Adam Horne left Bombay Castle through a small postern in the south wall. Emerging to the left of a goat pen, he made for an opening between two warehouses to avoid the bedlam of the marketplace. The silver and gold scabbard of his sabre jangled against his left leg as he walked at a brisk pace through the cool shade of the buildings. Irritated at Watson for not being able to supply details of the mission, he wondered why the old Commodore had mentioned a shipment of French gold before dismissing him. Was Watson concerned about a French mutiny? Would it affect the Marine? Coming to a junction of three passageways and momentarily uncertain which turning to take, Horne told himself to stop speculating about Watson’s motives and concentrate on where he was going.
Eight years in Bombay had given Horne a reasonable knowledge of the city’s many winding streets and narrow passageways. He had discovered that the best method of finding his way through the maze was to remember that the central point was Bombay Castle, that the bazaars, shops, houses, pagodas and temples spread out from the fortress like a fan across the marshy peninsula on which the city had been built.
Despite Bombay’s cramped tenements and noisy streets, Horne preferred it to Madras or Calcutta. He liked the Moorish flavour created by red-tiled buildings crowding the bastions of Bombay Castle. He enjoyed living in a city which had no ‘Black Town’ or ‘White Town’ like Madras or Calcutta. The inhabitants here lived alongside one another—Indians, Africans, Europeans, Chinese—a stew of many nationalities which British colonials often found unappealing.
Reaching the bottom of the passageway, Horne came out at the top of the harbour. Fish nets were drying in the late morning sun and, beyond the wharf’s edge, he could see native craft bobbing in the surf—Malabar sailing boats, snub-nosed fishing vessels, small rattan shells sewn with coir rope and tied at both ends like a child’s toy. In the far distance, three merchant ships tipped at anchor near the harbour’s wide mouth, their spars and rigging silhouetted against the hazy mountains on the mainland.
The Unity must be one of those Indiamen, he guessed. With the help of his spyglass he could study the ship on which he and his men would be sailing for Madagascar.
The thought that he would be a passenger and not captain dejected Horne. He pictured the Eclipse, imagining the excitement he would be feeling at this moment if he and his men were about to make way.
But no, it was indulgent to imagine what might have been. He had waited six months for an assignment. He now had one. He must be thankful for that fact and locate his men.
Climbing a steep incline of steps rising from the west end of the wharf, he paused near the top to look one last time towards the sea. The wind was rising from the east, no finer day for sailing.
A Union Jack flapping on a brig caught his attention. Studying the Navy vessel, he guessed she must have brought the press gang into harbour to recruit men for His Majesty’s Navy. Admiral Pocock’s fleet must be hungry for seamen. The ocean air had weathered the brig’s dark hull, giving her a sinister appearance, like a predator amongst the Indiamen in harbour, vessels which the press gang could board at any time of day or night and seize crew.
The Navy’s press gang had the King’s privilege to board any Company ship—as well as enter taverns, shops, even homes—to take men and boys to serve aboard Royal ships. It was no accident that members of a press gang were bullies, thugs, blackguards feared by everyone when they arrived in port.
* * *
The morning’s sun was nearing its zenith when Horne knocked firmly on a small blue wooden door set within a crumbling white wall running along one side of a garbage-littered alley. A tiny brass grille was set in the middle of the door and, when Horne crooked his forefinger to rap a second time, the grille opened and a brown eye appeared on the far side of the delicate brasswork.
Horne bent forward to introduce himself but the grille slammed shut; iron bolts sounded on the far side of the door which swung open, and a man servant, wearing a white turban and a long white jacket, bowed deeply, gesturing for Horne to step from the alley.
Moving forward, Horne began to speak, but the servant hurriedly closed the door, beckoning him to follow.
Horne was surprised by the sharp contrast between the filthy alley and the beauty inside the high wall. Following the servant, he crossed a large garden planted with shrubs, flowers, and fruit trees. Descending three flagstone steps, he came into a paved courtyard decorated with ornamental pools, bronze statues, and surrounded by arches of pink limestone.
A cry broke the garden’s stillness.
Horne turned and saw another turbaned man—younger and shorter than the servant—running towards him.
‘Captain sahib! Captain sahib!’
