And when that happened so competent an officer would have all his larboard broadside guns manned, Kite realised suddenly with a sinking of the heart. Would Harper never be ready? Why had he not set things in motion five minutes earlier? Yet he must hold both his hand and his tongue. It would do no good hurrying Harper, for if the halliards failed to run, it would all be wasted!
‘Ready, Cap’n!’
When it did come, Harper’s report took him off-balance. The mate stood himself at the main throat halliard, staring expectantly aft and Kite could see his eyes were staring past himself, fixed on the tall white pyramid of sails that drew above the starboard quarter of the schooner.
‘Very well,’ Kite said, his voice cracking. He ran his tongue over his dry lips and swallowed hard. His mouth was quite dry. Beside him he could hear Sarah’s laboured breathing. He coughed to clear his throat. ‘Stand-by!’ he called then, giving one glance astern he shouted: ‘Let fall all!’
Kite waited, poised. He must not throw the helm over until the wind was out of the heavy gaff sails, for a gybe would be fatal and he had no room to turn to starboard. Suddenly the tautly curved sails began to loose their beautiful, aerofoil shape. Instead they bellied and flapped. Aloft the gaffs of the fore and mainsails came down with a run. At the same instant the booms dropped to the extent of the topping lifts with a jar that shook the vessel. The main topsail sheet had been let to fly and the end flogged madly and unrove from the block on the extremity of the main gaff, but the sail it had been controlling flogged impotently, depriving the schooner of its power. On the foremast the upper yards ran down the topmast and landed on the caps with dull thuds and although there was a cry of warning from forward, where clearly something had snagged, Spitfire seemed to decelerate with such speed that Kite felt himself almost pitched forward. It was an illusion born of the tensing of his body against the tiller as he awaited the precise instant when he and Sarah must act decisively.
‘Now! Hard over!’ he grunted through gritted teeth, heaving at the tiller and dragging it to starboard. He felt Sarah throw her own weight against the heavy timber and the deck tilted as the schooner spun on her heel, carrying her way into the violent turn.
Holding the tiller over, Kite roared for all hands on deck to make sail on the larboard tack and only then did he look at the frigate. The French man-of-war raced past, her canvas towering against the blue sky, her gingerbread work and gilding gleaming in the brilliant sunshine as the long dark streak of her gunwhale, sandwiched between the golden strakes of her topsides, drew past. Kite afterwards nursed two distinct images amid that blur of impressions as the big cruiser tore past them. One was the crowd of men forward which seemed to dissolve as they streamed aft as if to keep pace with the Spitfire. Although these men and their mates already stationed round the guns loosed off a rolling but desultory broadside at the schooner, it was clear that they had no intimation of Kite’s stratagem and although men had been stationed at the frigate’s guns, they had been relaxed and unexpectant. Kite was never clear how many guns fired at them, nor was he aware of the shot passing clear over their heads. Others afterwards told of eight, twelve or twenty discharges, though how a man could have counted up to twenty in those fleeting seconds was inexplicable. Much later they found a graze in the main topmast that so weakened the spar that it had to be sent down, but in those moments Kite was only impressed by the second impression, the sight of the French commander, standing up on a gun, one hand holding onto a backstay. Splendid in a blue, gold laced coat with red facings, Kite’s opponent waved a plumed tricorne hat. Kite remembered raising his own hand and the feeling of trembling excitement that crept like a galvanic shock up and down his spine at this futile but courteous gallantry so that inexplicable tears started in his eyes.
And then he was hauling the tiller amidships and screaming out for the fore and aft sails to be hoisted again and the topsail yards to be braced sharp up. ‘Larboard tack!’ he roared again, ‘larboard tack!’
The schooner trembled as she bucked round into the sea and the sails flogged wildly, transmitting their frustrated energy into the hull as the watch below tumbled up and lent their weight to the men struggling to rehoist the sails they had just doused.
