N. Francis Xavier
Part XVII, (Continued from last week)

The gentle breeze hardly gave the speed required for the now heavily laden whaler to cross the dangerous coastline and head into the open sea.

The men were too tired to try the oars. They must conserve their energy to pull if required in an emergency.

They have lost all sense of time. But the monsoon was still active. It might be August still. They would get a favourable wind for at least another month.

Hemraj quickly weighed the options before him.

They will not be able to cover the entire distance in one day. They must camp in a safe place. Austen Strait was a passage that would take them to the west coast. But Portman had already entered it, and his broken steamer might still be there, undergoing repairs.

Hemraj mentally charted a course that would keep them out of danger.

Their first stop would be Long Island. They would beach the boat in the lee of the Island. It was totally uninhabited, with thick forest. Hemraj remembered visiting the Island with a party from Burma who planned logging operations there.

After a day or two there they would set out for Stewart Sound, passing Cuthbert Bay and camp on Aves Island at the mouth of Austen Strait.

The third and last camp would be in the maze of islands inside Port Cornwallis. Chatham Island where a settlement was established by Blair in 1792 may provide them shelter and water.

Even as Hemraj charted the course the boat glided past Peele Island, Nicholson Island, and Wilson Island. Outram Island was visible on their starboard side. Neill and Havelock have been left behind.

The wind had picked up and the whaler was moving faster. Hemraj remembered Doodnath Tewari telling him that the Islands were all named after British Generals who fought to suppress the Mutiny. Luckily most of them have been killed. But the names of some of them still aroused dread among the sepoy convicts. That was the intention of the government in naming the islands in Ritchie’s Archipelago. The phantom generals guarded the escape routes of the convicts.

Neill was the most notorious. Known as the ‘Butcher of Allahabad’ Brigadier General James Neill used ruthless methods to punish the mutineers, or anyone suspected to be associated with the Mutiny.

There were many sepoys in Port Blair who were witnesses to his ‘bloody assizes’ at Kanpur.

Neill was a Colonel in the Madras Fusiliers at the time of the Mutiny. In contrast to the short statured Havelock he was a big man with great shaggy moustaches and eyebrows.

He was a veteran of the Second Burmese War and the Crimean War. He was just six weeks in India when news came about the outbreak in the north. Neill left Madras with his regiment at a moment’s notice and proceeded to Banares. The day after his arrival he completely and ruthlessly crushed all the mutineers.

Allahabad fort was relieved against heavy odds, saving the lives of the few Europeans who held it out against a vastly superior number of mutineers. Neill inflicted terrible punishment on the captured mutineers.

His eagerness to crush the mutiny brought him in conflict with his senior officer Gen. Havelock. He considered Havelock too slow. Had he marched to Kanpur a couple of days earlier he could have prevented the Bibighar massacre, Neil thought.

Neill arrived in Kanpur on 20 July 1857, five days after the terrible massacre of British women and children in Bibighar. He has just been promoted Brigadier General. The sight of the relics of the massacre – the still-blood smeared floor of Bibighar, the clothing and hair of infants and final messages scratched on the walls made him boil. He made all the British soldiers to visit the “Slaughter House” where the women and children were killed and the well into which their bodies were thrown. Scores of suspects were rounded up each day and hanged on a gallows erected close to the place. Most of them were innocent natives or deserters who had nothing to do with the massacre. It was a well-known fact that the sepoy mutineers refused to shoot the women and children. It is believed two butchers, led by a woman associate of the Nana committed the heinous crime. But for Neill all Indians were suspect. He inflicted ruthless punishment against anyone caught in the vicinity.

Hundreds were sentenced to death in summary trials held by Neill. Before they were to be hanged Neill made them to go through his reprehensible “licking orders”. The condemned men were made to lick clean a square foot of the blood splattered floor of Bibighar. They were then flogged by sweepers before being taken to the gallows.

The sepoys told Hemraj how an innocent man was condemned by Neill for the alleged murder of Gen. Wheeler at the Sati Chaura Ghat. The man, a Duffadar in the 2nd Light Cavalry, addressed the crowd from the scaffold before being hanged. He professed his innocence and told them that he was being punished unjustly for a crime he had not committed. His last words were that one day his infant some, growing up in Rohtak, would avenge his death by killing Gen Neill or any of his descendants.

