I can help you, Drinkwater.'

  This was a different Morris. Gone was the overt hedonist, the flaunting amoral character that sought to discomfit his old enemy. This was the wily man who had succeeded in trade, swindled or earned his enviable position at Canton and wherever else the winds of fortune had blown his perverted and unlovely carcase. Drinkwater saw, to his surprise, flashes of the old Morris he had first known, the tyrannical bully, but also the seaman and officer, the man of gentle birth whose sexual excesses, had they been discreet, might not have disturbed the outward life of a gentleman of substance and quality.

  Drinkwater thrust aside Morris's blandishments. 'I do not want you on my ship a moment longer than necessary,' Drinkwater stated bluntly.

  'But you want that Indiaman back, don't you?' Morris stood his ground. 'You are returning to search for her and have, I'll warrant, not the slightest idea where to look ...'

  'What interest can you have in the matter? You and your silver are safely here in Penang; you can leave for Calcutta with the trade, my orders were only that I should see it safely this far ...'

  'Do you think I have no interest in the specie aboard Guilford ...?'

  'You showed precious little interest in the matter at the time ...'

  'My dear Nathaniel, how you misunderstand and misjudge me. Of course I relished your embarrassment. I do not hold your values, I seek my amusements where I may find them. I do not offer my help out of friendship, you know me too well for that ... no, no ... But I do have an interest in the fate of that silver ...'

  'Well, of what help can you be? broke in Drinkwater impatiently. 'Do you know where Guilford is now? How can you? Do you know anything of this coast? And what motivates this sudden about-face, this, this impetuous urge to assist?'

  'Nathaniel, Nathaniel, your questions are too fast. Listen, I have told you, I have some interest in the silver; I alone brought it out of Canton in defiance of the Viceroy, its loss alone may be held against me, my business interests will suffer from its loss; my "face", my standing, my good name will be diminished. As to the coast, let me tell you I know both the estuaries of the Sekrang and the Sarebas Rivers, for I travelled on two Dutch ships and know them for haunts of the Sea-Dyaks.'

  'But why ... ?' Doubts assailed Drinkwater, but Morris pressed on.

  'When the Guilford was taken I was more amused by your discomfiture than the loss. Recollect how long I have waited for your humiliation. But now you are determined to return. That is a different matter. For a while we have something in common ...'

  'You are offering me ...'

  'Terms ... an alliance.'

  'God's bones ...'

  'Furthermore,' Morris persisted, 'I have charts, better charts than those there ...' Morris pointed to the half-unwound rolls of Hennessey's charts flung upon the cabin table until, later, Drinkwater could study them.

  'See ...'

  Morris turned, drawing the top off a leather tube that he took from a fold of his robe. He drew a tightly rolled paper and held it out. Drinkwater took it and opened it. It was remarkably detailed, annotated with neatly pencilled notes. He moved across to hold it in the light from the stern windows but Morris took it from him, rolling it up again with his pudgy, beringed fingers.

  'A sprat, Nathaniel, to catch the mackerel of your good favour ...'

  Drinkwater looked at Morris. The odium of him! He was almost wheedling in that mincing mode the seamen called nancying.

  'You will let me have access to those charts?' Drinkwater asked.

  'I will pilot you, using them. You need them only for the estuaries, your boats may search the edges of the swamps and mangroves.' Morris paused and Drinkwater hesitated.

  You need me, Nathaniel,' Morris said softly, almost seductively, 'you need me to rescue your reputation ...'

  It was true. Despite the doubts and uncertainties, it was true.

  'Do you think we have the slightest chance?' Drinkwater asked.

  Morris noted the plural pronoun. He had hooked his prey. He forced his features into a grave, counselling expression.

  'A good one ... with a little luck ...'

  Drinkwater prevaricated a moment longer, though both men knew his mind was made up. 'How much specie was aboard Guilford? he asked guilelessly.

  Morris shrugged. 'Oh, ten, twenty thousand perhaps, certainly ten.'

  Was the imprecision of Morris's reply sinister? And why had Callan himself lied about the amount of specie aboard his ship? For a moment or two Drinkwater stood indecisively, gauging the intentions of the man before him. He was already determined to turn back in quest of the lost ships, but he knew that he was without resources and that, intolerable though it was, Morris might be able to help. If, as he claimed, the good name of Morris himself would be impugned, then for a while they might hold something in common. Repugnant though the consideration might be to Drinkwater, honour and duty compelled him to submit to this personal humiliation in the hope of recovering the captured ships.

