Dead Reckoning (13 page)

“You are quite wrong, Michael, I haven't come to drag you away. I think you are quite right to stay here. I am happy to
think that you have found peace. I like your friends and neighbours and only wish I knew more about them. What is your position here? Are you the chief of the tribe? What can you do for these people?” It was some time before Michael took in what Richard was trying to say. For some minutes he merely repeated himself, muttering “Why go back to Georgetown or Malacca? I've had enough of all that. My life is here and I live among friends . . . What can I do for them, you ask? Is that it?” He had come to the point but he drifted off it again, vowing once more to stay among his friends. “Why are they my friends? I'll tell you, I'll tell you. I'll not hide from you the fact that I can speak their language. It wasn't easy, so don't think it was. She taught me, you'll understand, word after blessed word. Now, these people are head-hunters—bloody savages as some people would say. But head-hunting is religious, really, it helps the padi to grow. If it looks like a poor crop you go out at night and return with a head or two, taken from another tribe. But a Malay head will do very well and a European head may be better for all I know. You should see our collection—I did something to improve it. So now I can tell these people what to do. I see that they are given a fair price for their rattan. I give them quinine when they need it. I persuade the Rajah's tax-gatherer to let them alone.”

“But haven't your people lost some of their best hunting and fishing country?”

“So you have heard about that? Yes, they used to have long-houses on the Kapuas River but were driven away by the Malays. They would have fought but these Malays had been given muskets by the French. So the Dyaks ran away and made their homes here. Some would fight even now but I tell them not to fight against men with muskets. Their chance may come, I tell them, but they must be patient.”

“Their chance
has
come, Michael. The Malay pirates are going to be attacked from the sea. That gives your Dyaks a chance to attack them at the same time from the land. In that way they can recover the Kapuas River for themselves.”

There followed a long and tedious discussion, greatly prolonged by Michael's inability to concentrate. His attention continually wandered. At one time he spoke of his boyhood in St Peter Port, of old Le Poidevin with whom they had gone fishing, of the crazy and leaking boat which was once their pride, of the time they were nearly caught robbing an orchard. He talked of the Malay woman with whom he had lived at Malacca, of the country ship in which he had been chief mate, of the stupid prejudices observable in the officials of Penang. Humouring him, Richard kept bringing the conversation back to the subject of the Dyaks and their claim to the Kapuas River. He eventually secured Michael's promise to call the elders of the tribe together that evening. He had a proposal to put before them and Michael was his only possible interpreter.

That arrangement made, the two brothers shared a meal, the Dyaks at the same time providing a pig for the boat's crew. Michael ate little and Richard saw that he was a sick man, his health undermined by malaria and opium. To enlist his help seemed an almost hopeless task. They were presently joined, however, by a Dyak called Penghulu Kanyan, evidently the chief man of the tribe, with whom Richard presently established some form of understanding. Kanyan, like Richard, knew a little Malay and Michael acted as a somewhat unreliable interpreter. When told of the attack to be made on his Malay enemies, Kanyan showed keen interest, evidently seeing the possibilities.

Richard showed in pantomime how the Malays would be firing in one direction while the Dyaks would approach them
silently from the other. The difficulty was clearly to be one of timing and this again must depend upon the movements of the French privateer. By Delancey's calculation the
Subtile
ought to refit in about June. Supposing she had entered the Kapuas River, how long would the Dyaks take to move overland from the Nuri River? The path through the jungle might be twenty miles, if it followed the most direct route (but would it?), added to which must be the distance up the Nuri and down the Kapuas; possibly fifty miles in all or roughly five days' march. Allowing time for the message to reach the Dyaks, Delancey thought that a combined attack might be launched seven days after the
Subtile
had reached her base. Kanyan seemed to agree that five days would be sufficient for his march but Delancey wondered whether he had really understood the arithmetic. He went over it again, drawing a map in the earth near the longhouse, and persuaded Michael to repeat the whole narrative in the local dialect. It then transpired that Kanyan would have to consult with other chiefs living in other longhouses. He could make no final decision until a general meeting had been held. He could make no promise but he thought it probable that war against the Kapuas Malays would be agreed. They would do nothing, however, until they received the message. Added to the recapture of their territories, the Dyaks would have the plunder of the Malay settlement, a place enriched by the activities of the
Subtile.
Delancey's message might be expected in two or three weeks' time.

