He was pointing up the beach: sure enough, black figures in white loin-cloths were emerging through the broken palisade, braving the shot from the ships and our rear-guard's musketry. Some of them were firing towards us; there was the alarming swish of bullets overhead.
"Hell and damnation!" cries Kennedy. "Frogs, women, an' niggers! It's too bad! Mister Cliff, I'll be obliged if you'll get those men off the beach! Cover 'em, sharpshooters! Russell, run to the boat - tell Mister Partridge to load the two-pounder with grape and let 'em have it if they come within range! Fall back, there! Get off the beach!"
Boudancourt was yelling similar instructions to his own people; among them, the médecin-major and a matelot were helping Elspeth down to the nearest boat.
"Well, go with her, you fool!" cries Kennedy to me. "You know what these bloody Frogs are like, don't you?" He was limping along on his injured leg, the Malagassy flag trailing from his hand, little Boudancourt snapping at his heels.
"Ah, but a moment, monsieur! You forget, I think, that you still carry that which is the rightful property of Madame la Republique! Be pleased to yield me that flag!"
"I'll be damned if I do!"
"Villain, do you defy me still? You shall not leave this shore alive!"
"Shove off, you little squirt!"
I could hear their squabbling above the din as I reached the gunwale of the French boat, with men floundering about her knee-deep in water. Elspeth was being helped to the stern-sheets through a jabbering, groaning, shouting crowd of Frenchmen - some were standing in the bows, firing up the beach, others were preparing to shove off, there were wounded crying or lying silent against the thwarts, a midshipman was yelling shrill orders to the men at the sweeps. There was a deafening explosion as the British cutter nearby fired her bow-gun; the Malagassies were streaming out of the fort in numbers now, skirmishing down the beach, taking pot-shots - they'd be forming up for a charge in a moment - and Kennedy and Boudancourt, the last men off the beach, were splashing through the shallows, tugging at the flag and yelling abuse at each other.
"Let go, God rot your boots!"
"English bully, you shall not escape!"
I think of them sometimes, when I hear idiot politicians blathering about "entente cordiale"— Kennedy shaking his fist, Boudancourt blue in the face, with that dirty, useless piece of calico stretched taut between them. And I'm proud to think that in that critical moment, with confusion all around and disaster imminent, my diplomatic skill asserted itself to save the day - for I believe they'd have been there yet if I hadn't snatched a knife from the belt of a matelot beside me and slashed at the flag, cursing hysterically. It didn't do more than tear it slightly, but that was enough - the thing parted with a rending sound, Kennedy swore, Boudancourt shrieked, and we scrambled aboard as the bow-chasers roared for the last time and the boats ground over the shingle and wallowed in the surf.
"Assassin!" cries Boudancourt, brandishing his half.
"Pimp!" roars Kennedy, from the neighbouring boat.
That was how we came away from Madagascar. More than a score of French and British dead it cost, that mismanaged, lunatic operation,45 but since it saved my life and Elspeth's by sheer chance, you'll forgive me if I don't complain. All that I could think, as I huddled beside her in the stern, my head swimming with fatigue and my body one great throbbing ache, was - by Jove, we're clear. Mad black queens, Solomon, Brooke, Hovas, head-hunters, Chink hatchetmen, poison darts, boiling pits, skull ships, tanguin poison - they're all gone, and we're pulling across blue water, my girl and I, to a ship that'll take us home …
"Pardon, monsieur," Boudancourt, beside me, was frowning at the piece of sodden flag in his hands. "Can you say," says he, pointing at the black script on it, "what these words signify?"
I couldn't read 'em, of course, but I'd learned enough of Malagassy heraldry to know what they were.
"That says `Ranavalona'," I told him. "She's the queen of that bloody island, and you can thank your stars you'll never get closer to her than this. I could tell you—" I was going on, but I felt Elspeth stir against me and thought, no, least said soonest mended. I glanced at her; she was awake, all right, but she wasn't listening. Her eyes appeared to be demurely downcast, which I couldn't fathom until I noticed that her dress was so torn that her bare legs were uncovered, and every libidinous Frog face in that boat was leering in her direction. And didn't she know it, though? By George, thinks I, that's how this whole confounded business started, because this simpering slut allowed herself to be ogled by lewd fellows
"D'ye mind?" says I to Boudancourt, and taking the torn banner from his hand I disposed it decently across her knees, scowling at the disgruntled Frogs. She looked at me, all innocent wonder, and then smiled and snuggled up to my shoulder.
