by Guy d'Armen
As the boat was more than three-quarters down, but not afloat yet, they heard a loud shout coming from above. Someone had come out, maybe to take some night air, and spotted Van Haarlem’s body.
The shouts were followed by the sounds of doors being opened and slammed, and people running up and down the metal stairs and on the deck.
Then they heard gunfire and the sound of bullets hitting the water, not far from their position.
Ardan knew they had no choice: even though their boat was still about three feet above water, he used his knife to sever the cables.
After they splashed into the sea, he then used a powerful kick to propel the lifeboat as far away as possible from the Silvermore, hoping that the darkness—fortunately, there was a new moon—would be sufficient to hide them.
But Captain Silver was not the type of man to let his prey escape so easily. A few minutes later, the beam of a projector slashed the darkness and started to scan the surface of the ocean.
Ardan and Milarepa had grabbed the pairs of oars stuck under the bench of the lifeboat and were rowing with as much strength as they could summon to get away.
Suddenly, the beam of light fell right upon them. They had been spotted!
Thirty seconds later, there was a red flash, an explosion, and a cannonball came splashing into the water alarmingly close to them.
“Damn!” swore Ardan. “I never noticed they had a portable cannon. Silver must have had it hidden somewhere on board where it wouldn’t be detected.”
Fortunately for the two young people, whoever was manning the cannon was a poor shot, and none of the two subsequent volleys came anywhere close to them.
However, the Silvermore had turned and was rapidly moving in their direction.
Ardan grabbed a gun he had also found under the bench, took a careful aim and shot out the projector. Darkness was again theirs!
Immediately, they changed their course 90 degrees and continued rowing as hard as they could. Luck was with them again when Ardan felt a breeze. With Milarepa’s help, he pulled up the small mast and unfurled the lifeboat’s sail, and, soon, they were gaining speed.
There were about five hours of night left. They knew the Silvermore would continue looking for them but, without its projector and with them traveling at five knots, thanks to the wind, the odds of being found again were tiny. Ardan calculated that by 5 a.m.—sunrise—they would be about twenty miles away, far enough to be safe.
However, the young man mad not counted on another enemy: the weather!
When dawn came, the Silvermore was indeed nowhere in sight, and they both shared the food stored in tin boxes in the lifeboat. They knew they were sailing eastward because of the sun, but had no idea how far from the coast they were.
And the wind was increasing... The temperature had collapsed overnight, and froth had begun to appear at the top of the waves, which were getting higher. Dark clouds were massing upon the horizon... One did not have to be an experienced sailor to know what was going on...
A storm was coming!
CHAPTER XIX
Framed!
Soon, lightning bolts crossed the skies, and rain began to fall in increasing quantities. The lifeboat was shaken by the waves. Milarepa, who had never been on a calm sea, much less one during a tropical storm, was growing anxious, but Ardan, whose experience as a sailor was considerable, having learned to navigate tumultuous waters alongside his father at a young age, reassured her.
To prevent the tiny boat from capsizing, he had been forced to lower the sail and was content steering the boat using the waves and the currents. Judging by the size of the storm, he expected it to last for most of the day.
After several hours, Milarepa started to feel seasick and lay down inside the boat, despite the water which, periodically, splashed inside and drenched her clothes.
Ardan looked at his shivering companion, normally so vivacious and optimistic, with growing dismay. Burt there was nothing the young man could do.
The storm eventually abated as the sun was setting. Ardan again unfurled the sail, but estimated that they had not made much progress towards their goal of reaching dry land, all his energies having been diverted towards keeping them safe and sound.
A little later, the young man spied a red light in the distance. He thought it must belong to an Indian dhow, comforting him in the notion that land must not be very far away. He set sail towards it, hoping to secure some help.
As he got near the light, he heard the sound of voices carried over the water. Having learned caution, he decided to wake Milarepa to find out what they said.
The young girl put her hand beside her ear and leaned forward to better listen.
“They speak a dialect from the Indus Valley region... They’re talking about slaves...”
“Slaves? Here?”
“Certainly... Slave trafficking is still going strong in this part of India... Can you get any closer? I could hear better.”
Ardan allowed their boat to move forward with all the discretion he could muster. They could now see a brutish face in the glow of the red lantern at the prow of the dhow.
After a few minutes, Milarepa said:
“They’re waiting for another dhow to bring them slaves they’ll go and sell in the Red Sea.”
In mute agreement, Ardan and Milarepa decided to sail away from the slavers, and would have managed to slip away undetected, had it not been for the other dhow coming in that now stood directly across their path.
At that sight, Ardan could not repress a shiver: he only had one gun and a knife to defend themselves against two boats filled with merciless human traffickers.
Trying as hard as he could, he tried to swerve to avoid being seen by the incoming dhow, but the wind was not strong enough, and they were spotted by one of the slavers.
Believing they had just caught spies, perhaps from a rival gang, the villains roared in anger. Two shots rang out, but the bullets flew harmlessly far over the heads of the two young people.
As the dhow hit the lifeboat, one of the slavers tried to jump on board, but Ardan shot him and the pirate fell into the water with a splash.