Horne grinned. It was Jingee.
Stopping a short distance from Horne, Jingee bent forward from the waist, salaaming and saying, ‘Welcome to my cousins’ house, Captain sahib.’
Horne accepted the greeting with a courteous nod, arms to his side.
He began, ‘I’m sorry to come unannounced, Jingee.’
‘I was expecting you, Captain sahib!’
Horne did not understand.
Jingee explained, ‘The astrologer told me to be prepared to embark on a long journey aboard a ship. I guessed that Commodore Watson must be giving us new orders, Captain sahib.’
Indians of all castes visited astrologers for advice on health, travel, money or love. Horne was not surprised that Jingee, a member of the merchant class, the Vaisya, followed this popular Oriental habit.
He explained, ‘Commodore Watson has told us to be prepared to sail no later than tomorrow morning for Madagascar. We will be given further instructions there.’
Jingee stood little more than five feet tall. His eyes were brown and shaped like almonds. His skin was a mellow umber, his complexion showing only a trace of a beard. In a voice which was thin but not effeminate, he said, ‘I am honoured to sail with you again, Captain sahib, wherever you lead us. I took an oath of allegiance to the Honourable East India Company and I have been waiting patiently to be called back into service. But it is to you, Captain sahib, that I am bonded. You took me from prison. You gave me a chance to prove I was no criminal but—’ he held his small head high, ‘—a man of decency and honour.’
Over the past six months, Horne had tried to meet the seven men from his squadron on a regular basis. But it was difficult keeping track of their day-to-day whereabouts, and he asked, ‘Jingee, can you help me find the others by this evening?’
‘We can find them this afternoon, Captain sahib.’
‘Where should we start?’
‘Kiro and Jud live beyond the Spice Market where you last saw them. Bapu still works in the Street of the Lanterns. He will be able to tell us where to find Babcock, Groot, and Mustafa. They move around like nomads in the desert.’
‘Let’s hope they don’t move straight into the path of the press gang.’
Jingee’s eyes widened. ‘Yes, Captain sahib. My cousins told me about the press gang visiting the cattle yards. They are not starting in the waterfront as usual this trip. They are getting smarter.’ Jingee tapped the side of his turban.
‘That’s why we must hurry, Jingee.’
‘My cousins are not at home, Captain sahib. But they would be most displeased if I did not offer you hospitality before we left their house.’
‘Thank you, Jingee. But I’m certain your cousins would understand why we must not waste time sitting here drinking tea.’
Jingee bowed. ‘As you wish, Captain sahib.’
Horne glanced at the latticed arches behind Jingee. ‘As soon as you’re ready, we can leave.’
‘But I am ready, Captain sahib! I have no uniform. No weapon. What else do I need? Nothing! I have already bidden my cousins goodbye this morning. As I said, Captain sahib, I was expecting you. In fact, you are a little late.’
Jingee was one of Horne’s most organised, most resourceful men. Accomplished as a cook, tailor, translator and guide, he was also surprisingly strong for his slight build, and masterful with a knife. Horne was glad to have the service again of the young Tamil’s many diverse talents.
* * *
Jingee hurried to keep pace with Horne’s brisk stride, explaining, as they passed through a narrow street lined with wooden tenements, that the last time he had seen Kiro and Jud was three days ago. Kiro was teaching the sons of rich families to duel like the ancient Samurai warriors of Japan, while Jud had found a job guarding treasures at a Hindu holy place, the Red Temple.
Emerging in a square where women in brightly dyed saris were gathered around a stone well, Jingee pointed to a narrow street which they must follow to find Kiro. Halfway across the square two dhooli-bearers rushed towards Horne, tugging at his coat sleeve and insisting that he ride on their palanquin, but Jingee waved his hand, scolding them in shrill Hindi as he led Horne to the far side of the square.
Dried palm fronds covered the street which climbed a low hill, the midday sun filtering through the loosely woven ceiling, giving a rich light to tradesmen standing or sitting cross-legged behind carpets spread on the ground.
This was the Spice Market, and a collection of seeds, pods, roots and fine powders were arranged in small piles or short rows in front of each pedlar, making the street aromatic with the pungent odours of cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, turmeric and saffron.
