Nobody’s Child

by Andrew Wareham

  It was close to nightfall by the time we were content that we had laid our hands on all they possessed.

  “Burn the hulls, Captain?”

  “Not tonight, Giles. We will stay in the bay here, sail in the morning. No need to set a beacon to announce our presence tonight.”

  It struck me as over-cautious, but I decided there was no harm in such behaviour; it was an example to follow. That might be why I have lived to my current age – I have known a number of happy-go-lucky fellows in my time, but I seem to have outlived them all. I seem to remember mentioning that I have outlived any number of the more cautious as well. Perhaps I’ve just been lucky.

  Captain Marker took us a distance further from the shore, anchoring at the edge of the shallows, perhaps a quarter of a mile from the land. The watchkeeper woke us all a couple of hours before dawn, calling us to arms for seeing movement along the shore. Fires flared on the beach and inland as we assembled in our parties and loaded our flintlocks.

  “Over by the crocodile hides, Giles. As if there had been an attack there which discovered the place to be deserted.”

  “The warriors lighting fires to sit by for the rest of the night, while they try to discover what has happened. They will see us at dawn, and they will observe the junks to be destroyed. Did any of the bodies float in with the tide, do you know, Giles?”

  I had seen none along the shoreline. It was more likely that they had been taken out to sea by the current of the river.

  “Pity. They might have liked to know that we had killed the Chinese. As it is, they might mistake us for more of the same sort. No matter. We won’t be back. I wonder who they are.”

  “Local men from inland, or from along the coast, I would think. Possibly some of the villagers escaped the massacre and took the word to others of their people. Could be that they saw them from a distance – hunters inland or fishermen from the sea.”

  Dawn light showed a few canoes drawn up alongside the junks and local men aboard them. Captain Marker shrugged and called his sailing orders.

  “We left a little of stores – rice and such that we need no more of. They are welcome to all they lay their hands on. They might find a use for the timbers. Time for us to go.”

  The next month saw us circumnavigate the big island, and gain little except a suntan from the exercise. If there were more junks, we did not see them. The eastern shores of the island were richer than the west, in terms of lowland that grew food, and there were more and greater villages there, but they had not attracted Chinese traders, or so it seemed, and they had no welcome for us. We came round to the north of Buka and Captain Marker decided it was time to return to Bombay. We had made a profit and needed a refit and to replenish our stores.

  The wounded had recovered, as much as they were going to, or died during that month and we sat with the survivors, talking over their futures, such as they were.

  There had been seventy-two of us in the boarding parties, counting Jamadar Rao and myself. Thirty-two had fallen, twelve of them dead on the spot. One man in six killed outright, which was a high figure, I discovered, almost twice the classical decimation that was said to destroy a unit’s morale and fighting power. Of the remaining twenty, eleven had succumbed during the following month, the gangrene taking most, two killing themselves, opening veins in their wrists in the dark of the night. One of the suicides had discovered the extent of his facial disfiguration; the other had survived long enough to find that he would never walk again, his backbone damaged low down.

  Nine of the wounded were like to make a recovery – having survived a month they were unlikely to die now, so Jerry said.

  “Five of them, Giles, will stand in our ranks again, if they wish. They may not. Having come so close to looking their Saviour in the face, they may not have the stomach for further battle. Four, as you know, are too much injured to work again, or not in this trade.”

  It transpired that one of the wounded had no wish to continue with us, making five to be discharged from the complement.

  “What happens to them, Jerry?”

  “They will be paid their shares, in Bombay. The ship will pay their passage to England and will give them fifty pounds per limb in addition, which is the agreement in the Articles they signed. Two of them are Indian men, so the cost of the passage will be put in their pockets. They will be well off, so Jamadar Rao says. They will be taken back to their villages with the better part of two hundred pounds in cash – wealthy, so he says, in peasant terms.”

  I was glad to hear that, knowing that the men who returned to Poole would not be.

