The War Chest (17 page)

Commodore Watson stood beside Adam Horne at the foot of Mustafa’s freshly dug grave. Horne’s five Marines waited, heads reverently bowed, a few yards down the slope—Babcock, Groot, Jingee, Jud, Kiro.

Watson held his gold-braided cocked hat in one hand, mopping a handkerchief around his fleshy neck with the other hand, perspiring profusely in Oporto’s morning heat.

He asked, ‘How many men did you bury, Horne?’

‘We dug fourteen graves, sir.’

Watson glanced at the rocky earth. ‘No easy work in this soil.’

‘I put it to the men’s vote, sir. They felt that graves would be more fitting than sea burials. Many of the dead, sir, had been pressed into service against their will.’

‘I don’t know if I would have been so considerate as to let my men vote on such a matter.’ Watson fanned his hat, glancing at the neat line of burial plots above him on the slope. ‘It’s hard work burying fourteen men in this terrain.’

‘There were more than fourteen casualties, sir. But we only dug fourteen graves.’

Surprised, Watson turned to him. ‘What did you do with the others?’

Horne nodded at the waves gently lapping the remains of the French frigate wrecked on the reef. ‘Many casualties were scattered along the shoreline, sir. Arms. Legs. Bodies dismembered in the wreck. We dug one common grave for them, sir.’

Watson fanned himself faster. ‘Hmmm. I see.’

‘At the common grave, sir, we read prayers for Hindus, Muslims, Christians, Buddhists.’

‘You’ve been considerate, Horne.’ Watson squinted in the sun. ‘In the midst of loss and suffering.’

Horne remembered his Marines in attendance close by at the graveside. ‘We’ve all suffered, sir.’

Watson decided to brighten the conversation, at least to bring the subject back to business.

‘Horne, you still haven’t asked me why I arrived on this God-forsaken little island.’

‘No, sir.’ The sails of Watson’s flagship, the
Ferocious,
had appeared on the horizon at that morning’s first dawn.

‘Aren’t you curious, Horne, why I’m here?’

‘I’m curious, sir, as to how you found us.’

‘I discovered you by thinking exactly like you do, Horne. By putting myself inside your head.’ He frowned. ‘No easy task. No easy task at all.’

Horne tensed. Was Watson going to become one more man trying to understand him, looking for hidden secrets, acting as if he were a puzzle to be deciphered?

Watson continued. ‘When I decided to come and find you, I studied my maps and suspected that, after leaving
Diego-Suarez
, you would have sailed down the Madagascar Channel looking for the French treasure ship. When you found nothing—and I had no report that you
had
—a man like you would head northeast. Towards Mauritius. That’s what I decided. The nearness of the French
headquarters
there would not have troubled a man like you. Oh, no.’

Horne listened, relieved that Watson was not trying to pry into his innermost thoughts. He was even amused by Watson’s smug report of his deduction. He also noted that the Marine Commander-in-Chief had not told him the reason why he had decided to set out in search of him.

The grin on Horne’s thin lips irritated Watson. ‘Damn it, Horne,’ he ranted, ‘when a man jeopardises his position,
risks the security of his retirement, the last thing in the world he wants is to see someone laughing at him.’

The outburst surprised Horne. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I would never laugh at you, sir.’

What had Watson meant by ‘jeopardising his position’ and ‘risk the security of his retirement’? Horne’s curiosity was piqued.

Watson had divulged too much. He knew it, but he still wanted Horne to be, if not grateful, then at least a little more surprised by his sudden arrival.

He pressed, ‘What would you have done, Horne, had I not appeared?’

The question was naïve and surprised Horne. ‘Returned to Bombay Castle, sir. Reported to you and submitted my report to Governor Spencer—as it was Spencer who issued my orders.’

Watson’s bushy eyebrows furrowed. ‘No, no, Horne. I doubt if Spencer will want a written report on this mission when you return to Bombay Castle. Not with the trouble he’s taken to keep the assignment so secret. I suspect he’ll follow the pattern the Governors required after your victory at Madras—sealed lips.’

Horne reminded Watson, ‘Sir, we claimed no
prisoners-of
-war at Madras.’ He gestured to the three ships in the cove, the
Huma,
the
Tigre,
and the recently seized
Calliope.
‘But since leaving Madagascar, sir, we’ve captured
fifty-two
men. Fifty-three including Captain Le Clerc.’

