The Bombay Marines (13 page)

The
Eclipse,
the
Ferocious
and the captured
La
Favourite,
manned by a prize crew from Watson’s flagship, weighed anchor at the light of the new day, sailing south from Bull Island, enjoying a strong westerly through the Laccadives, the Maldives, and on past Minicoy. Avoiding the Gulf of Mannar with its treacherous reefs, the convoy rode the sea winds around Ceylon, the southern tip of India, and climbed the Bay of Bengal towards the Coromandel Coast.

Aboard the
Eclipse,
Adam Horne continued preparing the seven newly-inducted Bombay Marines. He had divided the men, along with himself, into two groups, Land Group and Sea Group, and today he worked inside his cabin with them, reviewing the steps they were to follow after landing south of Madras.

Horne sat on the edge of his desk, one boot crossed over the other, arms folded across his chest. ‘Land Group is Babcock, Bapu, Groot and Mustafa. Sea Group consists of Kiro, Jingee, Jud and myself. After landing, Land Group heads for the village of Sharuna. Sea Group goes up the coast to Attur. We do not meet again until we are inside the fortress, so we must know each other’s movements thoroughly.’

The seven men squatted or lay around Horne’s cabin, the four men of Land Group ranged near the berth, the three men travelling with Horne in Sea Group sitting facing the desk.

Poorly disciplined; loud mouthed; quick tempered or
sour faced. Each man had his fault, but each was also physically able, mentally alert, willing to take chances. If anybody could kidnap General Lally from the Army Guardhouse, Horne was certain his oddly matched squadron of ex-prisoners could do it.

Satisfied with the men, he did not begrudge them the long hours it took to review details about Fort St George and the surrounding land. Keen with excitement, his few nightly hours of sleep were frequently broken by new ideas – or refinements of old ones – for abducting the French Commander-in-Chief.

Despite the long hours of work, he was relaxed and content. Sitting on the edge of his desk, he continued, ‘I considered using local fishermen to support Sea Group in catamarans but decided against it. We must trust nobody outside our two groups.’

Jud – assigned to Sea Group – raised his arm, the skin darkened to a blue-blackness by the sun.

Horne nodded permission to speak.

‘Sir, you said that the boat we’ll get from Attur will be a sewn boat.’

‘Board sewn with rope, Jud. The local name is
masulah
.’

‘I should have told you before, sir, I sailed rope boats in Oman.’

‘There’s probably a difference, Jud. Madras boats are known to be top heavy. They capsize easily in the surf – but not as easily as most boats.’

Kiro raised his hand.

‘Kiro.’

‘They sound like Nagasaki fishing boats, Captain. Two men can keep them afloat.’

‘Let’s hope so, Kiro. Jingee tells me his cousins in Attur will give us a
masulah
. But we’ll take anything that can float if we get desperate.’

Horne resumed his briefing. ‘The main gate of Fort St George faces the sea. It’s called the Sea Gate. There’s a drawbridge, a moat, two dry ditches and a gate. The drawbridge
is seldom hoisted and the gate’s manned twenty-four hours a day. Everyone who enters or leaves through the Sea Gate is logged into a ledger.’

Kiro again raised his hand. The Japanese had become easier and more relaxed since Horne had discovered the reason why he had been so hesitant about striking opponents in the drills. Horne had instructed the men not to take any lives during the mission but, not wanting Kiro to hesitate to use
Karate
in silencing anyone trying to hinder their success, he had included him in Sea Group, so that he could use Kiro’s
Karate
along with his own
Pankration.

Kiro pointed at the lantern swinging from the cabin’s wooden beam. ‘Captain, if it’s night-time when we reach the fort, how do we see if there’s no moon?’

Horne recrossed his arms. ‘Street lamps were installed last year in Fort St George. They burn coconut oil and are covered with glass globes. The Sea Gate is equipped with three coconut oil lamps. That’s another reason for us to avoid entering there.’

A hand was raised from the cot.

‘Babcock.’

‘What if Land Group’s inside the fort and Sea Group don’t show up?’

Horne turned the question to test Babcock’s memory of past sessions. ‘Where does Land Group first look for Sea Group?’

‘Nabob’s Bastion.’

‘Locate it for me, Babcock.’

Babcock tried to picture the ground plan of Fort St George which Horne had made the men memorize the first morning after leaving Bull Island.

