The Bombay Marines Read Free

Marine.’
    ‘Sir, am I allowed time to train recruits if I’m lucky enough to find them?’
    ‘Absolutely. Men could be trained while I’m waiting for maps and charts to be sent from Fort St George. The problem is to find them. The Navy has press-ganged everyman and boy from here to Calcutta.’
    Horne made a quick mental note of Watson’s reference to waiting for maps and charts to be sent from Fort St George. That meant the mission would obviously be one of infiltration, a covert entry into the fortress for which they would need precise details.
    ‘The Navy’s combed all the islands for men, sir?’ he asked.
    ‘Completely. The one place they haven’t ransacked is Mauritius, and only because the French still have their base there.’
    Horne’s mind went back to the Eclipse, scanning the faces of his crew, wondering if by any stretch of the imagination he could transform a few more seamen into Marines as he had managed to do on the Maratha campaign, and if the ship’s manning would allow it. He pictured Merlin, the gunner, barrel-chested, strong, loyal – and irreplaceable from the gun deck. Gibbons, the boatswain, foul-mouthed and domineering – and also necessary in casting off, weighing anchor and countless other duties he had come to perform on the main deck. Then there was Kevin O’Flaherty, a young Irish leadsman who had been press-ganged from Mount Keene Prison in Dublin …
    An idea struck him and, weighing it for a few seconds, he decided there would be no harm in mentioning it to Watson.
    ‘Sir, there’s a prison here at Bombay Castle.’
    Watson glanced over his shoulder at Horne, his porcine eyes sharp with caution under his bushy eyebrows.
    ‘Sir, there must be near two hundred men in the dungeons here.’
    Watson’s tone was clipped. ‘Horne, I know what you’re going to suggest but put it out of your mind. The dregs of Europe and the Orient are condemned to Bombay Castle.’
    Horne moved to the edge of his chair, increasingly excited by the idea. ‘But, sir, there must be a handful of men we can use, convicts I can train as I’d train civilian recruits.’
    ‘No, Horne. Definitely not. Men are already taken from prisons in England for too many ships during war time. That means that most of the prisoners at Bombay Castle are serving a second, some even a third or fourth prison term. What makes you think they’d obey orders from you?’
    Horne was tenacious, a man who did not change his mind easily once he was convinced.
    ‘We could offer them freedom, sir. Give them freedom and a full pardon in return for their services. Many of them probably never expect to see the light of day again, Sir. I’ll train them on a disciplinary probation.’
    ‘Horne, murderers and thieves from every corner of the world are locked in the dungeons of Bombay Castle. British. Dutch. French. African. Chinese. Men who have committed crimes against the Crown as well as the Company.’
    Horne forgot that he was arguing with his commanding officer. He spoke to prove his point.
    ‘Sir, I know many of the prisoners are foreign. But so are the Lascar sailors we recruit here and train for our fleets. The Navy does too.’
    Horne sat sideways in his chair now, his hazel eyes alert with excitement. ‘And consider this fact, sir. I could train the prisoners during the time you’re waiting for the information from Governor Pigot.’
    From the window Watson watched two turbanned dhoolie bearers edging along the wharf as beggars, vendors, and naked children swarmed around the covered litter. ‘Horne, why haven’t the Army and Navy raided the prisons of Bombay Castle if such a thing’s possible? Answer me that.’
    ‘Perhaps, sir, for the simple reason that the thought has never occurred to them.’
    Horne was excited by the sudden turn in his prospects. Less than an hour ago he had been pacing the outside hallway, worrying about his future. Now here he was in Watson’s office arguing about taking convicts aboard