Raju was allowed to audition and was dismayed to learn afterwards that Bobbery-Bob had said that he’d played like he was ‘shitting the squitters’. But Dicky laughed into his crestfallen face and said that this was in fact a rare accolade: ‘What it means, bugger, is that your notes flowed really smoothly. You’re almost one of us now!’
*
Kesri, no less than the younger sepoys, was awed by the sight that greeted them when the Hind sailed into Singapore’s outer harbour. Six warships were riding at anchor there, one of them a majestic triple-decked man-o’-war.
The transport and supply vessels were moored at a slight distance from the warships. There were no fewer than twelve of them, their decks aswarm with red-coated soldiers and sepoys. The Hind dropped anchor right next to the troopship that was carrying their brother unit — the other company of Bengal Volunteers. The sepoys gathered on deck to exchange shouted greetings.
Looking around the harbour, Kesri saw that the Royal Irish Regiment had already arrived, as had the left wing of the Cameronians. The colours of the 49th Regiment could also be seen on a ship that had just sailed in from Colombo. Only the 37th Madras Regiment was still to come.
Later that day Captain Mee summoned Kesri to the quarterdeck for his daily report on the conditions below. Their business was quickly dispatched and afterwards the captain identified the warships for Kesri, rattling off their names one by one: that over there was the eighteen-gun Cruiser, and there was the ten-gun Algerine riding beside two twenty-eight-gun frigates Conway and Alligator. And towering over them all was the man-o’-war, Wellesley: she was a ship-of-the-line, said Captain Mee, armed with no fewer than seventy-four guns.
The Wellesley was the tallest sailing vessel that Kesri had ever set eyes on. He assumed that she was, if not the most powerful vessel in the Royal Navy, then certainly of their number. But Captain Mee explained that by the standards of the Royal Navy the Wellesley was but a vessel of medium size, rated as a warship of the third class. Much the same could be said of the fleet itself, the captain added — although large for Asian waters, it was small by the standards of the Royal Navy, which frequently assembled armadas of fifty warships or more.
Kesri was both chastened and reassured to learn of this. He understood from the captain’s tone that from the British perspective this expedition was a relatively minor venture and that they were completely confident of achieving their objectives. This was just as well, as far as Kesri was concerned. Heroics were of no interest to him — he had wounds enough to show for his years in service, and all that concerned him now was getting himself and his men safely back to their villages.
Later in the day Captain Mee and his subalterns went off in a longboat, to attend a meeting on the Wellesley. When they returned, several hours later, Captain Mee summoned Kesri to his stateroom for a briefing.
There had been some major changes in the expedition’s chain of command, the captain told him. Admiral Frederick Maitland, who was to have commanded the expedition, had taken ill and another officer had been given his post — Rear-Admiral George Elliot, who, as it happened, was the cousin of the British Plenipotentiary in China, Captain Charles Elliot.
Rear-Admiral Elliot was on his way from Cape Town and would join the expedition later; until then Commodore Sir Gordon Bremer would be in command, while Colonel Burrell would be in charge of operational details. The colonel had already taken some important decisions regarding the force’s stay in Singapore. One of them was that the soldiers and sepoys would remain on their ships, through the duration of the stay.
Kesri was disappointed to hear this, for he had been hoping to spend a few days on dry land. ‘Why so, sir?’
‘Singapore is a small colony, havildar, not yet twenty years old,’ said Captain Mee. ‘To set up a camp large enough to hold all of us would be difficult because the island’s forests are very dense. And there are tigers too — a couple of men were killed just this week, on the edge of town.’
‘So how long will we be here, sir?’
‘There’s no telling,’ said the captain. ‘A third or more of the force is still to arrive. I’d say it’ll take another couple of weeks, at the very least.’
‘Will there be liberty, sir? Shore leave?’
The captain shot him a glance. ‘It wouldn’t be much use to you, havildar,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘If you’re thinking of bawdy-baskets, you can put that out of your mind. Women are as scarce as diamonds in Singapore — the knocking-shops are full of travesties so you’d probably end up with a molly-dan. And if back-gammoning isn’t to your taste, then the only other diversion is chasing the yinyan.’
‘So what will the men do here, sir, for two weeks?’
The captain laughed. ‘Drills, havildar, drills! Boat drills, attack drills, bayonet drills, rocket drills. Don’t worry — there’ll be plenty to do.’
When Shireen learnt the name of the tall seventy-four-gun frigate in the harbour she gave a cry of recognition: ‘The Wellesley! Why, I know that ship — she was built in Bombay, by our friends the Wadias. I was there for the launching. They named her in honour of Sir Arthur Wellesley.’
‘The Duke of Wellington?’
‘Yes,’ said Shireen. ‘I saw him once, you know. It was just after he’d won the Battle of Assaye. He was being fêted in Bombay and the Wadias threw a big burra-khana for him at Tarala, their mansion in Mazagon, and we were invited. They allowed the girls and women to watch from a jharoka upstairs. Sir Arthur was the sternest-looking man I’ve ever seen.’
Zadig burst into laughter. ‘Bibiji, for a woman who has spent much of her life in purdah, you’ve certainly seen a lot!’
Shireen laughed too, but more out of nervousness than amusement. Zadig understood exactly what was on her mind. ‘You’re worrying about Freddie, aren’t you, Bibiji?’
Shireen bit her lip and nodded. ‘Yes I am, Zadig Bey — I can’t stop thinking about him.’
‘Would you like to come along when I go to look for him, tomorrow?’
The question threw Shireen into a panic. The prospect of meeting her late husband’s son in an unfamiliar place, without preparation, was deeply unsettling. ‘No, Zadig Bey,’ she said, ‘it can’t happen like that. You must give me time, and warning, so that I can be ready.’
‘All right, Bibiji. As you say.’
When it came time for Zadig to go ashore the next morning Shireen was on deck to see him off. Through the rest of the morning she and Rosa took it in turns to keep watch for his return.
Around noon, there was an excited knock on the door of Shireen’s stateroom.
Bibiji! said Rosa, sticking her head in. Zadig Bey is back — he’s waiting for you on the quarter-deck.
Shireen went hurrying out and found Zadig sitting on a bench, under the awning that had been rigged up to cover the quarterdeck. He rose to his feet with a smile.
‘Bibiji — good news! I found Freddie!’
‘Where, Zadig Bey? Tell me everything.’
‘Finding him was easy, Bibiji. It was he who spotted me as I was walking along Boat Quay. He came hurrying up to greet me, which was lucky, for if I had seen him in a crowd I wouldn’t have recognized him.’
‘Why is that?’
‘He is completely changed, Bibiji, in many different ways — even his way of speaking English is different now. His looks have changed too: he is very thin and has grown a beard. To be honest, he does not look well.’