A private revenge nd-9 Read online

  'Pellew still commands, but Drury has a squadron at Macao ...'

  The welcome news that British men-of-war were at hand, that he might speedily obtain spare spars and canvas, perhaps fresh victuals too, besides making good other deficiencies in his own stores from Drury's ships, seemed to lift a massive burden from Drinkwater's weary shoulders.

  'Then let us make for Macao, Captain Ballantyne ...'

  'No, sir! That I must urge you not to ...'

  Drinkwater was surprised and said so.

  'Captain Drinkwater,' Ballantyne said as patiently as he could, 'you are clearly unacquainted with the situation in these seas. Drury has been empowered by the Governor-General of India to offer what Lord Minto is pleased to call "protection" to the Portuguese Governor at Macao. This is nothing more nor less than coercion, for the Portuguese colonists there are friendly to us, the more so since the damned French have designs on both Portugal herself and her overseas settlements. There are already stories of a French army coming overland through Persia and of an enemy squadron bound for these waters. If they take Macao then our China trade would be ended at a stroke ...'

  Ballantyne stopped, his serious expression adding emphasis (o his speech. 'It would mean ruin for many of us in Country ships and the end of the East India Company.'

  Drinkwater regarded this information with some cynicism. He held no brief for the India monopoly, but he acknowledged the influence of those who did. Ballantyne seemed to sense some of this indifference.

  'Consider, sir,' he said, 'what the alliance between the Dutch and French has already achieved: the Sunda Strait is closed to our ships and it has been necessary to convoy the trade through the Strait of Malacca. I do not think you can be aware of the numbers of French cruisers, both privateers and men-o'-war frigates, that the French have operating out of the Mauritius. One, the Piemontaise, a National ship, was taken by the San Fiorenzo off Cape Comorin, but at appalling cost, and that is our only success! That damned rogue Surcouf plundered our shipping right off the Sand Heads with complete impunity ...'

  'The Sand Heads ... ?' queried Drinkwater, aware of his ignorance and the apparent hornet's nest that he was blundering into.

  'Aye, off the entrance to the Calcutta river, Captain, plumb under the noses of the Hooghly merchants and Admiral Pellew himself!' Ballantyne's tone was incredulous.

  'Pellew cannot have liked that,' observed Drinkwater drily, 'he used to enjoy the boot being on the other foot.'

  'You know him then?' asked Ballantyne.

  'A long time ago, when he commanded the Indefatigable. But this does not explain your reluctance to allow me to take you to Macao. You must understand that now I have learned of a British flag-officer in the area it is my plain duty to report to him.'

  'By all means do so, sir, but after you have towed me into the Pearl River. It will delay you perhaps a day, two at the most.'

  You have a reluctance to go to Macao, Captain Ballantyne? A commercial one, perhaps?'

  Ballantyne nodded. Yes. I have a cargo, sir, a valuable cargo and a mortgage on the ship. Opium for the mandarins makes me damned anxious to take your offer of assistance. Mind you,' Ballantyne added forcefully, 'no salvage claim, by God, or I'll counter-claim on the basis of these charts and my services to bring you into the Pearl River ...'

  'Or Macao ...'

  Ballantyne's eyes suddenly narrowed. 'No, not Macao, Captain. My services are not available for Macao.'

  'Very well, sir,' said Drinkwater coldly, 'then I shall order the preparations for passing the tow discontinued and make up the numbers of my complement from your ship. While being indebted to you for your elucidation of the mysteries of Oriental politics, I believe that I may find my own way to Macao ...'

  'Hold fast, sir,' Ballantyne snapped back, 'if I lose Musquito I am a ruined man. If I go direct to Macao with my ship in her present condition I shall not get her up to Whampoa, nor will I avoid incurring crippling tariffs payable to the Portuguese.' Ballantyne paused. 'I am willing to compensate you for your trouble; an ex gratia payment, perhaps ...'

  Drinkwater was indignant. 'I am not to be bribed, damn you!' he said sharply, and Ballantyne met his outrage, raising his own voice.

  'An ex gratia payment is not a bribe, damn it, it is a legitimate payment for actual services! God damn it, Captain Drinkwater, you have my fate in your hands, sir; it is not easy for me to beg ...'

