Distant Gunfire

by David O'Neil

  The ugly little man had been taciturn to say the least. Having established his bona fides on his boarding the ship he had merely said, “We need to get to Bombay as quickly as possible.” He would say no more until the ship was at sea.

  Patrick Micah Carter came on deck and stretched in the morning sunshine, short, five-foot five inches to be exact, his stocky figure showed not an ounce of fat. Dressed in a simple loincloth he walked over to the seawater hose that was pouring water on to the deck whilst the men were holystoning. With a sigh of pleasure he raised the hose above his head, hooked it to the shrouds and allowed the water to wash over him scrubbing himself with some sort of soap and a brush. Finishing with a sluice down he stepped back brushing the excess water from his skin and stood allowing the sun to dry him off.

  The officers and men on deck at this time looked on in astonishment.

  Ignoring the effect his performance had on his audience, Carter went below once more to the gunroom where he proceeded to dress in a thin cotton shirt and loose trousers. Slipping sandals on his feet, he came back on deck and approached Robert. “We must talk!” The voice was quiet and cultured with just a trace of the brogue of Galway.

  “Please join me for breakfast.” Robert said formally, and turned to Ogilvie. “You have the deck, Mr. Ogilvie, rifle practice at four bells.”

  “Aye sir, I have the watch!” Lieutenant Ogilvie squared his shoulders and strode over to the wheel where he checked the course.

  In the great cabin below Robert faced Carter “Now perhaps you will acquaint me with the instructions you have to pass on?”

  “My instruction is to get to Bombay as quickly as I might and to do whatever is necessary to aid and assist our agent there. I understand the agent is currently in the stronghold of the rebel party that is based at Daman, north of Bombay on the Gulf of Cambay.” The soft almost gentle voice coming from the ugly man was almost incongruous, but then the piercing blue eyes seemed also out of place. This strange man seemed to be a contradiction, one moment unmemorable, the next unmissable.

  “How do you know all this? It has taken weeks for this information to reach England, how did you find out?”

  “I sent the information in the first place by courier overland. I then came by Dhow to Madagascar to meet you. If you had not arrived by next week I would have returned and done what I could to rescue our agent. You see, I could not get the authorities to act by sending troops. I have no authority in the east India Company nor am I officially recognised by the Governor and his troops. It was necessary to get an official presence into the area to get the forces needed to deal with the rebels and rescue our agent.”

  “What sort of force had you envisaged; I mean how many soldiers would be required? A platoon, a company or are we talking of an army?”

  Carter looked thoughtful, “I had perhaps a company in mind, maybe about one hundred and twenty, would do it. A gun would be useful, yes that would help.” He looked keenly at Robert. “Do you think you can arrange that?”

  Robert rang the bell on his desk and his servant appeared. “Call Captain Ullyet and bring coffee and breakfast for three.” Mathews, his servant disappeared and returned to announce Captain Ullyet and delivered the coffee and bread, fruit and cheese for their breakfast.

  To save time Robert outlined Carter’s request for a rescue force, and while he did so had Carter draw a diagram of the rebel camp layout as he knew it.

  Ullyet studied the diagram and commented. “I see no real problem here, the camp is laid out almost traditionally, I would almost suggest the leader is a military man, and like many soldiers he is thinking in terms of either undisciplined tribesmen, or formal infantry, with red coats and muskets. Using our riflemen, the base is vulnerable. We don’t need to approach by open roads, nor do we need to group to fire effectively. Our cannon would be useful to tickle up their artillery; I notice you have shown the magazine behind the breastworks. It would be difficult to reach from the main gate but not from the surrounding jungle. I don’t think we need bother the authority, sir, we can manage on our own.”

  Carter listened with disbelief. “You have no idea what you are saying. I have seen there are only 20 marines on this ship. You are not suggesting using sailors for this task? Gopal has trained soldiers at his disposal, they’ll slaughter your untrained seamen, you’ll be sending them to their deaths, and achieve nothing!”

  On deck four bells struck and almost immediately the crack of rifle fire woke the already disturbed population of sea birds sending then screaming into the sky from their perches through the rigging.

  “Perhaps a turn round the deck would be beneficial.” Robert rose to his feet and, followed by Carter and a smiling Ullyet, went on deck to watch the rifle practice.

  Carter stood open-mouthed at the sight. On deck under the eagle eye of Peter Morse, Abel Jackson’s deputy trainer, six men armed with rifles stood. Off the beam streamed a line with a raft attached. The raft had a fixed sail the caused it to keep abreast of the ship towing it. On the raft was a rack with six targets. Not surprisingly the raft was rising and falling with the waves. As he watched Carter saw the first rifle rise, hold, then fire. The midshipman of the watch had his telescope trained on the targets, “Top Inner” he cried. The watchers nodded in approval, meanwhile almost without pause the second rifle fired, “Upper Bull!” the Middy shouted, a cheer went up from the watchers. Carter noticed that the first riflemen had already reloaded; the other four shots were taken with varying results, though none missed their target. All had reloaded before the next round of shots was taken. After five shots were fired by the group the targets were retrieved and examined closely by the marksmen and their supporters.

