The dull scratching of cicadas cut the morning’s stillness as Jingee and Groot lay flat-bellied in the dry grass above the north cove. Peering down over the rocky cliffs, the two Marines watched a rowing-boat glide from a two-masted ship to the sandy shore.
Through a spyglass, Jingee studied the brig’s name painted on the stern. He whispered, ‘The Calliope’s the French ship which escaped Captain sahib in the storm.’
Groot took the spyglass from Jingee and inspected the vessel. Moving the glass inshore, he could see men splashing in water, their voices unintelligible in the distance.
Focusing the glass back on the ship, he said, ‘There can’t be more than fifty men down there.’
‘Captain Le Clerc must be one of them,’ said Jingee, appraising the coastline to report to Horne.
‘Do you think they’re waiting for the rendezvous?’asked Groot. ‘Or do you think they’ve already passed the war chest—’
He stopped. He rose to his knees, looking through the spyglass.
‘It’s there. The war chest. I can see men with muskets standing around a big box on deck.’
Jingee snatched the spyglass from Groot’s hand.
Anxiously, Groot whispered, ‘Let’s creep down farther for a better look.’
Jingee shook his head, the spyglass to his eye. ‘No. We’re close enough to see.’
‘But we might hear something,’ Groot argued. ‘You can go in one direction. I can go in another.’
‘No,’ Jingee repeated more firmly. ‘We must do exactly as Captain sahib told us to do. We’ve looked. We’ve seen how many ships are here. We’ve studied the terrain. Now we must return to the Huma so that Captain sahib can make his plans.’
A loud blast shattered the morning’s stillness.
Groot jumped, his eyes darting all around him on the precipice. ‘What was that?’
Jingee lay in the tall grass, surveying the rocks through the spyglass. He stopped when he saw a puff of blue smoke rising from a stone promontory protruding like a finger out into the sea.
‘A cannon.’ Jingee handed the spyglass to Groot. ‘Le Clerc has moved a cannon ashore for a look-out station.’
Groot turned the glass to the sea. Spotting a white fleck on the horizon, he nodded. ‘You’re right. It’s a ship. The cannon’s signalled the arrival of a ship.’
Jingee saw the sails billowing from a three-masted vessel in the distance. ‘It’s come from the northeast. That’s where Mauritius lies. It’s come for the war chest.’
Groot did not reply.
Eager to get back to the Huma to report to Horne, Jingee urged, ‘We must not waste a moment. We must run back and tell Captain sahib he’s got time to surprise the Frenchmen’s rendezvous.’
When Groot still did not answer, Jingee turned his head and saw the tip of a bayonet jabbing at Groot’s throat: a French Marine stood behind them, a musket in his hands.
Jingee’s reaction was immediate.
Yanking the knife from his waistband, he rolled backwards and sprung like a cat for the soldier’s back. Locking both legs round his chest, he clung tightly as he sliced the blade across the French Marine’s throat.
The Marine’s musket clattered to the ground; he pulled at Jingee’s arm; he pushed at the bare legs locked around his chest; he struggled against Jingee’s crab-like hold until warm blood began flowing from his neck, a dark red river gushing from his throat, and he folded limply onto the ground.
Groot stared, mesmerised.
Jingee scrambled from the corpse, studying the blue-and-red uniform. In a whisper, he reported, ‘He can’t be alone. There must be a patrol about, exactly as Captain sahib warned us.’
Groot remained motionless, staring at the Frenchman. ‘He’s … dead.’
Jingee had spotted another armed Marine across the parched ridge. Ignoring Groot’s state of shock, he pushed him flat to the ground and raised himself to grass level, his small brown eyes alert for more men on guard patrol.
Seeing no one, he wiped his bloody knife across the grass and tucked it back into his waistband. ‘If they find this body,’ he whispered, ‘they’ll know we’re here. Cover him with grass and earth. Work quickly. I’ll go and get the other one.’
‘“Get” him?’ repeated Groot, aghast.
Jingee nodded, eyes surveying the terrain.
‘You’re going to … kill another man?’
Jingee nodded again. ‘Be ready to run back to ship. I’ll signal when it’s safe to stand. We’ll meet over there, by that old twisted black tree.’
Groot swallowed nervously, his throat dry.
‘Listen for a bird call and start running,’ Jingee instructed.
Groot shook his head.
Jingee was gone.
* * *
Alone with the dead soldier, Groot glanced from the corpse to the direction in which Jingee had disappeared through the dry, brown grass.
Raising his head, he looked at the second Marine, watching him turning now this way, now that, obviously searching for the other man in his patrol.
Hurrying with his work, Groot covered the corpse with handfuls of grass and earth. As he camouflaged the makeshift grave, he thought how quickly everything had happened. One minute, he and Jingee had been looking at the three-masted ship approaching in the distance; the next minute, he had felt the bayonet against him. Jingee had sprung upon the soldier as fast as lightning, totally unafraid of his weapons.
Groot remembered that the little Tamil had been condemned to the underground prison of Bombay Castle for murder. He had used a knife in killing an English employer.
Pausing in his work, he raised his head above the grass and looked in the direction of the other Marine. He was no longer there.
Had Jingee already struck?
* * *
Jingee bellied his way through the tall grass, mindless of the stones scratching his skin as he continued towards the French patrolman who was scanning the landscape for his companion.
His heart beating with excitement, Jingee gripped the dagger in his right hand, using his elbows to propel himself.
Stopping, he raised his head to see how far to the left or right the patrolman had moved. As he scooted to the next large boulder, he saw the patrolman turn towards him; the Frenchman was close enough for Jingee to see that he was young, a faint trace of a brown moustache on his upper lip.
For the first time Jingee considered what he was about to do, and what he had already done.
Murder. The word did not frighten him; not when the man he had killed—and the one he was about to kill—could easily murder him.
Hidden in the dry grass, he knew that if he thought too much about the heinousness of murder, he might hesitate and fail. He also knew that he could not risk merely tying and gagging the patrolman. Escape could jeopardise all of Captain sahib’s plans.
Jingee sprang like a cat. His bare legs gripped the patrolman’s arms as he clenched his arm around the young man’s neck, the knife deftly slicing the skin. He increased the pressure to cut the arteries and slice the jugular vein, releasing a warm gush of blood.