  Drinkwater considered the man before him. Exhaustion was perhaps making them both over-hasty. Above their heads and floating down through the open skylight came the noise of men heaving a hawser aft, ready to pass across to the stricken brig. Drinkwater needed a few minutes to reflect. He was desperate for those stores, yet there might be problems over having them allocated to Patrician, since she was not under Drury's orders. On the other hand the Honourable East India Company's ships at Canton would almost certainly hold stocks of spars and canvas which he could requisition. Judging from Ballantyne's jittery anxiety the spectre of his pressing men would be lever enough for him to have his own way.

  'Has Admiral Drury power to take over the dockyard at Macao?' he asked in a more conciliatory tone.

  'I think not. The last I heard was that the matter was at an impasse. Drury commands the ships, but his troops are mainly sepoys in the Company's service. They are under the direction of a Select Committee acting in the Company's interest. If you ask me there will be trouble with the Portuguese and, after that, trouble with the Chinese.'

  'Which is why you are anxious to get your cargo to Canton?'

  'Aye. I want to break bulk before the trade is stopped. There are already rumours that the Emperor at Peking wants it permanently terminated. That would not be in the interest of the Viceroy at Canton, it's his principal source of income, both by way of customs duties and chop ...'

  'Chop?' queried Drinkwater.

  'Cumshaw, baksheesh, bribes ...'

  Abruptly Drinkwater made up his mind. He and his ship needed a brief respite. If he proceeded to Macao doubtless Drury, a man whose reputation he did not know and who in turn owed Drinkwater nothing, might press further duties upon him. He wanted to work his ship homewards and had no wish to have her detained in eastern waters on arduous service that would end up with half his crew dead of scurvy or malaria. He could tow the Musquito towards Canton as Ballantyne desired, pretending ignorance of Drury's presence and arguing his urgent need of fresh victuals. He would be certain of finding stores at the Company's depot and might recruit his ship before finding Drury. In addition he might persuade Drury to send another vessel after the Juno. He felt desperately tired, over­whelmed by lassitude and, in reality, only too happy to accommodate Ballantyne's entreaty. He felt that sometimes a post-captain might play for advantage like a politician.

  'Very well, Captain Ballantyne, the matter is agreed. You will pilot us into the Pearl River and provide me with charts necessary to take me to Penang. I shall take your brig under tow and endeavour to take off as much of your cargo as possible if she shows signs of foundering.'

  'Damn it, thank you, sir!' Ballantyne held out his hand, his sudden smile evidence of his relief and the stress under which he had been labouring. Drinkwater wondered how much money rode upon the successful discharge of Musquitd's cargo. 'I will put my second officer aboard you, sir,' Ballantyne went on, 'to act as your pilot. He is as familiar as myself with the navigation of the Pearl River.'

  'You have perfect confidence in him?'

  'Absolute, Captain Drinkwater, and he may stand surety for my good conduct — he is my son.'

  'I had not exactly wanted a hostage,' Drinkwater said wryly. 'Come,' he added, 'let us drink to our resolve.'

  He summoned Mullender from the pantry and the two men sipped their wine while the companies of their ships passed a towline.

  Drinkwater could only guess at what Ballantyne's son's mother had been. A Begum, perhaps, or a Rani? Or did such noble ladies refuse to cohabit with the likes of Ballantyne? With the low passed, he stood now with
the younger man as he had his lather, consulting the charts. Possibly he was merely the bastard offspring of a nautch-girl, for he was clearly a man of colour. Drinkwater had yet to test his abilities, though he hoped he had inherited some of his father's skill, for Ballantyne had saved Musquito after a fight of ten days against the worst weather a mariner could encounter in these seas. Yet was it possible that so prosaic-looking a man could have sired so exotic a son?

  Jahleel Ballantyne was taller than his father, his skin a light coffee colour, his hair jet-black and loosely flowing to his shoulders. He wore a blue broadcloth coat like his father, but his trousers were thin cotton pyjamas, baggy in the leg and caught at the waist by a wide, scarlet cummerbund from which a pair of pistol-butts protruded. His low-crowned hat sported an elaborate aigrette and the man smoked long, thin cheroots. He spoke perfect English with a clipped, slightly nasal accent, emphasising his words with eloquent movements of his hands. Patrician already had a crop of exotics among the inhabitants of her lower deck. Only time would tell what the wardroom would make of such an addition to its number.

  'It is perhaps unnecessary to warn you, sir, of the dangers ahead, because you have many guns and are a ship of force. But we will be proceeding slowly, and we might be mistaken by the Ladrones for an India ship ...'

