The Bombay Marines Read online

  The Eclipse was tilting more wildly with the increasing wind, masts and spars dipping from side-to-side, making a climb into the shrouds dangerous. But a ship’s safety came first, even taking precedence over the life of the crew.

  The men on the flying jib let go of the halyards. Keeping the sheet fast, they allowed the sail to run down the stay, letting the wind escape from the upper half. With a shout from the men, the sheet was released, and the wind quickly puffed out from the lower half, making the haul easy and quick.

  Horne moved his eyes aft, seeing the two prisoners, Groot and Kiro, tackling the royals; the Dutch and Japanese prisoners held the weather sheet fast for the wind to go out of the canvas, tugging in unison on the weather clemline to haul it down. Neither Groot nor Kiro were big men but Horne could see that they were both putting all their strength into their work.

  Leaning back to study the topgallant, he listened to the familiar shouts of ‘Haul taut’ … ‘lower away’ … ‘haul down’ … Squinting his eyes, he watched the African thief, Jud Mwambi, move aloft with the agility of an experienced hand. Horne hoped all the prisoners would show as much skill with muskets and knives as they showed as seamen.

  Another call caught Horne’s attention, a shout from the masthead.

  ‘Sail ho!’

  Horne looked by habit to starboard.

  ‘Sail ho,’ hailed the mainmast. ‘To larboard bow.’

  Turning to his left, Horne pulled a spyglass from the pocket of his new frock coat and trained it on the stretch of cliffs and distant mountains of the Indian shoreline known as the Malabar Coast.

  The mainmast hailed, ‘Native craft, ahoy! Double mast and sweeps.’

  The Eclipse dipped deeply from the swells. Horne could not fix the vessel in his spyglass but he guessed that a two-masted craft with oars could only be a pattimar, one of the Indian vessels which travelled the Malabar Coast. They were six hours south of Bombay and, as local traders would not be venturing seaward in a brewing storm, he suspected that the ship was probably a prowling coastal pirate.

  Chapter Five

  ‘CLEAR FOR ACTION’

  Adam Horne sighted his spyglass on the two-masted pattimar plunging towards the Eclipse. He could not spot a flag or pennant of allegiance run up its mast. Although he had no wish to fire upon a friendly trader’s ship, neither did he want to be taken unawares by one of the many raiders infesting the coves and inlets of the Malabar Coast. Polygars lived in the hills from Kolhapur to Quilian and kept small fleets to rob merchant traffic. There was always danger, too, from Tamil pirates who rounded Cape Comorin from the Coromandel Coast, preying upon ships for rich cargo and valuable weapons.

  Estimating the amount of time before the unidentified vessel would be within firing range, Horne took a quick inventory of his cannon power. The Eclipse was rated at thirty-four guns, having twenty-six twelve pounders on the main deck, four six pounders on the quarterdeck, and four nine pounders, as well as four swivel guns, on the forecastle.

  With time to run out the guns for battle, he wanted to make certain that all members of the crew had eaten before they engaged in what could possibly become an extended encounter.

  ‘Pilkington, have all the men been fed?’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’ came the reply.

  Pleased that the Eclipse would not have to lose time whilst the crew went to the galley, Horne called for all fires aboard to be extinguished, then ordered, ‘Have the decks sanded, Lieutenant, larboard and starboard, but don’t run out the guns yet. We’re not the aggressor.’

  He trained his spyglass back towards the jagged shoreline. The white speck was growing larger against the grey sea, still set on a course straight for the Eclipse. Moving the glass across the choppy water to his left, he swept it in the opposite direction. There was no other ship in sight.

  Snapping shut the spyglass, Horne began to feel agitated; he was impatient with the vessel for still raising no flag of allegiance, leaving the Eclipse waiting to learn if she was being approached by friend or foe. The brewing storm troubled him, too. Governor Spencer already begrudged him the four weeks to discipline and train his sixteen prisoners; a change in weather could slow the voyage to Bull Island and lose him valuable time.

  Shouts and the sound of scuffling near the larboard gun-ports disturbed Home. He turned, ready to discipline any man daring to waste these important moments in a squabble.

