The Cruise of the Albatros Read online

  The junk rig was necessitated by the severe shortage of sail canvas on Kerguelen; the strength of the Chinese lugsail is derived from its battens, not the fabric of the sail itself, which can thus be a patchwork of any cloth scraps available. Another feature of this rig was that it could be safely handled from the deck, so there was generally no need to go aloft – an important safety advantage in the wild Southern Ocean. Too, it was not labor-intensive, a key consideration given the tiny original population.

  Kerguelen only began to build fore-and-aft rigged ocean-going vessels once an ample supply of salvaged materials was flowing in from established settlements around the Southern Ocean – vessels built specifically to explore northward, into the Indian Ocean. After the Nosy Be settlement had been established the Mascarene Islands – Mauritius, Reunion, and Rodrigues – had been reached, to be first exploited for useful pre-Troubles artifacts, and then (in the case of Mauritius and Reunion) as permanent agricultural settlements. Being further east than Madagascar, they had the added advantage of being easier for fore-and-aft rigged vessels to reach from the south through the prevailing westerlies.

  Unlike Nosy Be, Mauritius retained a tiny remnant of its pre-Troubles population, reduced, as everywhere except on Kerguelen to a neo-Paleolithic, hunter-gatherer mode of living. These people, shy and bush-dwelling, were seemingly afraid to venture into the ruins of Port Louis or any of the other ancient town sites on the island, perhaps for the same reason that Nosy Be was tabu to the Malagasy: the virulent plagues of the period of the Troubles had hit urban areas hardest. They were thus content to concede these sites to the Kerguelenians, and gradually came to trust the settlers.

  The Kerg settlement on Mauritius was centered on the ruins of the pre-Troubles city of Port Louis, much of which the settlers had cleared for their own homes, workplaces, and kitchen gardens, and in the process mining them for useful materials. On the outskirts of the old city, plantations of sugar cane were established. The Kerguelenians had a seemingly insatiable appetite for cane products, having been so long deprived of anything sweet – not to mention rum, so superior to harsh Kerg vodka—that prices stayed high even as more and more was being produced on Mauritius and Reunion, as well as Nosy Be. In addition, the colonists raised goats, pigs, and vegetables for local consumption.

  Like the Malagasy on Nosy Be, some Mauritian natives had chosen to join the settlers, exchanging a precarious life in the bush for a more secure one in the settlement, initially as farm hands, domestic servants, or apprentices to tradesmen such as smiths, tailors, and cobblers. Over the generations since first Kerg contact, intermarriage had naturally taken place, and there were many residents of mixed Kerguelenian and Mauritian stock, culturally and linguistically almost indistinguishable from the “pure” Kerguelenians. At the time of the Massacre, the settlement had been small – the smallest of the three principal Kerg settlements in the Indian Ocean—but prosperous and growing rapidly.

  Sam believed that there had to be survivors of the Massacre, other than those discovered by the first visitors after the disaster – the crew of a trading ketch from Reunion, followed up by an investigatory trip by a Reunionnais police brigadier – if only Mauritian natives who still pursued their traditional lifestyle. It seemed impossible that the crews of two pirate dhows could have killed or enslaved every single person on what was quite a large and relatively populous island. This belief, along with a determination to prevent the pirates from developing Port Louis as a base, led Sam to call there on his way south. Perhaps any survivors he found, whether Kerguelenian or native, could provide some useful intelligence about the pirates. Sam’s hunger for knowledge about his enemy was insatiable.

  He decided not to anchor, but to stand off and on outside the harbor entrance, ready to react to whatever the motor sloop might discover. The motor sloop proceeded slowly up what appeared to be the harbor entrance channel, a seaman in the bows taking soundings with a hand lead, and another dropping off small temporary buoys marking water deep enough for the schooner.