  “Well, Mr. Carter, what do you think now?” Ullyet’s voice broke into the stunned realisation of Carter that this was a most unusual ship.

  The whole exercise had taken less than five minutes. Twenty-five aimed accurate shots within five minutes, five round a minute, the words went round and round Carter’s brain.

  “These must be your best marksmen, I presume?” Carter had regained his senses and was all business once more.

  “Oh no, these men are average for the ship, our best can fire and hit the target ten times a minute.”

  “How many riflemen do you have on the ship?” Carter’s next question was natural, but the reply was difficult to believe.

  “The entire crew can shoot, that includes the Captain. Of the crew, 178 are marksmen; the remaining men are fair shots. We also have a field cannon which we have deployed in the past. The entire crew have practiced field craft and satisfied the training officer with their competence.

  “Our trainer learnt his trade evading and fighting redskins in the forests of the Americas. He is the man who set the standards for shooting. All the personnel on the ship have the use of a Fergusson breech-loading rifle. All can fire a minimum of four rounds per minute, most can exceed that rate. When I mentioned the competence of the crew, I include all the officers.” Ullyet completed his dissertation with a wry smile. “My marines are the best trained in the Navy, and they all compete regularly with the rest of the crew, and train alongside them. I pray that this information will not be passed to my masters. They have a jaundiced attitude to diverse training among their units.”

  “Your secret is safe with me, and I now see why Mills sent you and why you think this exercise is within your scope.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The smooth sailing was replaced by stormy weather for the next three days. The heat did not diminish and the humidity made tempers short and the work seem twice as hard.

  The battering of the wind kept everyone but the most intrepid below decks as much as possible. However the benefit of the high winds was the ground covered and by the time the storm blew itself out, they had made good time covering over 700 miles during the three days of the storm.

  The temperatures rose daily now and the clothing disappeared and the outrageous washing arrangements of Carter were adopted by most
of the crew. The sight of a whole group of the crew standing and capering naked under the water pipe became a regular feature of the voyage. The menu was varied by the fishermen in the crew who caught several sharks using scraps of the gristle left from the beef rations.

  The main benefit of the smooth sailing weather was the chance to dry the ship, clothing and try out drills for the land side, using the uniforms and learning hand to hand fighting.

  Here the expertise of Patrick Carter came into its own. Having learned to use his fists as a young man, he discovered when he set out into foreign parts that his fists alone were not enough. He had been lucky to be teamed with an Oriental, who—though small—always appeared to be able to come out of hand to hand fights unscathed, regardless of the size and strength of his opponent.

  Patrick had marvelled at the way he was able to use the other man’s own power and weight to defeat him.

  The stranger on the ship, Carter, had—apart from the washing episodes—intrigued the crew with his regular morning session of poses, steps and sharp actions. Punching objects that were not there was how Billy Beaufort described it. Every morning at the same time during the morning watch at six bells he would appear and begin a series of poses, followed by kicks and strikes with open hand and closed, punches and chops with the edge of the hand.

  He sparred with the foc’sle’s best mauler, and caused the big Cornishman to give up exhausted, having not laid a hand on him. The two became friends and Carter taught the big man some of the moves that made him so difficult to hit. He also taught him how to fall without hurting himself. At these sessions he always had an audience, and it was not surprising that several of the men joined in.

  Alan Dawson was very intrigued and managed to persuade Carter to teach him privately, during the dog watches. As an officer he could not practice with the men as the penalties for striking an officer were severe. And the risks of a disgruntled seaman taking advantage of the training to hurt an officer were too great.

  Being an officer did not make the training easier. His fitness was the first lesson to be learned, and he soon discovered that there was more to being fit than the ability to run up the rigging and back.

  His progress was marked by running fast and moving slowly. He learned to push against himself, stressing one muscle against another. He learned to fall from most angles, and he had the bruises to prove it. Mostly he learned self discipline, and it was here that the training paid off and he began to understand what the science of the fighting was all about. Adam Tamar was mystified; he could not understand why his friend should put himself through the torture of learning this discipline. They remained friends but he was discovering that there was more to the lad than the lively companion of the past. In addition, Alan was filling out and growing up; during the last two months he had grown taller and his jackets and breeched had shrunk.

  Robert had observed the changes, and thought the additional fighting skills had given the young man a much more adult outlook. It seemed his studies had also benefited, an improvement that had been shown in Adam’s work as well.

  The voyage north had been good for the relationship between Roister and Jaipur, both ships had been able to work together and practice manoeuvres together. The friendly rivalry between the ships was tested in the boat races during the days of light winds that occurred during the voyage.

  The sightings of ships became more and more common as they sailed north. Ever since they passed through the Laccadive Islands they had encountered traders both from the East India Company and privately owned ships, all were wary until the two identified themselves, and it was not until they reached the waters of the city of Goa that they encountered any serious problem.

  The winds had been dropping slowly for three hours when it disappeared completely, leaving the ships becalmed with unmoving sails. As they drifted half a cable apart boats were seen putting out from the shore. Robert had ordered the long boat and the gig to be launched, to allow swimmers to enjoy the warm waters of the Indian Ocean. Riflemen were stationed on deck to keep an eye out for sharks.

