Ronnie argued, begged and pleaded with her, but she would not be moved. He told her there was great danger, how much of a worry and distraction her presence would be to him, and asked her to consider what would happen to the children if she did not return––if they both did not return.
‘You know well enough what would happen.’ she replied, stonily. ‘Grandpapa John and Mrs Stables would look after them and their future interests, and I would rest easy in my grave in the knowledge of it. But nothing is going to happen to you or I,’ she said, suddenly kissing him softly. ‘Si Rahman and Sri Hussein are the ones who should be afraid, for they are about to answer to their masters in Hell.’
Oftentimes, and especially with the children, she could be a tender and loving woman, but at other times, he knew, she could be as strong and determined as any Navy captain. Nothing would keep her from her revenge.
They took Mr Oates on board the Zephyr at the last minute, and the captains and their lieutenants assembled in her main cabin before setting sail. Ronnie, whom all agreed should lead the expedition, told them they were heading for the southeast coast of Sumatra. The pirate base was on a river about thirty miles south of Bangka Island, where they would assemble in four days to prepare for the attack. The European captains were none too happy about having a woman on the expedition, but they knew well enough why she was there, and held their tongues. One of the Chinese junks sprung a leak two days out and had to turn back to Singapore, but the other twelve ships made it to the rendezvous without mishap, and the captains reassembled in the cabin of the Zephyr.
Mr Oates informed them that the pirate stockade was located on a large tributary of the river about a mile inland. He said it was unlikely that they would be able to take the pirates by surprise, since they had lookouts at the mouth of the river, but if they made good speed they ought to be able to block the entrance and prevent them from escaping to the open sea. Ronnie told them that he would bring Mr Oates aboard the Highland Lassie, and that he would lead them in. When they reached the river, the force would divide, leaving six ships to cover the mouth of the river, while the rest of the fleet would sail upriver to the pirate stockade––Oates had assured them that the water was deep enough on the lower reaches. The Highland Lassie and Zephyr would go in first and bombard the stockade and the pirate prahus, providing cover for the other ships to send in their landing parties in their longboats.
They arrived at the river mouth in the early hours of the following evening, just as the sun was setting. They were immediately met with cannon fire from the high hills at the mouth of the river, which they returned in kind. Ronnie ordered the ships to anchor out of range across the mouth of the river, and to prepare to attack at dawn. A watch was established, but few slept in their bunks and hammocks. Gongs sounded from upriver throughout the night, which told them that the pirates were preparing to fight. Ronnie and Sarah stood on the deck of the Highland Lassie, looking up at the stars, shining hard like diamonds in the deep darkness of the night. She had agreed to stay on board, and provide covering fire as they landed the men at the mouth of the tributary. She was a crack shot, and this was where she would be most useful. But he doubted she would stay on board — she was just as likely to join the general attack when it got under way. What kind of woman had he married?
He knew well enough, and he had no regrets. But he hoped the Good Lord would watch over her tomorrow — that he would watch over them all.
They set out as dawn broke blood red across the mouth of the river and rode in with the morning tide, which carried them up river at speed. Musket balls thudded into the deck from the jungle on the north side of the river, but most of the cannon fire went high, although one lucky ball smashed the top of the mizzenmast on the Highland Lassie. Then as they turned into the tributary, they saw the pirate stockade about five hundred yards ahead on the right bank, and the pirate prahus bunched together just beyond the stockade.
But as they entered the tributary, Ronnie saw the look of surprise and dismay on Oates’s face.
‘What’s wrong, man!’ he cried out to him.
‘Not enough! Not nearly enough boats!’ Oates exclaimed, his face turning ashen. ‘There should be many more! The main fleet must be out at sea. Good God man, we’ve been betrayed! It must be a trap––they must be coming up behind our ships at the mouth of the river.’
Ronnie cursed, and Sarah looked at him in alarm.
‘Well, trap or no trap, there’s nae turning back,’ Ronnie said to them. ‘We’re here to fight them, and fight them we will.’ But he did send a longboat back to the ships at the river mouth to warn them of a possible trap.