  Midshipman Bruce waved his musket excitedly, his round cheeks flushed with excitement. ‘Men overboard! Men overboard!’

  Horne descended the ladder three rungs at a time, wondering if one of the seasick prisoners had slipped on the tossing deck. Or perhaps someone had taken advantage of battle preparations and dived overboard in the hope of swimming to the distant shore. This reminded him that he had forgotten to ask if the prisoners could swim when he had selected them from the cells. Few sailors knew how to swim and he might need swimmers in the mission to Fort St George.

  Horne’s anger turned on himself. What other omission had he made in choosing these men?

  Pilkington stood in front of the larboard nettings. ‘The Arab and the Britisher with the pigtail, sir. They were rolling the nettings. I turned my back and they leaped up on the railing and jumped feet first into the water.’

  Horne looked over the railing, down past the bulwark, and saw two men clawing furiously at the white-capped waves. He could not tell which was Eid the Omani and which was Ted Malloy from Bristol; all he could see was two figures far below him in the churning sea.

  The sounds of another scuffle alongside him made him glance over his shoulder, in time to see Bapu, the Rajasthani bandit, struggling with Midshipman Bruce and grabbing Bruce’s flintlock.

  Pilkington moved to stop Bapu, but Horne held him back. ‘No, let the man be, Lieutenant.’

  The command surprised Pilkington. ‘But, sir …’

  Horne was adamant. ‘I gave orders to stop any man trying to escape.’

  ‘But, sir! That … man’s disarmed an officer!’

  ‘How else is he to get a weapon?’

  ‘But, sir …’

  Horne thrust a finger at the sea. ‘Lieutenant, if those two men reach shore, this prisoner and all thirteen others will be sent back to Bombay Castle …’

  A loud blast silenced Horne.

  Turning, he saw Bapu holding a spent flintlock smoking in one hand, and looking back to the sea, he saw blood colouring the waves and only one man floundering in the choppy water.

  Bapu was an excellent marksman, Horne at least was pleased to see that; he beckoned Tyson Lovett to step forward from the Marine rank. Taking the musket from Tyson’s hands, he passed it to Bapu who accepted the weapon and knowledgeably checked its muzzle, charge and cap.

  ‘Captain Horne, look!’ Midshipman Bruce pointed towards the single swimmer.

  Horne glanced back to the sea and recognized the fins of predatory fish.

  The one remaining swimmer had also spotted sharks encircling him and he began shouting, waving to be rescued.

  ‘Sir, the man’s calling for help.’ Midshipman Bruce looked to the ship’s lifelines and back to Adam Horne.

  Horne remained silent, his square jaw working as he watched the swimmer floundering in the tossing sea. He looked at Bapu standing alongside him, sighting the musket towards the water.

  Bruce became more eager to help the shouting swimmer. ‘Sir, shall I toss him the lifeline?’

  Pilkington was also beginning to show concern. ‘There’s not much time left, sir.’

  Horne kept his eyes on the swimmer. He already knew the command he would give. He paused only to curse some meddling voice nagging inside him to spare the swimmer’s life, to be forgiving or show mercy, a sentimental conscience which totally disregarded the mission’s success.

  His voice low and steady, Horne ordered, ‘Fire.’

  The musket ball struck its target. The swimmer’s head exploded into fragments as if it had been a melon bobbing in the surf. The sharks dived at th
e fresh splash of scarlet.

  Bapu lowered the musket’s barrel and handed it to Horne.

  Horne took the musket and passed it back to Tyson Lovett, knowing many men aboard the Eclipse were scandalized by his orders, but also remembering the man who had obeyed them. He looked at Bapu and acknowledged him with a nod, a small reward for fine service. He hoped it would not be the big Asian’s one and only show of loyalty.

  Behind Horne, Pilkington and Bruce stood at the railing, their faces pale, their eyes flinching. The swimmer had disappeared under the water, all traces of blood diluting in the waves.

  Pulling the spyglass from his pocket, Horne trained it on the approaching vessel and saw a blue puff of cannon smoke drift up past its raked foresail. Kolhapur or Tamil, the unmarked ship had finally shown its intentions.

