The Bombay Marines by Porter Hill

three rungs at a time, wondering if one of the seasick prisoners had slipped on the tossing deck. Or perhaps someone had taken advantage of battle preparations and dived overboard in the hope of swimming to the distant shore. This reminded him that he had forgotten to ask if the prisoners could swim when he had selected them from the cells. Few sailors knew how to swim and he might need swimmers in the mission to Fort St George.
    Horne’s anger turned on himself. What other omission had he made in choosing these men?
    Pilkington stood in front of the larboard nettings. ‘The Arab and the Britisher with the pigtail, sir. They were rolling the nettings. I turned my back and they leaped up on the railing and jumped feet first into the water.’
    Horne looked over the railing, down past the bulwark, and saw two men clawing furiously at the white-capped waves. He could not tell which was Eid the Omani and which was Ted Malloy from Bristol; all he could see was two figures far below him in the churning sea.
    The sounds of another scuffle alongside him made him glance over his shoulder, in time to see Bapu, the Rajasthani bandit, struggling with Midshipman Bruce and grabbing Bruce’s flintlock.
    Pilkington moved to stop Bapu, but Horne held him back. ‘No, let the man be, Lieutenant.’
    The command surprised Pilkington. ‘But, sir …’
    Horne was adamant. ‘I gave orders to stop any man trying to escape.’
    â€˜But, sir! That … man’s disarmed an officer!’
    â€˜How else is he to get a weapon?’
    â€˜But, sir …’
    Horne thrust a finger at the sea. ‘Lieutenant, if those two men reach shore, this prisoner and all thirteen others will be sent back to Bombay Castle …’
    A loud blast silenced Horne.
    Turning, he saw Bapu holding a spent flintlock smoking in one hand, and looking back to the sea, he saw blood colouring the waves and only one man floundering in the choppy water.
    Bapu was an excellent marksman, Horne at least was pleased to see that; he beckoned Tyson Lovett to step forward from the Marine rank. Taking the musket from Tyson’s hands, he passed it to Bapu who accepted the weapon and knowledgeably checked its muzzle, charge and cap.
    â€˜Captain Horne, look!’ Midshipman Bruce pointed towards the single swimmer.
    Horne glanced back to the sea and recognized the fins of predatory fish.
    The one remaining swimmer had also spotted sharks encircling him and he began shouting, waving to be rescued.
    â€˜Sir, the man’s calling for help.’ Midshipman Bruce looked to the ship’s lifelines and back to Adam Horne.
    Horne remained silent, his square jaw working as he watched the swimmer floundering in the tossing sea. He looked at Bapu standing alongside him, sighting the musket towards the water.
    Bruce became more eager to help the shouting swimmer. ‘Sir, shall I toss him the lifeline?’
    Pilkington was also beginning to show concern. ‘There’s not much time left, sir.’
    Horne kept his eyes on the swimmer. He already knew the command he would give. He paused only to curse some meddling voice nagging inside him to spare the swimmer’s life, to be forgiving or show mercy, a sentimental conscience which totally disregarded the mission’s success.
    His voice low and steady, Horne ordered, ‘Fire.’
    The musket ball struck its target. The swimmer’s head exploded into fragments as if it had been a melon bobbing in the surf. The sharks dived at the fresh splash of scarlet.
    Bapu lowered the musket’s barrel and handed it to Horne.
    Horne took the musket and passed it back to Tyson Lovett, knowing many men aboard the Eclipse were scandalized by his orders, but also remembering the man who had obeyed them. He looked at Bapu and acknowledged him with a nod, a small reward for fine service. He hoped it would not be the big Asian’s one and only show of loyalty.
    Behind Horne,