As they drew alongside the stockade, Ronnie ordered his ship’s guns to fire, and they raked the walls of the stockade. The pirates responded with cannon and musket fire, as the Zephyr came up and brought her own guns to bear. Ronnie sent in two heavily armed companies in longboats with buckets of tar and pitch to set fire to the pirate craft. Within a few minutes flames and smoke were rising from the burning pirate prahus, providing some cover for the marines, sailors and secret society men who were now landing on the riverbank.
Lieutenant James ordered his marines to fix bayonets, and let them in a direct assault on the stockade, whose gate had been badly damaged by the cannonade. Parts of the stockade were already on fire, and a dark plume of smoke rose from within. The marines were closely followed by the less disciplined but more fearsome groups of sailors and society men, who carried muskets, pistols, cutlasses, axes, spears, and long knives, as well as some cruel looking weapons of their own device.
Lieutenant James was within a few feet of the gate when he took a musket ball in his left shoulder, but he carried on regardless. A group of sailors had brought up a battering ram, which they used to smash through the damaged gate, and within a few minutes they had broken into the compound. Captain Congalton was hard on their heels, a little ahead of Ronnie, who had led his own men ashore.
Congalton was a small man, but broad shouldered and wiry-muscled, and he charged into the pirates like a madman, cutting, hacking, and gouging with a cutlass in one hand and an axe in the other, all the time calling them by all the names that God had given men to curse their enemies. Ronnie managed to avoid a spear thrust to his stomach and cut his man to the ground, but was suddenly bowled over by a blow from a cudgel. He spun over on the ground and managed to drive his cutlass into his attacker’s groin, the point scraping the man’s pelvic bone as he fell screaming to the ground.
Ronnie struggled to his feet. Through the smoke and flames he could see that the pirates were in retreat. The rear gate of the stockade had been flung open, and many were fleeing into the jungle. Then he cursed as he saw Sarah running ahead, a pistol in each hand, heading towards an outbuilding at the back of the stockade.
Then he saw why. Purser was standing in the doorway, securing a knapsack, which he then flung across his shoulder, before heading off into the jungle. Ronnie set out in pursuit, but watched in horror as Sarah headed him off, and then stopped to aim her pistol. But before she could do so, Purser raced towards her and struck her down with a blow to her head from his cane. Then he continued his flight into the safety of the jungle.
When Ronnie reached her he was relieved to find that she was shaken but unharmed.
‘I’m all right,’ she said to him. ‘He put me out for a moment, and I’ve got a thumping head … but I’ll be fine. You must get him, before he escapes. I’ll be safe with these two gentlemen,’ she assured him, indicating the two marines who had also come to her assistance.
Ronnie squeezed her hand, and after pressing the two marines to stay with her, set off in pursuit of Purser. By now the pirates were scattering in all directions into the jungle, which would make it well nigh impossible to hunt them down. But Ronnie focused on the figure in the black frockcoat who ran down a narrow footpath and disappeared into the depths of the jungle. He tightened his grip on his cutlass and raced after him.
Soon he was deep in the jungle, and the sounds of the battle at the stockade began to recede. He had no doubt they were the victors, and that they had killed many of the pirates. But there had been no sign of the two brothers, and they might yet find themselves in a trap, if Si Rahman and Sri Hussein were waiting out at sea with the rest of their fleet. He wondered whether he ought to go back, and whether he might not be needed to help them fight their way out of a trap. He was now deep in the jungle. He might not be able to find Purser, and he might easily run into a group of pirates or hostile local Malays at any time.
He looked around him. The early morning sunlight filtered through the high branches of the trees, shooting shafts of white light into the green gloom of the jungle floor. A troop of monkeys shrieked above him, leaping from branch to branch in the treetops overhead. He decided to go on a little further. The pathway ahead seemed to be opening into a small clearing, and he could hear the sound of running water.
As he broke through the jungle cover, Ronnie saw him, taking his rest on a tree stump at the far edge of the stream that ran through the clearing. The knapsack was at his feet, and he was picking idly at the ground with his walking stick. He looked up at Ronnie, and gave him a cold smile when he approached, cutlass in hand.
‘We meet again at last, Mr Simpson,’ he said in a clear and calm voice, which betrayed no sign of breathlessness from his escape through the jungle. ‘I’m sorry I was denied the pleasure for so long. I suppose that fellow Oates led you here––I’m sure I saw him in one of your boats. A most ungrateful fellow, I must say. Si Rahman saved his life, even gave him a share of the plunder and let him take a pretty wife. And this is his gratitude?’