  Horne snapped shut the spyglass. Ah! There was no conscience now about retaliation!

  ‘Clear for action!’

  * * *

  The pattimar was sailing on the opposite tack towards the Eclipse, struggling up to windward.

  Horne ordered, ‘Steer small.’

  Tandimmer, hearing the command, understood Adam Horne’s intention without needing a further explanation; soon the Eclipse lay in front of the gale, the sea crashing and foaming around her, the rigging creaking as if it might snap from the force, while the rising wind served as auxiliary power to the shortened sails.

  Adam Horne’s distress about ordering the deaths of two men had disappeared for the moment; the first stage of battle demanded his attention.

  ‘Sir, do you think they’re raiders?’

  Horne did not answer Pilkington’s question; he was thinking about the enemy’s manoeuvres.

  ‘Do you think, sir, they’ll fire again at such long range?’

  The Eclipse had not yet opened fire and the worst moment of battle was the wait to send the first volley. But Horne had learnt years ago that the best element of defence in any battle was timing, knowing how to fire at the most opportune moment.

  Pilkington glanced at the sand spread to keep the gunners from sliding on deck. ‘Guns ready, sir.’

  Horne remained patient, responding almost paternally to Pilkington despite the fact that the First Lieutenant was three years his senior.

  ‘Lieutenant, we must not form our action on enemy fire. They could only be trying to draw us out.’

  Pilkington frequently asked a younger man’s questions, especially when he was excited or stressed.

  ‘Draw out, sir?’

  ‘Yes, Lieutenant. The enemy captain might claim later that he shot a distress signal and that we opened fire against him.’

  ‘Who would he tell that to, sir?’

  ‘Raiders along the Malabar Coast have been known to sell their allegiance to the French, Lieutenant. France pays a good price to get allies near Bombay. A careless incident here on the Malabar Coast could distract attention from the Navy’s blockade in the Bay of Bengal.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Of course, sir.’ Pilkington often forgot that his Captain had a mind for diplomacy.

  Horne studied the approaching vessel again through the spyglass, trying to estimate at what angle the two ships would meet if they continued on the present course, and which vessel would be windward, the Eclipse or the pattimar.

  Snapping shut the spyglass, he asked, ‘Merlin on the portside guns?’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  ‘Canister on top of round shot?’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  ‘See that the matches are lit in the buckets, Lieutenant. There’s wash over the bulwark and one wave would ruin an entire round of shot.’

  Pilkington returned to Horne’s side as another blue puff rose from the pattimar’s snubbed prow.

  Horne studied the enemy with his naked eye. ‘She fired again.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I see the smoke, sir. But I didn’t see the ball splash in the water.’

  Horne looked through the spyglass for any sign of flag or pennant but still saw nothing, not even the flash of insignia, the glint of the sun on a good luck charm painted on the prow.

  A third puff of cannon smoke rose from the enemy ship. Pilkington pointed as the sound of a ball came sizzling across the waves, crashing below the water line of the Eclipse.

  ‘Strike, sir,’ cried Pilkington.

  Horne ignored the hit. It was time to put into effect the first part of his plan.

  ‘Put helm a’weather.’ he shouted to the Sailing Master. ‘And hold, Tandimmer.’

  George Tandimmer guessed how Adam Horne had decided to deal with the enemy. He smiled at him for taking daredevil chances.

  To Pilkington, Horne ordered, ‘Starboard prepare to fire.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Pilkington was galvanized by Horne’s orders for action.

  Horne listened to the effect of Tandimmer’s work – the groan of the wheel, the extra boost given by the wind to the ship’s turn. If the enemy continued to behave as he expected, each round of canister shot could pepper the pattimar with two hundred musket balls.

  The enemy continued to advance exactly as Horne had predicted: the pattimer had seen the Eclipse’s change of tack and was immediately following suit, plunging against the wind. As he had also suspected, the driving winds placed the native craft in a helpless position in front of the Eclipse, its oars raised, reminding Horne of the wings of a pigeon in flight, exposing a tender breast to be shot by the hunter – the frigate’s starboard guns.

  ‘Fire!’

  The frigate rumbled.

