Dead Reckoning (17 page)

“To the Malays?”

“Yes, sir. That seems to have been a regular practice. Before Chatelard came poor Wayland must have been held prisoner by this other man you were asking about. These Portuguese never knew his real name but heard him called Fabius and they agree that he sailed in a ship for the Ile de France.”

“So he did, did he? I should like some day to meet him.”

“What are we to do with the French prisoners, sir?”

“We shall leave them here, whether wounded or not.”

“For the Dyaks to finish off?”

“Or for the Malays to take care of. They will have an easier death than they planned for Wayland.”

Next morning the
Subtile
was set on fire and so were all the
buildings except one isolated storehouse in which Delancey had told his men to collect everything which might be of use to the Dyaks. Naval stores, by contrast, were sent down to the river in the privateer's launch, Delancey now having boats to spare. While directing this operation, he was approached by a petty officer who said that a European wished to see him. It could only be Michael, who looked completely exhausted and carried a French-pattern musket. With him were Kanyan and Tedong, each with a blowpipe. Delancey hastened to thank them for their support but Michael interrupted him at once:

“You've had help from them. Now they want help from you!”

“In what way, Michael?”

“We have pursued the Malays to a place about eight miles up the river. They have taken refuge in a small island which they have done something to fortify. They still have muskets and ammunition and the Dyaks can do nothing against them.”

“I see. My best plan will be to supply the Dyaks with small-arms.”

“They won't use them, Richard. They are frightened of the recoil.”

“Then we had best give them cutlasses, enough for the purposes of a night attack.”

“They need your help, Richard. They need you to give them confidence. They will have no security here while those pirates are alive.”

“Look, Michael, my orders were to destroy the
Subtile,
which I have now done. I was never ordered to interfere in a war between Dyaks and Malays. My task here is finished and we shall be at sea again tonight.”

“But you owe your success to the Dyaks—you must know that.”

“I do know it. But they also owe their success to me. They have what they wanted—heads!”

“What they really want is the Kapuas River.”

“They will never keep it unless they are prepared to fight for it. I can provide them with the weapons. You must provide them with the leadership.”

“I hate the whole system, Richard, of which you have become a part. I came here to escape from it. Then I thought for a moment that you would be a friend to the Dyaks and help them to regain their lost country. But I was wrong. You are no friend to them or to anyone. You are merely part of the system.”

“Have I denied it? But tell Kanyan and Tedon that they'll have their share of all that was taken from the pirates and from the French. Tell them to come and see what they have fairly earned.”

Faced with the storehouse, Kanyan and Tedong were more grateful than Michael wanted them to be. They could certainly find a use for all that they had been given. Nor did it appear that they had relied upon further help against the Malays. Given a cutlass apiece, they seemed confident enough in their ability to finish the campaign.

“I'll help them and advise them,” said Michael, “but I'll die very soon. And as for you, Richard, I hope that you rot in hell!”

Delancey's final glimpse of Michael was that of a scarecrow figure outside the storehouse from which a procession of laden Dyaks headed back into the jungle. He never saw Michael again and hardly supposed that he could live for long or that he even wished to survive. From their first meeting in the longhouse it was apparent that Michael had reached the end of the road.

In the last boat to leave the scene of destruction, Delancey knew that a final and unpleasant task awaited him. Greenwell's conduct had presented him with a problem to which there was
only one solution. He had known instances in which certain incidents had been overlooked but what was the use? The officer concerned had no authority left. No, he had to act at once. He no sooner reached the
Laura
than he sent for the surgeon. “How many men have you under your care, Mr Mackenzie and how many more shall we lose?”

The surgeon presented a list, making a detailed report on those who were still in danger. Having made a rough total, Delancey laid down his pen.

“And how is Mr Greenwell?”

“He has a wound on his right leg, a little below the knee. No major artery was severed but he may have lost some blood before he was bandaged. He is in no danger and is able to walk.”

“Was the wound caused by a bullet?”

“No, sir. It is a clean cut, caused by a blade.”

“On the inside or outside of the leg?”

“On the outside.”

“It was not inflicted, however, during a hand-to-hand conflict.”

“No, sir? Then it could have been due to an accident—a seaman tripping over some obstacle while carrying a drawn cutlass. It could, in the same way, have been the result of Mr Greenwell tripping over his own sword.” Mackenzie's face was expressionless and his words carefully chosen.

“You did not ask him what happened?”

“No, sir. I did not.”

When alone again, Delancey stared for a minute or two at the inkstand. Then he deliberately took a pistol from where it hung on the bulkhead, saw that it was loaded, checked the priming, cocked it, and placed the weapon on his desk. Then he called out “Pass the word for Mr Greenwell,” and waited thoughtfully
until there was a knock on the door. Invited to come in, Greenwell limped forward, white-faced and trembling, and stood at attention.

“Sit down, Mr Greenwell,” said Delancey. “You know why I have sent for you.” It was a statement, not a question. Green-well was staring at the pistol, his forehead shining with sweat, his hands fiddling with a handkerchief.

“Yes, sir.”

“There are questions I could ask but what is the point? I should not believe your answer.”

“No, sir.”

“So it only remains for me to do what I must, Mr Greenwell. I am placing you under close arrest. When a court martial can assemble you will be charged with cowardice.”

“I suppose so.” The words were whispered.

“I need hardly add that I deeply regret having to take this action. Had the circumstances been different, had a pistol gone off while you were cleaning it—” he glanced at the pistol on the desk—“I should have reported you killed in battle. But I have no alternative. You can see that.”

“Yes, sir. I tried, I did my utmost. I couldn't describe the sleepless nights . . .”

