Distant Gunfire

by David O'Neil

  Carter was very thoughtful on hearing of the French captain’s name and he was not a little troubled by the fact that the Rivage had sailed north. He confided in Robert later that day.

  “To the north there is only British territory up to the north of Karachi. There are ships trading and warships cruising through the entire area. Either he is going to disguise his ship and bluff his way through or he has a destination in mind that can provide protected anchorage. I suspect a combination of disguise; a little piracy, perhaps, and a haven in the Gulf of Cambay—our own destination. If that is indeed what he has in mind, we could have more trouble than we can cope with.”

  “Surely no white man would conspire with the natives in that way?”

  “You think not? I am sorry to say the French revolution has produced unspeakable cruelty and a massive increase in treachery. Morals have become degraded to the extent of child informing on parent, sister on brother and vice versa. There is no right and wrong in the accepted sense, merely is it to my benefit or not? Sadly, self comes first, others a poor second!”

  The voyage north continued the two ships called into Bombay to store and allow the crew a chance to relax after the lengthy time at sea.

  Sam Callow and Abel Jackson took the chance to explore the exotic city on the edge of the ancient continent. The heat and the smells of the streets soon drove them into one of the many tea houses where they sat and sweated in the shade of the awning cutting out the direct rays of the sun.

  Sam, who had visited India before, suggested they take things easy until the late afternoon, then perhaps they could walk through the brass and cloth markets and perhaps find some presents for their wives. They accordingly spent the rest of the hottest part of the day in the gardens beside the fountains where the mist of water kept the air slightly cooler and the shade of the palm trees made it possible to doze through the heat of the day.

  Alan Dawson, with Adam Tamar, was enjoying a different day. First—the tailor’s shop suggested by one of the locally based Midshipmen on the Port Admiral’s staff. Alan’s uniforms were woefully inadequate with the cuffs failing to reach his wrists and his breeches handed down from Mr. Ogilvie, but still too small for the fast-growing young man.

  It was a pleasant surprise to find that the tailor was able to find a fitting uniform jacket and breeches in lightweight material. He changed into his newly purchased garb, feeling much better about roaming the streets of the city in fitting uniform. The tailor took back for resale the uniforms made for growing midshipmen and thus kept a supply to suit most stages of growth during the awkward years before full maturity. He was also able to measure and promise delivery four dress uniforms made with a little further growth in mind. The arrangements for delivery to the ship were made for the next day.

  The two young men were free to explore the city for the rest of the day. It was while they were exploring the intriguing lanes near the central market that they noticed that they were being followed. Adam saw a face that was familiar, he realised that he had seen the man outside the tailor’s shop. Realising he had also been where they had stopped for tea, he pulled Alan into a doorway and whispered, “Wait! We are being followed.”

  Alan stiffened. “Followed? How do you know?”

  “I recognised a face that I’ve seen before; not once but at least three times today. He tries not to be seen but he is too slow. And he has friends; two at least.”

  “Perhaps we should ask him what he wants.” Alan put his hand on the dirk at his waist.

  “Yes, I agree, but not here. Let’s find somewhere a little more private.”

  The two set off down the lane and turned in the main street towards the gardens along the shore of the bay. Sure enough, the followers were still with them; definitely three men. They all were dressed in native garb but they had the look of soldiers, not normal market thugs.

  Adam and Alan waited in a small clearing where the bougainvillea was showering down from a ring of trees, the clearing shielded from the view of the other people in the garden.

  Their followers appeared one at a time from the concealment of the bushes. They spread apart and walked slowly towards the two young men.

  The apparent leader of the three stopped when Alan asked if they wanted something. He smiled and said “First your money, then we will see.” There was no emotion in his voice and his face betrayed no feelings.

  “Would you like to deal with me first?” Alan stepped forward, causing the leader to step back.

  “I don’t think I will give you any money, I had to earn it, you have done nothing to earn from me.”

  The man stepped back, obviously surprised, then he jumped forward aiming a blow at Alan’s face. The next few minutes were a painful experience for all three men. Adam stepped forward and sank his fist in the midriff of the man facing him. Alan turned sideways as his assailant tried to hit him; he grabbed the offered arm and turned it over his shoulder and threw the man over his shoulder in a way that Mr. Carter would have approved of. The man landed in an untidy winded heap on the hard ground. His neighbour recovered from his shock and drew a knife from his belt. Alan’s hand slashed down across his exposed wrist wringing a cry of pain from him as his wrist bone broke and the knife dropped on the ground.

  Adam had followed up his first punch with an uppercut to the jaw laying his man on the ground stunned; he turned in time to hit the leader across the throat with his rigid forearm, sending the man gasping for breath to the ground once more. Adam’s first opponent had jumped to his feet and fled. The man with the broken wrist also ran.

  The leader was rising still gasping from the ground with the knife that had been dropped by his departed accomplice. Alan feinted with his left hand, flicking his fingers towards the eyes of the man. The knife followed the move and Alan reached out and plucked it from his unprepared grip.

