The East Indiaman

by The East Indiaman (retail) (epub)

  ‘That too will have to be done ashore,’ he remarked to Rahman, wiping his hands on a rag and strolling aft to where Sarah and Nisha sat at their embroidery under the awning. This was half-furled to allow the hands room to work round the base of the main-mast and Kite stood looking down at the yards of silk that lay like a bond between the two women. He had paid scant attention to the thing, but now he became aware that the length of material which Nisha had produced after they had left Bombay, was now worked with a myriad creatures set amid the leaves of a fantastical jungle. Elephants of several sizes, some trumpeting with elevated trunks, some linked trunk to tail in a frieze, others rolling logs, formed a repetitive motif along the borders, interspersed with tigers whose predatory nature was indicated in a dozen styles of curved backed, stalking postures that reminded Kite of the cats he had known about his boyhood village in Cumbria. Monkeys and gibbons sported among the trees, while snakes writhed through both the foliage of the trees and the long grasses that rose from the ground. The fine stitchwork was admirable and it struck Kite that he had no appreciation of the amount of skill and labour that Sarah and Nisha had put into their work.

  ‘What is this animal?’ he asked, lifting a fold of the material and pointing to a long-bodied, short-legged animal. ‘I did not know there were stoats in India.’

  ‘Nisha will tell you,’ Sarah said with a smile.

  ‘That is a mongoose,’ Nisha explained, ‘they sometimes kill snakes like this cobra.’ She pointed to an upright snake whose head rose from a hood.

  ‘Good Lord,’ Kite said. ‘And what is it for, this magnificent tapestry?’

  Nishas shrugged and cast down her eyes. ‘It is to keep us amused, William,’ Sarah said, ‘to while away the tedious hours of this voyage and sustain our expectations.’

  ‘I see,’ he responded flatly, sensing in Sarah’s tone an oblique admonishment for the boredom the women had had to endure. It was an ironic contrast with his own anxiety as he fretted about their vulnerability exposed in this bay. Like most commanders, Kite was impatient of delays, and delays born out of the inadequacy of his vessel were the most frustrating of all. While these relied upon the best efforts of the crew, over which as commander Kite had control, Kite instinctively wanted those efforts to be tireless and unremitting. As the hours lengthened into days, he resented the hours spent in sleep and eating; he knew it was unreasonable and fought his desire to place impossible demands upon his men, but the temptation remained and now Sarah seemed to want to complain about her plight.

  The expression of discontent, mild though it was, profoundly irritated Kite. He intensely disliked any feelings that disturbed the inner equanimity of his soul and the savage sexual turmoil occasioned shortly before the onslaught of the typhoon had, he had hoped, been expiated by the long ordeal of endurance. Indeed he had felt that the numinous moment he had enjoyed after locating the leak was a sort of providential absolution, and this impression seemed heightened by the news that Harper’s intentions towards Nisha would remove any source of future temptation.

  Now Sarah’s sharpness conveyed the impression of a discontent uncharacteristic of her as a wife. Was it only a reproach to him, or a further symptom of her attraction to Nisha? In his present frame of mind he could not see that it might also be a cry from the heart. Kite, almost overwhelmed with the cares of command, was naturally unsympathetic to the cares of the victims of boredom. Nor could he see that for the active and intelligent Sarah boredom was far greater a burden than to the Indian woman whose cultural acquiescence had once led her to accompany her first husband to his funeral pyre. Such abstractions were utterly beyond the imagination of Kite at the best of times, let alone now as his vessel lay at anchor disabled on the hostile coast of China, where his presence was illegal and might soon attract the attentions of pirates or imperial war junks.

  In due course, however, the figures of Harper and his party, dragging a length of tree trunk appeared on the beach. Kite buried his impatience in activity and set off in a boat to inspect the spar, taking ashore the makings of a fire, some tongs, hand-spikes, mauls and the twisted mast hoop, along with three adzes and a saw. As Harper roughly fashioned the timber to the basic size of the main topmast, Kite located a corner of the beach where the jungle swept down over some rocks and a fire could be kindled to make a primitive forge and an adjacent boulder turned into an anvil.