  “What of the three of ours, Jerry?”

  “They will go home, Giles. If they have families, they may be made welcome and they might even discover a way of making a living. Probably they will be set ashore and will take to the booze and be dead before they have emptied their pockets. If they are lucky, that is.”

  It was harsh, but it was the gamble they took when they signed on.

  What was it the Spartans said? ‘Come back with your shields or on them’? Glory or death for the Navy. Profit or death for us.

  The families of the dead would be paid their shares, again worth vastly more in Bombay than in Poole. Even so, the bereft parents in Dorset would not be displeased to have two years of a farm labourer’s wages put in their hands…

  It was a hard game we had signed on for.

  “You could take passage back to England if you wished, Giles. Your five shares would give you a bit in your pocket to set you up back at home.”

  I had no hesitation in committing myself to stay.

  “I like this life, Jerry. A year and I have made a few pounds and have learned that I can be more than a schoolboy. Ten more years and I might well be in the way of setting up as a merchant in my own right or be master of a privateer myself.”

  “You might be dead, Giles.”

  “Hold a wake for me if I am, Jerry. I shall risk it.”

  “Good lad!”

  We said no more of the unlucky – they were the past.

  Bombay welcomed us and did its best to help us celebrate our successes.

  I surfaced after a week of debauchery and joined Captain Marker in a meeting with Mr Arbuthnot.

  “A proposal, gentlemen. My good friend Mr Ainslie is a merchant here in Bombay. He is to take a cargo from the island of Ceylon, the southern parts of which are Dutch, to be delivered in Canton. The goods are of very light weight, and small bulk, but of some considerable value. Rather than despatch them in one of his own vessels, he wishes them to be carried in an armed ship. He will pay a substantial fee for their carriage and will arrange for a cargo to be taken back from Canton, if you wish. If you prefer, you might wish to adventure from Canton and through the islands on your return.”

  Captain Marker was immediately in favour of acceptance of Mr Ainslie’s commission. I was there for my accent rather than my opinions and took his lead, expressing my desire to be of service to our good patron, Mr Arbuthnot.

  It was agreed that we should meet Ainslie the next day.

  “What cargo, Captain?”

  “From Ceylon? Rubies and sapphires, I would imagine. Uncut gemstones which are found there in quantity. Many tens of thousands of pounds in value, I do not doubt. We could sail away with them, of course, Giles, off to distant parts, never to be seen in India or England again. John Company would never forget or forgive us if we did. We would never rest easy again, wherever we chose to hide. America, it would have to be, and watching our backs for the rest of our lives.”

  I agreed that we must be honest if we were to accept the contract. It was also clear that we could not refuse it – not if we were to work out of Bombay again. John Company did not make generous offers twice.

  We sailed five days later, provisioned and watered, all for free, and with the best wishes of our patrons ringing in our ears.

  We made harbour in the small port of Galle after a tedious passage, the winds foul for much of it, and waited, as
ordered, to be contacted. I understood that a very fast aviso, a despatch runner, had journeyed before us. For the while, we sat at anchor and viewed the ancient port with amaze, Jerry displaying his knowledge as ever.

  “The Tarshish of the ancients, so it is said, Giles. The source of cinnamon and other spices. Portuguese before it was Dutch and with a lighthouse and the great fort we can see to our front. One of the great towns of the Orient, once upon a time. Yet now it is decaying. The wealth of the East flows through Bombay and Calcutta and Madras and the ancient city of Galle is falling into insignificance. In the same way, the empire of the Dutch is falling into desuetude. Empires come and go. Countries rise to power and then fall into triviality. I wonder why?”

  I did not have an answer. I still do not, but England is rising at the moment, creating a powerful empire, one that may yet outmatch any previous. I doubt it will last for many generations, but it is very pleasant to be a part of it just now.

  For me, that is. Thinking on what I have just written, I have made my pile from the new lands. Too many of the people of this country have gained nothing from this expansionism. Perhaps that is why empires fall – they benefit the few, not the many. As one of the few, why should I complain?