"Why, Harry," sighs she. "You take such good care of me."
* * *
[Final extract from the journal of Mrs Flashman, July -, 1845]
… to be sure it is very tiresome to be parted again so soon from my dear, dear H., especially after the Cruel Separation which we have endured, and just at a time when we supposed we could enjoy the repose and comfort of each other's company in Blissful Peace at last, and in the safety of Old England. But H.E. the Governor at Mauritius was quite determined that H. must go to India, for it seems that there is growing turmoil there among the Seekh people, and that homeward bound regiments have had to be sent back again, and every Officer of proved experience is required in case of war.46 So of course my darling, being on the Active List, must be despatched to Bombay, not without Vigorous Protest on his part, and he even went so far as to threaten to send in his Papers, and quit the Service altogether, but this they would not permit at all.
So I am left lamenting, like Lord Ullin's daughter, or was it her father, I don't perfectly remember which, while the Husband of my Bosom returns to his Duty, and indeed I hope he takes care with the Seekhs, who appear to be most disagreeable. My only Consolation is the knowledge that my dearest would rather far have accompanied me home himself, and it was this Dear Concern and Affection for me that caused him to resist so fiercely when they said he must go to India (and indeed he grew quite violent on the subject, and called H.E. the Governor many unpleasant things which I shan't set down, they were so shocking). But I could never have him forsake the Path of Honour, which he loves so well, for my sake, and there really was no reason why he should, for I am extremely comfortable and well taken care of aboard the good ship Zelee, whose commander, Captain Feiseck, has been so obliging as to offer me passage to Toulon, rather than await an Indiaman. He is most Agreeable and Attentive, with the most polished manners and full of consideration to me, as are all his officers, especially Lieutenants Homard and St Just and Delincourt and Ambrée and dear little Boudancourt and even the Midshipmen …
[End of extract- Humbug, vanity and affectation to the last! And a very proper wifely concern, indeed!!! - G. de R.]
(On this note of impatience from its original editor, the manuscript of the sixth packet of the Flashman Papers comes to an end.)
APPENDIX A: Cricket in the 1840s
Flashman had a highly personal approach to cricket, as to most things, but there can be no doubt that through his usual cynicism there shines a genuine love of the game. This is not surprising, since it is perhaps the subtlest and most refined outdoor sport ever devised, riddled with craft and gamesmanship, and affording endless scope to a character such as his. Also, he played it well, according to his own account and that of Thomas Hughes, who may be relied on, since he was not prone to exaggerate anything to Flash-man's credit. Indeed, if he had not been so fully occupied by military and other pursuits, Flashman might well have won a place in cricket history as a truly great fast bowler - the dismissal of such a trio as Felix, Pilch, and Mynn (the early Victorian equivalents of Hobbs, Bradman, and Keith Miller) argues a talent far above the ordinary.
How reliable a guide he is to the cricket of his day may be judged from reference to the works listed
at the end of this appendix. His recollection of Lord's in its first golden age is precise, as are his brief portraits of the giants of his day - the huge and formidable Mynn, the elegant Felix, and the great all-rounder Pilch (although most contemporaries show Pilch as being a good deal more genial than Flashman found him). His technical references to the game are sound, although he has a tendency to mix the jargon of his playing days with that of sixty years later, when he was writing - thus he talks not of batsmen, but of "batters", which is correct 1840s usage, as are shiver, trimmer, twister, and shooter (all descriptive of bowling); at the same time he refers indiscriminately to both "hand" and "innings", which mean the same thing, although the former is long obsolete, and he commits one curious lapse of memory by referring to "the ropes" at Lord's in 1842; in fact, boundaries were not introduced until later, and in Flashman's time all scores had to be run for.