  Two hours later, as Harper’s party began to float the rough-trimmed spar out to the Spitfire, Kite’s improvised blacksmiths began to hammer and jemmy the twisted iron back into its old shape, annealing it in the sea that surged along the sandy shore. By that evening the restored mast-iron had been refitted to the cap of the main lower-mast and awaited the completion of the topmast. This took a further day but, by that afternoon, after sundry trips aloft waving rule and callipers, Harper pronounced himself satisfied. The bosun called for turpentine, linseed-oil and tallow, and the remaining iron work was fitted to the mast as it was slushed down. In due course, as the sun set, the work of rigging the spar was well advanced. As the sun dipped below the summit of the high ground and the shadow leapt out into the bay, Kite ordered work to finish for the day.

  ‘It can be completed in the morning,’ he said to the hands as they milled in the waist, tired and hungry. ‘You can se to it, Mr Harper,’ he said formally, ‘you Mr McClusky, may accompany me and we will go in search of some game. There are numerous ducks about and it would be a pity not to dine on roast duck before we leave this quiet spot.’

  Remarking on this intention in the cabin, Sarah volunteered her own services. ‘I can handle a gun as well as a foil,’ she said.

  Kite contemplated the proposal. It would be good to get ashore in her company, McClusky’s presence notwithstanding. A shooting expedition would be harmless enough and even if they attracted the attention of the natives, the junks seen off the coast had not reappeared and no Chinese had been seen throughout their sojourn in the deserted bay. Looking at the expectant Sarah he found it easy to dismiss his earlier suspicions of her motives. Instead he was reminded of a day in the country of Rhode Island, when they had first found themselves lovers. It was a long time ago, he thought sadly, and still they lived like adventurers. He smiled at his wife. ‘Of course, my dear, you are a better shot than I, but we lack a gun dog and duck are difficult to recover.’

  ‘Take Jack and give him a penny for every duck he recovers from the water,’ Sarah said laughing, and the notion found favour with the others on the cabin. It was a measure of the easing of tension after the refitting of the schooner.

  And so, next morning Sarah, Kite, McClusky and Jack Bow were pulled ashore and left on the beach while Harper and the hands completed the rigging of the main topmast. For two hours the sound of musket shots rolled around the bay and those toiling on the deck of the Spitfire looked up to see the little puffs of powder smoke and the splashes of Jack Bow as he plunged and waded out to recover the ducks armed with a long boat-hook, for he could not swim. By noon they had a good bag and the ducks had been frightened off, so the shooting party, which had wandered along the beach for some considerable distance, began its laden march back to the landing place.

  Preoccupied by their burden they took little notice of the anchored schooner and it was only when the first 4-pounder gun was fired as an alarm by Harper, that they realised that three junks were standing into the bay.

  Kite was in the water up to his knees before he was aware of what he was doing. Fortunately Harper had despatched a boat as soon as he had become aware of the approaching junks and before discharging the gun, and this now came into view round Spitfire’s stern and headed for the beach, the bright sunlight flashing off its oar-blades. Kite, Sarah, McClusky and a sodden Jack stood under the hot sun and waited impatiently as the boat surged towards them. Mercifully the wind was light, scarcely ruffling the blue waters of the bay and although it was clear that the junks were able to harness what little breeze there was, it was equally obvious that they would reach Spitfire
before the junks drew too close. The boat approached with the bosun at the helm and Kite waded out with the first load of ducks, quickly forming a chain with McClusky, Jack and Sarah as they handed them out, brace by brace, as fast as they were able.

  Handing Sarah aboard, Kite insisted Jack followed before he and McClusky shoved the bow of the boat off and scrambled in after them over the duck carcasses piled in the bow sheets. There they squatted uncomfortably as the boat was swung and headed out for the schooner; a few minutes later Kite was scrambling up the Spitfire’s side followed by the others. Harper handed him a glass with the curt remark that: ‘they’re both armed with cannon.’

