by Seth Hunter
It was almost dark when he finally went on deck to see the officers, naval and military, back to their ships. The moon had risen and it made a shimmering pathway to the distant horizon. The air was full of sounds. Bird sounds for the most part with some outlandish shrieks that were presumably monkeys’. Nathan heard them as jeers.
Then there was another sound, much more welcome to his ears.
‘Sail ho!’
And as he looked out to the east, along the silver trail, he saw a familiar shape outlined against the moon. Though it was too far off to be sure, and it was entirely against his nature to be optimistic, he knew at once it was the Shiva.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The Island of the Dead
The cutter landed them in a small cove on the south side of the island and they climbed a forested hill – marked on the map as the Jangli Ghat – following the route of a small stream to the top. It took them over two hours and they were soaked through after the first few minutes, either from the rain that dripped down through the forest canopy, or the stream, or their own sweat. The heat was as bad as anything Nathan had ever known, and their stumbling progress was jeered by the usual Greek chorus of monkeys and parrots and other exotic species hidden in the ample foliage of the trees.
The view from the summit made it worth the effort, at least to Nathan. From a height of about 500 feet he could look right down into Port Blair and the inlet in which it nestled. The port itself was little more than a collection of ramshackle huts with a single jetty and a squat little fort perched on the end of a small peninsula. But what made the climb worthwhile for Nathan was that beyond the fort, sheltered from the prevailing winds by the jutting promontory, lay the French fleet.
There were seven of them, moored in a rough crescent in the little bay to the west of the port, much like the French fleet at Abukir with their guns covering the approach from the sea. Nathan applied his eye to his Dollond glass and studied them at length. The big two-decker nearest to him had to be the Pearl. She was built along the exact same lines as the Falcon and still flew the East India Company flag at her stern beneath the French tricolour. She seemed to be in good shape, unlike the ship next to her, which he guessed must be the Bridport, and had clearly been in the wars. Her mainmast and mizzen had been replaced by a jury rig and several of her gunports had been battered into large gaping holes. She had the tricolour flying above the blue ensign. Beyond them, near the centre of the bay, was the Forte, with a slightly smaller frigate next to her that was almost certainly the Braave – Nathan could see the Dutch flag, or the flag of the Batavian Republic, as it now was, at her stern – and then the three privateers, which Caterina had named as the Iphigenie, the Général Malartic, and the Succès – smaller than the two frigates, but by no means trifling, with sixty guns between them.
He moved the glass back to the Pearl. There were a few men about the decks, making and mending or sitting smoking their pipes, but not enough to indicate a full crew, or anything like it, and the same went for the Bridport. They must have had prize crews aboard, which was important – indeed, Nathan had been counting on it. Five ships was handful enough; seven, fully crewed and armed, would have been a serious worry.
But probably not as worrying as the fort.
It was on the end of the small promontory which protected the anchorage: a primitive enough structure in the shape of a star with low stone ramparts reinforced with a bank of earth, and the sea coming right up to the walls. But there was nothing primitive about the guns. They were modern 18- or 24-pounders and Nathan counted thirty of them, mostly covering the mouth of the inlet. Almost as worrying, directly opposite the fort, was an island – marked on the chart as Chatham Island – extending right across the harbour, with two narrow channels to the north and south permitting access to the anchorage. The southern most was barely two cable lengths across, and directly under the guns of the fort; the other was a good bit wider, but an approaching vessel would have to come right up into the wind to round the northern tip of the island, almost certainly requiring a tow, and there was another battery with at least six guns on the far shore, at the very edge of the jungle. The entire length of the channel was navigable by smaller vessels, according to the chart, but even at high tide Nathan could see where the water was breaking over three or four sandbanks, close in to the northern shore.
He took another look at the port. Several of the buildings, he now saw, were in good repair, newly roofed, and big enough to store a large quantity of opium, or silver, or both. Beyond them were a few barrack-like buildings, in much poorer condition and practically falling down in some cases, which had presumably housed the prisoners during Port Blair’s short history as a penal colony. There were very few people about. No more than a dozen or so, all on the ramparts of the fort. Almost certainly the crews would remain on the ships. It was said that a fever, like a demon, could not cross water. A man on a ship, even in an enclosed bay, might stay sleek and fit as the butcher’s dog, but a few days on land would make a corpse of him. Nathan’s party had been ashore for three hours now and he felt as if some fatal miasma was already settling upon him, like the clouds of insects that buzzed around his head.
‘Any ideas?’ he enquired of Colonel Wellesley, who had been surveying the position through his own glass.
‘I was rather hoping you had,’ replied the colonel dryly.
Nathan pointed out the problems of an attack from the sea. ‘What if we were to land troops on this side of the island,’ he wondered, ‘and attack from the land?’
The colonel was not overly enthused by this proposal. It had been difficult enough landing with a handful of men – sharpshooters of the 33rd Foot, the fittest men in the regiment. They had almost foundered in the surf, and the climb up the Jangli Ghat with their rifles and equipment had just about done for them. They had been stood down now, and they looked like they might never stand again, sprawling on the floor of the jungle puffing on their pipes to deter the swarming, stinging insects.