Within a few moments the Spitfire’s unruly canvas had been reharnessed as the sheets were trimmed. She stood away to the north north west, dipping into a head sea and lifting the spray over her weather bow. Even the square topsails were redrawing, their weather leaches trembling as the yard lifts were trimmed. Only the main gaff topsail still flogged as Harper sent a man aloft to catch the sheet, and walk out to the gaff-end and reeve it again. Whatever had gone wrong forward among the jib-sheets, had been quickly put right. All about the decks, as men recoiled the ropes, there were grins and laughter. Men hit each other with good-natured punches and Harper amidships raised his voice:
‘Three cheers for Cap’n Kite and the Spitfire!’
When the cheers subsided, Kite bellowed his reponse: ‘Thank you my lads. That was better than any man-o-war’s company!’
‘It was better than that one to be sure!’ said McClusky, who must have been somewhere forward, though Kite had no recollection of where Harper had placed the fellow. Here too was Muckbul Ali Rahman whose presence on board Kite had entirely forgotten in the last few hours. Now Nisha and Maggie emerged to join the rejoicing company while Harper was coming aft to suggest they spliced the mainbrace.
‘She’ll be some time coming round,’ Harper said, nodding astern as the frigate began to turn in their wake, ‘and she’ll not point as sharply as us.’
Kite stared at the enemy cruiser. In his mind’s eye he conjured the image of that elegant figure acknowledging the success of Kite’s ruse de guerre. He nodded. ‘Very well, Mr Harper. Very well.’
‘For heaven’s sake give the poor man a smile, William,’ Sarah whispered at him.
‘I don’t think I can,’ he replied, and indeed, he could hardly swallow, for his mouth was dry and the only moisture he felt were the ridiculous trickle of tears on his cheeks.
Chapter Fifteen
Plots and Promotions
The chase was not over, but its outcome was less uncertain and, as they all knew, darkness was only five hours away. Moreover, there was a new moon and it would be a dark night. By a fluke, Harper, looking up at the right moment to observe the great white ensign with its Bourbon lilies in gold, had also spotted the French ship’s name across her stern. The Alcmene stood after them until they lost sight of her in the dark. Unable to chase in the schooner’s direct wake by being unable to point quite so close to a wind which went down with the sun, it was clear by twilight that advantage now lay with the Spitfire. Although the watchers aboard the little British schooner could see the Alcmene in the starlight for some time after nightfall, they had lost sight of her by midnight.
At daylight Harper, then officer of the watch, clambered aloft with his glass. He could see the tiny irregularity on the horizon that marked the position of the Alcmene, but by noon this had disappeared and Kite tacked Spitfire to the southwards. In the cabin, with one of Rahman’s charts spread out before him he consulted the sea-cunny.
‘Now, Mister Rahman, it was our decision not to attempt the passage of the Malacca Strait, but to stand south east and enter the China Sea by way of the Sunda Strait. It is unfortunate that by so doing we placed ourselves in the path of that Frenchman.’
Rahman rolled his head in agreement. ‘It is indeed unfortunate, Kite Sahib, but as I explained, the winds in the Selat Malacca are light and, for a fast passage, it is better to remain on the weather side of Sumatra. I am also thinking that if many French ships are at sea, the Selat Malacca will be more full of them, since there is much Country trade with Pegu to the north, and Achin and along the Malay coast to the southwards.’
‘Mmmm,’ Kite ruminated. His thoughts were focused on their late interceptor. ‘It is my belief that the Alcmene has but recently arrived in the Indian Seas like ourselves and that she was o
n her way to take up a station in the Sunda Strait. Now,’ he went on, ‘we should reconsider our passage because I also believe that she is likely to reach her station here.’ Kite tapped the chart with the dividers where the great islands of Sumatra and Java were separated by the narrow outlet of the Sunda Strait. ‘In which case we have not seen the last of her and, moreover, she may also be supported by Dutch cruisers, for we will not be many leagues from Batavia…’ Kite paused and looked up. Across the small cabin Sarah and Nisha laboured with needles, thread and several yards of coloured bunting. ‘It is a depressing prospect and although we might persuade a Dutchman that we are a rebel Yankee schooner by hoisting that device,’ and Kite nodded at the dismembered red ensign then undergoing conversion into what was thought to be a representation of Continental American colours, ‘I am by no means sanguine as to its outcome if we meet the Alcmene again.’
‘Sanguine?’ Rahman frowned.
