A River in Borneo, page 18
‘Lay aft, both of you!’ Kirton shouted. ‘Leave the jurmudi aloft!’
‘When the two mates reached the poop Kirton ordered them to brail up the spanker between them, then, explaining that a perahu was chasing them and he intended to find out why, he handed the helm over to Tan with an apology. ‘I didn’t mean to shake you off the yard, Tan.’
Tan grinned, his high and ruddy cheekbones red with excitement. ‘You not catchee Tan that way, Tuan,’ he laughed.
Kirton grinned back then turned his attention to the perahu. ‘Get Ching up here,’ he called to Sharimah, who had not left the deck. ‘We do not have much time.’
‘No sir, we do not; we are making leeway ...’ An anxious Jones was at his elbow, regarding the already dangerous proximity of the coastal shallows upon which they inexorably drove down.
‘Give the perahu a line once she is alongside and we find out what the shawbunder wants, then haul all aft and put her on the other tack while I talk to him.’
‘Aye, sir ...’
‘And in the meantime, get that ladder over the port side ...’
In the next half an hour, after what seemed an age waiting for the near-exhausted Suluese to bring the perahu up with them, things happened very fast. The tubby shawbunder struggled up the boarding ladder and stood panting on deck for all the world as though it had been he who had laboured at the paddles of his perahu.
Kirton, casting a quick glance at the still retreating Spanish corvette, immediately drew the official into conference with his chin-chew.
Words tumbled out of the shawbunder who, at their conclusion, handed Ching a letter, the superscription of which was in Chinese characters. Ching turned to Kirton and told him that the shawbunder was disappointed that they had not stopped to load all the cargo but understood Captain Kirton’s desire to escape the Spanish. The Suluese had, Ching reported, known of the approach of the Spanish squadron which had left Zamboanga and stopped off at several of the islands in the Sulu archipelago. He had hoped to see the Tethys loaded before their arrival before Jolo.
Kirton nodded, then took a quick look round. Jones had the big perahu in tow now and was shouting orders that got the brigantine under command again. As soon as she had gathered way, he ordered the helm over and brought her round onto the port tack, standing out to sea, away from the dangers of the land. Kirton returned his attention to Ching. ‘Please go on, Ching.’
Ching resumed his narrative: however, now that Captain Kirton had escaped they wanted him to bring them guns, because the Spaniards meant war and the destruction of the sultan’s power. His Highness therefore desired that he returned to Singapore and brought them guns and ammunition as quickly as he could. His ship, so the shawbunder said, flew as fast as an eagle and could be back within ten days ...
Kirton grunted; the expectation was utterly unreal, but he said nothing.
‘Sir! The Spaniard is putting about and making sail!’ Jones’s anxiety was contagious.
Kirton spun round, his bad leg almost tripping him ignominiously. He did not need the long glass to see how the situation had changed. As the Tethys stood offshore on the port tack she reduced the distance between herself and the man-of-war and the Spaniard had turned about to resume her pursuit. Now she came at them belching smoke and with a fluttering of canvas along her yards.
‘Very well, Ching, tell our guest if he wants guns he will have to pay heavily as it is illegal, but I will see what I can do, though I make no promises ...’
Datu Mohammad bin Yusuf burst into another speech which was accompanied by some passionate beating of his breast and at the conclusion of which the patient Ching translated. ‘He say he leady to fight and die for fleedom, Tuan, like all Suluese. He not want to be slave of Spaniard, to be forced to become infidel and worship dead man on cross ...’
‘Yes. Yes, I understand.’ Kirton smiled and bowed at the shawbunder. ‘I come back soon honourable Datu,’ he said to the official, ‘now you go or we will both become prisoners ...’ he pointed to the Spanish corvette which had now set her big topsails and whose single funnel belched a cloud of black smoke that sullied the glory of the morning. ‘Now you must go ... Ching ...’
Ching translated as Kirton turned away to order Jones to heave-to and bring the perahu alongside. It seemed an age before the shawbunder had regained his seat in the perahu and the craft had let go and swung away. The last Kirton saw of the shawbunder he had collapsed upon his cushions and his slaves were fanning him under his large parasol.
Jones already had the Tethys coming up into the wind, bringing her back on the starboard tack. ‘Sharimah!’ Kirton called.