  When the sloop was out of sight against the green background of the island, Sam waited impatiently for her signal. When it came, it was a green rocket signaling that the sloop had successfully marked a safe channel for the schooner, and found no dangers within the harbor. The Albatros then stood cautiously up the channel under staysails and main gaff topsail, a lookout posted in the foretop to point out the little buoys marking the center of the channel – sealed empty food containers of various sizes, all hastily painted white with vertical red stripes. As the schooner entered the harbor, lush green hills rose on either beam.

  Near the ruins of the ancient cargo terminal, Sam could see the motor sloop drifting off the one pier that the settlers had restored to use. He decided to berth there, rather than anchor, for convenience, and because the harbor appeared to be safe.

  “Mister Low, signal the sloop to take a tow line and bring us alongside,” Sam ordered the officer of the watch.

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “We’ll stay singled up, though, for a quick departure if we find nothing to detain us.”

  Lieutenant Low relayed these orders, and the schooner was soon tied up to the pier with single bow and stern lines, plus a spring line.

  “Don’t bother about rigging a gangway, Mister Low – I’ll use the pilot ladder. I’m going ashore to take a look around with Mister Kendall and the Landing Force. The XO is, of course, in command while I’m away from the vessel.”

  The motor sloop had then berthed under the bow of the Albatros, and Lieutenant Kendall, officer in charge of the motor sloop, was climbing up onto the pier as the Captain approached.

  “Mister Kendall, bring half of your riflemen, and let’s go exploring a bit – see what we can find.”

  “Aye, sir. Shall we take Petty Officer Martin with us?” Georges Martin was one of the doctor’s “mates” – one of the interns, and the only male of the three. He had been detailed to accompany the landing force, whenever it was disembarked, to provide any medical attention that might be required.

  “May as well – I don’t expect any trouble, but you never know. Tell him to bring his kit.”

  Lieutenant Kendall turned and addressed the senior gunner’s mate of the landing force: “LPO Landry, disembark the First Squad. Petty Officer Martin, you will accompany us – bring your medical bag.” Landry, the coolest and steadiest of the seamen-gunners, had been promoted to the newly-created rank of Leading Petty Officer and made senior noncom of the landing force.

  Fifteen of the seamen-gunners, rifles slung, climbed up onto the pier, followed by Martin, encumbered by a bulging canvas shoulder bag.

  Mr. Kendall said a few words to LPO Landry, who then barked “Unsling arms! Load!” Almost as one man, each sailor unslung his weapon, worked the bolt, pulled a 6.35 mm round from his ammo pouch, placed it in the open breach, and slammed it home. The metallic “snicks” of the actions of the bolts came almost in unison. It was an impressive demonstration of the results of repeated drills.

  “We’ll proceed at ‘ready arms’, but remember, keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ordered to fire – you don’t want to trip and put a round into a shipmate’s back!” Landry said, then added: “Stay alert. Keep looking around as we move. If you see someone, shout, but don’t fire unless ordered.”

  The entire party then moved off, rifles held ready. “Spread out – keep at least three meters’ interval,” Landry ordered. Sam wondered at the reason for this for a moment. Then it occurred to him that the party would thereby present separate targets – no easy shots into a mass of men, bound to hit someone, and less danger of a single round passing through one man and hitting another, as well. Landry, or Kendall, had obviously given some thought to shoreside tactics.

  They skirted the ruins of a large, pre-Troubles warehouse and the rusting stumps of ancient oil storage tanks, fronted by a modern cargo shed of wooden construction. Barrels of rum, ready for loading on some Kerguelen–bound schooner that mu
st have been expected shortly before the massacre, still stood stacked in orderly ranks in the shed. Sam marveled at the fact that, although the pirates were supposed to have thoroughly plundered Port Louis, they had left the rum untouched. What sort of seamen passed up free booze? It was inexplicable.

  Then he noticed that head of one of the wooden barrels had been smashed in. He left the column momentarily to take a closer look. A strong smell of rum greeted him as he approached, and he saw that the level of the liquid in the barrel was very near the top.

  So whatever the reason the pirates left the rum, it could not be because they didn’t know what the barrels contained.