Purser shook his head in mock wonder.
‘However, I’m afraid you’ve missed Si Rahman and Sri Hussein, dear fellow. They left a few days ago, and won’t be back for weeks, but I don’t suppose you can stay around that long, can you? Because when they do come back, they’ll still be around, you know,’ he said, raising his hands and arms outwards to indicate the pirates they both knew to be hiding in the jungle around them.
‘I do feel sorry for your poor wife, cheated of her revenge, and she such a plucky young thing. They were the men who killed her sister and the rest of her family, you know, in case you had any doubts about it. Si Rahman boasts of it all the time, and says their deaths have made him invincible. All the time, all the time, very tedious it is.’
‘So I suppose you’ll have to be satisfied with my good self. I’m sure you think I’m partly to blame, running guns and other weapons to the pirates, and bringing them intelligence about the richest prizes. Well, you’re probably right. But believe me, I do regret what happened to your sister-in-law and her family, since none of them had a sporting chance. It’s one of the unfortunate costs of doing business with these bloodthirsty fellows. And speaking of business, we have some unfinished business of our own.’
Purser rose, and walked slowly to the centre of a small circle of low grass at the edge of the clearing. Ronnie followed him. Both men took off their jackets and dropped them on the ground beside them.
‘But you have no weapon,’ Ronnie said suddenly.
‘Not true,’ said Purser. ‘I regret having left my pistols back at the stockade, but all I need for you is this.’
He drew out a long steel rapier from the head of his walking stick, and Ronnie suddenly remembered it from the day years before on Boat Quay, when he had felt it against his throat. The cold blue steel flashed in the sunlight, as Purser sliced the air in front of him with practiced strokes, the narrow blade whistling sharply in the still morning air.
‘I shall have your heart on the point of this before we part,’ he said, with a thin smile, as he adopted a fencer’s pose. ‘Whenever you’re ready, Mr Simpson.’
Ronnie was in no mood for talk, and simply said: ‘I mean to kill you, Purser, so let’s get on with it.’ Then he ran at him very fast, sweeping his cutlass down towards Purser’s neck. But Purser easily parried the blow, and the next, and what Ronnie had thought was a clever feint followed by a quick lunge to his chest.
‘Oh no, this really will not do!’ said Purser, laughing and taunting him. ‘Did your father never teach you how to fence, sir? This is very amateur, all cut and thrust, just like a pirate! You need to control your emotions, you know, and learn to fight with your head and not with your heart. Skill helps too, of course, but I’m afraid you don’t seem to have very much of that.’
Ronnie understood the sense of the words, but it made no difference. His blood was up, and he renewed his attack with increased ferocity, driving Purser backwards by the sheer force of his onslaught. The clash of steel rang out across the clearing, sending the birds in the neighbouring trees rushing into the air. But he could not get behind the man’s defenses, no matter how hard he pressed his attack. It was obvious that Purser was a master swordsman, who was toying with him, and he knew the man would kill him if he did not finish it quickly. He was tiring fast, and sooner or later he would let his own guard down. He circled his opponent, trying to catch his breath, and then put all his strength into a powerful swing that he brought down over Purser’s head. He yearned to sink the blade into his cold cruel eyes.
But Purser was fast, much faster than Ronnie. He deflected the blow, and with a deft flick of his wrist, he caught the handle of Ronnie’s cutlass and swept it around on his own blade, sending it spinning off into the trees. And now Purser’s blade was once again at his throat, pricking his skin––a thin trickle of blood ran off its point and ran down his neck.
‘Enough,’ he said, with a thin smile. ‘You are becoming a bit of a bore. I’m sure your pretty wife would have given me better sport.’
Purser stood back a little, to prepare for the final thrust, and waved the point of the rapier across Ronnie’s chest, like a master noting the killing positions to a student.
‘Say goodbye to your dear wife, and make your peace with your God,’ he said, and he was no longer smiling.
