The East Indiaman

by The East Indiaman (retail) (epub)

  ‘It must be Hainan,’ Harper said, ranging up and doing Kite’s thinking for him. ‘If we can find a quiet bay, we can sort that main topmast out and stop that damned leak.’

  Kite grunted assent. ‘If…’

  Two mornings later they had found what they were looking for and stood inshore where, at the head of a small bay, a crescent of sand, upon which pounded the remnant swells of the recent typhoon. The bay was surrounded by low undulating hills, covered by green vegetation and seemingly devoid of human habitation. Through his glass Kite spied the silvery flash of a stream descending from the rising ground: fresh water, and that forest would yield enough fire wood to stock them for months. Within an hour of them bringing up to their anchor the boats were pulling for the shore laden with empty casks and under McClusky’s command. Kite’s orders were specific. There was to be no wandering off. The wooding party was to be properly supervised and the watering party was to concentrate on filling every cask as rapidly as possible, for Rahman had advised them that although there was no evidence of a village, usually betrayed by the level patches of small terraced fields on the hillside, it was almost certain that their arrival would in due course be brought to the ears of the local mandarin who would see their presence as both illegal and as a potential for ‘squeeze’.

  Kite understood. Here he would find no privilege of refuge for the distressed mariner; here was only corruption, made manifest by ‘squeeze’ and the opportunity offered to him to sell his illegal opium at a premium. Beggars, he reminded Sarah as he explained the need for a speedy refit of Spitfire, could not be choosers. Quizzing Rahman, Kite was disappointed when the Indian dissuaded him from any attempt to sell the opium here, on the coast of Hainan.

  ‘But if we are apprehended by the local mandarin, would not the offer of the sale of opium encourage a spirit conducive to our aid?’

  Rahman shook his head violently. ‘Oh no, Kite Sahib, it would only attract the attentions of the war junks of pirates and in all possibility those pirates would be what you are calling “hand-in-glove” with the mandarin.’

  Kite smiled at the metaphor. ‘You do not know this coast though, do you?’

  Rahman looked pained, as though an accusation lay in Kite’s question. ‘No, Kite Sahib, I do not, but I do know that if you try and trade outside the areas where some convention has been established, you are the more likely to be cheated than find any profit.’ And when Kite appeared reluctant to accept this, Rahman added, ‘Hooker Sahib would not have traded here; he would only have traded in Macao, or near the Pearl River. Here it is too dangerous. We must leave from here as soon as possible.’

  ‘You must listen to him, William,’ Nisha broke in. Kite looked at her. The two women were engaged on some embroidery, hitherto silent as Kite conferred with Rahman and conducted the business of the ship until Nisha was moved to interrupt. It was the first time Kite had spared the widow more than a passing glance since he had watched her alluring rump crawl lasciviously across the cabin. The memory irked him and edged his response.

  ‘Must I?’

  ‘William,’ Sarah’s tone was reproachful, ‘Nisha is aware of the value of Mister Rahman’s advice and you would do well to heed both of them.’

  Kite opened his mouth to respond sharply, but Sarah caught his eye and there was something in her expression that disturbed him far more than the memory of Nisha’s wobbling buttocks. Instead he nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said curtly, turning to Rahman. ‘Thank you.’

  The incident disturbed Kite. The reawakening of the thoughts that had occupied the trio in the cabin as the typhoon boiled over the horizon threatened to compete for his attention. He felt the matter could not be left there, that sooner or later some reference to it must arise between Nisha, Sarah and himself. Moreover, he was discomfited by the thought that the intimacy between the two women guaranteed their own discussion of the affair. Was Nisha’s uncharacteristic intervention evidence of an emerging attempt at domination? Had she in some way acquired the upper hand over Sarah? It seemed impossible, but so did the thought of Sarah in the arms of Nisha, and he stumbled out of the cabin in Rahman’s wake, eager to divert his mind from contemplating so awkward, embarrassing but subtly fascinating, prurient and lubricious a subject.

  He would make time for it later.