  Sam caught up with the group as they approached the ruins of Port Louis proper. Of the pre-Troubles structures, few were intact. Centuries of neglect in a tropical climate had turned most into heaps of rubble, thoroughly overgrown, some to the point that they appeared to be small, brush-covered hills. They encountered no obstacles to their progress, however; the settlers had cleared a broad, straight avenue from the new town center to the port, following the course of an ancient street.

  The new town was tidily set around a market square, each settler home with its own garden. The pirates had set fire to many of the houses, but not all had burned. Some were only slightly damaged, some quite intact.

  The party explored the town, shouting reassurances in the Kerguelenian patois at intervals, in the event there were survivors hiding, fearful that the Albatros was a pirate vessel returned to finish the job of murder and plunder.

  They encountered no one, and no one answered their shouts. The only signs of people were human remains lying here and there, unburied. They were decomposed to skeletons. Only the shreds of clothing shrouding them gave clues to their sex – nearly all adult males, so far as they could tell.

  After a brief conference with Lieutenant Kendall, Sam decided to explore the island a bit further – he didn’t want to spend too much time here, but neither did he want to neglect any possibility of finding survivors.

  The landing party moved on through the little town, passing a fringe of ancient ruins, and into countryside, or rather ancient suburbs that had been cleared by the settlers for agriculture. They were now in a district of small farms, originally intended to produce food for the local market, and saw, in addition to human remains, the occasional carcass of a domestic animal – mostly pigs and dogs – also skeletal, with only shreds of dried flesh attached. The pirates had slain animals as well as people.

  There were occasional false alarms, as the tense sailors detected movement – these were all caused by the numerous goats they saw, escaped from their fenced fields and now wandering freely. Sam wondered why the pirates had apparently slain pigs and dogs wherever encountered, but had ignored the goats.

  From time to time, LPO Landry blew his whistle – if he had been a bosun’s mate, it would have been a “call”, but since he was a gunner, it was only a whistle – and the entire party followed this up with a chorus of shouts, hoping to entice any survivors out of hiding.

  When they reached the fringes of a sugar cane plantation, Sam said to Kendall, “Looks like there’s no one home around Port Louis, Number One. We can’t tramp over the whole island. We may as well go back to the schooner now.”

  “Right, Skipper.” Kendall passed this word to Landry, who shouted an appropriate order to the squad.

  They had turned about to retrace their steps when they heard a shout from behind them. Turning, Sam saw a small party of people emerging from the tall cane. He gave a whoop of joy and turned back to meet them.

  As they neared he saw that the group consisted of one middle-aged man who appeared to be a settler, and three nearly-naked, younger men, darker skinned, who he assumed were native islanders.

  The Kerg man was bearded, shaggy, and sunburned almost to the shade of the islanders. His clothes were in rags, and he was very thin – but he clutched a double-barreled shotgun that appeared to have been very well cared for.

  “Thank God someone finally came!” the Kerguelenian exclaimed. “We were afraid the Ullakbars killed everyone on Reunion and Nosy Be, too.”

  “No – yours was the only settlement successfully attacked – at least, so far,” Sam said, extending his hand. “I’m Captain Bowditch, of the schooner Albatros. This is Lieutenant Kendall.”

  “I’m James Ainslie,” the man replied, taking Sam’s hand. I am – I was – a sugar planter here. Tell me – why did it take so long for someone to come, if the other Mascarene settlements are safe?”

  “It didn’t, really – a ketch from Reunion discovered the carnage within about a week of the raid. Then an investigative party visited Port Louis a week or so later. Both sets of visitors searched for survivors, and did find one small group – you must have somehow missed them.”

  “I suppose so. We fled a long way into the bush, once it was plain the Ullakbars were gonna win – and that became plain pretty damned quick! But not so far we couldn’t see your green flare, thank God. As soon as we saw it, me and these boys set off at a run.”

  “How many are you?”