  Drinkwater sighed. 'Very well, I’ll give the order to weigh.'

  By the light of the candles Drinkwater studied Hennessey's charts. They were not comparable with Morris's, but adequate for strategic planning ...

  Strategic planning!

  The whole business was a mockery, a wild goose chase of the utmost folly, an attempt to save his ... what was it Morris called it? His 'face'. That barometer of a man's standing in the world. 'You need me to rescue your reputation,' Morris had said, and Drinkwater ground his teeth at being so beholden. There was a knock at the cabin door. 'Enter!'

  'You sent for me, zur?'

  'Aye, Tregembo ... what is the temper of the men? This is a testing time. Today they saw Penang and know it for an English post, now we sail south-east and only a fool knows that ain't for home.'

  'Like you said, zur, I've given out that you've to clear the Dutchies out o' the strait, zur; said you'd orders for a month's cruise and that after that the Admiral's promised to hoist his flag aboard us for passage to the Cape.'

  'Damn it, Tregembo, I didn't ask you to embroider my intention. Now you've made me a liar!'

  'I've bought ye a month, zur.'

  'Damn me!' Drinkwater's eyes met those of the old Cornishman. Yes, you have, and I thank you for it.' Drinkwater smiled. 'A month to keep us out of the Comptor, eh?'

  'It'll not come to that, zur.'

  'No.' No, it would not come to that. He no longer feared poverty, but there were other things. 'Thank you, Tregembo.' He bent over the chart, but the old Cornishman did not budge.

  'Zur ...'

  'Well, what is it?'

  'Morris, zur, don't trust him.'

  'I don't ... only I must, just a little.'

  'Zur, I knows how you judged it were that young devil that played hokey with the compass.'

  'Chirkov? Yes ... though I can prove nothing.'

  'No, zur. Mullender'll tell 'ee, though it took me long enough to get it out of him, he's the wits of a malkin, but he's certain sure it were the Russian. Mullender was in an' out, tendin' to 'em all in here.' Tregembo waved a hand about the cabin, disturbing the candle flames and making shadows leap like the spectres he invoked. 'You know 'ow 'e comes and goes silent like. He says how he saw 'em all smoking and drinking together, right little hell's kitchen they made o' this place, zur, beggin' your pardon ...'

  'Go on.'

  'The boy too, zur, that little Turk. You know what he's for?'

  'I can guess, Tregembo. Morris hasn't changed his habits.'

  "Tis w
orse than a Portsmouth knocking shop ... Mullender didn't say much. Learnt to keep his mouth shut, I s'pose, or didn't want to start Derrick a-Quakering at him ...'

  'If all he saw was Morris and Chirkov ...'

  'Not buggering, zur, though I daresay they did that too, but in conversation, zur ...'

  'Conversation?'

  'And Morris gave Chirkov a lump o' something ...'

  'A lump of opium, perhaps?'

  'Only if opium's hard enough to rattle on the deck when it's dropped, zur.'

  'The lump of lodestone?'

  'Aye ...'

  Both men looked at each other, recalling the web of intimidation and cruelty that Morris had once cast over the helpless seamen aboard Cyclops thirty years earlier.

  'So, the leopard hasn't changed his spots, has he?'

  'No, zur.'

  But why had Morris engineered such an act? The question tormented him after Tregembo had gone, and he sat slumped at the cabin table, toying with an empty glass and staring at Hennessey's charts. There was no reasonable explanation. Even though personal revenge was a powerful motive, particularly to a man as amoral as Morris, Drinkwater was convinced that Morris's pecuniary interests would have outweighed any other considerations during their passage from Canton.

  As Drinkwater wrestled with the problem he felt a rising tide of panic welling in his gut. His loneliness seemed to crush him and in his weakness he reached out for the bottle. From forward, beyond the barrier of the cabin door, came the tinny, quadruple double strikes of eight bells and he heard the ship stir as the watch changed. He withdrew his hand from the bottle and swore. He commanded a fine ship, he had sufficient fire-power at his finger-tips to bolster his courage better than any damned bottle! And he had Morris close by, damned near mewed up under lock and key.