Delancey said good-bye to his brother that night, explaining that he would begin his return journey long before first light. Michael was more composed at the moment of parting, showing even some regret, but was evidently ill and unlikely to live for long. Kanyan, on the other hand, was at the new landing-stage when Delancey's men embarked. He was carrying a
blowpipe as a sign of his warlike intent and accompanied by other men similarly armed. For a surprise attack falling on the rear of a force already engaged they had, Delancey reflected, the ideal weapon. There was a friendly parting by torchlight and then the boat was pushed off and went downstream. The oars dipped in rhythm but with unequal power and Delancey soon realized that some of his men were unwell. He quickly relieved two of the oarsmen, who were plainly feverish, and replaced them by two marines. By midday one of the marines had the same symptoms and was replaced by the coxswain, the tiller being given to young Burnet. That night they encamped again on a small island, by which time another seaman was sick. They set off next morning with four men ill and ended with five lying in the bottom of the boat, Burnet taking an oar and Delancey now the helmsman. By the evening they had reached the
Laura
and Delancey asked at once whether Mr Wayland had returned. “No, sir.”

Fitzgerald reported, “Coxswain Ellis had come aboard but reports that the others were all killed by the Malays.”

“Very well, Mr Fitzgerald, I have at least five men sick, probably with malaria. Tell the surgeon to look after them. Send Ellis to my cabin to make his report—and I think you should be present when he makes it.”

Five minutes later Ellis reported, clutching a roll of paper, and told a confused story.

“We passed a kampong called Kertamulia, sir, and Mr
Wayland said not to stop there ‘cos we might be recognized. We hit a sandbank, though, and had some trouble getting the boat off. While we were doing this a Malay boat came near us, so near that the boatmen must have seen that we were not Malays. Our boatmen talked with theirs, too, and must have given us away. But Mr Wayland said to push on, it couldn't be helped, and we came that evening to the place where they careen that French privateer, a shingle beach with a useful fall of the tide and a line of sheds or godowns as they call 'em on the starboard side of the river. Further down the river, two or three cables distant or maybe a half mile, they have a regular stockade with a fence down to the river on either side and some cannon mounted. They have a boom there to draw across the river from one stockade to t'other. There were no Malays around that evening but they appeared next day, a lot of'em armed at that. I was ashore to look more closely at the capstans and suchlike when I heard the first shots fired. There was a lot of shouting after that and I knew that things had gone wrong. Then I saw Mr Wayland running my way and all covered with blood. I fired my musket at the Malays who were after him, and they retreated again. Then there was another shot, rather distant, and Mr Wayland fell dead, dropping this roll of paper, which I picked up. I hid after that in an empty hut, knowing that the others must all have been killed. Later that night I crept out and found a sort of canoe and drifted in it down the river, passed Kertamulia, and so reached the river-mouth. Then I paddled out to the ship and made my report to Mr Fitzgerald, sir, who told me to show this paper to you.”

The roll of paper, when flattened out, revealed a quite useful diagram of the Kapuas River, indicating the position of the stockade and dockyard some two miles above Kertamulia and nearer the sea than Delancey had expected it to be. A second drawing showed some detail of the stockade but this was unfinished and stained with blood. Delancey thanked Ellis and dismissed him, turning to Fitzgerald for any further information he could add.

“Well, sir, Ellis forgot to report that a Malay woman helped
him paddle that canoe and went off in it after he came aboard.”

“Was she pretty?”

“Pretty, sir? Well—yes, I suppose she was, and quite young too.”

“I see. And what do you think of Ellis's story?”

“I think he did quite well, considering.”

“Do you? For myself, I don't believe a word of it.”