  While the boats were away Harper and the remaining members of the crew, which included both the bosun and the carpenter, shifted bales of opium, stores and gear in the hold to locate the origin of the leak. It had been expected to ease somewhat after they had fetched their anchor, but this had not happened and in fact the ingress of water had worsened significantly. It was now sufficiently serious to cause grave concern. Kite feared that to stop it altogether they would need to beach Spitfire and careen her. If his worst fears were realised and they had not only torn off some of the precious copper sheathing, but damaged the planking of the hull by unknowingly scraping over a reef, it was almost certain that they would be compelled to take drastic measures. By the end of the day a dirty and disgruntled Harper reported to Kite, waiting in the tween deck, that he feared the worst.

  ‘’Tis amidships, Cap’n, ’bout the worst God-damned place it could be…’

  ‘You are sure?’ Kite queried, hoping against hope.

  ‘Aye,’ Harper nodded. ‘It worries me that it has worsened after we anchored…’

  ‘As if something has been disturbed and what? Fallen away?’

  Harper nodded. ‘Exactly, Cap’n, and I’m thinking at first that it might be some copper that has worked off, copper sheathing that was covering a split plank.’

  ‘Or copper that came off a long time ago, admitted the ship-worm and only now, after the hurricane, has become serious enough to trouble us,’ Kite theorised.

  ‘Aye, that’s equally so.’

  ‘Have you found the actual source of the leak?’ Kite asked.

  Harper shook his head. ‘No, we got the bilge as dry as possible, which was not very,’ he added, indicating the stinking wet state of his clothing, ‘and I could see the water running forrard from abaft the midship’s well. I gained a second access to the lower ceiling abaft the mainmast and found it trickling aft. We’ll need to keep pumping through the night.’

  Kite grunted agreement. ‘So we’ve to lift the ground tier of casks amidships to get at the leak.’

  ‘Aye, but not to fix it. ’Tis my guess we will have to beach her…’ Harper said gloomily.

  ‘I hope to God we don’t. If Rahman’s warnings are to be heeded we are exposed to the attacks of pirates who would be delighted to know we’ve a cargo of opium on board.’

  Harper pulled a face. ‘Well, Cap’n, we’d better keep the watches going then, and not just for the God-damned pumping.’

  ‘Quite so, but Zachariah, get yourself cleaned up and join us for dinner. Nisha could do with some attention.’

  Harper’s ugly face cracked into a grin. ‘I ain’t sure I couldn’t do with some myself, if I can summon up the energy.’

  As he turned away Kite wondered why he felt less pleased for his old friend and shipmate. Was he himself jealous of having an opportunity for gratification satisfied by another or, with McClusky turned-in and Rahman on deck, was he just nervous of taking dinner with the women alone? He did not seek the answer to so compromising a question but clambered up on deck to hear news of the wooding and watering parties.

  By the time they sat down to dinner in the cabin they were all too tired for conversation. The ordeal of the typhoon was too recent and most of them felt their bodies swaying, a residual nervous reaction to the late violent motion of the Spitfire, though the schooner presently lay quietly nodding to the low swell. Nor was the food stimulating, for the fresh stores had been consumed long ago and only the duff and some bottles of madeira enlivened the repast. The men were too much preoccupied with the leak and long silences ensued.

  ‘Is the leak very bad?’ Sarah asked, desperate to terminate one of these lacunae. Kite nodded as he chewed a particular
ly difficult chunk of salt-pork. ‘And you don’t really know its cause,’ she went on.

  ‘No,’ Harper broke in, laying his knife down and toying with the stem of his wine-glass. He stared unseeing at revolving madeira.

  Sarah noticed this abstraction and divined Harper’s preoccupation. But you think you know its cause, Zachariah, do you not?’

  Harper looked up sharply, like a boy caught scrumping apples. ‘Well, I have a theory, ’tis true.’

  ‘And what is that?’ Kite asked, finally forcing the masticated pork down his throat.

  ‘Well Cap’n, d’you not think it might be a keel bolt?’

  Kite looked up sharply. ‘How so? We had them drawn what? Two years ago when she was docked?’

  Harper’s ugly face crumpled with doubt. ‘I know, but somewhere I think I have heard some assertion that iron bolts and copper sheathing, when contiguous, are in some strange way inimical…’

  Kite considered this odd proposition. Something tugged at his own memory, something overheard and not comprehended at the time. ‘Inimical…’ he said, ‘but how so?’