But death came to Neill much earlier. He was shot through the head during the Second Relief of Lucknow.

Some sepoys believed that the man’s son has now come of age and would one day avenge the death of his father by killing Neill’s son, Maj. A.H.S. Neill, working as an officer in the Second Regiment of the Central India Horse.

“Perhaps his nemesis was in his own regiment, and Maj. Neill was blissfully unaware of it”, thought Hemraj.

“Turn the head of the boat towards the inlet you see on the left Sheo, and keep South, Middle and North Buttons on your right”, Hemraj ordered as he leaned against the mast.

The men started preparations for making camp. (To be continued…..)

 

N. Francis Xavier
In a solitary cell of the Robben Island prison a tall, powerfully built man sat in front of his desk and gazed intently at the picture of a woman, nude except for a piece of red cloth tied round her head. On the desk, neatly arranged, were thick books and writing materials. Behind him, on the wall were other photographs. The narrow cell had a barred door and a high ventilator typical of most colonial jails. The man has spent eighteen years in the cell. The man was Nelson Mandela.

Could there be a connection between Nelson Mandela and the Andaman & Nicobar Islands?

At the outset it may appear preposterous. Mandela never came to the Islands. India was already a free country when he started the fight against the apartheid regime of South Africa. However, on second thought, some similarities do emerge.

Mandela, of course, was a freedom fighter of South Africa, much like the freedom fighters that were sent to the Andaman Islands. He too fought against foreign rule based on racial discrimination and exploitation of the majority by a small white minority regime. He too was exiled to the notorious Robben Island prison just as our own freedom fighters were sent to the Viper Island prison or the Cellular Jail. He too was subjected to the same kind of tortures meted out to our own freedom fighters – solitary confinement, hard labour, cruel punishment and insults.

But, did he, during his confinement on Robben Island, chance upon any reference to the Andaman & Nicobar Islands?

A reading of the epoch making autobiography of Mandela, Long Walk to Freedom throws up some interesting facts.

During the long years of incarceration on Robben Island, to beat the solitude and boredom, Mandela would read books, write letters, and, fantasize about what he would do after his release from prison. Gazing upon the pictures of his loved ones and writing letters to them was one way of escape from solitude. In a letter to his wife Winnie he writes:

“Your beautiful photo stands about two feet above my left shoulder as I write this note. … Nolitha stands on the table directly opposite me. How can my spirits ever be down when I enjoy the fond affection of such wonderful ladies?”
pp. 591-92

‘Nolitha’ was the name Mandela invented for the woman in the photo he kept on his desk. In a letter to his daughter Zindzi Mandela writes:

“By the way, has Mum ever told you about Nolitha, the other lady in my cell from the Andaman Islands? … She regards the pygmy beauty as some sort of rival and hardly suspects that I took the picture out of the National Geographic.”
p. 592

The National Geographic referred was the July 1975 issue that carried an exclusive photo feature on the tribes of the Andaman & Nicobar Islands by the famous photographer Raghubir Singh. In one of the photos Raghubir Singh captures a Jarawa belle in moment of spontaneous merriment. It was this photo that mesmerized Mandela and made him give her a name, and also a place in his cell along with the photo of his wife.

Mandela’s sudden transfer from Robben Island, his release and election as the first black president of South Africa is history. Nolitha was forgotten, till she surfaced again in 2004. Between the pages of one of the two note books Mandela used for drafting the letters he wrote while in Robben Island prison was found the same picture.

A prison guard on Robben Island who used to censor the letters of the prisoners took away the books and kept them with him for about 23 years before returning them. He could have sold them and made a fortune but his conscience did not permit him. Mandela recognized the books as his own, and Nolitha too. When asked why he kept the picture Mandela said he saw in the exuberance of the woman a “celebration of life”.

What could have been on Mandela’s mind when a couple of months after the rediscovery of the photo the Islands were devastated by the tsunami?

 

N. Francis Xavier, Part XVI (Continued from last week)

It was a sleepless night that Cadell spent in the bungalow on the Harriet peak. In spite of the three large pegs of whisky followed by a large dinner of roast venison he could not sleep. The sight of Hemraj’s name on the rock upset him. He was also intrigued by the names of other British Officers who had carved their names or initials on Kala Pathar. “Was it superstition, or some kind of ritual?” he wondered.