  Kite levelled the telescope at the exotic craft. The three junks all had the high sterns and flat bows that made them appear ungainly to western eyes, but they stood inshore steadily, their battened sails drawing well and their decks dark clustered with men.

  ‘I didn’t trouble to hoist an ensign,’ Harper said. It might buy them a little time, or at least cause the Chinese commander a moment’s doubt as to opening fire on an unknown foreign vessel, though from what Rahman had told him, Kite did not think it likely.

  ‘Get the boats streamed astern,’ Kite said without lowering the glass. ‘And then stand-by to weigh. I won’t lose an anchor just yet.’

  ‘Aye, aye, I’ve the guns loaded and ready manned.’

  ‘Very well. McClusky?’ Kite called, raising his voice.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Leave the men at the guns, arm six men with muskets and take command of them yourself. Under no circumstances open fire until I tell you, do you understand? under no circumstances. I’ll have no provocation here.’

  ‘Not to open fire, aye, aye, sir.’

  ‘Mister Rahman, get enough men to hoist the fore and main, the fore topmast staysail and the two jibs.’

  ‘Yes, Kite Sahib.’

  ‘And Sarah, do you hoist those Yankee colours that you and Nisha made.’

  The courses of the three junks diverged. It was clear that if they intended to attack, they intended to do so on both sides and with one athwart the schooner. Kite could see a tall man in a long crimson robe with what looked like a feathered hat on. He was clearly directing operations as a number of gongs began to sound, accompanied by drums and the chattering explosions of fulminate fire-crackers. Kite kept the glass trained on the junks, switching from one to another as the sweat poured down his back. There was no doubt they were hostile, the only question was when they would open fire. He heard the rasp of sail hank on stay as the foretopmast staysail crawled aloft, then the deck was darkened by the shadow of the rising mainsail. From forward came also the rumble of the windlass.

  ‘I can slip this anchor to a buoy!’ Harper called out, even more anxious than his commander to get the ship under weigh. And then to add impetus to his suggestion, he added, ‘we’ve still got sixty fathoms to heave in…’

  ‘Very well. Slip!’

  The nearest junk was within cannon shot,’ Kite judged, but still she stood on. Could the Chinese guns be shorter range than their own? Then he watched as she came round into the wind, parallel with Spitfire and, with a wild crescendo of gong beating, a ragged broadside rippled along her curved side.

  ‘Stand by at the guns!’ he called out. ‘And take cover!’

  Unflinching, Kite counted the flashes; there were six of them and, as the shot whistled past and tore great rents in the slatting sails, it also threw splinters up from the rails and sent two men backwards with high pitched scream. One lay dead, the other tore at his face, his feet kicking in his agony, calling upon the name of God for relief. It was clear the Chinese were firing some awful form of langridge. Kite turned and bellowed, ‘fire!’

  The two four-pounders rolled back on their carriages and the breechings snapped taut as their crews bent to the task of reloading them. The shot seemed to have caused no damage to the enemy junk and then Kite heard the deep rumble of the escaping cable, felt the thrum of it through the soles of his wet shoes and acknowledged Harper’s shout that the cable had run clear.

  ‘Back the headsails to larboard!’ he ordered and, as Spitfire began to turn, he was swept by the wind of more shots that were quickly followed by the bee-like noises of small arms. ‘Fire as you will! McClusky you too!’

  Kite heard McClusky’s acknowledgement and, for the next few minutes the air was full of the buzzing of musket balls and the scream and whine as the Chinese shot flew about them. Showers of splinters burst upwards from the rails, holes were torn repeatedly in the sails and the scream of the wounded filled the air. Kite felt the sharp pain of a severe graze strike his upper arm like a knife cut and felt only a sudden anxiety for Sarah. Casting about he saw no sign of her. Instead, as the schooner swung, he was only aware of the three sails of one of the war junks as the relative motion of the two vessels made her slide across their bow with surprising rapidity. Their own guns were firing back, four pounder balls that he could see now, were thudding into the heavy timber flanks of the gaily painted craft. He looked for the tall man in the blue robe and could see no sign of him and, as the third junk failed to get into action, Spitfire’s sails filled and she began to make headway with increasing speed.

