"A private revenge" - читать интересную книгу автора (Вудмен Ричард)

CHAPTER 3 Whampoa

'Steady as you go, sir.'

Drinkwater lowered his glass and nodded at Lieutenant Fraser. 'Mr Ballantyne has the con ... sheets and braces to the Master's helm, if you please.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

Drinkwater held Fraser's eyes, searching for a flicker of resentment. Had Fraser hesitated out of deference to Drinkwater's presence? Or was there a taint of bad blood in the air? Surely not, though God alone knew the undercurrents of discontent that ran beneath the decks of his precious command. Ballantyne was a newcomer, a cuckoo in the uncomfortable nest of Patrician's wardroom.

Drinkwater dismissed the morbid train of thought. The Narrows known as the Bogue were closing in, the embrasured forts clearly visible as the breeze blew the ship steadily inshore, with the Chinese Viceroy's war-junks closing in on either quarter like huge, primordial birds of prey. The little Musquito, tugging and dragging at the dripping towline, rolled in their wake.

'Very well, Mr Fraser, you may send the men to quarters. In silence, if you will.'

Ballantyne turned and, to avoid his eyes, Drinkwater raised his glass again, studying the curious rig of the closing junk to larboard. He did not want the rat-a-tat-tat of the marine drummer's snare alarming the unpredictable Chinese, despite

Admiral Drury's assurances that a bold front would secure him a safe anchorage with the Indiamen above the Second Bar.

'Sir,' implored Ballantyne, 'I most earnestly entreat you not to compromise my father.'

Hissed at by Comley's mates who were deprived of their pipes at the hatchways, the watch below were pouring up from the berth-deck to take their stations at the quarterdeck guns with the low slap-slap of their bare feet.

'And I entreat you, Mr Ballantyne, to attend to your duty. You are a King's officer now.' Drinkwater looked quickly at Fraser, but the first lieutenant appeared to derive no satisfaction from his rebuke to the newcomer. Chastened, Ballantyne turned away. There were always problems arriving off a foreign coast, Drinkwater reflected, matters of propriety, of the correct number of guns to fire in a salute; of the number to expect in return and of the action to be taken if one did not receive them. He had gathered enough from Drury and Ballantyne himself to realise the delicacy of the balance maintained by the Honourable East India Company and the satellite shipping houses of Calcutta, Madras and Bombay in their relationship with the Celestial Empire of the Son of Heaven.

'The Emperor in Peking, sir, regards King George as a vassal chieftain,' Ballantyne had explained, highly amused, 'such is his ignorance ...'

Drinkwater raised his telescope and studied the junk to the west of them. There would be no exchange of gun-salutes, Drury had said, not until he had concluded his negotiations with the Viceroy.

'Mr Ballantyne,' said Drinkwater, without lowering the glass, 'there is a gentleman aboard that junk who appears to be a man of some importance.'

'He's the hoppo, sir, the mandarin charged with the duty of collecting the customs revenue, the chop. I imagine he will board Musquito when we bring her to anchor. We should take in the fore-course now, sir ...'

'Very well.'

'Fore clew-garnets! Rise fore-tacks and sheets!'

Drinkwater turned his attention to the forts. Brilliant-hued banners fluttered over ramparts of pale stone and he could see the muzzles of heavy cannon.

'Antique guns, sir,' reassured Ballantyne.

'What are those things beside the banners?' Drinkwater pointed to coloured shapes bobbing up and down behind the parapet.

'Tiger masks, sir, intended to intimidate us.'

'I see ...' replied Drinkwater uncertainly.

But the Chinese cannon did not dispute their passage, though the war-junks hung on their flanks until they had passed beyond the Bogue and the First Bar. Under topsails, Patrician forced her ponderous way upstream against the yellow ebb of the Pearl River. To starboard the hills rolled away to the east, echoing the jagged peaks of Lin Tin Island offshore, but to larboard a flat alluvial plain stretched westwards, intersected by convoluted channels and formed from marshy and insubstantial islands that altered as the river altered. The hills to the east were bare of trees, stripped by the hand of man, terraced here and there to form fields which fell away from the walled villages on their summits.

With sharply braced yards and the jibs and spanker to assist, Patrician rounded a long bend, finding the main stream divided by low islands. Although the layered spire of a pagoda broke the skyline, it was the tall masts and yards of the East Indiamen that dominated the anchorage.

'Whampoa, sir, and that is Danes Island, and that is ...' Ballantyne aired the knowledge of a dragoman while Drinkwater studied the shipping through his Dollond glass. Most of the Indiamen seemed to be discharging, though there were smaller 'Country' ships, Indian owned, loading from the mass of junks, sampans and lorchas that crowded round them. One or two of these seemed ready for sea.