Cadell was particularly struck by the initials ‘J.P.W.’. Could they be of James Pattison Walker, the first Superintendent of the settlement? Was he the first to carve his name on the black rock? Cadell remembered him as the famous Jail Superintendent of the Agra Prison at the time of the Mutiny.

Walker too had to contend with escapes like him. His solution was mass hangings. Walker held a sort of record for the largest number of hangings in a single day — 86. “That’s the best solution, and that’s what I’m going to do. I’ll erect a gallows with 11 nooses and hang Hemraj and his friends on the same day”, Cadell thought.

Thoughts of the execution slated for the next morning further worried him. It was an unpleasant task, but necessary. Kangal was a known offender. He deserved the death sentence.

A glorious Sun broke over Mount Harriet. The air was filled with the chirping of thousands of birds. Bulbuls, mynahs, green pigeons, parakeets…all heralded the morning.

Col. Cadell sipped the tea served by a uniformed orderly. How could a place like this be called a place of punishment! A penal colony! This could be paradise.
Lt. H.A. Deane, the District Superintendent of Police who accompanied him came out of his suite. Cadell ordered tea for him also.

Deane was from the 1st Punjab Cavalry. A good horseman. Cadell always liked a good horseman. They understand man and beast better than ordinary people. Deane was far better than Birch, the frustrated Deputy Superintendent.

“Well, Lt. Deane, when shall we start?” Cadell said.

“The steam barge is already waiting for us at Hope Town jetty Sir. Breakfast will be served onboard. We shall head straight for Viper, finish the hanging business and return to Ross in time for lunch”, Deane replied.

Both men got up and mounted their horses. The long army of servants was already on the move. In less than half an hour they reached the jetty where the barge waited.

Meanwhile, on Viper Capt. Birch supervised the preparations for the hanging.

Kangal refused to come out of the condemned cell. He clung to the bars of the gate and had to be wrenched free by four warders. His head was shaved clean, leaving a small tuft at the back. A Brahmin convict recited some prayers and applied a sacred mark on his forehead. His hands were tied behind his back. The jailor and four warders led him inside the gallows.

Cadell’s barge touched Viper jetty. Cadell jumped off the boat and walked briskly to the red brick building. Capt. Birch, in a starched white uniform came to attention and saluted.

“Well, how’re the arrangements? Hope everything is organized”, Cadell asked.

“Sir, the condemned man has been brought to the gallows. The hangman is ready, waiting for your orders”.

Cadell and Birch followed by Lt. Deane and some warders started up the steep climb towards the gallows.

Seeing the boat Salim, the hangman, had already taken Kangal inside the domed structure on the top of the hillock. For the last few steps Kangal had to be carried by the warders. He shivered with fright, mumbling the mantra the Brahmin taught him. The hangman, a burly ex-Thug, one of the few who escaped hanging by Col. Sleeman by turning approver, positioned Kangal on the trapdoor, under the beam from which a noose hung down.

Cadell entered the room, with the death warrant in his hand.

“Convict Kangal, @ Janki …you are hereby sentenced to suffer death by hanging for the attempted murder of Nihal. Your petition for clemency has been turned down by the Governor General. Therefore you shall hang by the neck until you are dead. Have you anything to say?

Kangal’s quivering lips muttered what could have been an obscenity. Salim moved over and placed the noose around his neck. Then he clasped his hands and begged forgiveness from Kangal, saying that he was only performing his duty.

A white hood was placed on Kangal’s head. A thin line of piss started running down the side of one of his legs, spreading into a small pool on the planks.

Salim looked at Cadell. A silent signal passed between them. Salim bent down and removed the safety pin of the lever. He took a deep breath and suddenly pulled the lever. The twin leaves of the trap door fell away with a terrible crash. The men stared down into the pit expecting to see a motionless body hanging from the rope.

But Kangal did not die immediately. His legs thrashed under him as his body writhed in agony.

Something went wrong with the hanging. Perhaps the length of the rope was not fixed in accordance with Kangal’s body weight. The “long drop” system that Cadell had introduced did not appear to have worked.