  Harper shrugged. ‘I sure don’t understand, Cap’n, but I’ darned certain I’ve heard some crazy notion that ’tis so.’

  ‘And what do you mean by inimical, Zachariah?’ Sarah asked.

  Harper shrugged again. ‘It ain’t no good you quizzing me, Ma’am, I just don’t know, but I’m damn sure that I’ve heard it said.’

  ‘But what happens when these two contiguous metals are inimical? Was this rumour you heard attached to a story about a leak?’ Sarah persisted, aware that it was probable that Harper’s recollection had more substance than these bare bones of half-comprehended fact.

  It was Harper’s turn to frown now and he moved his right hand from twirling his wine-glass to scratching his forehead. ‘I cannot recollect, but I think it was more than that…’

  Kite suddenly snapped his fingers and the staccato noise attracted the attention of them all. ‘I recall it!’ he said, eyes gleaming. ‘There was a British ship, a seventy-four gun third rate, I think she was, and she was leaking like a sieve. They drew some bolts and found them wasted. There were questions as to why iron bolts had been used instead of copper…’

  ‘Aye,’ added Harper, ‘that’s correct, Cap’n!’

  ‘Then all our iron keel bolts are likely to be in a similar condition,’ Sarah said, consternation clear on her face, ‘and we are two thousand miles from a graving-dock!’

  ‘Aye, the closest is at Bombay,’ Harper said, the triumph of resolving the conundrum short-lived.

  ‘They may not all be in the same condition,’ Kite temporised soberly. ‘The poor Spitfire has just suffered a terrible wracking. Tell me, Zachariah, are you confident that only a single bolt is responsible for so large an ingress of water?’

  ‘Well, I can say as much as it was only obvious that such was the case.’

  ‘Very well. Then it seems to me that, although we have no grounds for complacence, we may yet return to Bombay. We must do our best to avoid heavy weather. I apprehend that this inimical quality must owe something to the immersion of these two metals in sea-water, for no such circumstance happens in air. Now, each keel bolt is driven into the hull slushed with a copious amount of white lead and all were tarred, so these substances must first be eroded. It is reasonable to assume this erosion is unequal and that our recent experience has identified the greatest weakness.’

  ‘Then we are not going to sink?’ Nisha asked, leaning forward and speaking for the first time.

  Kite smiled reassuringly. ‘No, my dear, we are not going to sink.’

  There was a long silence, then Harper said as he dabbed his grubby napkin round his mouth and thrust his chair backwards, ‘Cap’n, I’d like to get to the bottom of this before the night is out.’

  Kite nodded and stood up, smiling at the two women and resisting the appeal of Harper’s unwitting punning. ‘I agree and I’m afraid we shall have to leave you, ladies.’

  They enlisted the labour of half the watch on deck and within an hour had started the bungs from the ground tier of water casks to lighten them. They could be refilled on the morrow and, while Harper waited for the water to be pumped out of the bilge, they trimmed their lanterns.

  They located the source of the leak almost immediately and although the head of the offending iron keel bolt seemed tight enough, the water welling past it was incontrovertible evidence that insufficient of its substance existed in the hole drilled down through keelson and keel to prevent the entry of water.

  ‘We could not have rectified that even had we emptied the ship and beached her,’ Kite said, ‘and I have no idea whether there is sufficient tidal range hereabouts for even that purpose.’

  Harper grunted as he bent over the gleaming black head of the bolt, his great paw twisting at it.

  ‘I should leave well alone, Zachariah,’ Kite said, ‘if you disturb it we may have a veritable fountain rising in here.’ Harper withdrew his hand as though it had been burnt. ‘Now, let us place a heavy pad over that bolt head and see if we cannot at least reduce the inflow.’

  Harper grasped the notion instantly and looked up, his weather-beaten face a mass of high-lights and dark seams in the lantern-light. ‘I’ll see to it.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll be on deck,’ Kite replied with a tired smile.