Undoubtedly the most interesting of his cricket recollections is his description of his single-wicket match with Solomon; this form of the game was popular in his day, but later suffered a decline, although attempts have been made to revive it recently. The rules are to be found in Charles Box's The English Game of Cricket (1877), but these varied according to preference; there might be any number of players, from one to six, on either side, but if there were fewer than five it was customary to prohibit scoring or dismissals behind the line of the wicket. Betting on such games was widespread, and helped to bring them into disrepute. However, it should be remembered that the kind of wagering indulged in by Flashman, Solomon, and Daedalus Tighe was common in their time; heavy, eccentric, and occasionally crooked it undoubtedly was, but it was part and parcel of a rough and colourful sporting era in which even a clergyman might make a handsome income in cricket side-bets, when games could be played by candlelight, and enthusiasts still recalled such occasions as the Greenwich Pensioners' match in which spectators thronged to see a team of one-legged men play a side who were one-armed. (The one-legged team won, by 103 runs; five wooden legs were broken during the game.) Indeed, we may echo Flashman: cricket is not what it was. (See Box; W. W. Read's Annals of Cricket, 1896; Eric Parker's The History of Cricket, Lonsdale Library (with Sir Spencer Ponsonby-Fane's description of Lord's in "Lord's and the MCC"); W. Denison's Sketches of the Players, 1888; Nicholas ("Felix") Wanostrocht's Felix on the Bat, 1845; and the Rev. J. Pycroft's Oxford Memories, 1886.)
APPENDIX B: The White Raja
Nowadays, when it is fashionable to look only on the dark side of imperialism, not much is heard of James Brooke. He was one of those Victorians who gave empire-building a good name, whose worst faults, perhaps, were that he loved adventure for its own sake, had an unshakeable confidence in the civilizing mission of himself and his race, and enjoyed fighting pirates. His philosophy, being typical of his class and time, may not commend itself universally today, but an honest examination of what he actually did will discover more to praise than to blame.
The account of his work which Steward gave to Flash-man is substantially true - Brooke went to Sarawak for adventure, and ended as its ruler and saviour. He abolished the tyranny under which it was held, revived trade, drew up a legal code, and although virtually without resources and with only a handful of adventurers and reformed head-hunters to help him, fought his single-handed war against the pirates of the Islands. It took him six years to win, and considering the savagery and overwhelming numbers of his enemies, the organized and traditional nature of the piracy, the distances and unknown coasts involved, and the small force at his disposal, it was a staggering achievement.
That it was a brutal and bloody struggle we know, and it was perhaps inevitable that at the end of it Brooke should find himself described by one newspaper as "pirate, wholesale murderer, and assassin", and that demands were made in Parliament, by Hume, Cobden, and Gladstone (who admired Brooke, but not his methods) for an inquiry into his conduct. Palmerston, equally inevitably, defended Brooke as a man of "unblemished honour", and Catchick Moses and the Singapore merchants rallied to his support.
In the event, the inquiry cleared Brooke completely, which was probably a fair decision; his distant critics might think that he had pursued head-hunters and sea-robbers with excessive enthusiasm, but the coast villagers who had suffered generations of plundering and slavery took a different view.
So did the great British public. They were not short of heroes to worship in Victoria's reign, but among the Gordons, Livingstones, Stanleys, and the rest, James Brooke deservedly occupied a unique place. He was, after all, the storybook English adventurer of an old tradition - independent, fearless, upright, priggish and cheerfully immodest, and just a little touched with the buccaneer; it was no wonder that a century of boys' novelists should take him as their model. Which was a great compliment, but no greater than that paid to him by the tribesmen of Borneo; to them, one traveller reported, he was simply superhuman. The pirates of the Islands might well have agreed.*
* Suleiman Usman among them. Brooke ran him to earth at Maludu, North Borneo, in August 1845, only a few weeks after the Flashmans were rescued from Madagascar, from which it appears that Usman, having lost Elspeth, returned to his own waters. He was certainly at Maludu when the British force under Admiral Cochrane attacked and destroyed it; one report states that Usman was wounded, believed killed, in the action, and he does not appear to have been heard of again.