  Kite was wondering how long it would take to work a gun aft as a stern chaser, for he was apprehensive about their chances of escape when pursued by imperial junks, when it occurred to him that none of the three junks was following them. They seemed satisfied to be left in possession of the bay and as he ordered the guns secured, Rahman approached.

  ‘You have left them sufficient of a trophy to take back, Kite Sahib,’ he said with a wide grin.

  ‘What the devil…? Oh, you mean the anchor?’

  ‘Of course. It is evidence of your defeat and they will gain much face.’

  ‘I see,’ Kite said, though in truth he had in fact little grasp of the subtle advantage he had conferred upon the Chinese commander.

  They stood offshore slowly in the light on shore breeze. The wounded were taken below to where Kite, assisted by Sarah and Nisha, did his best for the wretched wounded. They had suffered five men killed and twelve wounded, three very severely. Kite had no hope for these and four other men gave cause for concern, but the remaining five would survive. And there was himself; grazed by some fragment, the ugly laceration would knit so he submitted to being bound up by Sarah who seemed shaken by the action, though he learned she had remained on deck and discharged her fowling piece at the enemy. Nisha had stayed below with Maggie and both now assisted in making the wounded comfortable in the tween deck.

  After an hour of this work Kite went on deck where Harper was in charge. Order had been restored and both men ruefully contemplated their damaged sails. Picking up his glass Kite levelled it astern. The three junks lay close together in the bay. He stared at them for several minutes, then he said, ‘I’m going back after dark. They are not having our anchor, it is not to be lost to us so easily.’

  ‘But…’ Harper bit his protest off short.

  ‘I’ll go myself, Zachariah,’ Kite said, lowering the telescope and facing the mate. ‘I’ll take a boat and…’

  ‘How the devil will you bring an anchor off with a boat?’ Harper asked, his tone exasperated.

  Kite said nothing. Instead he peered astern again through the glass. Then, lowering it he said, ‘heed me a moment and I’ll tell you.’

  Kite hung for a moment half over the rail. His left hand rested upon a splintered section and he moved it before seeking out Harper’s face in the darkness.

  ‘You know what to do,’ he said curtly.

  ‘I still think it’s madness,’ Harper hissed.

  Kite grunted, turned his head and looked down into the waiting boat as it towed alongside the schooner. McClusky, five oarsmen and three spare hands were already ensconced. He made to lower himself when he felt a hand touch his. He looked up. Sarah bent to him and whispered, ‘take care my darling.’

  He could see the dark pools of her eyes and thought them
filled with tears.

  Without a word he descended into the boat and taking his seat and the tiller ordered the painter slipped. As the bowman waved the painter clear, Kite put the tiller over as the boat sheered out from the side of the Spitfire, gradually losing way as the schooner drew ahead. As soon as they were clear Kite whispered the order: ‘oars.’

  With infinite care the men got out the five oars and lodged their muffled looms in the thole pins, holding them horizontal. When all were ready Kite whispered, ‘give way together.’ The stroke oar set the pace, a slow, gentle rhythm that cost the men little effort and which they could make quietly. Every man, Kite and McClusky included, had his face blackened with soot from the galley chimney, and each bore a knife. Kite and McClusky had pistols, and in the bottom boards of the stern sheets nestled a boat compass and a masked lantern.

  Sitting beside his commander McClusky felt a strange stomach-churning sensation, a mixture of fear and excitement that made him shake uncontrollably. This embarrassed him but no-one mentioned it and Captain Kite had been particular as to the absolute necessity for total silence. To combat this unmanly loss of control, McClusky tried to think of himself as the hero he had long ago dreamed of becoming. Now, he told himself ruefully, his opportunity had come and all he wanted to do was to stop shaking. The more he tried to master the nervous shudder, the worse it became and he almost jumped when Kite touched him on the knee and moved his begrimed face towards McClusky. McClusky bent his ear and caught Kite’s words;