  The night air was cool and calm. Above them the great arch of the sky was spangled with stars. The Spitfire’s deck was in darkness, but for the faint starlight, for an anchor light would betray their presence to any unscrupulous predator. The schooner’s waist was cluttered with the full water casks hoisted out of the boats and waiting to be struck down into the hold and Kite made his way to the taffrail, acknowledging the presence of Rahman, pale in his robe as he paced the tiny quarterdeck. Reaching the after rail Kite stretched and drew the pure air into his lungs, driving out the residue of the hold’s mephitic stench. The dark presence of the land loomed high above to the west, cutting out the stars and, as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, showing a sharp edge against the sky. It was a tremulous moment of numinous beauty, to which a quality of eternity was added by his exhaustion. He felt unwilling to end the strange feeling of peace that pervaded his person and was filled with a longing for it to go one for ever as he seemed to float above the problems and perplexities of the world.

  He had no idea how long he had been standing there when Harper joined him. He might have been dozing, though standing upright, for the discreet cough of the approaching mate made him start.

  ‘’Tis all done, Cap’n,’ Harper whispered, as though aware of the sanctity of the moment. ‘There is hardly a trickle now.’

  Kite turned. ‘Well done, Zachariah.’

  ‘We should get some sleep, sir,’ Harper said and Kite felt the American’s fingers lightly touch his sleeve in a gesture of genuine concern. He was intensely moved by the gesture.

  ‘You go below, I shall follow in a moment.’

  Harper hesitated. ‘Cap’n Kite?’ he murmured with a slow deliberation that Kite knew presaged some important matter. Intuitively Kite knew it had nothing to do with a leaky schooner.

  ‘What is it, Zachariah?’

  ‘Do you think Nisha would accept a proposal of marriage from me?’

  Kite was surprised and turned to stare at the pallid oval of Harper’s face. He felt a twist of pain in his own gut, aware that it was both unworthy and unkind. ‘Why, my dear fellow, I really have no idea, but I see no reason why not. But think, what would you… I mean how would you subsist, for I do not know what is to become of any of us even if this enterprise succeeds? We are a deuced long way from Liverpool.’

  ‘It occurred to me that I might establish myself in one of these Country ships. I have no home in America and neither Liverpool nor England hold any hopes for my prosperity or advancement. India, on the other hand…’ Harper was buoyed up by the prospect of love and full of optimism. ‘I am no longer young, Cap’n Kite,’ he concluded
.

  ‘And you find the lady reciprocates your, er, affections?’ Kite asked with an awkwardly strained prurience.

  He could hear Harper’s grin as the mate responded. ‘Well sure, Cap’n!’

  Kite nodded. ‘Well Zachariah, I wish you success. Certainly I should be obliged if the lady was detached from my household, but that is a heartless consideration,’ he added hurriedly. ‘Come, we are both tired and it is long past the time for sleep.’

  And taking Harper’s elbow, the two men walked forward towards the companionway.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Anchor

  By the following evening all the water casks, including those discharged into the bilge for ease of removal to inspect the leak, were full. Those not yet on deck lay bobbing alongside, lashed by lines in a loose raft. The garnered firewood had been cut and bundled into manageable faggots and this either filled the boats which lay astern on their painters, or lay on deck, ready to be stowed below. As for the wounded main topmast, this had been finally sent down to the deck. The work had proceeded uninterrupted, though the sharp-peaked sails of two three-masted junks had been seen offshore and officers and ratings frequently cast their eyes anxiously seawards.

  Having attended to the leak as best they could, Kite’s next priority was to load the wood and water. This was a slow task, for access to the lower hold was impeded by the stow of opium and a lack of access in so small a vessel. The full casks were heavy and it was necessary to stow them with care, bung upwards and their round bilges free, their weight being taken on their shoulders by adjacent casks. The cut bundles wood was easier to stow, though the hands dealing with them collected many scratches for their pains. It was a day later before Kite turned the hands’ attention to the main topmast. The parting of the rigging had over-loaded the spar which had been bruised by shot from the Alcmene. Moreover in falling, it had badly distorted the iron-work of the upper ring by which it was united to the main-mast proper. With no spare spars it was considered necessary to send a party ashore and fell a suitable tree. A careful scanning of the upper slopes of the hills had suggested that tall pines grew there. Marking a course upwards through the dense lower vegetation, Harper led his small group of men with their axes and coiled drag ropes. Kite meanwhile supervised the lowering of the damaged spar and the stripping of the blocks and rigging. He also contemplated the twisted mast-iron, aware that the small hand forge on board was quite inadequate to the task of restoring the heavy iron ring to its former accommodating shape.