APPENDIX C: Queen Ranavalona I
"One of the proudest and most cruel women on the face of the earth, and her whole history is a record of blood and deeds of horror." Thus Ida Pfeiffer, who knew her person-ally. Other historians have called her "the modern Messalina", "a terrible woman … possessed by the lust of power and cruelty", "female Caligula", and so forth; to M. Ferry, the French Foreign Minister, she was simply "l'horrible Ranavalo".*(* Speech to the Chamber of Deputies, Paris, 1884.) Altogether there is a unanimity which, with the well-documented atrocities of her reign, justifies the worst that even Flashman has to say of her.
That he has reported his personal acquaintance with her accurately there is no reason to doubt. His account of Madagascar and its strange customs accords with other sources, as do his descriptions of such minutiae as the Queen's eccentric wardrobe, her Napoleonic paintings, furniture, idols, place-cards at dinner, drinking habits, and even musical preferences. His picture of her fantastically dressed court, her midnight party, and the public ceremony of the Queen's bath can be verified in detail. As to her behaviour with him, it is known that she had lovers - possibly even before her husband's death, although that admittedly is pure speculation based on a study of the events which brought her to the throne, on which Flashman touches only briefly.
King Radama, her husband, had died suddenly at the age of 36 in 1828. Since they had no children, the heir was the king's nephew, Rakotobe; his supporters, foreseeing a power struggle, concealed the news of the king's death for some days to enable Rakotobe to consolidate his claim. In the meantime, however, a young officer named Andriamihaja's, who was ostensibly among Rakotobe's supporters, betrayed the news of the king's death to Ranavalona, for reasons which are not disclosed. She promptly got the leading military men on her side, put it about that the idols favoured her claim to the throne, and ruthlessly slaughtered all who resisted, including the unfortunate Rakotobe. She rewarded Andriamihaja's treachery by making him commander-in-chief and taking (or confirming) him as her lover - he was presently accused of treachery, put to the tanguin, and executed. (See Oliver, vol. i.)
The next 35 years were a reign of terror, religious persecution, and genocide on a scale (considering Madagascar's size and limited population) hardly matched until our own times. That Ranavalona escaped assassination or deposition is testimony to the strength with which she wielded her absolute power, and to her capacity for surviving plots. How many of these there were, we cannot know, but none succeeded - including the Flashman coup of 1845, and a later conspiracy in which Ida Pfeiffer, then aged 60, found herself involved, to her considerable alarm: she
describes in her Travels how Prince Rakota (still evidently intent on getting rid of mother) showed her the arsenal he intended to use in his revolt, and how she then went to bed and had nightmares about the tanguin test.
Since we know that Rakota and Laborde both survived the plot which Flashman describes, it seems likely that it simply died stillborn, or that the Queen, for some reason, forebore to take vengeance on the conspirators. It would be pleasant to think that Mr Fankanonikaka, at least, was spared to continue his devoted service to his queen and country.
Notes
1. Since most of the Flashman Papers were written between 1900 and 1905, it seems likely that Flashman is here referring to the Test Match series of 1901-2, which Australia won by four matches to one, and possibly also to the series of summer 1902, when the Australians retained the Ashes, 2-1. It was in this year that an attempt to amend the ever-controversial leg-beforewicket rule failed. [p. 12]
2. Flashman's behaviour on the football field is memorably described in Tom Brown's Schooldays, where Thomas Hughes refers to his late arrival at scrimmages "with shouts and great action". [p. 131
3. Flashman's memory is playing him false here, but only slightly. The so-called Rebecca Riots did not begin until some months later, in 1843, when a peculiar secret society known as "Rebecca and her Daughters" began a terrorist campaign against high toll charges in South Wales. They went armed, masked, and disguised as women, and would descend by night on toll-houses and toll-gates, which they wrecked. They apparently took their name from an allusion in Genesis xxiv, 60: "And they blessed Rebekah … and said … let thy seed possess the gate of those which hate them." (See Halev's History of the English People, vol. iv, and Punch, vol. v, Introduction, 1843.) [p. 21]
4. This is the earliest mention in any sporting or literary record of the "hat trick", signifying the feat by a bowler of taking three wickets with successive balls, which traditionally entitles him to a new hat. The phrase has now, of course, a wider application outside cricket, covering three successive triumphs of any kind - a hat-trick of goals or election victories, for example. It is interesting to speculate, not only that the phrase had its origin in Mynn's impulsive gesture to Flashman, but also that it was first used ironically. [p. 34]
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