As Horne and Jingee went further into the Spice Market, Horne noticed a young boy of eight or nine years following them along the dusty street, sometimes pushing his way ahead of them in the crowd. Horne did not mention the boy’s presence to Jingee, wanting to see first if he might merely be a pedlar’s scout.
As the street levelled at the top of the hill, the stalls of the spice merchants became interspersed with those of gem and precious metal dealers, turbaned men whose ground-cloths were strewn with gold and silver jewellery hammered into a variety of designs, or a glittering array of garnets, pearls, rubies, sapphires and jade. Horne wondered how many of the stones were real and how many were sham, worth less than a nutmeg.
As they passed the last of the gem dealers, a pedlar fell in step with them, whispering in English, ‘Captain, you want to buy rubies?’
Jingee waved his hand. ‘Go away.’
The pedlar was tall and broad-shouldered, and he persisted, ‘Captain, you want to buy the Grand Moghul’s rubies?’
‘Go away!’ hissed Jingee.
‘I give you my word,’ promised the pedlar. ‘These rubies come from the royal city of Agra. From the Grand Moghul’s Diwan-i-am.’
Horne looked at the pedlar, a tall, black-skinned man with a white cloth pulled across the lower half of his face from the back of his turban, a black-and-brown-striped kaftan falling over his towering body.
Keeping pace with Horne, the pedlar lowered the cloth from his face, a big grin flashing a line of white teeth.
‘Jud!’
Tall and thick-chested, Jud was an African from Oman with a face that looked as if it had been sculpted from ebony. He raised one arm in mock military salute, barking, ‘Captain Horne … sir!’
Horne replied with a quick snap of the arm.
All three men laughed.
Jingee, a midget alongside Jud, looked up at the African, explaining, ‘We were coming to find you in the Temple.’
Jud shook his head. ‘Oh, you would not have found me at the Temple today, little friend. The priests heard about a press gang and decided I’d attract too much attention. They gave me these clothes and told me to lose myself in the bazaar.’
Horne shook his head. ‘You’d be safer at sea, Jud.’
‘Say the word, Captain, and I’m ready.’
‘Tonight? Tomorrow?’
‘Sir, you are serious!’
‘Absolutely.’
‘The Company’s assigned you a ship, sir?’
‘Not yet, Jud. We sail as far as Madagascar on an Indiaman. We receive further instructions at Port Diego-Suarez.’
Seeing a crowd collecting around them in the marketplace, Horne suggested, ‘Let’s keep walking. I’ll explain as we go.’
The three men continued along the dusty street; the shops and stalls became fewer, being replaced by warehouses and sheds roofed with red tiles. The small native boy was still following them, Horne noticed, but he did not inform his companions about the tag-along child. Instead he proceeded to explain the plan to board the Unity between now and tomorrow morning’s daybreak.
‘Captain sahib, we are here.’ Jingee pointed at a pair of tall, iron-studded doors. ‘This is where Kiro meets his students.’
Moving up to the doors, Jingee opened one with a slight push and stepped back for Horne and Jud to pass in front of him.
Beyond lay a great hall with a high ceiling covered with rattan. In the middle of the earth floor, two young boys, wooden poles gripped in both hands, were battling with one another, their feet dancing across the floor, the hollow clank of the poles echoing in the cavernous room.
Beside the boys moved Kiro, a sinewy Japanese in his mid-twenties, his black hair clipped short to his head, wearing a pair of long, wide white pants and a red band twisted round his forehead. Stepping from one leg to the other, he shouted, clapped his hands, whistled and grunted at the boys.
When he spotted the three visitors at the door, he motioned for the two students to continue without him, then crossed the dirt floor and bowed low to Horne, rising with a crisp military salute.
Horne returned the salute. ‘Excuse us for disturbing your class, Kiro.’
Kiro looked quickly at the other two men and his tawny face broke into a smile. ‘Sir, you come about a voyage?’ he said.
Horne nodded. ‘We embark as soon as we find the others.’
‘Sir, I see Bapu every day.’ Kiro pointed to the street. ‘He still works at the elephant stables two streets away. And Babcock came here only this morning, to say that he, Groot, and Mustafa are going to hide in a little house they found until the Navy’s press gang leaves Bombay.’