  “Now why are you following us?” He casually played with the knife tossing it up and down in his palm. The man looked at them without comment. “You understand English, I’m sure,” he flicked the knife to within an inch of the man’s foot, causing him to jump back in alarm. Adam retrieved the knife. “You are really out of practice.” He addressed Alan “This is the way to do it.” He flicked the knife to land beside the man’s big toe, touching the skin and shocking the man into crying out in protest.

  “What is your name?” The question brought a response this time.

  “Amin Raj!”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “I work for myself….” He stopped as he saw the knife raised in Adam’s hand. “Ram Das,” he growled.

  The answer meant nothing to either of his questioners.

  “What did he want with us?” Alan pressed him.

  “I don’t know, I was told to get help and then rob you both; if possible, bring you to his house for questions.”

  “Where does he live?” Alan persisted.

  “On Vasai Creek, outside the city; he has a big house in the old summer palace of the Mogul Prince. He is a powerful man and I dare not fail.”

  “It seems you have failed Amin Raj, your master will not be pleased.”

  “Master?” Amin Raj spat on the ground. “He is not my master; he is a cruel mean man who lives for money. I carry out his orders or I die. No one is allowed to live in the area without his permission. When I returned from service with the Company I wished to set up in business and find a wife. I was foolish enough to ignore his demand for a share in my leather work shop. It was burned down with all my stock. I have been scratching a living since then; this job is the first I have had in three months.”

  The two friends listened to the story in silence.

  Then “You know the city?”

  “Like my own hand.”

  “You were a soldier for the Company?”

  “For seven years I soldiered with the infantry. I was a Subadar in the 2nd Bombay Foot,” he said proudly.

  “Do you know the area round Daman?” Alan was inspired to ask the question witho
ut knowing why.

  “Scum!” the word spat out and Amin Raj, stood back from Alan. “If you have anything to do with the people of Daman, I want nothing to do with you; they are the scum of the earth, lower than the meanest beggar in Bombay. They are murderers and rapists, and they killed my family, stole my sister. Raped and murdered my mother.

  ?General Parlavi is a mongrel pig who was born in the slums of Karachi. His father was a soldier for Clive, his mother was a Persian prostitute. He learned his trade from the pirates of the coast of Malabar before he transferred his attentions to the Arabian Sea and the Gujarat lands in the north. He allied himself with the French when they were driven out of India. The French pirates keep them supplied with slaves and transport them on raids along the coast.”

  Alan and Adam were taken aback by the vehement outburst of the man; it was Alan that realised that this man would be of interest to his captain and Mr. Carter.

  “If you are hoping for a way to get revenge for the murder of your sister and family then I suggest you come with us to the ship. If you board after dark we can keep it secret from any spies in Bombay. We can also keep it secret from Ram Das which will be good for you. We can possibly visit Ram Das after we return from Daman.

  It was late evening when the boat pulled alongside Roister. A whispered conversation took place and Amin Raj climbed to the deck and met Patrick Carter.

  With the tide running the ship ghosted up the coast to the Gulf of Cambay creeping into the shoaling waters of the Gulf.

  Coloured dirty brown, the sluggish waters of the Sabarmati River ran out to the sea, creating an enormous stain on the otherwise blue Arabian Sea. The Gulf was nearly 200 kilometres across at this point. Roister and her consort Jaipur needed to get within a few miles of Daman to mount their attack. With the help of Amin Raj, a plan had been devised to land a company of Riflemen in the ship’s boats, and while the ships then proceeded to the town itself, the Rifles could approach the back door.

  Robert had decided that their best chance of rescuing the agent was with a direct approach—with the Rifles in reserve—on the landward side. If the French ship was already there, he would sink her.

  Privately he thought that he was taking a chance, presuming he could sink a frigate of unknown size, manned by a crew of unknown quality. Such was his faith in the abilities of his men; he decided that the risk was acceptable, especially since Jaipur was with him.

  With the help of Amin Raj, they had managed to modify the map of the town showing all the important places and highlighting the headquarters of the General. With its embrasures and fortifications, the General’s HQ was a formidable challenge.

  There was a tension on board as the ship neared Daman, the troops were despatched under the command of Captain Ullyet, with Lieutenant Ogilvie as his second in command. The field cannon and gun-crew accompanied him. The entire company wore their green jackets for the operation, as much for identification as anything else.

  When they landed they were faced with a 10 kilometre march through rough country, so Robert had decided to give them a three hour start to get into position.

  The two ships sailed on towards the port of Daman, rounding the point the bay before the town came into view. Sitting above its reflection, the French frigate Rivage made a pretty sight, her gun ports open with the guns run out.

  The two British ships were equally prepared, separated by sufficient water to enable them to catch the Frenchman between them. As the Roister entered the anchorage, she fired a twelve gun salute from her stern chasers. The fortress/palace answered and the ships dropped anchor to seaward of the Rivage.

  A boat put off from the quay and approached Roister. She carried a banner and two elaborately uniformed men. Robert welcomed them on board with the usual formalities, the pipes sounding shrill in the heavy tropic air.