‘Le Clerc?’ Watson was pleased to change the subject from Governor Spencer. Not knowing what Spencer had said on learning that he had gone to help Horne in the search for the war chest, Watson feared the consequences.

He asked, ‘What’s Le Clerc like, Horne?’

‘Arrogant. Angry that he’s been posted out here to India. Humiliated at being captured by men he considers to be pirates.’

‘He has no idea you’re connected to the Company?’

‘None, sir. I should imagine he’d prefer being taken prisoner by Admiral Pocock and the Royal Navy.’

Watson’s blue eyes twinkled. ‘Am I correct, Horne, in believing you don’t approve of the man?’

Horne grimaced. ‘Captain Le Clerc abandoned his crew and an officer aboard the
Tigre,
sir. He left them to defend themselves miserably in a storm while he sailed off safely aboard the
Calliope.’

‘Abandoned an officer, Horne?’ Watson was surprised. ‘You didn’t tell me you’d captured an officer apart from Le Clerc. Where is he?’

There were many facts Horne had not reported to Watson in the few hours since his arrival. He had chosen to proceed with the work of burying the dead to prevent the bodies from decaying quickly in the heat. He had trusted there would be ample time for a report and discussion.

He answered, ‘The young officer’s name was Gallet, sir. He took his own life. Shortly after we seized the
Calliope.’

‘I see.’ Watson wiped his jowls. ‘So tell me what you’ve got out of Le Clerc? Has he talked yet about that bloody war chest?’

‘Captain Le Clerc refuses to admit that he came to Oporto to pass on the war chest to another French ship. Yet he does not deny the pattern I suggested to him, the way in which I suspect the cargo’s been brought from France, passed from ship to ship.’

Watson had already heard Horne’s theory about how the French treasure had been passed like a handkerchief or coin at a children’s party. He remained more interested in the chest itself.

‘But you have seen the war chest, Horne?’ he asked anxiously. ‘You know it’s here? On Le Clerc’s brig you captured?’

‘Yes, I’ve seen it, sir. But as I explained earlier, I still haven’t examined it.’

‘So what are we waiting for?’ Watson settled the cocked
hat on his large head. ‘Let’s go out to the
Calliope
and have a look.’

Horne was hesitant. ‘Sir, there’s one question I would like to put to you.’

‘Speak, Horne.’ Watson was anxious to repair to the French brig.

‘What will happen to the
Huma,
sir?’

Watson stared dumbly at him.

‘The
Huma
,’ repeated Horne. ‘The captured frigate I’ve been sailing.’

Watson’s eyes bulged. ‘I know what the
Huma
is. But do you mean to stand there asking me about a bloody pirate ship when all our futures are at stake?’

This was Watson’s second allusion to the uncertainty of their future, Horne noted. What had occurred at Bombay Castle to make the old walrus so uneasy?

Watson rasped, ‘How do I know what’s going to happen in the future when damned Spencer hasn’t even fully informed me about this mission?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Horne could not bring himself to apologise for inquiring about the future of the pirate ship. Securing his men’s future was more valuable, he felt, than gold in a French war chest. The
Huma
would be a fine vessel for his Marines. A true buccaneer ship.

Watson capitulated slightly; patting Horne’s shoulder, he assured him, ‘Oh, have heart, Horne. Have heart. Given the chance, I’ll put a word in Spencer’s ear to allow you to keep the
Huma
—that is, if the old crow is still talking to me when we sail into Bombay.’

A third reference to trouble between the two men. Horne, however, still refrained from pressing for details.

Instead, he suggested, ‘The Company could very well rule the
Huma
as a prize for the Maritime Service, sir. A young merchant officer aboard the
Unity
captured the frigate along with a pattimar.’

Watson wagged his head. ‘Yes, yes. Spencer told me
about the green Company officer. He also told me how you gave assistance beyond the call of duty.’

Blustering, he exclaimed, ‘Dash it, Horne. Let’s stop babbling here in this heat. Let’s get out to the
Calliope
and see what’s in that bloody chest. That’s the only way we’ll know if any of us has a future.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Horne centred his hat on his forehead.

Watson preceded Horne down the incline, sword clanking against his leg. He waved at the five waiting Marines as he rattled past them, calling, ‘Come on, lads, let’s see if you’ve done your job, eh?’