‘We could lose half the men landing on that coast,’ the colonel pointed out, ‘and the rest marching on the fort. Pray take a look.’ Nathan did, while Wellesley dwelt upon its principle features. ‘Walls twenty or thirty foot high, with ten cannon mounted to sweep the approach from inland. Four hundred yards of cleared ground to cross. Then, as I am sure you will have observed, the moat.’
The moat. Nathan had not observed it, in fact, but he did now. It was a simple channel cut from one end of the peninsula to the other. At this distance it was difficult to judge how wide it was, but they would need boats or a bridge to cross it. The only access at present was the drawbridge at the gatehouse.
‘Our only chance is to take them by surprise,’ the colonel said. ‘For I have seen very few people in the fort itself. They probably rely on the men from the ships to fire the guns, and it will take some time for them to come ashore. But they will see us as soon as we emerge from the jungle, with most of the peninsula still to cross.’
And if the ships came out in the meantime, they stood a good chance of escaping to the south-east, taking the Pearl with them and its precious cargo of silver. Always assuming it was still aboard and not in the godowns down by the harbour. Or somewhere else entirely.
‘What puzzles me is why they are still here,’ the colonel mused. ‘It is three weeks since the encounter at Devil’s Point.’
‘They could be waiting for the monsoon to end,’ Nathan guessed. It would be difficult to navigate the Malacca Strait against a north-easterly, and the ever-present danger of cyclones. ‘Or they could be waiting for the Shiva to join them – with the Falcon as prize.’
And even as he said it, the idea took shape in his mind.
Chapter Twenty-eight
The Happy Return
They came in on the morning tide – the Shiva in the lead and the Falcon behind her. Both ships flying the tricolour, and the Shiva displaying the recognition signal at her mizzen halyard. A single word signal for La Retour and the l
etters H, R and X. La Retour Heureux. The Happy Return.
It was more in hope than conviction – the codes were invariably changed every few days – but it might cause some confusion. A delay in the order to fire. Long enough for the two ships to enter harbour.
Nathan stood on the quarterdeck of the Shiva watching the distance narrow. They were well within range of the fort now, and still the guns stayed silent. But it could so easily be a trap. A spy might have brought the news of the Shiva’s capture from Madras. Or the rest of the British squadron might have been sighted at their anchorage a little further up the coast. The French might be biding their time, waiting for them to step right into the jaws of the harbour, until there was no possibility of escape.
Useless to worry about it now. But Nathan did. He agonised over whether to fire a salute, but he had no idea whether it was expected or not, or even how many guns to fire. Did you salute a marquis who had turned smuggler and pirate? The French prisoners had been no help in this, but they did say that the marquis had been with them during the encounter with the Pondicherry and that he had died in the battle. This might explain why their comrades, ignorant of their fate, were still waiting here for him, before they moved the silver out to China.
Nathan clutched at straws. Anything, rather than believe Leloup was gloating from the ramparts of the fort, with his gun crews hidden from sight, ready to leap up at a moment’s notice and unleash mayhem. Just like Wellesley’s men, lying in the long trail of boats behind the two ships, with the tarps pulled over them, waiting for the moment of release, or death.
Closer they came, between the two headlands now, with the jungle rising up on either side. They could see the parrots flitting about in the treetops, and there was the inevitable screech of monkeys, very like fiendish laughter. The same mocking laughter that had followed them up the Jangli Ghat, as if the creatures of the forest knew something they did not. They were approaching the promontory now, and men were emerging from the barracks – women, too – to stand gawping and waving at them all along the water front. At least they were gawping and waving and not running towards the fort. But that, too, could be part of the plan.
It was dead ahead now, at a distance of about a quarter of a mile, and Lieutenant Joyce, who was at the con, told the helmsmen to come a little into the wind. They could see clear through the southern channel now to the anchorage beyond, with the Forte moored so that her guns could sweep its entire length. Nathan knew a little more about her now, and her guns: thirty 24-pounders and fourteen 12-pounders on her gun deck, eight carronades on her quarterdeck and forecastle. She was said to be the most powerful frigate ever built. He could see men up in her tops and all along her rails, watching the Shiva come in, some of them waving, and Nathan thought he could hear cheering, but it might have been wishful thinking.
Now a boat was pulling away from her side and heading towards them – two officers in the stern, and a dozen men at the oar – but they were pulling against wind and tide; they would never reach the Shiva before she reached the fort. Barely 200 yards now and closing; close enough to see the faces of the men on the ramparts staring out at them, and the smoke from the slow matches blowing back in the north-east wind. This was good. The smoke from the guns would blow back in their faces, thought Nathan, still clinging to his crumbs of comfort as he stared back into those unwinking black eyes, somehow looking that much more menacing than they did on the deck of a ship.
He stood on the leeward side of the quarterdeck, with Joyce at his side, and Blunt and Vivian a step or two behind, all trying to look as if they did not have a care in the world. Blunt whistling tunelessly and Vivian shielding his eyes from the sun with the one hand that was remaining to him and the empty sleeve of his left arm pinned to his uniform coat in the style of Admiral Nelson, save that all the officers wore plain blue jackets and hats, like the officers of any merchant ship, and the men on deck or up in the rigging were either Lascars from the Bombay Marine, or gunners of the Bengal Artillery, dressed as seamen.