Ronnie said nothing in reply, but as the point of the blade drifted by his left shoulder, he rushed forward onto it, grasping Purser’s right arm with both hands as he drove himself forward onto the blade. The pain sliced through his body like a hot knife, but it seemed to add new strength to his free arm. With a sudden look of surprise and fear Purser realized what he was doing, but it was too late. Ronnie drew his dirk from his belt and drove it up to its hilt into Purser’s neck, severing his jugular vein. As the blood gushed over his right hand, he grasped Purser by his shirt collar and slowly lowered him to the ground, easing himself off the rapier blade, and grunting in pain as he did so. Ronnie withdrew his dirk and washed the blade in the stream. He tore a strip from his shirt and made a makeshift bandage for his own wound. Then he went over and retrieved his jacket and the knapsack that Purser had been carrying; it was full of gold, silver and jewellery.
He knelt down beside the dying man. Purser’s breath was very faint, and bubbled through the blood in his throat. He tried to speak, but could not.
‘I’ll be awa then,’ Ronnie said, ‘and ye’ll be awa tae hell. As ye said about business, sometimes it has its costs. Now ye can pay them.’
He left him to die in the clearing, and made his way back though the jungle to the pirate stockade.
* * *
When he returned, the fight was already over. After the initial attack, most of the pirates had fled into the jungle. They had not pursued them, for fear of an ambush, and being caught in a trap––although so far there was no sign of the pirate fleet returning.
‘You’re the only one crazy enough to go after them,’ said Congalton, as he welcomed Ronnie back to safety. ‘Although I understand from your good wife you had some personal business with one of them.’
‘That we did,’ Ronnie replied, with his good arm around Sarah, ‘from a long time ago. I killed him back there in the jungle, but we seem to have missed Si Rahman and Sri Hussein. Purser said they left a few days ago, and won’t be back for weeks. So I don’t think we need to fear a trap, although we ought to keep a sharp lookout.’
‘So we’ve failed then,’ said Sarah. ‘The killers remain free.’
‘I’m afraid so,’ he replied, ‘But we will get them in the end, I promise you.’
‘I wouldn’t say we have failed, exactly,’ said Congalton, in a businesslike fashion. ‘We’ve missed the leaders and the main fleet, to be sure, but we’ve dealt them a heavy blow nonetheless. We’ve destroyed part of the fleet, and taken a huge amount of treasure: gold and silver bullion, jewellery, and enough opium to send half a dozen merchantmen to Canton. If nothing else, it should more than pay for this little expedition and help us finance the next.’
‘So you’ll stick with us until we hunt them down?’ Sarah asked him.
‘Be my pleasure, ma’am, for so long as I’m assigned to the straits. And we’ll have the Wolfe and Diana to help us soon. But I’d be very grateful if you’d stay on board ship the next time, Mrs Simpson, as I thought we had agreed. It’s most unnerving having a woman running around a battlefield.’
‘Especially when it’s your wife,’ said Ronnie, with a grin. ‘But you’re going to have to tie her up the next time, if ye want to keep her back, for she’ll no listen to me.’
Congalton was about to opine that a husband ought to be able to control his own wife, but was silenced by Sarah, whose look made it clear she would not be controlled.
‘You can jest all you like, the both of you,’ she said. ‘But I will be there on the day that we kill them.’
They loaded the treasure on board the ships, along with the dead and wounded. Their losses had been light, with only two dead marines and one dead Chinese––sailor or secret society member they could not tell. Their bodies were buried at sea, to prevent desecration of their graves by the returning pirates. The bodies of the dead pirates were left to rot where they lay, as was their practice with their own victims. As the ships were turned before making their way back to the mouth of the river, a party of men from the Highland Lassie set fire to the remains of the stockade and the huts and sheds that surrounded it. A tall plume of black smoke rose over the jungle and drifted high into the sky, like a giant black jinn dancing over the souls of the dead.
From a high hilltop, Abdullah looked down on the scene of devastation. He had been preparing to return to Singapore, but had been trapped by the attacking ships. Like most of the other pirates, he had fled into the jungle when the attackers had broken down the main gate of the stockade. He dreaded bringing the news of this disaster to his master, but hoped that he could reach home before the pirates returned to their base. For the rage of Daing Ibrahim would be like that of a whimpering kitten before the roaring tiger rage of Si Rahman and Sri Hussein.