The European features of Babcock, Groot and Mustafa could easily attract the attention of a recruiting squad, Horne knew, much more easily than those of his other four men. Pleased to hear that they were taking steps to remain out of sight, he asked, ‘And you, Kiro? Are you safe here?’
Kiro smiled. ‘My students’ fathers are rich shipbuilders, Captain Horne. They do not want their sons becoming common sailors. They have stationed spies around the city to warn me when a press gang is near. Look—‘Kiro nodded to a shadowy corner. ‘There’s Shashi, one of my little spies, over there.’
Horne looked across to a far pillar and saw a young Indian peering out bashfully at them. It was the same boy whom he had seen following them in the bazaar.
Kiro explained, ‘I knew you were approaching before you arrived, sir. But because Shashi told me there was only one man in uniform, I did not become alarmed. I thought it—’
At that moment, one of the double doors burst open and a turbaned man rushed in from the street.
‘Bapu!’
Bapu, an Indian from the northern district of Rajasthan, was taller than Jingee, broader chested, with a brawny body like the fabled warriors of the ancient caste to which he had been born, the Kshatriya.
Quickly saluting Horne, he gasped out, ‘We mustn’t waste time, sir … Our friends … they’re in trouble, sir … Somebody’s betrayed them and … and the press gang’s got them trapped in a house … hurry …’
Bapu disappeared out into the street.
* * *
With Jud and Jingee close behind, Horne and Bapu led the way down a sloping street, while Bapu continued his story. A neighbour had come to the elephant barn and told him that a spy had betrayed the whereabouts of his three friends to the Navy’s press gang.
The afternoon heat had emptied the streets; only a few brown faces peered from behind closed shutters; the report of pistol shots sounded in the distance, and Bapu confirmed that they were approaching the location of the hideout. The echoing pop, pop, pop of weapons told Horne that the press gang had found Babcock, Mustafa and Groot, but the three Marines were obviously resisting them.
As they approached the intersection of two streets, Horne raised his hand and edged to the corner of a clay building. Removing his cocked hat, he peered down the adjoining street.
He was looking into a cul-de-sac. A cart had been overturned three-quarters of the way down, to act as a barricade, and six men knelt behind it: two Royal Marines, a Royal Navy Lieutenant, two men whom Horne guessed to be British seamen, and a slim Asian wearing a turban and long robe. The Marines and the Lieutenant were peering round the cart, their muskets pointing down the street, while the two seamen were behind the barricade, reloading their flintlocks with ball and powder. Beyond them, Horne saw a small house at the end of the street; it had no windows, only a squat door and reed walls which immediately impressed him as being highly inflammable.
Surveying the rest of the street, he pulled back his head and levelled the hat over his forehead. ‘There are six of them’, he reported. ‘They’ve barricaded the house with a cart. But they aren’t too concerned about covering themselves from the rear.’
Anxiously, Bapu asked, ‘Any sign of activity in the house, sir?’
‘None I can see.’
Jingee whispered, ‘Can we sneak up on the Navy men, Captain sahib, and—’ he mimed slitting his throat.
Horne shook his head. ‘Not with their firearms, Jingee. It’d be too risky.’ Turning to Bapu, he asked, ‘Is there a back entrance to small houses like that?’
Bapu knew the house and replied without hesitation. ‘No, sir. It’s called a howdah, like a howdah on the back of an elephant. But instead of four curtains, its walls are grass and wood.’
‘Which burn.’
Bapu looked at the others. ‘I’m afraid so, sir. The heat of one musket ball could set it ablaze.’
The men exchanged glances.
By now Kiro, shirtless and wearing only his white Japanese trousers, had joined the group. ‘There are five of us, sir,’ he said. ‘We can cross by the roof tops and drop down on the wagon from both sides.’
Horne had taken that and other facts into consideration. But apart from being worried about fire, he was also concerned that his men might become too enthusiastic in a rescue attempt. Their loathing of press gangs—coupled with the anticipation of a long-awaited reunion—could easily intoxicate them and turn what should be a minor venture into a wild, excessive blood bath.
