“And that was it?”
Maneater stated that it was all there was to be said on the matter. They saw the other two no more, and they stayed at the house for three more days, until they ran out of money, when they came away, with the girls telling them to return as soon as they had earned more.
I asked Jerry whether we should do or say anything, but he told me to forget it.
“Fools, Giles, who died stupidly. We have replaced them with two other sailors, both of them Poole men, luckily enough. No more to be said.”
Captain Marker had the last words, in fact.
“Stupidity ain’t a crime, Giles, but it often carries the death penalty.”
Good words those, and I have tried to teach them to young Fred. I doubt he has learned them, though.
The two Poole men had missed their ship, an Indiaman, a week previously, being very busy in a knocking-shop at sailing time. They were glad to be taken on as the Company would not have taken them aboard again except as hands in the Bombay Marine, sharing a berth with Indian men, which they did not fancy.
“Too much of that curry of theirs, Master Giles. Real curry, not the English sort what we normally gets. Can’t handle that, sir.”
They had a point. My own belly was more than a little upset by the end of our third week in port. I was glad to return to ship’s rations.
Captain Marker sold the little sloop, as being unnecessary to us in our trading. He got rid of the brass three pounders as well while we were in Bombay, having been advised that they were not best-suited to our needs in Eastern waters. Mr Arbuthnot put him in touch with a local prince who was pleased to add them to his own forces, which often ventured out with the Company’s army.
We picked up in their place two of John Company’s cannonades, short-barrelled and heavy iron guns. Master Gunner was inclined to approve of them.
“Eighteen pounders, the cannonades, but with no more than a two-foot barrel, young Giles. Very quick to load and swab out and load again. No accuracy at all. Useless at much over fifty yards. Loaded with grapeshot they will do no end of no-good to boarders in small boats or running along a quayside or pier. Man-killers, so they be. Quick to switch them from sternchase to broadside and needing a crew of four men at most. These are the guns to deal with a war party in canoes, such as are to be found off the islands of the South China Sea or down further into the South Seas proper. They are not naval guns – are seen on merchants only.”
Captain Marker had purchased a dozen of roundshot for the cannonades, and grape sufficient to make up a hundred rounds. He had kept the Tower muskets we had taken on the African coast. Master Gunner put the extra muskets into my care, saying it was good for me to be responsible for something all on my own.
“You and your man Fred, Giles. When we go into action, you are to load the longarms and distribute them on deck, as you think proper. Musketoons as well. Keep ‘em free of rust and ready for use.”
A lot of thought and I pinched four of the fire buckets and put them to one side to fill with cartridges and ball so that there were reloads to hand and then it was a matter of laying the weapons along the centre line on deck and nominating a man from each gun to load one apiece for his crew. A simple task, but it gave me to think, and forced me to give the orders necessary. I grew up a little as a result of that first job.
We sailed south from Bombay and rounded Ceylon and made for Java Head.
There’s something about that name. It still sends a shiver of anticipation up my spine. South by Java Head! That’s where the Orient starts for me.
Chapter Six
Nobody’s Child Series
Nobody’s Child
The seas east of Java Head are small ship waters – full of reefs and atolls and shallows. Jenny Dawes was a bare two hundred tons, and even she came close to grounding more than once, dawdling along with a lookout at the masthead, unusually staring down at the waters close to the bows rather than looking out to the horizon. The great East Indiamen on the run to Canton were forced to conform to a few known channels, navigating strictly on their course, never diverging from their safe passage. The result was that the waters were to a great extent unknown to us – large ships, anything bigger than a sloop, dared not traverse them.
Nights were uncommon worrying, I recall. More than one we spent at anchor on a shallow bank and it was rare we risked more than steerage way after sundown. Slow travelling even in daylight, but the waters were rarely beautiful, the corals a sight to remember and the fish visible from above and the colours of the rainbow. Trite, ain’t it? Trouble is, it’s true. Rich waters, and as a result full of sharks profiting from them. Not the place to take a refreshing swim, not outside the reef.
The Dutch had been present in their Spice Islands for two centuries but had kept to their beaten track. The Spanish had not chosen to venture far from the Philippines and the French had sent out the odd explorer such as Bougainville but had not followed up on their discoveries. In effect, we were in unclaimed seas.
Captain Marker took us well south of the Spice Islands, the north and coastal waters being Dutch and patrolled sometimes by their navy, who had an unpleasant tendency to regard all interlopers as pirates. The Royal Navy did the same, of course. I think it’s a result of putting on a uniform and wearing a cocked hat – it makes the head swell and gives a sense of self-importance. Be that as it may, it was wiser to avoid all king’s ships, whoever the king might be.
We sailed due east until we saw the islands in the strait between the southern continent and the shores of the Papues. There we shortened sail and poked our nose inshore as we could - and discovered nothing at all of interest, or not to folk like us of a freebooting mind.
Poor lands, those to the south flat and swampy, with arid near-desert in the distance; to the north the same but with mountains distant behind them and thickly forested where the mangroves ended. There were people, but poor, scrabbling for a living, barely clothed and with no signs at all of worthwhile trading. We chose not to call on them, as they carried stone axes and fire-hardened wooden spears.