But someone in the fort did not like the look of them, or had become agitated by their rapid progress towards the inner channel. There was a flash and a bang and a great waterspout rose just a few yards ahead of them. The classic shot across the bows. Heave to and await inspection. The next shot would be right into the hull, and very likely it would be the whole battery.
‘Shall I return fire?’ Joyce’s impatience was palpable. But at least Blunt had stopped whistling.
Nathan shook his head. ‘Let us keep them guessing as long as possible,’ he said. ‘But you may take in sail – let them think we are obeying their order.’
There was someone standing up on the ramparts now, in clear view, waving his hat and hailing them. Nathan took off his own hat, and waved it back, grinning cheer fully. Another few yards and they could bring their broad side to bear. But the officer had seen something – or had finished with guessing. He jumped down from the top of the ramparts, and seconds later they erupted in fire and fury.
This was no shot across the bows, and at that range they could not miss. The heavy shot carried the length of the Shiva’s top gun deck, bowling men over like ninepins, splintering timber and screaming off metal. One of them took a deflection off the breech of a cannon and came hurtling up into the quarterdeck, passing right between Nathan and Joyce and taking off the head of one of the helmsmen. And with a noise like a groan, the main yard parted from the mainmast and came crashing down into the waist, bringing the course with it before the topmen could haul it in.
But they were level with the fort now, at a distance of no more than a hundred yards, and Nathan nodded to Joyce to return fire.
The guns were ready, primed and loaded, but it took a few moments for the gunners to run them out. They had trained them twice a day during the voyage from Madras, but the men were small in stature, and the biggest guns they had handled until now were 6-pounder field guns on proper carriage wheels. They lacked the brute strength of a British seaman at hauling the heavy trucks and levering the muzzles of 12- or 18-pounder cannon. And this was their first experience of enemy fire at extreme close range.
Blunt had the topsails counter-braced and they were fast losing way, but not quite fast enough. Within seconds they would be past the fort and into the bay, which was the last thing Nathan wanted. He looked towards the Forte and saw her gunports opening all along her starboard side and the topmen swarming into her rigging. Presumably the same thing would be happening all along the French line. If the Shiva went much further they would be in amongst them, a single two-decker with a scratch crew against two frigates and three heavily armed brigs.
‘Let go the stern anchor,’ he ordered. Then as it dropped into the shallow waters of the bay: ‘Let go the bower.’
They were moored now at head and stern exactly in mid-channel and barely 200 yards from the fort, with twenty guns staring down at them.
There was another blast of fire and smoke from the ramparts, but only two or three guns firing now. Maybe Wellesley had been right, and they needed the crews from the ships. But they were firing right down into the waist of the Shiva, and the heavy iron balls smashed through the thin deck planking to do untold damage to the hull below. Still, it hardly mattered now if she foundered. She was exactly where Nathan wanted her to be. He gave Joyce the nod.
‘Fire!’ roared the lieutenant, and as the order echoed along both decks the guns went off in turn, a rippling broadside from bow to stern, firing at maximum elevation into the ramparts.
The fort vanished for a moment but when the smoke cleared there was scarcely a sign of damage. Perhaps a chip or two out of the battlements, and just a few small stones and a couple of spent cannonballs, rolling down the earth-works into the sea as if in mockery of their puny efforts. But the Shiva’s tops were alive with sharpshooters, sweeping the ramparts with small arms fire and grape from the swivel guns. Even a few grenadiers from the 33rd, hurling their bombs at the fort – and finding it, too, in some cases, though most
dropped harmlessly into the sea. And now the Falcon fired. Nathan could see the 12-pound roundshot smashing into the top of the ramparts and even if they did not bring the walls a-tumbling down, as the trumpets had at Jericho, they were a mighty distraction to the gunners. There were only one or two guns firing from the fort now, and the boats from both ships had cast off their tow and were pulling for the shore. Twelve boats in all, packed to the gunwales with men from the 33rd and the 12th Foot, the two Highland regiments, and the Swiss mercenaries of the De Meuron Regiment – all handpicked men from the light companies and the grenadiers, the strongest and fittest in the army.
They would need to be both, for if they made it to the shore they had to climb twenty feet of sloping earthworks and another ten of stone wall, and then fight whatever was waiting for them on the far side.
The blue cutter from the Shiva was the first to land – or to hit the rocks at the foot of the earthworks. She had more than forty soldiers aboard and they were leaping ashore from the bowsprit, several falling short and dropping into the sea, but most of them made it, and the seamen were hurling grappling hooks high up into the battlements so the soldiers might haul themselves up on the ropes.
Nathan did what he could to help them. The Shiva’s guns unleashed one more broadside before they were forced to cease for fear of hitting the soldiers. Most of them had landed now, and those boats that were not stuck upon the rocks were heading back to the Falcon for the next contingent. The earthworks were alive with soldiers, like red ants streaming up an anthill, but they were taking punishment. Nathan could see men falling back and sliding down the embankment into the sea.