  'Pardon my interrupting, Mr Ballantyne, but who, or what, are the Ladrones?'

  'Chinese pirates, sir. They usually take ships off the Ladrones Islands here.' Ballantyne laid the point of the dividers upon a small archipelago, one of several which lay scattered about the huge estuary of the Pearl River. 'They have numerous junks armed with cannon.'

  'Don't the Chinese authorities take a dim view of these people?'

  Ballantyne smiled, a peculiarly engaging smile, accompanied by a gentle rocking of his head. 'To the mandarins these people are poor fishermen ...' he paused, seeing Drinkwater's expression of mystification. 'There is much to understand about these parts, sir.' Jahleel Ballantyne smiled again.

  'Indeed, so it would seem, Mr Ballantyne.'

  They were interrupted by Mullender.

  'Beg pardon, sir, Mr Fraser's compliments and he says he'll have to turn Mr Chirkov out of Mr Mylchrist's cabin, sir, to accommodate ...'

  Mullender nodded in Ballantyne's direction and Drinkwater sensed an amusing antipathy to the presence of the half-caste officer.

  'That will be very satisfactory.'

  'Mr Chirkov won't like it, sir, he's a very particular young gentleman.'

  Drinkwater turned. 'He's a prisoner-of-war, damn it, Mullender, not a maid to be cossetted over her mooning ... my apologies, Mr Ballantyne, come, let us go on deck ...'

  Tregembo, Drinkwater's coxswain, emerged from the pantry grinning at the discomfited steward who stood in the centre of the suddenly empty cabin.

  'What did you stand up for that Russian booby for?' he growled at Mullender. 'Particular gennelmen aren't exactly the Cap'n's cup o' tea.'

  Mullender shrugged, a man of proprieties more than words, and deeds.

  'Ain't proper ... Count Chirkov's a gentleman ...'

  'Count Chirkov's a damned bugger, you old toss-pot,' said Tregembo dismissively.

  'But he's a gentleman,' persisted Mullender doggedly.

  CHAPTER 2

  New Orders

  November 1808

  Midshipman Count Anatole Vasili Chirkov of the Imperial Russian Navy found captivity amusing rather than irksome. A proclivity for indolence helped, together with a rather fetchingly cultivated languor. Chirkov had discovered that a certain type of lady in the salons of St Petersburg found the affectation attractive, combined as it was with a biting sarcasm about the endeavours of others. It was a pretension peculiarly adapted to a rich adolescent. The conceit had also proved surprisingly useful aboard ship where, he had realised, a dearth of variety gave him a natural advantage over the dullards on board and provided him with innumerable targets. In fact, captive or not, Midshipman Count Chirkov found himself rather more popular than otherwise.

  An exception to this general rule was Captain Drinkwater who proved impervious to Chirkov's charm. The Russian regretted he had not killed the British captain when he had had the chance in Lituya Bay. The momentary advantage he had enjoyed over Captain Drinkwater had enlarged itself in Chirkov's fertile imagination and he would have boasted about it, but for the fact that losing it so swiftly argued against himself. Drinkwater, Chirkov reluctantly had to admit, was no fool. But then neither was he a gentleman, for Chirkov had felt Drinkwater's contempt as long ago as their first encounter in San Francisco and was happy to shrug him off as a curiosity of the British navy. His own captain, Prince Vladimir, had more or less confirmed this, calling Drinkwater 'a tarpaulin', to be tolerated, when he could not be avoided, whilst Chirkov's present inconvenient circumstances persisted.

  Chirkov, fluent in the French of his class, had had only a rudimentary knowledge of English when he had been taken prisoner. Recent association with Patrician's 'young gentlemen', particularly since his transfer from a cabin to the gunroom, had brought them into a greater intimacy. Chirkov had assumed a casual ascendancy over the youthful Belchambers, and formed a loose friendship with Frey who, although rated acting lieutenant, remained accommodated in his former quarters due to the overcrowding of the ship.

  Although Chirkov had some duties, they were nominal. He was supposed to supervise a division of the Russian sailors who had their hammocks slung in the cable tiers, but this irksome responsibility was easily delegated to a petty officer. This allowed him to indulge his apparently limitless capacity for doing nothing. At the present moment he was leaning on Patrician's fo'c's'le rail, half-propped on the breech of the foremost larboard chase gun while Mr Comley, Patrician's bosun and another amusing tarpaulin, hove a cable up outside the ship from the hawse pipe and bent it on to one of the sheet anchors.

