… Kalua's killed Bhyro Singh…
… with his own chabuk…
… broke his neck…
… and now the silahdars are going to take their revenge…
The welter of witnessing made it hard to know what was true and what was not: one man said the silahdars had already killed Kalua, but another denied this, saying he was alive, although badly beaten. Now, as yet more men came pouring down the ladder, everyone had something new to add, something else to report, so that it was almost as if Deeti were on the main deck herself, watching the events unfold: Kalua, cut loose from the frame to which he had been tethered, was being dragged across the deck by the enraged guards. The Kaptan was on the quarter-deck, with the two malums beside him, trying to reason with the silahdars, telling them it was their right to demand justice, and they would have it too, but only through a lawful execution, properly performed, not a lynching.
But this was not enough to satisfy the maddened mob on the main deck, who began to howclass="underline" Now! Now! Hang him now!
These cries set off a sudden churning, deep inside Deeti's belly: it was as if her unborn child had taken fright and was trying to shut out the voices that were clamouring for its father's death. Clapping her hands over her ears, Deeti staggered into the arms of the other women, who half dragged and half carried her to their corner of the dabusa and laid her prostrate on the planks.
'Stand back, y'bastards!'
An instant after the roar had erupted from Mr Crowle's lips, the air was split by a report from his pistol. On the Captain's instructions, he had aimed the shot just to the left of the starboard davits, where the silahdars had dragged Kalua's almost-senseless body, with the intention of stringing him up from an improvised noose. The sound of the gun brought them abruptly to a halt and they spun around to find themselves facing not one, but three pairs of handguns. The Captain and the two mates were standing shoulder to shoulder on the quarter-deck, with their guns drawn and cocked.
'Stand back! Stand back, I said.'
No muskets had been issued to the guards that morning, and they were armed only with spears and swords. For a minute or two, the scrape of metal on metal could be clearly heard, as they milled about on deck, fidgeting with their hilts and scabbards, trying to decide what to do next.
Later, Zachary was to remember thinking that if the silahdars had made a concerted rush upon the quarter-deck just then, there was little that they, the three officers, could have done to hold them back: they would have been defenceless after they fired their first volley. Captain Chillingworth and Mr Crowle knew this just as well as he did, but they knew also that there could be no backing down now – for if the silahdars were allowed to get away with a lynching, then there was no telling what they'd do next. That Kalua would have to hang for the killing of Bhyro Singh was clear enough – but it was clear also that the execution could not be the work of a mob. All three officers were in unspoken agreement on this: if the silahdars were of a mind to mutiny, then this was when they would have to be faced down.
It was Mr Crowle who carried the day. Squaring his shoulders, he leant over the fife-rail and wagged his guns, in invitation. 'Come on, y'blackguards; don't stand there showing me yer teeth. Let's see if ye've got a pair of ballocks between the lot o'yer.'
No more than anyone else could Zachary deny that Mr Crowle made an imposing figure as he stood astride the quarter-deck, with a pistol in each hand and a stream of obscenities flowing from his lips – '… pack o'mollyfuckin shagbags, let's see which o'yer is going to be the first to take a bullet in yer bacon-hole…' In his gaze there was such a relish for bloodshed that no one could doubt that he would shoot without hesitation. The silahdars seemed to understand this, for after a minute or two, they dropped their eyes and the fight seemed to seep out of them.
Mr Crowle lost no time in pressing home his advantage. 'Stand back; stand back, I say, step away from the coolie.'
Not without some muttering, the silahdars slowly edged away from Kalua's prostrate body and gathered in the middle of the deck. They were beaten now, and they knew it, so when Mr Crowle told them to drop their armaments they made a show of obeying in proper parade-ground fashion, laying their swords and spears in a tidy heap beneath the fife-rails.
The Captain took charge now, muttering a command to Zachary. 'Reid – take those weapons abaft and see they're properly stowed. Get a couple of the lascars to lend a hand.'
'Yes, sir.'
With the help of three lascars, Zachary gathered the weapons together, carried them below and locked them safely away in the armoury. Some twenty minutes passed before he came back up, and by that time an uneasy calm had descended on the quarter-deck. Zachary stepped out of the after-companionway to find the silahdars listening in subdued silence, as the Captain launched into one of his jobations.
'I know the subedar's death has come as a great shock…' Here, as the gomusta translated his words, the Captain paused to wipe his streaming face. '… Believe me, I fully share your grief. The subedar was a fine man, and I am as determined as any of you to see justice done.' Now that a mutiny had been averted, it was clear that the Captain was disposed to be as generous as possible: 'You have my word that the murderer will be hung – but you will have to wait until tomorrow, for it would be unseemly for a hanging to follow too closely upon a funeral. Till then, you must be patient. Today you must give your attention to your subedar – and after you are finished, you must retire to your quarters.'
The officers watched in silence as the silahdars performed the subedar's last rites. At the end of the ceremony, they joined together to herd the guards and overseers back into the midships-cabin. When the last of them had stepped through, the Captain breathed a sigh of relief. 'Best keep them down there till tomorrow. Give them time to cool off.'
The Captain's strength had been failing visibly through the day, and it was with a noticeable effort that he now mopped his face. 'Must confess I feel none too spry,' he said. 'The deck is yours, Mr Crowle.'
'Y'go ahead and rest as long as y'like,' said the first mate. 'It's all in hand, sir.'
Deeti was among the last to learn of the stay on Kalua's execution, and the knowledge of this – that she had wasted precious time in venting her emotions – made her furious, and with no one so much as herself. She knew full well that if she was to be of any help to her husband, she would have to try to think as he did – and she was aware also that his most valuable resource in moments of crisis was not his strength of limb but rather his coolness of head. As if by instinct, she turned to the one person she knew she could depend on: Pugli – come here, sit beside me.