‘Oh, er, hopeful… Hopeful about the outcome.’
‘Ah, I see…’ Rahman nodded his comprehension. ‘But Kite Sahib, there are inside passages here, and here.’ The Indian leaned forward and pointed to an extensive archipelago of small islands that littered the strait. ‘We can proceed within the confines of these waters in perfect safety…’
‘I never quite trust assertions of perfect safety at sea, Mister Rahman…’
‘Is the Sahib not trusting me?’ Rahman straightened up, one hand on his breast, his tone so hurt and outraged that both Sarah and Nisha looked up at the two men.
Kite shook his head and smiled at the affronted Indian. ‘Mister Rahman I would trust you with my life, my wife, my schooner and indeed my entire fortune, such as it is! Believe me, I can do you no greater honour, but I cannot trust you to blunt the sword of ill-fortune if it is pointing at my heart. Sometimes of late I have thought such a thing possible. If Vishnu, or whatever his name is, wishes Kite Sahib to perish in these Indian Seas, not even the considerable skills of that famous sea-cunny and inestimable topass Muckbul Ali Rahman can prevent the thing coming to pass.’
Nisha and Sarah exchanged glances and then stared again at the men, almost open-mouthed at this verbal out-pouring from Kite. Rahman appeared to consider the matter for some time, his head wagging from side to side and his face a picture of serious contemplation. Then he looked up smiling. ‘You will be a great man, Kite Sahib, of that I can make absolute prediction.’
Kite laughed. ‘There is not much time for your precious prediction to come to pass, Mister Rahman. Kite Sahib is no longer young. But show me, if and when we clear this Selat Sunda of yours, do we pass to the eastwards or the west of Pulo Billiton?’
As the two men bent again to the chart, Nisha caught Sarah’s eye and they both smiled.
In the event they encountered neither French nor Dutch cruisers in the Sunda Strait, but only the native prahus in a variety of sizes, employed as both fishing and trading craft. Some boasted the rattan and matting sails of the Chinese junk and some Rahman referred to as lorchas, but Kite and Harper were relieved that none were larger than themselves and none boasted the crossed yards and artillery of a European man-of-war. Of the Alcmene there was no sign; she had vanished into the vastness of the ocean as mysteriously as she had emerged.
Once past the Strait they traversed the Java Sea in lighter winds and for day after day ran to the north, the heavy booms guyed out to starboard and every stitch of sail set as they reeled off the knots. Kite relinquished his watch to Rahman and the sea-cunny shared the roster with Harper and McClusky. The latter had proved able enough to trust with the deck in the prevailing stable weather and while he lacked the deep knowledge of a man bred to the sea, his natural intelligence rapidly acquainted him with the basic knowledge necessary for a grasp of navigation. He could work such a traverse as a fair wind enabled, and the need to maintain a sharp lookout had by now impressed itself upon the quondam clerk. Under Harper’s tutelage and encouragement, McClusky began to develop ambitions in a new direction, having heard just sufficient in Bombay to whet his appetite and to persuade his lively imagination that, in due course, he too could become a nabob with a sweetly compliant Indian mistress and a fortune to be taken home and boasted of .
Even Jack Bow, whose courting of Maggie had long ago been curtailed by the harsh regime aboard ship, occupied a place of rising social importance, having become something of a steward-cum-servant to the schooner’s officers. Bow attached great importance to the service of Captain Kite whom he regarded with some awe, particularly after their encounters with enemy vessels of war. As for Kite himself, he began to relax, enjoying the privileges of master and owner, taking his fixes and plotting their position on Huddart’s charts, but largely lounging under a spread awning in the languorous company of Sarah and Nisha. Once a day he revived his own charlatanic skills as a surgeon, and dosed the clapped and poxed sailors, some of whom could hardly micturate for the burning inflammation they suffered.
Two deaths marred this idyll, two of the seamen succumbing to some infection of the bowels picked up from the stews of Bombay, and one of those with a raging
venereal infection dropped quietly overboard one night.
‘Don’t reckon he could stand the pain in ’is piss-pipe,’ the boatswain reported to Harper one morning.