‘Hari?’
‘Fetch me my sextant, if you please.’
When she handed him the instrument with a strange reverence he turned to the Spaniard and set the angle between the corvette’s main truck and her waterline.
‘Shall I stream the log, sir?’ Jones asked.
‘No, this will tell us all we need to know. You and Tan sail the ship as you never have before, Vikram, and I’ll keep you in cigars for a month if we get away safely.’
Kirton stood on the long counter, bracing himself against the after end of the steering-box and observed the angle made by the Spaniard. As he slowly turned the index wheel of the sextant he did not need to take the instrument from his eye and read the scale: he could tell the angle was increasing, meaning that the Spaniard was gaining on them.
‘Come two points to port, mister,’ he called out to the chief mate, ‘and trim the braces accordingly ...’
That should bring the wind further round onto the brigantine’s beam, increasing her speed. He returned his attention to the Spaniard. Judging by the great bone in her teeth she was making her best speed. ‘Come on Tethys, come on,’ he muttered lowering the sextant to wipe his eye. Sharimah was by his side.
‘Who belong Tethys, Hari?’
‘A white man’s goddess from the oldest times,’ he explained patiently, almost glad of the didactic diversion. ‘She was the mother of all the rivers and seas in the world, or so they thought in those days ...’ How much of this explanation Sharimah understood he did not know for he was again focussed on his sextant. The exchange with Sharimah had been long enough to make quite a difference to the two images in the sextant telescope; he adjusted them and suddenly realised he was turning the index wheel in the other direction.
Kirton bit his lip, eager to inform them all that they were losing their tormentor, but cautious not to raise hopes too soon. He stood, in a lather of anxiety, feeling the brigantine heel over. He took another observation, then another. There was no doubt about it, unless the wind suddenly failed ...
Then he saw what he had hoped for: The Spaniard turned away for the second time. He was not the only one to observe the change. A ragged cheer went up from the deck and Kirton swung round, a grim smile cracking his features. Jones was striding towards him, his hand outstretched.
‘Well done, sir,’ he said.
‘Well done you,’ Kirton responded crisply. ‘Now I think you may stream the log ...’
Relief flooded Kirton’s body with adrenaline and he swallowed hard. It had been a close run thing, by heaven!
‘Tuan?’ he turned to find Ching at his elbow. At sea Ching rarely appeared on deck, though to be sure this was an exceptional forenoon, good enough to break any habit, but Ching, being the diligent man he was, had the letter brought out by the shawbunder open in his hand. ‘You must know what this speaks.’
‘Tell me,’ Kirton said brusquely.
‘It is from our agent in Jolo, Tuan,’ Ching reported, referring to old Cha’s nephew, Ban Guan, who still managed the business affairs of Lee, Rodham & Co. in Jolo. ‘It belong letter, many compliments to you, Tuan, but he ask for guns; rifles, many rifles and as soon as possible. He say he can fix a good plice, maybe even gold ...’
‘Huh,’ grunted Kirton, ‘but does he offer any advice as to how we can actually land any contraband like that? Or where? I mean those steam-boiler Spanish men-of-war will prevent any chance to trade at Jolo ...’
‘Yes, Tuan, he suggests we go seclet place to unload ...’ Ching referred to the letter. ‘He say there is place among the islands he can send many perahu to ... there is drawing ... He say more things too.’
Kirton took a look at the sketch-map Cha’s nephew had drawn.
‘He say he up all night,’ Ching went on, ‘velly much worry, try and make best drawing-chart for Captain Kirton.’
Kirton shook his head. ‘I’m not sure I understand this, Ching. Come below to chart-room. Let us make puzzle work for us, eh?’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Captain Kirton’s Dilemma
‘GUNS? BUT WHERE?’ RODHAM TURNED TO LEE. ‘D’YOU KNOW ANYthing about this?’
Lee shook his head and Rodham swung back to Kirton. ‘We don’t know what Ching is talking about,’ he said conclusively.
‘I should have brought him with me, but he has ship’s business to attend to. Anyway, I’m not certain if Ching knows about it first-hand, or was simply translating what Bam Guan had to say in his letter.’
They were in what had been old Cha’s private quarters, which were now not only the official offices of Lee, Rodham & Co, but those of the Eastern Steam-ship Company, as yet something of a conceit, but with two small steamers on the stocks in distant Port Glasgow.