Miles we followed those shores, trending north-east and then more southerly again until we came to an archipelago of richer islands, full of friendly people and with made boats that were more than hollowed logs. They had great outrigger vessels with planked sides and decks with thatched cabins on them. The masts were bamboo tripods carrying sails shaped like a crab’s claw and made of wicker. These people were more than bare-arsed savages living in poverty. Their islands were surrounded by reefs, as was natural in such waters, but they had sandy shores rather than mud and showed rich garden lands, unlike the sago swamps to the west.
They knew of trade, more or less, even if not quite in the sense we had of it.
They fully understood that ships coming from afar possessed goods that they wanted and, most importantly, that they were crewed by fools. The sailors on the big ships would offer sharp knives and, even better, great iron axes, all in exchange for the soft, useless yellow - to them - metal that was found in the bottom of some of their creeks.
The local people had prepared themselves hopefully for the ships that appeared at long intervals; they had scooped up the yellow pebbles and dust and had cleaned them of dirt and sand and kept the metal in coconut shells in their storerooms. Some of them dived for pearls as well.
Pearls were more valuable to them than gold, for being prettier and useful as decoration. But they were not especially important, and the local people were happy to sell them.
We were equally, if not more, happy to buy.
They might just be the friendliest people on Earth, the folk who live in those islands at the south-east end of the Papues, the womenfolk especially. The place seems to be run by the women, overtly so. Most houses in this country are run by the womenfolk, but they seem to apologise for their pre-eminence. In those islands, the women knew they were in charge and were not at all bashful about the fact.
The men raised no objections, were evidently
perfectly happy to share.
They had no use for the gin but bought axes most enthusiastically, offering a half shell of dust for each and thinking they had a bargain. They bought knives in at four pearls apiece, except for the biggest cleavers for which they voluntarily added pebbles of gold as well.
We sold every knife we possessed, including those we had taken on the African coast and had been going to move in London.
When they ran out of gold, we had a dozen axes left and almost nothing else that would take an edge.
We celebrated with a feast, islanders and ourselves together joyously. Pig meat, coarse and fatty but fresh and therefore tasty. They had a drink of their own, made of fruit set out in the sun in a tub of water and with some sort of yeast added – they did not bake bread, so I don’t know how they had come by it, or why, unless it was purely for brewing. It was strong stuff.
I woke up next morning in a hut between two young ladies who saw no reason why I should leave too early. I concurred.
Jenny Dawes up-anchored next day, having counted the crew three times over to make sure that all were aboard. We sailed east again, the local people having recommended that we should not go north. They could speak no language we knew, and we had none of their tongue, but they were sea-faring folk and were able to point our directions on the wind, which was apparently steady from the south-east at that season. From the way they scowled and waved their new axes, we gathered that the peoples to the north were unfriendly. East it was, despite the tacking it demanded.
We sailed on an almost calm sea, pottering along in a gentle breeze, most of us getting our breath back after a week of enthusiastic hospitality. Captain Marker and Jerry sat next to me by the wheel, weighing up our takings, in full sight of the crew so that there could be no doubting the figures we came up with.
“A gold guinea comes in at about a quarter of an ounce of pure gold, Giles – so we can call our gold to be worth four guineas, which is eighty-four shillings, for an ounce.”
That seemed to me then to be a lot. It still does. An ounce of gold to be worth more than a hundred loaves of bread in ordinary times? We have a strange set of values, I sometimes think.
We had five leather fire-buckets part-full of gold dust and nuggets, more than two hundred pounds weight of metal.
“Three thousand and three hundred ounces which comes to, let me see…” repeated long multiplication came to thirteen thousand eight hundred and sixty pounds sterling. One share came to thirteen pounds, seventeen shillings and tuppence ha’penny. The pearls we could not value and we simply counted them out as one hundred and ten, each of the size of a garden pea.
“We ain’t rich, exactly, sir, on that, but we’re not badly off.”
“Exactly so, Giles. And we still have the gin to get rid of.”
I did not think that gin could be even a fraction as valuable as the steel blades – but, as I may have mentioned, I was still young.
We came to an island that had made contact with European sailors before. Some of the men spoke a little of English. I discovered later that a trader had foundered off the island some years before and that a few sailors had made the shore and had survived a while. How long and what they died from, I never found out. A few bottles had come ashore unbroken and the men knew of spirits, and very much hoped we had more aboard ship; they bought some from other outsiders, but not as good.
They had no gold but were well-off for pearls. They sold the pearls every year or two, it seemed, to traders who came in a different sort of ship to ours, though of a similar size. Much explanation came up with sails that were made to rise up and down the mast, with short lengths of cloth between bamboo poles held horizontal, one above another.
“Chinese junk, Giles!”
Captain Marker explained the junk to me; I had not realised them to be ocean-going ships.
The Chinese sold some sort of spirits to the local folk, a small amount for a lot of pearls.
Captain Marker sent for a gin bottle and we sat down together on the shore in a companionable circle, passing the square case bottle from hand to hand. It would have been a strange sight to an outsider.