  The officials welcomed the ship and conveyed an invitation to the Captain to a reception at the palace that evening. They also offered the facilities of the port, for provisions.

  Robert accepted the invitation and having been offered tea and refreshment, refused graciously by the visitors, they returned to the shore making no mention of the French ship in the anchorage.

  Billy was intrigued; the first lieutenant commented to Robert that the Frenchman was flying a flag he did not recognise.

  “It will be the flag of the Warlord, the local Rajah.” Robert suggested. “It saves them the embarrassment of being tackled by us the moment we appeared.”

  The purser approached.

  “Yes, Mr. Jackson, what can I do for you?” Robert addressed the American with a raised eyebrow.

  “I would like permission to go ashore to purchase fresh provisions and arrange for fresh water if it is possible?”

  “Very good, Mr. Jackson, take the jolly boat and call for the long boat if you need it. Mr. Abbot, convey Mr. Jackson ashore, Find two extra hands to assist him; wait for him at the quay. Take weapons concealed just in case. Carry on, Mr. Abbot.”

  Abel hurried off to arrange his funds and collect his lists; the shore visit was important so that contact could be made with the shore party, who would be in position soon.

  The town was typical of the west coast of India, a sprawling assembly of shops and houses scattered along the shoreline. The general ship suppliers and chandlers lay behind the quay that stretched out like a finger into the bay. Adam and his two helpers strolled into the market area and he haggled with several of the fruit merchants, sending their bearers down to the boat with their burdens while he progressed through the town. He observed several European men about the area, though none approached or attempted contact in any way.

  Amin Raj made an appearance and wandered casually down to the quay, seating himself apart from but near enough to the boat to speak to Midshipman Abbot. He reported that the company was in position and awaiting a signal before opening fire on the palace. He then departed to the area of the Palace to nose around and locate, if possible, Mr. Carter’s agent before returning to Captain Ullyet. Amin Raj had to be careful, if he was recognised he would be dragged before the Rajah. If that happened, he might as well cut his own throat. It would be less painful than any punishment given out by the Rajah. Taking his time and wandering from stall to stall, he gradually worked his way to the Palace wall

  Amin Raj had a pretty good idea of where the agent would be found: if undiscovered, he would be close to the Palace; if already discovered, he would be in the prison behind the Palace.

  Enquiries among the stall holders elicited the information that there were three Europeans in the prison. One had been there for several months, the others only two days.

  The reception at the palace that evening was a grand affair. Robert arrived with Midshipman Alan Dawson in all his new finery. The pair were greeted at the gates by an elegantly dressed servant who spoke impeccable English and who escorted them to the reception room. The guests were introduced to the colourful throng assembled by a major-domo in a loud voice. As Robert was heard to comment, it was all terribly English.

  Despite the best efforts of the punkha-wallahs, the air was still humid and the crowded room was quite uncomfortable at first.

  With the arrival of the Rajah, all that changed. He made his entrance through huge double doors that opened onto the veranda overlooking the sea.

  The opposite end of the room had appeared to be as solid wall, but it was pushed aside on runners revealing the green forest rising up the hill beyond the palace grounds. The opening of the doors at each end of the room allowed the sea breeze to pass through the room, cooling the air within.

  The Rajah himself was not a striking figure though Robert noticed the small black eyes were clear and darted round the assembled guests rapidly, ‘Assessing’ was the word that came to mind as he watched.

  The Rajah spoke cultured English with an accent gained at Eton and Oxford. At least that is what he claimed.

  Robert was aware that he had learned his English from the master of the house in which hi
s mother worked. As a boy he had shared her accommodation in the servant’s quarters of the missionary’s house, normally sleeping alone as the Missionary’s wife was a frail soul and spent most of her time in the hills near Rawalpindi, leaving her husband to carry on alone in the rather more humid lowlands. The Rajah’s mother was a regular and welcome visitor in the missionary’s bed. The boy was the outcome of that liaison, and was an embarrassment to the missionary as the young man grew.

  The boy had resented his parents who caused him to suffer the taunts of the other boys, and interfered with the achievement of his ambition.

  Seated around the low tables carrying the wide assortment of food, Robert asked the Rajah about his family. He was told rather shortly that they had not survived the cholera epidemic that swept northern India 20 years ago.

  Chapter twenty-two

  “The ship Rivage I saw moored offshore when I arrived, where does she come from? I confess I did not recognize her flag.

  “She is carrying my own flag at present; I have her under charter from Captain Chavez, formerly of the French Navy. It is a question of diplomacy.”

  “Diplomacy? There is some problem between your country and another?”

  “I am afraid so, Captain, something I am sure we will clear up without too much difficulty, now you have arrived.”

  “Me! Is there some way that I can help in this matter?”

  “Oh yes, Captain, I do think that your crew will be cooperative when they realise you are my guest.”

  “I am sorry, sir, I am not sure I understand what you are saying?”

  “I will put it plainly, Captain. While you are my prisoner, your ship will not be inclined to attack me.”