  On the quarterdeck Billy Beaufort lifted his telescope to watch the boats coming out from the shore. He thought at first they were coming to sell fish and fruit to the stationary ships; then as he looked over the leading boat he caught a glimpse of metal, and noticed there seemed to be a lot of men in the boat.

  “Call the Captain!” his order was urgent. “Recall the boats, now and pipe action stations.”

  The shrill calls resounded through the ship. In the water the swimmers were splashing their way back to the boats and being hauled unceremoniously aboard, Robert arrived and, seeing what was happening, called for the warning to be given to Jaipur, lying on the seaward side of Roister. The sound of the pipes from Roister had been noticed and the Jaipur had called her boats to take towlines to give her the chance to move and bring her guns to bear.

  On Roister the swivel guns were mounted on the taffrail and the port and starboard rails, and the men began lining up to receive their rifles and ammunition pouches. They were ordered to keep their heads down. Robert intended that the raiders would be given a nasty surprise.

  The boat parties had collected their swimmers and, on being given instructions, came round to the seaward side of the ship where they were reinforced with the boat swivel guns and ammunition and rifles. Additional men swarmed down and joined them for the action.

  The shore boats came nearer, approaching at an angle avoiding the broadside guns which were run out but would not bear. The bow chaser spoke with a roar and splashed the rowers who had carelessly moved within range, they hastily adjusted their approach and with no attempt at concealment began screaming abuse and firing muskets at the exposed crewmen, who began running about in apparent panic. There were seven boatloads of men approaching, Ogilvie estimated one hundred men at least. Three of the boats were making a wide berth around Roister obviously making for the Jaipur. At the starboard bulwarks of the Roister crouched forty riflemen, prepared to give the boats their full attention. Alan Dawson, in charge of the starboard rifles, waited until the range was right then gave the order to fire. As one, the forty rifles cracked. Out of sight as they were from the main force of boats, the terrible effect of this volley was not seen by the main force.

  The bullets did dreadful damage, each of the three boats stopped in their tracks as several of the rowers fell bloody in their places. They were quickly replaced but the second volley was equally destructive, then the swivel guns from the rail of the Jaipur took their toll, and the waters around the three craft turned red with the blood of the dead and wounded.

  The bows of the first boat had been smashed by a swivel gun loaded with ball, and the boat was sinking. That was when the sharks appeared and the screams of the men thrown into the water were added to the cries of the wounded. The other two boats turned round to escape from the slaughter but the swivel guns spoke once more and so did the rifles pouring deadly fire into the raiders.

  The panic spread throughout the boat crews and the oars waved about as the leaders tried to get the men organised to escape. The third volley was the breaking point and men from the boats leapt into the water to escape the hail of death from the rifles. Alan had heard of the feeding frenzy of sharks but it had in no way prepared him for the sight before him now. The next volley was fired as a mercy for the survivors in the water, struggling to escape the voracious jaws of the growing gathering of sharks.

  On the other beam the approaching boats were unaware of the havoc, having heard the firing of the guns and possibly the screams the assumed it was the intended victims not their own men.

  The boats had reached the point where all were in range. Robert gave the signal and as one the men rose from behind the bulwarks and fired. The bullets cut a swath through the four boats, the second and third volleys were equally devastating and the leader—not expecting the second and third volleys—recoiled in shock. The intended assault melted into confusion, as once more the waters around th
e boats turned red with blood and the sharks gathered. The volleys continued and more and more of the would-be pirates fell dead or injured in the overloaded boats. One of the nudging sharks driven by the scent of blood managed to roll a boat over and several of the wounded and dead fell into the sea. The sharks went mad, and the screams of the victims added to the rapidly growing panic.

  The leader tried to regain control without success and the four boats milled around without getting anywhere, while the relentless volleys of rifle fire slashed into the packed men.

  Sickened by the slaughter, Robert signalled for the men to cease firing. The longboat pulled round from behind the ship and began herding the bloody ruins of the attack fleet towards the ship’s side where nets were lowered to help get the survivors aboard. The thirty-four survivors included the local chieftain who had led the raid. He was wounded. Though not seriously, he insisted on being treated separately from his wounded followers. To the surgeon all wounded are equal and he paid scant notice of the shouting man; treating him in turn when he was brought in.

  Questioning the survivors brought the fact that the ships were attacked in response to a suggestion by the Captain of the French ship Rivage which had called four days ago. The French Captain, Clemente Chavez, was a regular visitor to the coast and had on occasion refitted his ship in the bay beside the village. The Rivage had sailed north after leaving the villag; they did not know where.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Robert had all the boats except one sunk; the dead were consigned to the sharks, the living loaded into one boat which was towed to the shore at the village by the longboat. The disastrous attack had been witnessed in part from the shore and the beach was lined with wailing women and children. Before the longboat pulled back to the ship. the remaining boat was stove into prevent her immediate use. The crew regarded it as suitable punishment in the circumstances.