In the meantime, Milarepa had used one of the oars to push back against the dhow and enable their own boat to get to free water.
The dhow could not compete in maneuverability with the lifeboat and the two young people were soon at a safe distance. They could judge from their progress by watching the slavers’ red lantern shrink and vanish in the darkness.
“That was a narrow escape,” sighed Ardan. “But at least, we now know we’re not far from land.”
Then, he handed what was left of the tinned meat and biscuits they had found in the boat to his companion.
“You should have some food. It may be a while before we get another meal.”
The lifeboat was sailing smoothly towards the east. Lulled by the gentle rocking of the water, Milarepa was dozing again, and Ardan had fallen asleep.
Suddenly, before the two young people could even comprehend what was happening to them, they were violently thrown into the water when their boat was crushed by the colossal prow of an incoming vessel!
Fortunately, the look-out sailor had spotted the tiny boat, but too late to shout out a warning or change the course of his own ship.
An officer ordered the ship to stop and a boat was lowered down to pick up the survivors, aided by a powerful searchlight from the bridge.
Ten minutes later, Ardan and Milarepa were aboard the vessel, which turned out to be the SS Cumberland, a passenger liner connecting Mumbai to Port-Said.
As soon as they set foot on the deck, the two young people were mobbed by the passengers who wanted to know all about them, But they were rudely pushed away by the First Officer, who, with the help of two sailors, and in a tone of voice that broke no disagreement, ordered Ardan and Milarepa to follow them to the bridge.
There, they met the Captain, a burly, dark-haired American named Santini. Ardan was puzzled by the fleeting
smile that lit up the man’s face as they entered—a smile which expressed neither humor nor kindness, and which he found worrisome.
“So, who are you then?” asked the Captain.
The two young people gave their identities again, and gave him a short version of their recent adventures.
“You’re a woman dressed as a man,” said Captain Santini to Milarepa. “Don’t you know it’s forbidden by the laws of your country?”
“I had no other choice,” replied the young girl bravely.
“Hum. You may be who you say you are, but I have no means to verify it. What I do know, however, is that you’re both wanted for murder and piracy.”
The two young people were astonished by that amazing accusation.
“What?” exclaimed Ardan. “What are you talking about?”
Captain Santini took a piece of paper from his pocket.
“This is a cable I received several hours ago from Captain Silver of the Silvermore, informing me that two of his stokers had escaped from his ship after killing one of his men—bashing his brains in with a shovel, more precisely—and stealing the ship’s payroll. You answer their descriptions pretty accurately. Do you deny these charges?”
“Absolutely!” said Ardan. “We were held prisoners on that ship against our will. And while it’s true I had to knock out one of the sailors, I’m pretty sure I didn’t strike him with enough strength to kill him!”
“Also, we didn’t steal any payroll,” added Milarepa.
“Mr. Harrison, come in,” shouted the Captain.
The First Officer walked in, holding a large piece of wood in his hands. One could still read the words “-rmore” engraved on it.
“This comes from the wreck of your boat,” said Captain Santini. “It proves without a doubt that you came from the Silvermore. That, combined with Captain Silver’s accusations, leaves me no choice. You will both be confined to the brig and delivered into the hands of the authorities in Calcutta. As for your ridiculous story about pirates on Mount Everest, you should try it on someone more gullible than I. It is well known that no one can live there.”
“Except Mendax!” shouted Ardan.
Was he mistaken when he saw a glimmer of recognition shine in Captain Santini’s eyes at the mention of the dreaded air-pirate? Ahmed the stoker had mentioned that Captain Silver had many accomplices who helped him in his smuggling business. And he was associated with Mendax. Could Captain Santini also be part of the same gang?
“Take them away, Mr. Harrison,” ordered the Captain.
Minutes later, the two young people were thrown into two separate cells, left to reflect on Mendax’s uncanny reach.
The passengers and the other members of the crew thought they had taken part in the arrest of a dangerous pirate and murderer, and his native woman accomplice. Therefore, when they were taken to the deck for their hourly exercise every day, they soon became the butt of jeers and insults directed at them.
Ardan worried that either Captain Santini would deliver them back into Mendax’s hand—if he was truly part of the gang—or, worse, into the hands of Indian justice. Accused of piracy with no credible story to tell the Judges, other than a fancy yarn about pirates on Mount Everest, their fate would be sealed, and Milarepa would be sent to rot in a jail cell, while he would probably be executed.
Then, destiny delivered an even crueler blow.
As Ardan was taking his exercise, in the distance, not far way, he saw his father’s yacht, the Isolde, run parallel course with the Cumberland, before steering away. No doubt, she, too, was going to Calcutta.
As loud as he screamed, the young man could not attract the attention of anyone onboard the yacht, and was severely beaten by his two guards for his efforts.
He was then dragged back to the infirmary, where he spent the next two days recovering.
CHAPTER XX
Hell on Earth
Before the SS Cumberland even docked at Calcutta, a police boat came to take custody of the two prisoners. A British officer and a squadron of Sepoy soldiers climbed onboard the ship and asked to talk to the Captain.
Captain Santini greeted them.
“I presume you’ve come for the two pirates?”