An hour later Patrician had cast off Musquito and anchored beside her. From her quarterdeck Ballantyne senior waved his gratitude. Drinkwater turned to the son. The man was well pleased with himself, puffing contentedly on a cheroot.

'Well, sir, you acquitted yourself with credit. If you still wish it I shall request Admiral Drury confirm your acting warrant as master. In the meantime we shall further test your abilities in a refit.'

'I am honoured, sir, to accept.'

'In that case, Mr Ballantyne, be so good as to obtain the services of a tailor and extinguish that confounded cheroot!'

Drinkwater gestured at Ballantyne's exotic figure, and this time Fraser could not repress a smile.

'Sentry!'

Drinkwater's exasperated voice rose to a querulous pitch and he dragged himself to his weary feet. He half opened the cabin door to bawl again at the sentry.

'For God's sake, man, do your duty and keep these hawkers quiet!'

His attempt to close the door failed. Instead the mortified marine, his shako missing and his ported musket pressed impotently across his own chest, fell backwards into the captain's arms.

'Beg pardon, sir . . .'

The sight of Patrician's, commander, his blue, white and gold uniform marking him as a personage of supreme importance to the people of the Pearl River, only fuelled their desire to secure some patronage from him, the reason for their besieging his quarters. If Drinkwater had entertained any reservations about Ballantyne's ability to find a tailor, they were now swiftly dispelled. Ballantyne could obtain the services of a tailor, a washerwoman, a boot-maker, an ice-seller, a vendor of chickens, eggs or cabbages, a barber, a fortune-teller, a servant or a whore, though, at that moment, they all seemed to be attempting to claim the attention of Captain Drinkwater.

Tregembo! Mullender!' Drinkwater bellowed, putting his weight behind the broad shoulders of the marine; but no reinforcements came from the pantry and Drinkwater's tired brain realised that similar scenes were being enacted throughout the ship.

'I'm sorry, sir,' mumbled the compressed bootneck.

Drinkwater grunted acceptance of the unfortunate marine's apology. Doubtless the poor fellow expected a dozen at the gratings tomorrow and would likely get them if nothing mollified Drinkwater's rising temper.

'Fire your damned musket, man!' he bellowed in the marine's grubby ear. The sudden report gained them the necessary second's initiative and the throng of supplicating Chinese was pushed beyond the doorway.

'Pass word for Mr Mount!' Drinkwater called through the closed door, leaning his back upon it and wiping his forehead. Catching his breath after the unaccustomed exertion he stared through the stern windows. It was a grey, drizzly late November day, yet the broad waters of the river swarmed with sampans and junks. Somewhere just out of sight on their larboard quarter, Musquito lay aground on the fringes of Danes Island. Here, where the Europeans were allowed by the Chinese authorities the concession of a place to repair and refit their ships, Captain Ballantyne was discharging his cargo of opium in order to survey his ship. Low sheds had been erected on the island, under the roofs of which the crews of the Indiamen repaired masts and spars, reminding Drinkwater of the pressing needs of his own ship.

'Sir? Sir? Are you all right?'

Drinkwater recovered himself and opened the door a trifle. The crowd outside had subsided, clearly concluding that admittance to the great man's cabin was impossible. Most had gone in search of more accessible prey.

'Mount, come in, come in. Of course I am all right, but what of the rest of the ship?'

Mount grinned. 'Taken lock, stock and barrel by boarders, sir.'

'Get your men aft, then, and clear 'em. We've got work to do!' Drinkwater noticed the crestfallen look in Mount's eyes. 'Damn it, Mount, you know as well as I do what will happen if liquor vendors get among the people. We will have a species of anarchy aboard.'

'Aye, sir, but the men know there are women available and even I have need of a new shirt ...'

Drinkwater eyed the marine officer; Mount had served with him for five years and Drinkwater knew him for a steady, reliable man. The plea was eloquent, Drinkwater's testiness a reaction after the long weeks of lonely strain. They had a day or two ...

'Very well, Mr Mount, clear the ship, then have the goodness to request Mr Ballantyne to arrange for two tradesmen of each kind to come aboard. He and the Purser are to issue passes, you are to put Sergeant Blixoe on the entry and double the sentinels.'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

'And send Fraser aft, I want a guard rowed round the ship. And your men are to fix bayonets and load powder only. I want no unnecessary blood shed on our account.'

'What about women, sir?'

Drinkwater stared at the marine, hesitating. He could allow women on board in accordance with the usage of the Service. It was common in Spithead where men-of-war at anchor frequently assumed a frantic and degenerate appearance, aswarm with whores who were fought over and coupled with by men denied outlet for their natural urges for months at a time. It dispensed with the awkward business of shore-leave and reduced the risk of desertion. One thing could be relied upon if women were allowed on board, and that was the exhaustion of the seamen in a violent excess of promiscuity. It had its merits, if strictly controlled.