  A broadside strike on the pattimar brought a cheer from the crew. But Horne ignored the success, concentrating on how to keep a full move ahead of the enemy.

  Cupping his hands to his mouth, he shouted, ‘Stand by to go about!’

  The wind was fierce, tossing waves across deck, but the Eclipse had the benefit of the gauge and of a crew used to an unpredictable captain. The hands grabbed eagerly at the sheets, tugging haul lines before the pattimar had the opportunity to recover from the first blast, giving the frigate the advantage of the next attack.

  ‘Fire!’

  The second bombardment struck the pattimar’s stern.

  The crew aboard the Eclipse was wild now with excitement, but Horne remained silent on the quarterdeck, his weathered face immobile, the creases deep around his eyes, his jaw working as he wondered whether the pattimar captain had realized that the Eclipse would soon lose the benefit of the gale.

  Deciding to strike whilst he still had the position, he again cupped both hands to his mouth. ‘Fire!’

  The gun crew, crouching with red bandanas knotted around their heads to save their eardrums from the cannon roar, saw the gunner captain, Dick Merlin, chop down his arm for them to proceed as he also shouted, ‘Fire, you bloody buggers! Fire!’

  The burst from the Eclipse’s cannons was matched by a burst of flame from the pattimar’s guns. Both vessels shuddered from the strikes.

  Horne felt the deck tremble beneath his feet. He heard cries from amidship. The enemy had hit men, but he had no time to think about injuries or deaths.

  Deciding to change tack and fire on the enemy leeward, he halted the command when he saw the pattimar beginning to swing about, its snub nose turning towards the headland.

  Horne raised his spyglass. Was the pattimar retreating?

  The frigate’s gun crew, interpreting the enemy’s flight as their victory, pulled off their bandanas and cheered.

  Lieutenant Pilkington, also interpreting the fleeing ship as a victory, rejoiced, ‘We bettered them, Sir! We bettered them!’

  Horne remained silent, gripping one fist in front of his chest as he watched the pattimar retreating for the coastline, the choppy waves licking at her stern.

  Pilkington noticed Horne’s reservation. His own excitement faded. ‘Didn’t we better them, sir?’

  Horne did not reply; he suspected that the enemy had a plan of his own.

  A call from the masthead confirmed Horne’s suspicions.

 
‘Sails, ho! One to starboard! Second to larboard! Sails ho!’

  Horne snapped open the spyglass. He instantly spotted the first white speck moving from the headland. He turned to his right and saw the tilting sail of another ship.

  Two more ships were joining the pattimar. The enemy had manoeuvred the Eclipse into a trap.

  Chapter Six

  ANGRIA’S REEF

  The two enemy vessels moved to the north and south of the first unidentified ship, holding the Eclipse in the direct path of a westerly gale and leaving a channel for the frigate to dash towards the coastline.

  The storm was worsening. Jagged streaks of lightning cut the sky. Huge rollers bombarded the frigate, lifting her with a violent force and dropping the hull with a loud crash against the thrashing sea. Horne ordered blocks to be placed beneath the trucks of the cannons to prevent them from breaking loose and careering across deck; he had the water casks secured below deck and found time to visit the wardroom cabin, having a few words with the wounded. Through all the stowing and battening and words of encouragement, his mind was on the three enemy ships hove to like snob-nosed sea vultures in the storm. What were they planning? Were they waiting for the Eclipse to make a lunge for the shore? Why?

  Local seamen would know every little inlet and current of the Malabar Coast, giving them an advantage over the Eclipse. Adam Horne paced the quarterdeck in the pelting rain, telling himself that he was cowardly to credit the enemy with knowledge he did not possess. He was merely providing himself with an excuse for his own inadequacies, for his own shortcomings as a navigator.

  Horne’s training in the Bombay Marine had included preparing maps for the Company and studying charts passed down by former captains and pilots, some maps old enough to have been drawn upon leather, the later ones detailed upon vellum.

  He did not notice a figure, hunched against the storm, approaching him on the quarterdeck. He continued pacing out his irritation, trying to picture the coastline in his brain, and he walked abruptly into Lieutenant Pilkington.