Ocean Palace
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The ship had been built to carry a hundred and fifty men, but the crew was reduced in numbers by sickness on board; they numbered just under half that number now. They had been left on shore at Kolkata when it was decided not to take them up the river for fear of infection, so there would be no more mouths to feed as the days went by.
Captain Hunter took some solace from this fact and felt that it made their departure all the more imminent: he was looking forward to having his own cabin again; he would even have a chance to sleep in one again before too long! The captain’s quarters on board were crowded, with many people sleeping on benches and even in the corridors.
Even those who did manage to find somewhere to rest often found themselves woken by a sick person or an untidy cook making their way past them. He missed the relative calm of the ship’s forecastle where he could work without being bothered.
There had been talking of moving the captain’s table back into his cabin, which might have allowed him to spend time alone there once again, but the idea was abandoned: he preferred the bustle. The ship carried two officers, three boatswain mates, five petty officers, four senior seaman, and seventy-five sailors, most of whom were crammed into a few narrow cabins.
His first lieutenant’s cabin contained six people: himself and his two lieutenants, Mr. Higginson, his secretary, the ship’s carpenter, and a midshipman who acted as his assistant. The second lieutenant’s quarters were even worse – only four men fit to go ashore, while the others slept in hammocks suspended along the corridor.
The third lieutenant’s cabin held seven men, while the other three cabins contained a total of eight seamen and one boy.
The ship’s company also had its share of sickness, with several of the crew suffering from fever. Captain Hunter knew that if the disease reached his ship, he would never be able to stop it from spreading among the crew.
As much as he hated to admit it, he had to consider that he might lose his ship and crew if such an outbreak occurred, so the decision was taken not to send any more men downriver towards Calcutta.
In the meantime, he hoped that they would find something suitable in Madras; there he would send the sick away by sea on board a small privateer to Bombay and then make the long journey back with a new crew.
The thought of leaving Calcutta behind filled him with regret; he liked the city, and it had been easy to do business here. However, he knew that they could not stay long, because he had to return with enough money to pay off the creditors who had loaned the ship’s company its passage home, and if the ship did not arrive within two years, then they would forfeit it.
There was also the matter of his father, who he wanted to bring up from London as soon as possible. He was sure that his mother would try to prevent his father from meeting him again, and she certainly had enough influence with her husband to ensure that he kept away from his family.
As they approached Madras harbor, a lookout spotted several ships lying at anchor in the bay. These vessels were smaller than his own ship and could hardly be said to constitute a threat: it was more like someone spotting a stray cat in the garden than anything more serious.
“Mr. Higginson,” said Captain Hunter. “What do you think? Have we seen all of our neighbors?”
“It is hard to tell sir, for although I know what each ship looks like, I cannot say whether they are there or not.”
“You can see them all right?” asked the captain.
Higginson looked confused.
“No, sir. No, I cannot, except for the one that is closest to us. I cannot tell if any of them are near us, nor how far they are from the shore. And there is another thing. They look different when you look straight at them from the stern of a ship. It is strange, but that is the way things appear when you sail on the water.”
The captain nodded. “Well, Mr. Higginson, if we have any more of these sightings, we will have to wait until we get nearer before we can determine their position.”
Aboard Ocean Palace
When they arrived at the anchorage at Madras, the ship’s company was surprised to learn that the town was almost deserted: all the shops stood empty, while only a handful of the buildings seemed to be occupied. Some sailors remarked that they had never seen such a place.
Captain Hunter decided that he had no choice but to continue downriver to Pondicherry, a port that he knew he would find busy. After a day’s sailing, they came to an island with several small villages on either side and a large river flowing through it.
“There has been some kind of attack here,” said the captain. “We must keep our guard up for a while. Keep your guns pointed towards the land. I doubt there will be much danger from the natives – they may just be curious about us – but don’t allow anyone to leave the ship, and if we encounter anyone, kill them on sight.”
That night he took his watch on deck and watched the moonlight gleaming off the waves. He could smell the scent of wild roses wafting up from the trees on the banks. The air was clear and crisp, and he felt happy that he could enjoy such a lovely view from his deck rather than being locked inside a tiny cabin on a ship crammed with passengers.