‘We must remember that if we kill one of them, we’ve got a price on our heads,’ he cautioned. ‘They’re the King’s men, for better or worse.’ Turning to Bapu, he asked, ‘Can you get horses where you work?’
‘Four, sir.’
‘Fetch them.’
Before Bapu could move, there was a sudden lull in the shooting. Horne removed his cocked hat and leaned round the corner again. He quickly withdrew his head.
Keeping his back to the wall, he whispered, ‘Two men are coming this way. One’s a Marine. The other’s Indian. Bapu, look and tell me if you recognise him.’
Bapu dropped to the ground and peered round the base of the wall. Rising to his feet, he stood beside Horne, saying, ‘Aye, I know him, sir. The dirty Sudra’s name is Rangi. He hangs around wharfside taverns. There’s no doubt about it, sir. He’s probably the one who betrayed their hideout.’
‘Get the horses, Bapu. Bring them back here.’
When Bapu had departed, Horne began explaining the first steps of his hurriedly improvised plan to the other three men.
‘Kiro, you come with me.’
The Japanese moved to Horne’s side.
Looking from Jud to Jingee, Horne continued, ‘There’s an alleyway halfway down the street. You two wait here. Don’t move until you see Kiro and me go into the alleyway. Understand?’
‘Aye, aye, sir,’ nodded Jud.
‘Aye, aye, Captain sahib,’ whispered Jingee.
Horne beckoned to Kiro. ‘Let’s go.’
Resettling the cocked hat on his head, he rounded the corner and walked authoritatively toward the two approaching men. Kiro followed a few steps behind him.
The Royal Marine halted when he saw Horne’s gold-faced uniform. Touching the base of his tall shako hat, he reported, ‘Men resisting the King’s forces here, Captain.’
Pleased for once that his frock-coat so closely resembled the Royal Navy’s uniform, Horne continued walking towards the Royal Marine, speaking in a firm but low voice so as not to alert the men kneeling behind the cart.
He demanded, ‘Who’s in charge, Sergeant?’
The Marine began to reply but Horne’s left arm flew at him, striking his chin. Using the ancient Greek method of open-hand fighting, he cut his other hand into the man’s chest and neck. Kiro used Karate to attack the Indian spy, knocking him unconscious with three deft chops.
Seeing Horne and Kiro pull the two men into the alleyway, Jingee and Jud raced towards them, pulling off belts and turbans to gag and bind the two victims.
The four friends quickly tied the men’s hands and feet, then Horne whispered, ‘Jud, you come with Kiro and me. Jingee, you wait here until you see it’s clear to make a dash for the house.’ Readjusting his hat, smoothing his shirt and frock-coat he stepped from the alley, followed by Kiro and Jud.
As they approached the wagon, he was amused to see that the attack had not attracted the attention of the other men. Moving closer, he demanded in a loud voice, ‘Who’s in charge here?’
The Naval officer jumped at the sound of Horne’s voice. Seeing the gold-braided uniform, he sprang to his feet and saluted. ‘Lieutenant Fanshaw, sir!’
Horne’s hand caught Fanshaw’s chin as he kicked a flintlock from the next man’s grip. Kiro tackled a seaman loading a musket as Jud charged the fourth man.
Behind them, Jingee dashed from the alley, raced round the overturned wagon and ran for the grass house, shouting, ‘Babcock! Groot! Mustafa! Open the door!’
The small door flew open; three men bolted stoop-shouldered from the hut: Groot wearing a blue cap pushed back on his blond head; Mustafa, his hirsute chest bare and his thick, black, Turkish moustache lifted in a rare grin; Babcock with his sandy hair tousled and his ears large and red.
As Horne helped Kiro and Jud to drag the four remaining men of the press gang from the wagon to the hut, Babcock ran to Horne shouting, ‘Holy hell! It’s about time you got here, Horne! These two were driving me crazy! Groot talks too much and Mustafa doesn’t talk enough!’
Horne tossed the Lieutenant’s unconscious body into the hut and called to the big American colonial, ‘Babcock, you still haven’t learned how to address an officer properly, have you?’
‘Yes … suh!’ mocked Babcock, throwing out his chest.
A rumble sounded in the distance. Turning, the men saw Bapu rounding the corner on a black stallion, leading three other horses by their reins.