  Astern of them and, remarkably, still afloat, the brig Musquito stretched her towline. It had taken almost a fortnight to beat up into the mouth of the Pearl River among the blue hills and myriad islands of the Kwangtung coast. The bat-winged sails of the big fishing junks that had loomed out of the dawn mist two days earlier were here replaced by hundreds of small sampans. Under sail, fishing or being patiently sculled by short Chinese who tirelessly manipulated their long stern scull, or yuloh, they dotted the waters of the estuary. Ahead Chirkov could see that the banks of the river came together and pale marks against the grey-green of the distant hills betrayed the embrasures of forts.

  Far above Chirkov's indolent head the lookout reported the presence of 'sails', by which all on the quarterdeck assumed he meant he had sighted the heavy crossed yards of European vessels.

  'They will be the Indiamen loading, I suppose,' remarked Drinkwater to Mr Ballantyne who stood next to him on the quarterdeck. A warm afternoon was producing a sea breeze, giving them their first favourable slant since they had picked up the tow, and under all the sail she could set, the British frigate was working slowly inshore.

  This fair breeze had produced a mood of contentment in Captain Drinkwater. Ballantyne's fears of pirates had proved groundless. Though two big junks had closed with them in the morning's mist, they had sheered off when they ranged up close, and there was no evidence to suspect their motives had been sinister.

  'No, sir ... they cannot be Indiamen or Country ships,' replied Ballantyne. He raised his glass and studied the masts and spars of the distant ships at anchor. Then he lowered it and pointed ahead of them. 'See, there are the forts at the Bogue, sir, what is sometimes called the Bocca Tigris. Those are the Vice­roy's war-junks, three of them anchored under the cannon of the forts. The Indiamen are inside the Narrows, beyond the Bogue at Whampoa. They should already be discharging. Some of those ships may be Indiamen but ...' Again he raised his glass and stared at the anchored vessels, some two points to larboard.

  'They're men-o'-war, sir,' shouted Quilhampton suddenly. He had hoisted himself into the mizen rigging and had been looking at the ships hims
elf. 'And flying British colours ...'

  'They must be Admiral Drury's ships, sir,' said Ballantyne.

  Drinkwater sensed a rivalry existing between the two young men. He turned to Fraser, standing beside the binnacle and watching anxiously as they crept into Chinese waters.

  'What's your opinion, Mr Fraser?'

  Fraser borrowed Quilhampton's proffered glass and clambered on to the larboard rail. At last he jumped down.

  'No doubt, sir. A British seventy-four, two frigates and two sloops ...'

  'A seventy-four!' exclaimed Drinkwater, unable to contain his surprise. The presence of a powerful third-rate argued it was, at the very least, a force under a senior captain flying a commodore's broad pendant. And that meant an officer senior to Drinkwater. Now his plan to recruit his ship before reporting his presence to his seniors was impossible. He fished irritably in his tail-pocket for his Dollond glass and, stepping up on a carronade slide, half-hoped to confound the experts beside him. To his intense annoyance he found they were correct.

  There was something familiar about the seventy-four. She lay with her head to the eastward, riding to a weather tide, and he had a good view of her. He was certain he had seen her before. Then he recognised her. He shut his glass with a snap and jumped down to the deck.

  'She's the Russell, gentlemen, unless I am greatly mistaken.' But he was confident of her identity. She had been part of Onslow's division at Camperdown and had stood in the line at Copenhagen where, punished for her mistake in following the Bellona, she had taken the ground under the Danish guns. 'And she flies a flag at her mizen ...'

  There was no doubt in Drinkwater's mind that he had discovered the squadron under Rear-Admiral Drury.

  He had his barge called away as soon as he had saluted Drury's flag, leaving Fraser to anchor Patrician and Musquito. He could only clearly identify one of the two frigates, the Dedaigneuse, for a fine rain had begun to fall and a damp chill filled the air so that the oarsmen bent to their task over a smooth sea, blowing the trickling rain from their mouths. Drinkwater sat wrapped in his thoughts. He watched the big two-decker loom over them as they approached, remembering her on a grey, gun-concussed October afternoon off Camperdown eleven years earlier. Eleven years! Where had the time gone? He wondered if Tregembo, sitting beside him at the tiller, entertained himself with such gloomy thoughts. Eleven years! They were both worn out in the King's Service, grown grey in the harness of duty like their ships.