The Commander-in-Chief continued down the slope to the open boat bobbing in the surf.

Horne followed Watson, his eyes on the three captured vessels in the cove, the seamen busily working on repairs.

Moving his gaze to the flagship,
Ferocious,
he thought again of Watson’s nervous allusions to Governor Spencer. The old walrus was definitely troubled by something.

Babcock nodded to Horne, signalling that he would soon follow him and Watson to the waiting boat. But, first, he and the other Marines wanted to pay their own respects to their dead comrade.

Stepping in front of the grave, Babcock rested his weight on one foot. ‘You didn’t talk much, you ugly Turk, but I’m going to miss you anyway.’

Appraising the knotted rope he had taken from Mustafa’s corpse on the
Tigre,
he continued, ‘I don’t know where you go from here, Ugly. But wherever it is …’

He tossed the garrotte onto the grave. ‘Here, you might be needing this.’

Jingee and Kiro remained standing side by side as Babcock slouched past them down the hill.

After remembering a Hindu prayer for a deceased
warrior, Jingee’s mind moved from Mustafa to the men he had killed on Oporto. Horne had praised him for
accomplishing
the land manoeuvre but had cautioned him about becoming too quick to kill, too eager to use his knife when there might be less deadly ways to silence the enemy.

Had
he killed too quickly? Could he have spared the Frenchmen’s lives instead of slitting their throats? Jingee’s pride suffered from Horne’s criticism, but he stood stoically by Mustafa’s grave and questioned his past actions. He was ready to mend his ways. The main concern in his life was always to please the Captain sahib.

Beside Jingee, Kiro mused over how little Mustafa had spoken to other men. But, then, neither did he himself ever have much to say.

Had Mustafa been trying, too, to achieve some goal he had long ago set for himself? If so, had he achieved it? Kiro thought about the goal of becoming a skilled warrior he had long ago set for himself in Japan. He added a prayer for himself as well as Mustafa. Before Kiro turned away from the grave, he added a third word for Adam Horne, for giving men a chance to live out their dreams.

Jud threw back his head, eyes open, looking at the clouds streaking across the late morning sky. Up there, hidden somewhere in that blue glass bowl, were his wife, his son and, now, Mustafa.

Jud smiled. When would he also go to live in the sky? Jud believed that death was immortality.

Groot set the blue cap on his sun-bleached hair after racking his brain for a prayer for Mustafa. Hurrying down the rocky slope to catch up with Babcock, he called, ‘Wait, Babcock. I want to apologise.’

Babcock did not slow down. ‘Apologise for what?’

Groot ran. ‘For laughing at you. For calling you a land lubber yesterday.’

‘Nothing a cheesehead says could ever bother me, Groot.’

‘But I want to congratulate you, Babcock. You had a good idea in tricking the enemy onto the reef. Your idea saved us.’

‘You were at the wheel,’ Babcock reminded him.

‘But it was your idea. It was a very good idea.’

Babcock slowed down; he looked at the promontory where the remains of the French frigate were lapped by the Indian Ocean. ‘My idea doesn’t seem so good when you think about how many men it killed.’

Groot looked at Babcock. ‘Are you getting soft?’

Babcock did not answer the question. Instead, he pulled his big ear, asking, ‘Do you remember how many of us prisoners Horne first took from Bombay Castle to turn into Marines?’

Groot considered. ‘Ten. Twelve.’

‘Sixteen. And how many men left Bull Island after training?’

Groot thought. ‘Seven.’

Babcock nodded. ‘Right. But how many are left now?’

Lowering his eyes to the ground, Groot said, ‘With Mustafa gone there are only … five of us.’

‘Which one of us is going to be next?’ Babcock studied Groot. ‘Is it going to be you, cheesehead?’

Turning, Babcock continued down the hill to join Horne and Commodore Watson.

Groot did not know if the big American colonial was joking with him or not. He suspected Babcock had been serious, that he was not as carefree as he often
pretended
.

Groot ran down the hill after him, calling, ‘What are you going to do with your monkey, Babcock?’

‘You ask too many questions, Groot.’ Babcock waved his hand and kept walking down to the waiting boat.

Aboard the
Calliope,
Horne stood with Commodore Watson and four Marines in the captain’s cabin as Jingee hurried in from the companionway, carrying a mallet, a chisel and an iron bar.