  “Ones I know about, I reckon there must be close to a hundred, in small camps scattered through the bush. There may be more – it's a big island. The natives are helping to feed us, but we mostly have to fend for ourselves. They can’t possibly feed so many without starving themselves. We spread out in small groups to make it easier to live off the land. Lately, I’ve been coming down here to shoot a goat ever so often – but I don’t have many shells left for this, and I’m the only man with a gun who has any ammo left at all.”

  “Why didn’t you return to your farms, once the pirates were gone?”

  “Fear,” Ainslie said simply. “Me and a few other men have been trying to persuade the rest to move back to the settlement – we could start farming again, and better feed ourselves.

  “But the majority of us are women and children. Most of the men were killed by the Ullakbars, and the women are terrified for their children – afraid the brutes are just lying in wait for us, or will come back.”

  “Why do you call them ‘Ullakbars’?” asked Sam. Ainslie shrugged.

  “That’s what they kept shouting – or what it sounded like to us. The name just stuck.

  “But you boys look like you’re ready for ‘em! By God, what wouldn’t we have given for those rifles you have! As it was, it was just slaughter – we were taken completely by surprise, and few of us had guns, anyway.”

  “We’re Navy, Mister Ainslie – the Albatros is Kerguelen’s first ship of war.”

  “Navy?” Ainslie looked blank. Sam explained briefly.

  “You and your friends look like you could use a square meal”, he then added. “Come back with us and eat, and I’ll catch you up on the war with the pirates. And we’ll unload all the food we can spare for your fellow survivors. We can probably give you some ammunition for your guns, too, if the calibers are the same – if not, we can give you some powder and lead to make your own.”

  “Oh, Captain, I can’t tell you how glad you make me! Our Mauritian native friends have been wonderfully kind to us – hospitable beyond any reasonable expectation – but I know we’re a terrible burden to them, poor as they are. It hurts my heart to see a skinny little native kid and know we’re taking food from his mouth. Now, maybe, we can start to repay them in a small way.”

  “Then let's make our way back to the ship, Mister Ainslie.”

  “But Captain, if you don’t mind – would you send a couple of your boys with one or two of my friends to take the good news back to the survivors? They’ll be reassured by seeing armed Kerguelenians – it’ll raise their spirits.”

  “Of course, Mister Ainslie. We’ll send four men and a petty officer, Mister Kendall. Have them collect the rations of the rest of the squad – as much as they can carry, anyway. That much food won't go far amongst the survivors, but at least it'll make a treat for the kids.” Kendall said “make it so, LPO Landry,” who was standing within
earshot, and soon a detachment under the command of a Leading Gunner set off through the cane, following two of the Mauritian natives, who so far had said not a word – had merely stood smiling, and bashfully avoiding eye contact with anyone but Ainslie.

  When they had vanished into the cane, something occurred to Kendall. “How will my men communicate with their guides, Mister Ainslie?”

  “Oh, those young men speak and understand the patois pretty well, Lieutenant – they were just shy around so many strangers. No worries there.”

  The group moved off, and re-traced their steps through the farm district and the ruins of Port Louis – both old and new. The return trip was uneventful, except that more and more of the men began to fall behind, complaining of sore feet and blisters. Several stops were necessary to allow stragglers to re-join.

  Most had drunk their water bottles dry, and were now beginning to suffer from thirst in the tropical heat.

  “May we fall out and re-fill our water bottles from one of the farm wells, Captain?” asked Kendall.

  “I wouldn’t advise that, Captain,” interjected Ainslie, who had overheard. “The Ullakbars dumped animal carcasses in all the wells – you won’t find the water wholesome.”

  “Guess we’ll just have to suffer, then.”

  Sam noticed that Kendall conferred at length with Landry, then came and fell into step with him. “The men are fit enough – just not used to marching long distances,” Kendall said. “Also, they don’t have the right sort of footwear for hiking. They need good, stout boots.”

  “I don’t blame them for straggling,” Sam said. “My feet are killing me, and I’m not totin’ a rifle, 100 rounds of ammo, and two days' rations. When we get to Reunion, I’ll have Mister Wilson look into buying them some better shoes or boots.”