‘Nabob’s Bastion is at –’ Babcock’s memory cleared, ‘– the southwest corner of the Sea Wall.’

‘And if Sea Group is not below Nabob’s Bastion, Babcock, where do you look for us?’

‘St Thomas Bastion, southeast corner.’

‘So what’s your question, Babcock?’

‘If you don’t turn up?’

‘Just wait. Patiently. Without Sea Group, Land Group must not proceed. The same holds in reverse. You get us in. We all get Lally out. We can’t both go through the gates because, unfortunately, somebody might recognize me. There must be no possibility of tracing Lally’s disappearance to the Bombay Marine.’

Babcock was the only man who had asked Horne why the assignment was to kidnap a French general from the British Army. Horne had answered that a Marine’s job was to obey orders, not to ask for reasons, and in the last few days Thomas Lally’s name had become as familiar to the seven men as their own, without anybody asking for further explanations.

Looking around the cabin, Horne asked, ‘More questions about the fort? Garrison details? Army barracks? Company Barracks?’

Silence filled the cabin, broken only by the sound of the
Eclipse
sailing under full canvas, the toss and fall of the frigate enjoying the strong winds.

‘No questions about the Guard House? Portuguese Square? The Stable?’

Outside the cabin, the call of Lieutenant Bruce’s voice marked the change of the second watch.

‘You think you know everything?’

Bapu raised his hand. ‘I’ve got a question about the Bazaar, Captain.’

Horne was surprised how well the broad-shouldered Indian, Bapu, obeyed his orders. He had prepared himself for serious insubordination from a man who had once led a gang of hill bandits. But since the early days of the voyage when Bapu had shot the two swimmers escaping from the
Eclipse,
he had been one of Horne’s best disciplined men. Bapu’s only fault was that he was a slow learner.

‘Sir, what if the Bazaar’s closed when Land Group reaches the Black Town? What’s our cover then?’

‘Bapu, do you remember the name of the gate on the North Wall?’

Bapu scratched the prickly burr of his head. ‘On the North Wall?’

‘Yes, Bapu, the North Wall,’ Horne answered patiently. He had learnt that it was best to speak to Bapu as if he were a child, albeit a big one.

‘Is it the Main Gate?’

‘Correct, Bapu. The Main Gate. And like the Sea Gate on the opposite wall, guard outside the Main Gate is posted twenty-four hours a day.’

‘Sir, are there street lamps at the Main Gate?’

‘Two. And don’t forget, Bapu, the Main Gate is also the busiest entry into Fort St George. There’s activity night as well as day. Land Group shouldn’t make anybody suspicious even if the Bazaar is closed – providing that you wear the disguises you’ll be carrying and remember to follow your instructions.’

Horne repositioned himself on the edge of the desk. ‘If you
need
cover, Bapu, always create a diversion.’

Horne looked from Bapu sitting on the mattress to Mustafa, Babcock and Dirk Groot squatting in front of him on deck. Studying the four men of Land Group, he said, ‘Before we review our plans for inside the walls, are there any more questions about the approach?’

Silence.

He looked at the men facing the desk. ‘Sea Group?’

Confidence.

Moving his eyes back to the berth, Horne considered a hypothetical situation for Land Group. ‘What if you’re nearing the fortress and a British Patrol stops you at Elambore. First of all, where’s Elambore?’

Groot raised his hand. ‘The settlement of Elambore,
schupper,
is southwest of Madras. Up on the plain by the old Muslim Tollgate.’

‘Correct. Now how do you identify yourself to the British Patrol?’

Babcock raised his hand and Horne nodded.

‘Didn’t you tell us that the French surrendered Pondicherry last month?’

Horne nodded again, having given the men the details which Watson had told him.

Babcock sat with his arms crossing his bent knees. ‘And isn’t Pondicherry only a couple of days south of Madras?’

‘About three days.’

‘So if we meet a patrol, Groot here keeps his
“aye,
aye,
schupper”
mouth shut and lets me do the talking. I say to the patrol that we’re stragglers from the fighting down at that Pondicherry place.’

Horne decided that this was not the time to reprimand Babcock for failing again to address an officer correctly. Instead, he asked, ‘What do you say to the patrol, Babcock, if they ask you the name of your company?’

‘79th Foot.’

‘Who’s your commanding officer?’