Against it was the threat of further rumblings among the men. They were not a happy crew, compounded of volunteers, pressed men, Quota men and the sweepings of British gaols. Many of them had been at sea now for years, hardly stepping ashore except on remote beaches to wood and water the ship. The sight of women would inflame the men, denial of access to them might precipitate serious disaffection and even desertion.

Hovering over this delicate equation was the ever-present spectre of disease. Release of libidinous pressure now might result in an epidemic of clap or worse, the lues. The venereal list already bore eighteen cases of the former acquired in California in addition to the decrepit and decomposing luetic whose appearance served as a ghastly warning to them all and whose shambling figure kept Patrician's heads clean. Surgeon Lallo had reported two more cases of the disease already in the second stage. How many more would be acquired here at Whampoa? He felt irresolute, exhausted.

"You may allow the tradesmen, Mount.' He hesitated, his eyes meeting those of the marine officer who remained expectantly in the cabin.

'Very well ... women as well, but not until this evening ...' Mount departed and soon the frigate was filled with the shouts and squeals of disruption as his mustered marines forced the Chinese back into their boats at the point of the bayonet. If the unfortunate vendors had earlier mistaken Patrician for a run-of-the-mill East Indiaman, they were now learning their mistake.

For the next two days Drinkwater kept himself to himself, taking a turn on deck shortly after dawn and again in the evening. The chance to sleep undisturbed while his charge swung to her cable in a safe anchorage was too luxurious an opportunity to forego after the relentless months of service he had endured. He was overwhelmed with a soporific lethargy, dozing off over his charts like an old man, even after sleeping the clock round, eating erratically, to the despair of Mullender who had purchased fresh vegetables, and drinking little. On the first evening at anchor he had barely been able to keep awake as Captain Ballantyne eloquently expressed his gratitude and sought to introduce Drinkwater to the commanders of the East India Company's ships at Whampoa. Drinkwater excused himself, pleading the disorder of his ship, but in fact the plain truth was that he was utterly exhausted and had no stomach for socialising.

Mullender and Tregembo, his coxswain, crept in and out of the cabin while Derrick, the pressed Quaker who did duty as the captain's clerk, silently maintained the ship's books without the dozing Drinkwater ever being aware of his presence.

'Don't you wake him,' the solicitous Tregembo had said as Derrick passed through the pantry to collect the muster books.

'I am sufficiently acquainted with the virtues of silence, Friend,' replied the Quaker drily.

But their protection was broken by the still-limping Belchambers who nervously, but over-loud, tapped upon the cabin door.

'Sir ... sir ... Sir! If you please, sir ... there's a boat that's brought orders from the flagship, sir.'

'Specie, Captain, my clerk will give you the details. At one per cent its carriage should compensate you a little for the inconveniences attendant upon my diverting you ...'

It had been a long pull in the barge, though they had sailed much of it, and Drinkwater still felt a mild irritation that Drury had summoned him in person to acquaint him of something as easily conveyed in a letter.

'And the Juno, sir? I had hopes of finding her here.' 'Damn the Juno, Captain. These matters that I have in hand supersede that preoccupation. I have read your report, read it with interest, Captain Drinkwater, and not a little admiration. I think I may relieve you of the discretionary part of your orders ...'

Drinkwater looked at the admiral; this was a different Drury. It was obvious to Drinkwater why he had been chosen to relieve Pellew: there was a clear-thinking and obviously principled mind concealed behind the ram-damn seaman's exterior. He warmed to the man, forgiving the admiral the tedium and risk of the long boat journey. He was suddenly pricked with conscience, aware that Admiral Drury might be able to answer a question that had been bothering him for months now. 'Please, do be seated, Captain, and take a glass ...' The admiral's servant proffered the tray and then Drury waved him out, seating himself. 'Y'r health, Captain Drinkwater.'

'Your servant, sir.' The fine bual reminded Drinkwater of a long dead Welsh commander, and also of the question that begged resolution.

'Sir, forgive the presumption, but I am anxious to know the fate of Lord Dungarth. You will be aware from my orders that I have some knowledge of his Lordship's office ...'

Dungarth was the obscure head of the British Admiralty's Secret Department, the very centre of its intelligence network and a man who, along with the formidable figure of John Barrow, the Second Secretary, was instrumental in forming Admiralty policy. Drinkwater had known him since he had been a midshipman, even held him as his patron and friend. The last news he had had of the earl was that he had been blown up by an explosive device which had destroyed his carriage somewhere near Blackheath.

You heard ...'

'By the hand of Rear-Admiral White, sir ... an old messmate.'