As his ship continued down the river, he saw lights appearing along the coast, and realized that there were other ships out there too, although none of them seemed to be moving. As he gazed into the distance, he wondered what would happen to them. Would they ever reach Madras? What had happened to their captains?
After another day’s sailing, they were passing close to the village where Mr. Bickford had lived, and he ordered the ship’s boats lowered to row ashore. The villagers were frightened by their sudden arrival and ran off toward the woods.
A few minutes later, they returned with some of the men and women they had been hiding from, and the captain spoke to them. One of the men explained that there was great trouble in the town because of the sickness and that the inhabitants had all left and gone inland to hide from the plague.
Captain Hunter decided that it would be best to avoid the area altogether, and so steered the ship further north.
On his way back to the ship, he saw two boats heading downstream from the village carrying several people. He called out to the boatmen but they did not understand him. When he tried again, using sign language, the Indians stared at him as though he was mad and turned away.
That night he sat drinking with Mr. Bickford, who appeared to have fully recovered from his illness. His skin had regained its natural color, and there was no hint of fever in his voice.
“I have heard a rumor,” said Mr. Bickford, “that some people who fled from Madras are now returning to the city.”
“And that is good news,” said the captain. “For if the plague has cleared, then perhaps the disease will not spread any further.”
He thought to himself that even if the rumors were true, there was nothing he could do to help the unfortunate people: he had no authority over them, and there was nothing he could do to stop them from entering the city. But he hoped that the epidemic might soon die down and that life could return to normal once more.
Later in the evening, he walked alone along the beach. Although there was no moon that night, the sky was clear, and he could see hundreds of stars glittering in the darkening heavens. He had never really appreciated the beauty of a starlit sky before – he had always been too busy worrying about navigation and making sure that his crew kept their eyes fixed firmly on the horizon.
It was a shame that so many of those aboard his ship seemed determined to ruin it for others by spending their night’s gambling and carousing. Perhaps it was time, he mused, that he told them to go elsewhere; that they should find somewhere else to drink or gamble, but he did not think that would make them very happy, and besides, he did not want to lose any of his hard-won officers.
As he turned to return to the ship, he noticed that someone was following him and walking close behind. The figure was dressed in a white robe, and he thought that it must be one of the Indian pilgrims who had come from Pondicherry. As he hurried on, he saw a lantern appear from around the curve of the cliff and approach him at a brisk walk.
As it drew closer he could see that it was an old man, wearing a long turban wrapped around his head. His face was wrinkled and lined, and there was a strange look in his eye that made him seem both familiar and frightening. When he got closer still he saw that it was Mr. Bickford, but how had he got here?
Where had he hidden for so long? Hadn’t the captain sent orders to keep him confined below decks? How could he have avoided those guards?
Mr. Bickford smiled and said in his strange accent, “Well met, sir captain. I am glad to see you again. Come and share my tea with me. You are looking tired, as though you need some rest.”
Captain Hunter was confused by this unexpected reunion. “You’re alive! Are you well?”
“Yes, yes; just fine, thank you,” said Mr. Bickford. “But I have some important things to tell you.”
The captain hesitated. Was this some kind of trick? But why would anyone want to deceive him when he needed all the information he could get? He followed Mr. Bickford up the hill towards the cave, where the Indians had been sheltering.
The old man held out his hand and said something in his native tongue, and the Indians stepped aside to let them pass. They reached the cave and went inside and the Indians followed them in. There were only five Indians here now, and Mr. Bickford took a seat on one of the wooden benches.
The captain sat opposite him, and the other Indians also settled down. Captain Hunter could feel his heart beating fast in his chest and could not control the fear that was coursing through his body. He wanted desperately to believe what the old man was saying but was afraid to trust in the impossible.
Suddenly, Mr. Bickford stood up and shouted something. A young Indian came into the cave carrying a bowl of steaming hot soup. Everyone sat down and began eating, and the captain could barely eat a few spoonfuls.
All he could think of was that this might all turn out to be a cruel hoax. But Mr. Bickford seemed quite normal – his eyes looked bright and alert, and he ate his meal as if it was any other day.
They finished their food quickly and the old man took out a small piece of parchment that had been tied into a scroll. “It is a message from the king of Pudhukottai, from the ruler of all the Tamil kingdoms,” he announced proudly. “I have been chosen to take this message to the king for him.”