‘Well we need to know before committing ourselves to such a rash act as gun-running, for God’s sake,’ said Rodham. He seemed to have grown much older of late, Kirton thought wryly. Gone was his former frivolity; Kit Rodham was now a serious business-man. As if reading his thoughts Rodham went on.
‘In fact, Hal, if we do find anything in this, we may have to detach the name of our house right out of it and leave the enterprise entirely to you,’ he said, running his hand through his hair and drawing attention to the fact that this was thinning. ‘Of course, if we find out—and I don’t quite know how we can now—if all this is true, we’d have to sell them to you first ...’
Kirton was about to remonstrate when Lee suddenly interjected. ‘Wait! I think I know som’ting ... Long time ago ... I get ledger ...’
Lee hurried from the room and Rodham and Kirton exchanged glances; Rodham shrugged his shoulders. ‘D’you think ...?’ Rodham began, leaving the sentence unfinished.
‘The old towkay was capable of anything,’ Kirton remarked ruefully. ‘The Chinese plan long-term ...’ He too left his words hanging in the air.
Rodham clapped his hands and when the serving-girl came in he asked for ‘chai, chop-chop.’
After a long silence and in the failure of Lee to reappear, Rodham said with a doubtful shake of his head, ‘Even if there was once a cache somewhere, I can’t see it still existing now ...’ He shook his head. ‘I mean what could the old devil have been up to?’
‘I’ve no idea ...’
At this point Lee rejoined them waving a small file. ‘I find this in the old safe, right at bottom.’ He laid an ancient-looking cardboard folder on the low table in front of them. The securing tapes were already loose and he flicked it open. It contained only a few sheets of yellowing paper but, even though it was Rodham who turned the papers over, and Kirton viewed them upside down, it was Kirton who enunciated the words that were embossed across the top: ‘The Spencer Repeating Rifle Company, Boston, Massachusetts!’
‘Stone the bloody crows,’ breathed Rodham, almost reverentially. ‘One thousand repeating rifles and fifty thousand rounds of ammunition ...’ Rodham flicked over to the second sheet, which appeared to be a receipt. ‘That’s enough for a whole bloody regiment, but where the hell are they? There’s no indication here ...’ Rodham laid the pages down and opened both hands in a gesture suggesting he ought to have been holding this consignment of arms in their palms. ‘Any ideas, Lee?’
Lee frowned, looking lost in contemplation, then a slow smile passed across his face. ‘I lemember one time, long time gone, when he build this honourable house, the Honourable Cha saying to me “good godown meant for plosperous business always need gold in loof ”.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’ Rodham asked sharply.
Silently Lee pointed upwards.
‘Good God! You mean we’re sitting underneath it ...? All these years ...?’
Kirton was laughing.
‘What’s so amusing?’
‘I don’t know,’ Kirton responded, ‘but you’re going to find it difficult to play Pontius Pilate now, since the stuff will have to come out of your godown!’
‘What on earth ...? I mean how ...? Well what were they for?’ A puzzled Rodham went on, the dark shadow of a rebellion against the British Crown swimming into his imagination.
‘What’s the date of the invoice?’ Kirton asked.
‘Eighteen sixty-four,’ read Lee, then looking up his eyes brightening with comprehension. ‘Ah so, big tlouble in China jus’ then; many wars ... Red Turban ... Panthay but biggest the Heavenly Kingdom Movement.’
‘Was that the Taiping Rebellion?’ Kirton asked.
Lee nodded. ‘Yes, velly bad man Hong Xiuguan think himself brother of Jes’ Chris’. War last longtime, maybe fourteen, fifteen year, not ended until Blitish General Gordon come to help of Empelor Qing.’
‘And it ended in 1864. Old man Cha missed the boat!’ exclaimed Kirton. ‘Got lumbered with a thousand rifles!’
‘Well, I’ll be jiggered!’ added Rodham.
‘They were fighting when I came out in the old Cormorant,’ Kirton said.
The mood of reminiscence must have triggered another memory in the mind of Lee, for he added, ‘I think Ching made deal.’
‘Well, never mind that Lee, let’s go and see what we’ve got in the attic.’