  We were surrounded by bumboats within minutes of coming to an anchor. They had literally anything a ship could want for sale at low prices, except for females, that was. Presumably the Dutch maintained that degree of public decency. Jerry was amused.

  “I expect the mayor or governor or whoever runs the town owns the biggest brothels and doesn’t want competition, Giles. I doubt that decency has much to do with it.”

  I had yet to learn such cynicism – as I have mentioned, I was still young. I bought fruit and enjoyed it. I did not purchase alcohol, one of the few aboard to abstain, it seemed. Half the crew went to sleep drunk that night, the remainder being on watch and hence staying sober. Jerry was pleased with them.

  “Voluntarily keeping off the grog, Giles, because they have duty. You would not see that in the navy. The advantage of a privateer is that you get a better class of seaman aboard, and a worse class of boarders, of course. But they have a sense of responsibility – they care for the ship because it is worth money to them.”

  It was difficult to accept that money meant more than duty to the ordinary man. Later in life I discovered the same applied to our rulers as well, but by that time nothing surprised me.

  A couple of hours after dawn and a large boat came out to us – a barge I suppose it could be called. It had a score of oars and a single pole mast and a deckhouse to the stern, open but roofed over. I could see four Europeans sat in the deckhouse, dressed expensively, wearing coats and with tie-cravats and thigh boots. Merchants or military – important folk.

  “Giles, a guard of honour to the entry port.”

  I waved an acknowledgement to Captain Marker and ran to the forecastle and called to Jamadar Rao and Maneater to roust out any man who was sober, with his musket.

  We found a dozen who could stand upright and put them in a double line, muskets grounded at their sides. They did not offer any great sense of ceremony, but they did look dangerous.

  The deck was within reason clean and the cannon were gleaming bright and the swivels on the rails looked ready for action. The ship in fact looked right – within reason taut and ready to fight any comer.

  Captain Marker called me to his side as the introductions were made, on the off chance that my accent might be recognised and should offer a touch of class to the proceedings. One of the merchants was English in fact and noticed that I was born to the gentry. Possibly that was advantageous – I don’t know.

  The Englishman did the talking – possibly because the Dutch could not, though I suspected they understood all that was said. They nodded in the right places.

  “It has been the habit to send all of the gemstones collected hereabouts to Amsterdam, gentlemen. The merchants here have recently become aware of the willingness of merchants in Canton to match the prices available in Europe and offer trade as well, thus creating a greater profit. Unfortunately, there is no official Dutch concession at Canton at the moment and no current habit of sending Dutch Company ships there. To take advantage of the possibilities offered in China, it is necessary to use English bottoms and to sell through the English factories. Because the sums involved are very large, it is wiser to use an armed vessel, rather than a merchantman. It is our intent to offer a charter for your services to Canton, one way. Our factor in Canton will be able to find a cargo outward bound for you, if such is your desire.”

  There was a brief discussion of the sums involved. They seemed generous.

  “Payable when, sir?”

  “In silver dollars, here and now.”

  It all seemed simple and straightforward.

  Stevedores were summoned from the barge and brought sealed canvas bags containing the sapphires and rubies – large bags of a substantial weight. Others brought leather sacks of Maria Theresa dollars, piling them at Captain Marker’s feet to be opened and sampled and found good.

  An hour and all was packed away below deck, the merchants had boarded their barge and the crew had been summoned to sailing stations. We had reached deep water well before sunset.

  Captain Marker called the officers to conference.

  Himself, Jerry, the two mates, Master Gunner, myself, Jamadar Rao and Maneater, all sat together on deck near the wheel, in easy hearing of the steersman and of any other sailor whose duties brought him near.