“What does it say?” asked the captain.
“It says,” continued Mr. Bickford, “that he is pleased with our work here at Fort St Angelo. He asks us to stay until we can build new houses for everyone. But first, we must finish the repairs to the fort.”
Captain Hunter felt his legs go weak beneath him. It was unbelievable – surely no king would allow such a request! And yet the man spoke so confidently, so calmly, as if it were a simple matter. “But why has he done this?”
“He thinks it will help bring peace between England and France,” explained Mr. Bickford, smiling at him.
“And how will it do that?” the captain asked.
The old man shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps he does not know. If he wants to keep us here then we should obey. He has the power.”
“But why doesn’t he send someone else with this message?”
“Maybe because I am a good speaker, maybe because he knows that I will do as he commands. He may even know of your friendship with me.”
Captain Hunter felt a deep sense of relief, and suddenly his fear gave way to excitement. Here was an opportunity for him to learn more about India, but what could he actually offer the king of Pudhukottai?
“Do you think he will agree?” asked Mr. Bickford.
“Why not!” said the captain. “We can leave immediately.”
They walked back to the ship together. Captain Hunter told his officers to prepare the ship for departure at once, and they began making preparations. The men were overjoyed to hear the news and cheered and danced with joy on the deck.
As soon as she was ready, Captain Hunter’s flagship put off from Fort St Angelo, heading northwards along the coast of South India towards Pudukottai, a journey of nearly two hundred miles. The French frigate was following behind her, and she hoped that the other ships would arrive later in the week. For now, however, all her attention was focused on getting to Pudukottai.
For the next couple of months, the English warships were busy repairing and refitting, and Captain Hunter spent most of his time working on the defenses of Fort St Angelo. The king sent him all sorts of different kinds of stone from around the island, but the fort walls themselves were still crumbling badly and the garrison would need more help to rebuild them properly.
The king had even sent him a dozen elephants so that the fort could be defended against invaders who might come overland or by sea. The elephants were kept in the forest on the far side of Fort St Angelo, and their mahouts led them into the fort every morning to graze.
This helped to feed the soldiers at the same time. It was certainly not something that the French had ever done at Fort St Louis.
Captain Hunter had brought all the men who worked on the fort itself from Fort St Angelo, including Mr. Bickford, whose knowledge of the region and languages meant that he could communicate with anyone without any problems.
When the fort was completed it would be strong enough to withstand attack for at least three years, so the king would have plenty of time to plan his invasion of Europe again. It seemed as though Captain Hunter had arrived at just the right moment, although it had taken quite some courage to make his way to Pudukottai alone.
No one knew how dangerous these parts of South India were, and no one had been allowed to travel there before. Perhaps Mr. Bickford had sensed that he would find a friendly welcome there, or perhaps it had been the old man’s intuition that warned him to take extra care. After all, Captain Hunter himself had never set foot on land here before arriving at Fort St Angelo.
The French ship had made good time too, and Captain Hunter decided it was better to wait until all the ships were at anchor together before sending his own ships north towards the fort. This way, if anything went wrong he would at least have a chance of escaping, rather than trying to sail single-handedly across open water and being overtaken by the French.
On the afternoon of the third day after he arrived at Fort St Angelo, Captain Hunter heard a shout from the lookout on board the French frigate. At first, he thought he must have misunderstood what the man had said – after all, he had only spoken the language in short phrases and Captain Hunter’s French was much worse than his Italian.
It took a few minutes, though, for the shouts to be repeated in the other languages that the sailors on the frigate spoke. When everyone understood each other perfectly, the lookout shouted out: “A ship! A sail!”
Captain Hunter ran up to the deck and looked over the rail at a strange vessel. It was smaller than he had expected, and it had a flat hull, like an oar boat. There were no sails visible, so he wondered where she was getting all the power from, but then he noticed two tall towers at either end of the ship.
These were probably steam engines, which turned propellers at the rear. Steam did not burn hot enough to fire cannons, so it was used instead for moving ships through the water. They were very rare at sea; most ships simply rowed whenever possible.
“It’s a steamer,” said Captain Hunter excitedly when he realized that it was powered by steam, “just like my ship.” He waved at the ship. “Come closer, please!”