The people of this island were the blackest I have ever met – like the Nubians are said to be. Shiny black, not brown. Like shoe-leather. We asked of that, enquired if the other islands nearby were the same, but they told us, rather proudly, that they were unique. They were Bukas, they said, the only ones of their kind.
They liked the gin, very much. It was stronger than the stuff the Chinamen sold. We enquired whether they had any other goods they could sell us in exchange. It transpired that the Chinese bought brimstone from them as well; volcanic sulphur, for which the gunpowder mills would always pay well.
“We can move that in Bombay, brother.”
“We can indeed, Captain.” Jerry was always formal in speech to his brother, thinking it right for ship’s discipline that he should be.
The Chinese had, very kindly, left empty barrels to be filled with brimstone. The Bukas knew that the Chinese would not be back until after the Wet Season, the better part of six months, or eighteen if none came that year, and we had gin today…
The islanders volunteered to make up working parties to empty our holds and refill them with their barrels. They handed over the pearls they had in store as well.
“Six hundred barrels of brimstone, sir, by my count.”
I had sat on deck, together with my group of boarders, musketoons and Tower muskets loaded and ready, five apiece in case of need. We did not think it likely that the Bukas would attempt us, but there was no harm in being ready for any eventuality. Master Gunner had the two cannonades ready at broadside ports, for safety’s sake. They carried some very sharp spears and a mixture of greenstone and iron axes. It seemed that the Chinese were unwilling to sell many knife blades to the Bukas and few of axes – possibly an act of wisdom. We handed over our remaining few axes, as a gift after trading had ended. The Bukas seemed to think we were very fine fellows for being so generous. They suggested we might wish to provide them with transport to the south, to the nearest island, where they would use the axes to harvest meat and capture a few girls, for the amusement of the young men. They offered us a fair share of the meat, which we turned down, realising it was long pig. Maneater was especially virtuous in his denials.
We sailed an hour before dusk, thinking it wiser to be gone before the party started that evening. Two hundred at least of men with a bottle apiece could easily lead to disaster; the more because they had the better part of two score more of bottles each to work through. We waved and promised to come back again and pointed our bows west, clapping on sail for Bombay and the end of a short and highly profitable expedition.
We came to our anchors at Bombay, barely two months since we had departed and a few days before the monsoon came in. Mr Arbuthnot was surprised to see us so soon, wondered if we had been caught by the fevers, perhaps? He was amazed at our reply.
“Brimstone? The true volcanic outpouring, gentlemen?”
“Six hundred barrels, sir, bright yellow and smelling unmentionably.”
Mr Arbuthnot admitted that to be a fair description.
“Six hundred barrels, you say? We have our own powder mill, saltpetre being in great supply in India. Charcoal, of course, may be had everywhere. Brimstone is always the most difficult to source of the three essentials of gunpowder, or so we find it. I could offer six pounds sterling for the barrel, Captain Marker, and still believe I had come into a bargain.”
If that was the case, then I wondered why Captain Marker did not hold out for more. I said nothing, having learned discretion.
“Accepted, Mr Arbuthnot, and with thanks. Rather than take cash, sir, I would much wish to load knives and axes, and perhaps machetes or bush knives or something similar as well.”
“Easily done, Captain Marker! You wish to return to the same trading partners, sir?”
Captain Marker thought not – we had taken all of their stocks of gold
and trade goods. We must go elsewhere, even if not far distant from our first places of call. We made to go and then Captain Marker spoke as if he had had an afterthought. I considered his manner to be a little too casual, was sure he had planned in advance.
“I wonder, Mr Arbuthnot, if it might be possible to hire on a party of additional boarders, fighting men to sail with us on the voyage, returning to Bombay to pay off. Fifty or thereabouts of extra bodies could be of value to us. The word was that the Chinese pirates swarm in the waters of the Papues after the Rains, coming down south on the dry winds. Jenny Dawes is a small ship and needs extra bodies to protect herself.”
“Indian men, I presume, Captain Marker?”
“Undoubtedly, sir. The Company’s sepoys have an enviable martial reputation, sir.”
“I cannot loan you a company of sepoys, Captain Marker. I can, however, put out the word that men who are coming to the end of their enlistment might enjoy a profitable few months at sea to add to their gratuities. Best they should be Hindoo. Mussulmen are a nuisance aboard ship, being more finicky in their ways and requiring to pray at all times of the day.”
Captain Marker conferred with Jerry and myself and we decided to put the forehold down to accommodation for the extra men. It would be easy to sling hammocks and to arrange a separate galley and ration store. Water was no difficulty, requiring only that they should have access to a separate barrel of their own, uncontaminated by Christian mouths. It took a week, the local carpenters being very handy and working every daylight hour as a matter of course.
We had the fifty spare Tower muskets to hand and it took only a day in the markets to lay hands on cutlasses at one apiece. We debated pistols, but they were less freely come by, had to be purchased from John Company’s arsenal, at a steep price, in Indian terms. We decided initially that musket and cutlass must suffice.
Nobody’s Child Page 8