Babcock pulled on his ear. ‘If they ask me too many details like that, I suddenly get heat stroke or belly cramps.’

‘Good but not good enough.’

Horne reached behind him on the desk for the list of regiments he had received from Watson. Apart from schedules, names and details about Fort St George, he had also been supplied with a wide assortment of uniforms and clothes for the men to pack with their equipment.

Dropping the list back onto the desk, he said, ‘If you belong to the 79th Foot, Babcock, your commanding officer is Pilfer. Can you remember that?’

‘Pilfer? Who could forget it? It’s like “pilchards”. I hate ‘em.’

‘It also means “to steal”, Babcock.’

‘Then I’ve got
two
good reasons to remember.’

Laughter filled the cabin. But Horne called for order, knowing there were many facts to review between now and the time when the
Eclipse
would drop them in an open boat off the inlet on the Chingleput coastline.

‘Now, men, let’s suppose we’re inside the fortress. But before we move onto details about General Lally, let’s run through a few local facts.’

He looked at Jingee who had become his model Marine, as well as the chief informant on the ways of Tamil Indians living along the Coromandel Coast. The only problem Horne had with Jingee was keeping him from spending his time cooking, cleaning and pressing clothes.

‘Who’s in charge of Fort St George when Governor Pigot’s away?’

‘The Town Major, Captain sahib.’

‘Is the Town Major a military or Company officer?’

‘Company, sahib. The post of Town Major was created two years ago by Governor Pigot.’

Horne looked at Jud squatting next to Jingee on deck, an ebony giant beside a chocolate gremlin.

‘Jud, if you go to the Portuguese Church, what religion are you?’

Jud blessed himself with the sign of the cross.

‘But are services held there?’

‘No, sir. The Company’s redesigning the Portuguese Church. Catholics now go to services in the Armenian Church outside the walls.’

Horne looked over to Land Group. ‘Mustafa, what if you’re standing outside the Main Gate and you hear a church bell. Where’s it coming from?’

‘The English Church, Captain. Church bells begin ringing at six in the morning. We listen to them for our escape signals.’

Horne had more to worry about at the moment than why Mustafa seldom talked and
never
smiled. He pressed on with the questions.

The wind held strong, warming with the Bengalese Current as the convoy moved up the western perimeter of the Bay of Bengal. Commodore Watson stood on the quarterdeck of the
Ferocious
in the light of the new day, the low hills of the Chingleput Range rising above the rocky coastline beyond
the larboard. Adam Horne would be taking his men ashore in less than an hour.

Lifting a silver flask to his mouth, Watson felt the liquor burn his throat, reminding him of Tim Flannery. Adam Horne was displeased that he had to take Flannery ashore with his squadron.

Flannery was an old friend of Watson’s, a drinking companion from Spithead and Gravesend and Deptford. Watson had assigned Flannery to the
Eclipse
after the British Navy had discharged him in Bombay. Sending him ashore with Horne’s squadron was a precaution Watson was taking in case Lally were injured in the escape and needed medical attention. Lally was Irish himself – at least, half-Irish – and Watson hoped that Flannery might also amuse the temperamental prisoner with a bit of dry Celtic wit.

Looking through his spyglass, Watson studied the bellying topsails of the
Eclipse.
After the frigate had landed Horne’s team, she would follow the
Ferocious
and
La
Favourite
to sea, the three ships beginning their wait for Horne to return to the same spot with Lally. The wait would last anywhere from one to two days. If Horne did not return in forty-eight hours, the convoy would weigh anchor and Horne’s mission would be counted as lost.

Watson had decided against telling Horne that the Company’s three Governors were threatening to disband the Bombay Marine if the mission failed. Horne had enough to worry about with the French – as well as the English – as his enemy.

Admiral Pocock was prowling the Bay with the Navy, and Watson had also cautioned Horne to be prepared for d’Ache‘s fleet. But Pocock’s presence off Madras should keep the French at a safe distance. The only threat from the French was likely to be from their land troops.

Hoisting the flask to his mouth, Watson took another long swig but did not enjoy it. The liquor’s potency no longer affected him, barely numbing his nerves. He reflected how bitterly disappointed Emma would be by his breaking
of his abstinence, but it was drink, he recalled, that had helped him set out from Bombay Castle. It was damned hard for an officer to be true both to his wife and to a tough command.