The crew of the steamer responded enthusiastically, and they began to pull away from the shore a little faster until they had rounded the headland and were heading toward Fort St Angelo.
Even at this distance, Captain Hunter could see that the captain was young, maybe twenty years old, and he wore his hair long and tied in a queue under his hat, just as the captain of his own ship was fond of doing.
He had a crew of thirty men with him, and most of them sat in the stern with a steering wheel to control the ship. As Captain Hunter watched, he saw one man go below deck to look at the steam engine and another man goes forward, holding some sort of metal tube in front of him.
The man in front was clearly signaling at the fort, and Captain Hunter thought that he had to be the man in charge.
When they got within hailing distance of each other, Captain Hunter jumped down to the steamer’s deck and ran over to the captain.
“You’ve come all this way?” asked Captain Hunter. “I know how far it is. I’m surprised you’re not tired already.”
“Tired? Tired? We’re just getting started,” laughed Captain de Rohan. His cheeks were flushed red from the sun and he grinned broadly as he stood beside Captain Hunter. “This is the first leg of our journey. Once we get to Madras – it’s only five days’ sailing from here – the fun starts.
But I’d like to tell you everything about our trip so far. My name’s Jean de Rohan. I’m the youngest son of a marquis in France and I’m the captain of the Steamer Marie. We call her the ‘Marie’ because she’s built like a woman.” He gestured at the tall masts on either side of the ship and the steam engine at its bow.
“And I love to boast about her. She’s a wonderful creation – fast, elegant and comfortable.” He pointed at a small hatch in the middle of the steamer. “She’s quite narrow compared to other steamers, but she can still take three hundred people across the Indian Ocean to wherever they want to go.
Our first destination will be Calcutta. That’s where we’ll meet with some friends who’ve chartered the steamer to transport their cargo. Then we’ll set off for Bombay. After that – who knows?”
The Frenchman paused briefly to catch his breath. “We’ve sailed a lot since I left my home port in France,” he explained, “and we’ve seen many new things. We’ve encountered the Portuguese colonies on our way here – you know, those islands south of Goa?” He indicated the coastline with his thumb.
“That was exciting, even dangerous at times, especially when I met one of their warships and had a real duel with him. I lost, of course, but it was still great fun. And we stopped for a while in Ceylon, just after we passed through the Straits of Malacca, and saw these strange monkeys on a beach that reminded me of the ones from your island.”
He chuckled again, remembering how much his crew loved the story. “Then we arrived in Colombo, in the country formerly called Ceylon, where the locals had the best coconut curry that I’ve ever tasted.” Captain de Rohan shook his head in wonderment.
“There are a lot of spices there too. I didn’t know what they were before, and neither did anyone else on board. I was lucky enough to buy some and bring them back with me as a present.”
“A gift, eh?” asked Captain Hunter. “What do they smell like?”
“Well, they don’t have a strong smell,” explained the Frenchman, “but they taste amazing, and they make food taste even better than usual.” He looked at Captain Hunter with a mischievous grin. “Do you want to try one?”
Captain Hunter was intrigued. “What would I need to do to take something like that from you?”
De Rohan laughed merrily. “Nothing difficult or complicated,” he said. “But you’d need an entire crate of them. They cost more than gold.”
“How do I find someone willing to give me a whole crate of them?” asked Captain Hunter.
“Just find a trader,” answered the Frenchman matter-of-factly. “They sell them in any marketplace in the world, and they’re usually very friendly.”
Captain Hunter considered this information. “So you’ve never been to India?” he asked.
“No,” replied the captain. “I’m not allowed to go there until I turn twenty-one years old, as it’s a forbidden country.”
“Really? So what does that mean when you reach twenty-one?” inquired Captain Hunter.
“You become king,” answered de Rohan proudly. “Of course, if you’re born a prince instead…” He laughed again. “But I’m not a prince, thank God!”
The two men smiled at each other for several moments before Captain Hunter broke the silence by saying:
“It sounds like you’re having a great time already.”
De Rohan nodded. “I am.” He turned towards his steamer. “Are you ready for a swim? The water is lovely!”
“Not just yet, thanks,” Captain Hunter replied. “Let me finish this story first.”
De Rohan shrugged his shoulders. “Okay, if you insist.”
The End