Kite wrote the initial ‘D’ beside their names in the muster book, reckoned their wages and noted their next-of-kin, if any existed, to pay what remuneration was owed when they returned home. It was an act of extreme optimism, Kite thought as he set his pen down. God alone knew whether any of them would see again the house-flags fluttering above Bidston lighthouse on the River Mersey’s west bank, and see their own arrival announced to the watchers across the river in Liverpool itself.
Four days after clearing the Sunda Strait they were abeam of the Great Natuna Island and running into the deeper waters of the South China Sea. Rahman impressed upon Kite the necessity of taking their departure from the high point with great care, for from now on they would run on dead reckoning, keeping well to the east of the coast of Cochin-China and maintaining a sharp lookout for the treacherous reefs which lay, like man-traps in game-rich woodland, athwart their route to the Pearl River.
‘We must sound for the bank here, where there are no depths less than ten fathoms,’ Rahman placed his dark index finger on a roughly delineated but unnamed group of soundings3 that seemed to Kite to rise inexplicably in the middle of the sea, ‘in order to avoid the reefs here.’ Rahman moved his finger to the west where Kite read the legend: Paracel Islands, a wide-spaced litter of reefs and low islands centred upon a small circular archipelago. By positively locating the lesser of the two dangers, they could avoid the greater, and thereafter set a final course for the coast of China and the Portuguese enclave of Macao at the mouth of the Pearl River, two days’ sailing further north.
‘Have you had much experience in these seas, Mister Rahman?’ Kite asked civilly, interested in Rahman’s past history as much as to confirm the value of the man’s advice.
The Indian nodded and smiled. ‘Oh, yes, Kite Sahib. I came here first as a boy in the Sullamany, owned by an Arab, and afterwards I served for four years as kelassee aboard the Fez Cawdray and remained for many years in the service of the Bomanjees, rising to serang and tindal in several of their ships. That is where I learned English, under Captain Buchanan when he was at sea and before he went into partnership as an owner with Pestonjee Bomanjee. Afterwards, Captain Glasscock, the master of the Hormuzeer, a fine Country ship, encouraged me to take an interest in navigation. I already worked the traverse as tindal and sea-cunny, and of course I knew all the points of the compass and the principal sailings. I became an officer with Captain Glasscock and, by-an’-by he gave me his octant when he went home to England. he was a very fine gentleman and would have stayed in Bombay, but his wife, a very beautiful Parsee lady, she died and he had no children that survived her. Then Bomanjee made me naconda of the Malabar Grab.’
‘Naconda? What is that?’
‘Like you, Kite Sahib, the commander.’
Kite looked at Rahman with renewed interest. ‘That impresses me, Mister Rahman.’
Rahman smiled. His face wore an expression of both pride and modesty and there were tears in his eyes.
‘I am sorry that I had not rated you an officer sooner,’ Kite apologised, ‘I had thought you an excellent interpreter but had no idea that you were hiding other talents.’
‘You were not to know, Kite Sahib.’
‘You are too modest; you should have told me.’
‘You would not have believed me.’
Kite looked at the Indian with a shrewd eye. ‘Why, because I am an Englishman?’
‘Perhaps, but mainly because you are new to the coast and have your own past and experience. Besides Hooker Sahib would not have encouraged you to favour me.’
‘Because you are an Indian?’
‘I do not quite understand what you English gentlemen mean when you say “Indian”, but yes, because I am a native.’
‘Ahh, I understand that.’
Rahman appeared to want to say more. He opened his mouth to speak and then he seemed to think better of it, closed his mouth and shook his head.
‘What is it?’ Kite asked.
‘It is nothing, Kite Sahib.’
‘But I see something troubles you. Tell me what it is.’
‘It is only curiosity, Sahib, and curiosity is impolite.’
‘And what are you curious about? Myself?’
Rahman nodded and met Kite’s gaze. ‘A little, yes…’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, I have heard stories about you. Is it true you had a native wife?’
Kite nodded. ‘Yes, it is true. She was a negro whom I bought out of slavery when I was surgeon of my first ship, a Liverpool Guineaman. We were married. She died in England many years ago. We had two children, but neither survived.’
The East Indiaman Page 19