  “I don’t like this business, that I will tell you for free, gentlemen! I have opened the packets of gemstones, and as far as I can tell, they are just that – many tens of thousands of pounds of rubies and sapphires. Jerry and I have checked through the bags of dollars, and they are good. So, why have they been put in our way? It must have been easy enough to wait for a Dutch frigate to make harbour and send the freight on her. Why pay us, and pay us well, for a service they could have obtained for far less, on a better armed ship?”

  “Do they have insurance here, Captain?”

  Jerry asked the question in a tentative voice, not at all sure that an affirmative answer was possible.

  “They do in Bombay, of a certainty, brother.”

  “This contract was arranged in Bombay…”

  Jerry explained insurance, and its many frauds, to the rest of us.

  Chapter Nine

  Nobody’s Child Series

  Nobody’s Child

  “Who, what and where, Jerry?”

  “The three important questions, Captain. If we answer the last first, then the others may become more obvious.”

  Captain Marker made no response, playing safe, I presumed.

  “Where can we be picked up, predictably, Captain?”

  “Here, in sight almost of Galle itself. Other than that… if we follow the course of the Indiamen, then in the Straits of Malacca, or possibly the Sunda Straits. Two frigates, one to each, should discover us, if we use that course.”

  “Will we do so?”

  “Will we buggery! Definitely not, brother.”

  “There are several alternatives. To cover them all would demand a substantial flotilla. The Dutch navy could do it, but not without informing every captain they have in the East Indies and making a noise that would eventually be heard in Holland.”

  Captain Marker could agree with that.

  “Not the Dutch navy, brother. The scheme simply would not be safe. After the Spice Islands, our course lies through the South China Sea and could follow any route the winds chose for us. Being within reason shallow, we may negotiate the reef-filled seas where an Indiaman dare not travel.”

  “Elegantly expressed, Captain Marker. Our course is not predictable until its final leagues, when we reach the waters off Whampoa, the anchorage for Canton. There are Chinese pirate fleets which can lay in wait for us there in great numbers.”

  Captain Marker scowled.

  “I have been told of a hundred junks and ten
thousand men in the great fleets, brother, and we cannot live against them.”

  “We can,” Jerry disagreed. “We can join the Indiamen in their convoy, if we can find it. They are always escorted by the Navy and their ships are heavily armed besides. Typically, they have an escort of a small Third Rate, a sixty-four, and a pair of frigates and three or four of sloops and gunbrigs. Quite often the Bombay Marine lends one or two bottoms to the escort in addition. Was we to flee to their arms, seeking succour, claiming that pirates had chased us, then we could accompany them for the last few days of the voyage. I do not say that we could join them at an early stage, but they could not refuse us in distress.”

  We thought that a remarkably clever notion.

  “When does the convoy sail, Jerry?”

  Master Gunner seemed within reason in favour of the idea but tended to have a practical mind.

  “After the monsoon, always. The Bombay ships sailed four days before we did. They are to rendezvous with the Calcutta flotilla at a point they will not divulge, but west of the Straits of Malacca. We will have matched them for speed, at a minimum, will probably have averaged a knot more. Was we to take a passage east of the Sunda Strait and then head onto their track, there is a good chance we would find them. If not, then we make for Canton at best speed and then come back to the south-west. It should not be an impossibility.”

  It was a practical scheme, so we thought.

  Captain Marker called the crew together and explained all to them.

  Maneater raised the sole query.

  “Can they Navy ships press we, Captain? Always short-handed, so they are.”

  “Not in time of peace, Maneater. Pressing is unlawful except Parliament has passed the Act to permit it. When war ends, the Act lapses. Shipwrecked mariners must be taken to the destination of the ship that rescues them and there be put ashore into the care of a British official. If there is no consul or such, then they must be carried to another place where they can be protected. In the East Indies, the effect is that a rescued man must be taken to Canton or to a port in India. If he is fit, he will then be encouraged to sign on to a ship sailing for England. If he is crippled by his experiences, then his fate is less easily determined, but he should be sent to a place where he may receive succour.”