‘Attic?’ queried Lee, unfamiliar with the word, whereupon Rodham mimicked Lee’s earlier gesture of pointing vertically upwards.
They gained access to the roof-space via a trap-door and a ladder concealed in an adjacent cupboard. Fetching a lamp the three men ascended into the gloom. Here and there a sun-beam shone in slant-wise through the tiles, motes of dust dancing in its slender rays. The roof of the godown covered a large area, criss-crossed by heavy beams of Siamese teak, the scent of which filled the heavy air, and floored by a softer timber more like Borneo seraya. At first it seemed empty apart from a few chests of personal and household effects. Idly opening one, Kirton lifted some elegant silk gowns.
‘They belong Madame Cha. She die longtime ago,’ said Lee, pushing further into the gloom.
‘How much room do a thousand rifles take up?’ Rodham asked rhetorically.
‘Look-see!’ Lee called, holding up the lamp to illuminate what lay stacked neatly at the far end of the space, against the gable wall. Lee quickly counted the wooden crates as they were neatly stacked in piles of five. ‘One hundled, ten gun in each box ...’
‘And here’s the ammunition,’ Rodham said almost stumbling over a number of smaller cases. One of these had been broached, presumably to check the contents and in the flickering lamp-light Kirton saw a neat array of small boxes labelled ‘Blakeslee Cartridges.’ One of these had also been broken open and the three men gathered round. It contained ten tubes each holding seven cartridges, the extent to which the repeating Spencers could be fired without reloading.
‘Well, I’ll be jiggered,’ Rodham said again, shaking his head. ‘We’ve been sitting on a bloody fortune.’
‘I think the fortune has been sitting on you, Kit,’ Kirton said solemnly reviewing the pile of arms before he asked, ‘how the hell are we going to get this lot out to the ship?’
‘Are you sure that you want to, gentlemen?’ Lee asked. ‘Plenty dangerous if Customs find out. Do big damage to our new Hong.’
‘It’s too good an opportunity to miss,’ Rodham said decisively. ‘Captain Kirton will carry them to Jolo ...’
‘Are you sure about that, Kit?’ Kirton said, reining in the younger man’s enthusiasm. ‘As Lee says it is both dangerous and illegal.’
‘Well let’s go and discuss it over some samsu,’ Rodham temporised.
They returned to the floor below and resumed their seats. Shortly after sitting down and when Rodham had summoned the serving girl Ching arrived. Lee rapidly brought him up-to-date with their find, at which the shroff looked somewhat peeved that they had made the discovery without his help, but he confirmed that the firearms had indeed been intended to equip the Taiping rebels.
‘So, Ching,’ pressed Rodham, ‘I don’t know how you, or whoever it was, got them up in that roof-space, we need to get them down and out to the Tethys.’
‘Take topside one-by-one, night-time. They come from Amelican ship but have coconut matting all lound. Customs no find out ...’
‘Well we can bung some generous cumshaw ...’
‘No, Kit, no bribery. I won’t have it. I don’t mind having them disguised and declared as hunting guns. We’ve taken firearms to Sulu before, though not in such numbers, but let us have a degree of propriety in all of this. After all, I shall be taking most of the risk.’ Kirton’s tone was emphatic.
‘More better small truth than big lie, Mister Kit,’ Lee said to his partner. ‘I aglee with Captain Harry.’
Rodham made a gesture of slightly exasperated acquiescence but asked, ‘What do you think, Ching?’
But Ching surprised them all in his reply. ‘Ching want no part in this business.’ He turned to Kirton. ‘Velly sorry Captain Kirton but Ching too old for such game. Go shore-side this voyage; may-be no come back.’
‘You’re going to retire?’ Kirton asked incredulously.
‘Maybe, maybe not. I tell you if you come back.’
‘If, I come back ...?’ Kirton queried.
‘Spanish Admilal not like what you do; perhaps he catch you this time.’
A silence fell on the four men, broken eventually by Rodham. ‘Well, Hal, what d’you intend to do about it? Bam Guan’s letter said payment could be made largely in gold.’
Kirton rubbed his chin and after a moment replied, ‘I’ll sleep on it ... One whiff of this being in support of the sultan and I’m in trouble with Government House, having already been accused of almost starting a Hispano-British War.’ With that Kirton rose to go, gathering up his hat and cane when a thought struck him and he paused.