“Yes,” replied the Officer.
“They don’t look very dangerous, but you should tell you men to be on their guard. Their crimes are particularly heinous.”
The Officer smiled not without a certain arrogance; he was used to handling tough prisoners.
Five minutes later, Ardan and Milarepa were taken to the police boat. Both their hands and their feet had been shackled for the transfer.
Once ashore, they were surrounded by a hostile crowd, who yelled insults and threats. Women came closer to spit on Milarepa. The hapless princess shivered hearing the awful words shouted at her and began crying.
Upon seeing her true distress, the crowd only cheered and redoubled its demonstrations of hate.
It took all of the Sepoy soldiers’ skills to keep the natives at bay and stop them from turning into a bloodthirsty mob that would surely have massacred the two young people on the spot.
They were pushed and hurried into a big police van, which took them to the notorious Alipore Jail, which was reserved for the most dangerous criminals and the reputation of which was horrifying. In particular, this was where the dreaded Dacoit assassins were jailed, pending their executions. The very threat of being locked up in Alipore was often enough to make hardened criminals confess.
Ardan and Milarepa soon discovered that the conditions of their past imprisonment in Tibet were nothing compared to the harshness of Alipore; they even missed their civilized prison at the Citadel of Mount Everest
The young man tried to imagine what his legal defense might be, but it was clear that the truth—a wealthy heir taken hostage and kept prisoner at the top of Mount Everest—would not be believed. Besides, with the testimony of Captain Silver and his crew against him, obfuscating the real circumstances behind his imprisonment aboard the Silvermore, he was certain to be found guilty.
Milarepa spent most of her time prostrated in her cell, wishing for death.
The next day and night passed without any major events, but on the morning of the second day, Milarepa was savagely dragged out of her cell, and hauled in front of a British officer.
Because she wasn’t walking fast enough because of her chains, her guard whipped her. Her screams of pain only stoked his sadistic fires.
“Ah ah!” he gloated. “You think being whipped a little hurts, eh? But did you ask yourself how much pain your victim endured when your accomplice hit him with his shovel? March on, you viper! Go on and spill your litany of lies before the judge! I’m looking forward to the day when you’ll be hung on the Town Square, as befits a murderess like yourself!”
The Officer in charge was one Captain Hobbart, a corrupt and drunken man feared by all the prisoners because of his violent mood swings. When Milarepa entered, he was already on his seventh glass of whiskey. He slammed the desk with his fist which caused the inkpot to spill.
“I have here the reports from the Captains of the Cumberland and the Silvermore,” he shouted, brandishing two sheets of paper. “I warn you: I’m not going to fall for your tissue of lies! I want the truth! Who are you?”
“But I told the truth! My name is Milarepa and I am the daughter if prince Manjitar...”
“Balderdash! Tibetan princesses don’t go gallivanting around in India dressed like a man in the company of a murderous bandit...”
“My companion is not a bandit! He was a prisoner of the villainous Mendax, just like myself. His father is a wealthy American, looking for him. He’s aboard the Isolde...”
Captain Hobbart laughed—an evil and stupid laugh.
“You don’t think I can see through your tricks, my pretty? You want me to spend all my time looking for your phantom millionaire, giving you plenty of time to escape—because I know you’re very skilled at that. Your daring flight from the Silvermore
is proof enough. But I’m not a fool! I’m not going to fall for it! If you refuse to tell the truth, so be it! You’ll share your companion’s fate! Take her away!”
After Milarepa had been taken back to her cell, Captain Hobbart ordered for Ardan to be brought to him, hoping to catch him in a contradiction that would enable him to crack their story.
But the young man only repeated the same thing, with the same details, that Milarepa had already told. Instead of seeing this as evidence of the truth of their account, however, it only strengthened Captain Hobbart’s belief that he was dealing with two criminal masterminds who had built the tightest defense he had ever heard.
The very notion of the existence of a gang of pirates living on top of Mount Everest was dismissed as a fanciful notion precisely cooked up by the prisoners because they knew very well that no one could disprove the veracity of their story.
Eight days later, the official investigation was over and the case was closed. Ardan and Milarepa appeared before a judge who took less than ten minutes to sentence them each to thirty years of hard labor in the dreaded penitentiary of Bankipore located up the Ganges near Patna in the district of Bihar.
Their lives were only spared due to the eloquence of their public defender, who pleased for mercy in light of his clients’ youth. No one mentioned Mount Everest.
Thirty years in Bankipore was, in fact, the equivalent of a death sentence, as no one was ever known to have survived for more than fifteen years in that terrible place. It was sometimes known as “Hell on Earth.”
When she heard the sentence, Milarepa fainted. Ardan remained calm throughout, He had made up his mind to devote all his energies to trying to help Milarepa survive, and still hoped that, somehow, someday, the truth would come out and they would both be rescued.
After he was taken back to his cell, Ardan was made to trade his clothes for his official convict uniform, bearing the number 336. He was also offered a new pair of shoes, but since his own were in excellent condition, the guard kept them for himself. This suited him very well, since had hidden five gold sovereigns inside the soles. He well understood that that small fortune could save their lives if it came down to it.