“What really happened, then?”

“Ellis deserted the party in order to sleep with this Malay girl. He was with her when the party was attacked and remained in her hut until the fight ended. She then took him in her canoe—he picking up this map on the way to it—and went down river, he in the bottom of the boat and she answering challenges from the stockade or other craft. The man is lying but this map luckily tells the truth.”

“Shall I put him under arrest, sir?”

“Certainly not. We have no evidence against him. His only certain offence is in being a bad liar, lacking the brain to make up a better story.”

“I'm afraid that Wayland's little expedition was something of a disaster.”

“Not at all. It was a success, giving me the information I wanted at the cost of three lives. The other information I wanted will probably cost me five lives. In this world, Mr Fitzgerald, there is a price to pay for everything. For the destruction of the
Subtile
the price is going to be heavy.”

On May 24th the
Laura
was through the Karimata Channel and cruising on a line between Dending, in Billiton, and the island of Kebatu. If Chatelard wanted to pick up a final prize before returning to the Kapuas River, this might well be the area in which he would operate. On the other hand, it was just as
likely that he would make straight for his base, already satisfied with the captures he had made. He could also, far that matter, cruise in the Karimata Channel itself. The argument against this possibility was that the Karimata Channel is a hundred miles wide whereas the
Laura,
placed where she was, had only thirty-five miles to patrol. As Delancey saw the problem, Chatelard would prefer a near certainty to an outside chance. He saw Chatelard as that sort of man. Events, however, were to prove him wrong.

Early in June he intercepted a valueless Dutch merchantman bound for Java. She had on board three Englishmen, the master, first and second mates of a country ship captured by the
Subtile
off Billiton a few days earlier. Chatelard had rid himself of these prisoners by putting them on board the Dutchman, having no wish, obviously, to take them into the Kapuas River. Delancey released the Dutch ship, being unwilling to spare a prize crew, and headed north again for the Karimata Channel. Having put his three Englishmen on board a country ship bound for Calcutta, he at last obtained his first distant glimpse of the
Subtile.
She was to windward of him on a northerly course and Delancey recognized her at once from the descriptions he had heard or read. He went in chase but soon realised that she was a faster ship than the
Laura
and superbly handled. By nightfall she was at once further to windward and further ahead. Dishearteningly, moreover, the privateer had gained this distance without any special effort while the
Laura
had crowded all the sail she had. Annoying as this might be at the time, Delancey had at least the satisfaction of knowing that he had been right not to seek the
Subtile
in the Bay of Bengal. He could never have overtaken her without the aid of another man-of-war. With two ships he might have trapped her against the land but he had not
been given the force needed. So he was justified in seeking to pinpoint the privateer's base. He felt certain, moreover, that Chatelard would now be on his way there. Having taken one more prize and having sighted the
Laura,
he would surely conclude that his cruise was over. This would be his cue to vanish, refit, and rest, assuming that the frigate would have gone by the time he emerged.

There was no sign of the
Subtile
by daybreak but Delancey felt justified in making directly for the Kapuas River. Were Chatelard tempted to take another prize it was just possible that the
Laura
might be there before him. Having been mistaken once about Chatelard's possible plans, Delancey was now less confident of his guess-work. It was clear, however, that he must head for the Kapuas River and wait.

But how was he to know if the
Subtile
had already entered the river? His first instinct was to call at Djawi and ask that question of his Chinese informant. But could the news have reached him in time? And might not the
Subtile
enter the river while he was at anchor off Djawi? Given the choice, he wanted to deal with the privateer at sea rather than in the river. She was, in herself, no match for the
Laura
but ashore the odds would be more even, the French being reinforced by their Malay allies. To attack that stockade would be to risk heavy losses from battle and disease. The Dyaks might help but would they appear on the right day and would Michael be fit enough to direct them? The Dyak alliance had seemed real enough when it was discussed with Kanyan but did it really amount to more than a vague possibility? Would the other tribal elders agree to it? Were they able to deliver the attack?