“I know. I have always known. But what could I do? You must presently go to your cabin but you had best wait here a little and recover. I need to see Mr Fitzgerald about appointing Mr Northmore as your escort and Mr Topley as acting lieutenant. We sail tonight for Prince of Wales Island. Were we there and were you going ashore, I should have to say—good-bye.” Delancey went on deck and gave out his preparatory orders. There was much to do, his crew requiring a great deal of reorganization. While in conclave with Fitzgerald he half expected
to hear the sound of a pistol shot. Or did he? Thinking more carefully he realized that no shot would be fired. Greenwell was not that sort of man. He should never, in fact, have been promoted.

“Ready to sail, sir,” Fitzgerald reported.

“Very good. Man the capstan. And leave Mr Topley in charge of the deck.”

As he went to his cabin Delancey could hear Topley's young voice calling “Heave taut!” The pistol, now uncocked, lay on his desk and he put it back on its hook. Then he sat down to study and absorb the full extent of his losses.

The wounded fell into three categories: those likely to recover, twenty-one; those likely to be invalided, eight; and those likely to die, twelve. He might soon have a crew of about 110 men, a little over half his establishment. And what proportion of these would fall sick as a result of being ashore among the mangrove swamps? Twenty, thirty, or more? His frigate was no longer fit to do battle. In destroying the
Subtile
he had all but lost the
Laura.

The arithmetic done, Delancey took a sealed letter from a drawer, marked “To be opened after the destruction of the
Subtile.
” Slitting it open he read:

H.M. Ship
Albion

April 19th 1806

Sir—Having accomplished your mission you are hereby required and directed to proceed to Prince of Wales Island where you are to carry out necessary repairs and ship provisions for six months. When ready for sea you will proceed to the Cape of Good Hope and place yourself under the command of the flag-officer commanding there.

I have the honour to remain . . . etc.

Enclosed with this official order was a private note:

April 19th 1806

Dear Delancey—I congratulate you on having destroyed the
Subtile.
I knew that you would do it and I knew that the cost would be heavy. All this I sincerely regret. I should have liked to send you home but I have at least sent you in the right direction. When the admiral at the Cape (whoever he may be) realizes that the
Laura
is worn out, I have no doubt that he will decide to spare you. I thank you in advance for your good services. You will have heard that I am quitting this station and will probably not be in India when you receive this. Should you ever serve again under my flag you will find that I shall always have a high opinion of the man who finally rid me of the
Subtile.
I thank you for all you have done, bless you.

With every good wish . . . etc.

Ed. Pellew

The
Laura
was back at Prince of Wales Island in October 1806 but required docking, part of her stern-post having decayed. She was docked at Bombay, coming back to Prince of Wales Island in May 1807. The following letter from there was the last which Delancey wrote before he sailed for the Cape:

June 11th 1807

My dearest Fiona—My letters from Bombay will have told you about the
Laura
's time in dock. She now has a teak stern-post and many new knee-timbers and is in very much better state. It is not so easy to make good the losses in men. We had heavy casualties last year and my only recruits
have been Goanese, Lascars, Sepoys, and Chinese. As for officers, I told you that poor Greenwell was tried here by court martial and dismissed the service. He is a tradesman now in Georgetown and I met him ashore two days ago. Apart from Fitzgerald, my lieutenants are promoted midshipmen, Northmore and Topley. With those two commissioned and three others killed in Borneo, I have only two left, Stock (now master's mate) and Ledingham, and have no idea where I can find any more. I have men enough to work the ship but would rather not meet with the enemy. I dare say, however, that they are as ill-manned as we are, or anyway I must devoutly hope so. If I gained the good opinion of Admiral Pellew that does me no good because he is going home and has not offered to take me with him! I am now ordered to the Cape from which station my letters will reach you the sooner. From what I hear the ships on that station spend their time blockading Mauritius (or the Ile de France), an occupation which may not end until we capture the island. Our failure to do so is mainly the result, I suppose, of the place being so confoundedly remote. This letter must be brief, going as it does by a ship that is to sail in the morning. My next may well be dated from Capetown. In the meanwhile I mean to climb the Hill here tomorrow and attempt to make a sketch from the top. Before ending this letter I must ask you to take great care of yourself and believe me still

Your most affectionate husband,

Richard Delancey

Postscript.
Since writing the above we have suffered disaster. Fitzgerald, my first lieutenant, seems to have had a
quarrel with the surgeon of the regiment in garrison here. They met at daybreak and Fitzgerald was fatally wounded, dying before the ball could be extracted. He was quick-tempered, I know, and may well have been at fault, his opponent, I am told, being slow to take offence but a dead shot with a pistol. Fitzgerald was unmarried but had devoted parents in Wicklow who will be heartbroken over this tragic event. I must feel for their loss but cannot refrain from lamenting my own. Northmore, who must be my first lieutenant, is far too young, and Stock, now to be acting lieutenant, is a mere boy. Or do they all seem children to me because I am becoming middle-aged and cantankerous? They are lucky in their promotion. Had there been a flag-officer here my lieutenant's vacancy would have been filled by a midshipman from the flagship, someone on the Admiralty list, or else a relative of the Admiral himself. I am far from being the senior naval officer here but the other men-of-war are as shorthanded as I am and anxious to retain the men they have. Northmore will have to grow up quickly and I think very well of young Ledingham who behaved gallantly in Borneo.

Surrounded by much younger men I have the feeling that I am needed, that things could go very wrong if I were ill. Having no time to be sick, I remain well! I must admit, however, that I took full advantage of our stay at Bombay, having nearly eight luxurious weeks in harbour and being free to sleep all night. Blockading Mauritius will be more arduous but I tell myself, hopefully, that I should be home in 1808 or at latest in 1809. When I reach home, moreover, I may well decide to stay there!