Sea spray misting his face, Horne lowered the spyglass and saw with his naked eye that the distant white speck was not sun glittering on silver waves but a ship approaching off the starboard bow.
From aloft, Jud verified, ‘Full sail, sir.’
Horne raised the spyglass; he estimated that the ship’s foresail was attached to a long boom but doubted if she was a native craft.
‘Sloop, sir,’ called Jud. ‘Flying no colours.’
Beside Horne on the quarter-deck Babcock asked, ‘Enemy?’
Horne had forgotten about Babcock’s indiscipline, all his concentration on the approaching ship. Her foresail might be attached to gaff mast and boom but she was probably not one of the British sloops-of-war often rigged as a brigantine. She might be a packet boat carrying mail and passengers for Bombay, but if so, why was she bearing down on the Huma? The frigate flew no flag. A rendezvous with an unidentified ship would be dangerous in these waters so infested with pirates and privateers.
Deciding to test the sloop’s intention, Horne called to the helm, ‘Two points to starboard.’
Spyglass back to his eye, he watched the white sail follow his tack and thought again about pirates. He had first sailed these waters seven years ago under Commodore James, Watson’s predecessor in Bombay Castle, serving as a midshipman aboard the flagship, Protector. The mission had been to flush out Malagasy pirates along the Malabar Coast, but James had remarked that India’s western shores could never be totally rid of robbers who preyed on its busy trading routes.
Did the sloop belong to such a Malagasy chieftain?
‘Sails ho!’ Jud shouted from his perch. ‘Two sails on the northern horizon … two to the south …’
Horne swept his spyglass to the left. To the right. He spotted four white specks flanking the sloop, smaller craft which might possibly be a fishing fleet although it was unlikely they would be so far from the coast.
‘Sloop coming up fast, sir,’ reported Jud.
‘How many out there?’ asked Babcock.
‘One sloop and four coasting vessels?’
‘Pattimars?’
Horne could not yet make out whether the small craft were native vessels. If they were, they could be fitted with guns, tipping the odds against the Huma’s fire power.
‘Hoist colours,’ he ordered Babcock.
‘Aye, aye, sir,’ answered Babcock in unexpected form.
To Kiro, Horne bellowed, ‘Clear for action!’
Moments later bare feet hurried across deck to the gun stations, Kiro dashing from crew to crew.
When the distant sloop still failed to raise her flag, Horne was convinced she was not approaching for any harmless exchange of information, for a peaceful rendezvous.
* * *
Aloft, Jud hailed, ‘Ahoy, sir!’
Horne snapped open his spyglass. The smaller vessels were widening their arc.
Strangely, though, the sloop continued on course …
No. She was tacking …
Jud had also spotted the change in the sloop’s direction.
‘Sloop going about.’
The mystery vessel was close enough now for Horne to study the sleek line of her hull. His fist tightened on the spyglass as he caught sight of her gun ports; had the cannon been run out? As he watched he saw an object pass over the gunwale.
‘Boat lowered,’ reported Jud from his perch.
Boat? Why should the captain be lowering an open craft at such a moment?
The sloop was staying on the silver crested waves. But Horne ignored the shifting vessel as he scoured the water for the boat lowered in the change of course. What was happening? Did the sloop carry a sick man? Was there disease aboard? Fever?
The Huma’s rails were lined with craning necks as the sloop receded to the east, leaving the small boat tossing from crest to crest on the choppy ocean.
As Babcock hurried men to lower a rowing crew to collect the small boat, Horne studied it through his spyglass, watching it fall and rise on the waves.
A strange object caught his eye. Yes, there was a man in the open boat. He was lying face-up on the thwarts. A red stain on his chest told Horne that his throat had been slit. The carved wooden fist attached to his right hand proclaimed his identity.