'Dicky White, eh?' smiled Drury. 'Had the sense to hang up his sword and take his seat in Parliament for a Pocket Borough ...' Drury sipped his madeira. 'As for Dungarth, he still breathed when last I heard ... what, eight months ago.'

'But the prognosis ... ?'

'Was not good.'

Drinkwater nodded and they sat in silence for a moment. 'You had some expectation of preferment by his hand, did you?' asked Drury.

Drinkwater smiled ruefully. 'I fear I am a little long in the tooth to entertain such thoughts, sir.'

'We are of one mind, Captain.'

'I beg your pardon, sir ... ? Drinkwater looked up in surprise. Drury was mocking him!

'I am aware that you are an officer of experience, Captain. I have here', Drury patted a folded bundle of papers, 'your written orders which, loosely summarised, instruct you to take under convoy those ships ready to proceed. Our presence here in force has disrupted the trade and most of the India ships will not be ready. The Viceroy in Canton has been ordered by his Emperor to evict us from Macao and halt all intercourse with us. This interdict is contrary to the private ambitions of the Viceroy and will inconvenience him in the collection of his revenues. The Son of Heaven at Peking will expect the same tribute from his proconsul in Canton irrespective of its origin. I have come here to stop the French or Dutch from seizing Macao and ruining our trade, but I am also hounded by a mercenary pack of Selectmen to compel the Viceroy to continue trade through Canton and Whampoa and disobey the Emperor. The Indiamen have only just begun to break their outward bulk. There are fourteen large Indiamen, fifteen large Bombay vessels, six from Bengal, five from Penang and a brace from Negapatam and Madras. They have all yet to load. A boom and a fleet of war-junks could seal them above the Bogue and they could be forcibly discharged without any payment for their lading.

'Such a threat has the Selectmen quivering in their boots! That's why I want you to get out whatever specie the Chinese merchants have already collected, and, together with the two Indiamen and eight or nine Country ships that have managed to load, see them safe to Penang. If you ain't doing a service to the merchants, you'll be doing one for old Sir Edward.'

'I see, sir. And you think my grey hairs will help me ...'

'Damn it, Drinkwater, you've seen these boy captains! What the hell use d'you think Fleetwood Pellew is without I have a steady first luff to stay his impetuous helm. Such arrant nepotism will ruin the Service, to say nothing of prohibiting the promotion of worthy men who must be shackled in subordinate stations. Between us, magnificent seaman though he be, Pellew's made a ninny of himself on behalf of those two bucks of his.' Drury paused to drain his glass. All these young blades think about is prize money; prize money before duty ...

'Have you heard about young Rainier? No? Last year he was a snot-nosed midshipman; pulled the strings of influence and got himself command of a sloop; begged a cruise off the Commander-in-Chief and went a-skulking in the San Bernardino Strait. Took the Spanish Register ship San Raphael, pocketed fifty thousand sterling and sent Sir Edward his share of twenty-six. Yes, that stings, don't it, eh?

'And Fleetwood; sent up to Nangasakie to reconnoitre? Reconnoitre, my arse! Old Daddy Pellew wanted another slice of eighth-pie. Young Fleetwood, the valiant captor of Batavia, was to take one of the two Dutch ships that visit those parts every year and relieve them of the silk or spices, or whatever they go up there for and buy off the Mikado.

'That's why I want you to see these ships safe to Penang, Captain. There are several powerful French frigates working out of the Ile de France. Surcouf has raided the doorstep of Calcutta with impunity in a letter-of-marque called the Revenant that sails like a witch; word has it that he's at the Mauritius now, but he's quite likely to take another look into the Hooghly or the Malacca Strait.'

'I see, sir ...'

'Apart from the French National frigates, their privateers and the Dutch ships of war, you've pirates ... oh yes, sir, pirates. The Ladrones are infested with 'em and they'll take Country ships, knowing them lighter armed than the Company's regular vessels. Get south of the Paracels reefs and you can forget the Ladrones. What you'll have to worry about then are the Sea-Dyaks from Borneo. Fall into a calm and they'll paddle their praus up under your transom and cut out whatever they fancy ... that's why I want a man who knows his duty, Captain Drinkwater, so your one percent will be well earned if you get a chest or two of silver dollars to India safely.'

Drinkwater put out his hand for the packet of orders. Already his head was formulating the likely signals for his convoy. How the devil could he extend comprehensive protection with a single ship?

'Will you send a sloop with me in support, sir?'

'I doubt I can spare one,' Drury said bluntly. 'When will you be ready for sea?'

'You promised me a week, sir, of which five days yet remain.'

'Very well. And now to a more immediate business ...'

'Sir?' Drinkwater frowned, puzzled.

'I want to hoist my flag in Patrician, Captain Drinkwater, just for a day or two.'