They quickly clambered down to the ‘pit’. Salim ran to the writhing body and grasped both the legs. He hung on to them till all movement stopped.

“I could have done a better job with a simple silk hand-kerchief saaheb”, the ex-Thug said looking at Cadell with a grin. Dr. Rajendra Chandra Mitter, the third Medical Officer checked the body for any sign of life. The body was left hanging for the customary one hour.

The men made their way down to the hut near the jetty.

Capt. Birch produced a bottle of whisky and some glasses.

Cadell gulped down a large drink. “Hanging is a very humane punishment if it was carried out properly, much better than being trampled by elephants, flaying alive, impalement or beheadings practiced in the native states”, he said. “But there was a time in our country when public hangings were popular. My grandpa used to tell me that regular public hangings took place at Tyburn, near London. After the hanging the corpses were dissected by anatomists in full view of the public. Huge crowds used to gather to watch the hangings and even paid money for a ring-side view.”

He took another large swig. “I wish public executions were allowed in India”, he continued. “They serve as a good deterrent. And you, Salim, if you fail to hang a person properly the next time I’ll send you to Pentonville for the training programme for hangmen they have there, understood? Soon you’ll have to hang eleven men.”

“Aye aye sire”, Salim said, with a knowing smile. (To be continued….)

 

N. Francis Xavier
Part XV, (Continued from last week)

A brilliant sun rose over a glass-smooth sea. The men, lying sprawled in different postures on the bottom-boards of the whaler stirred slowly. They looked haggard. For almost three days they were tossed about by the hurricane. Their tiny craft was swamped many times by huge waves. Most of their supplies were swept away. They hardly had anything to eat, and just a little water to drink, rationed by Hemraj.

Hemraj too got up, and saw that the boat was drifting slowly towards the shore of an island visible in the distance. With all their sails blown away by the storm, and the men too weak to pull on the oars they could only wait for the current to take them to the shore. A patch of white sand was visible from the distance.

As they drew closer Hemraj recognized some features. The storm had blown them back among a cluster of islands named Ritchie’s Archipelago.

It was the last place Hemraj wanted to reach.

They were too close to Port Blair. There were aborigines on the islands who would easily betray them to Portman or Homfray.

The sight of land brought some cheer to the tired men. At least they could replenish their stores of food and water and set out again. By now the search would have started in various places all along the coast of India and Burma. No one would look for them so close to the Andamans.

The boat rode a gentle swell and nudged the sandy beach. The men slowly disembarked, pulling the boat with great effort into a narrow creek covered on either side by mangroves.
Even before they could tie it up Hemraj realize that it was not a creek but the impression of the keel of a large ship. Blocks of stones which must have formed the ballast of the ship were still visible. So were some timbers that survive the attack of borers but encrusted with mollusks.

Recognition dawned on Hemraj. By sheer coincidence the storm had deposited them on the same islands where two ships were wrecked in 1844.

Hemraj remembered the visit to John Lawrence Island with Portman.

They were looking for the relics of the twin wrecks that occurred on the island on 12 November 1844. Actually Portman was looking for the plaque with the names of the few people who died during the 55 days they were stranded on the Island when their ships were driven on to the shore during the terrible hurricane.

They found the steps cut into the stone leading to the encampment but there was no sign of the memorial plaque. There was no sign of the Runnymede. She was so totally broken up. But three anchors belonging to the Briton were seen, and a few timbers. The Andamanese took away all iron leaving the brass fittings.

Surgeon Gamack, who came to the Andamans with the first batch of convicts in March 1858 was on the Briton during the storm. He told Hemraj all about the incredible wreck.

The Briton sailed from Sydney in August 1844. It carried about four hundred crew and passengers consisting of soldiers of Her Majesty’s 80th Regiment of the Foot and their families, bound for Calcutta.

The Runnymede sailed from England in June 1944, also bound for Calcutta. She carried about two hundred people. Most were soldiers of Her Majesty’s 10th Regiment of the Foot.

Both ships were caught in the terrible storm that started on the 9th of November. Unknown to each other both were run aground on John Lawrence during the night of 11th November.

On 12th November 1844, when the day dawned the men on the ships, to their dismay, saw two ships driven among the mangroves, less than a mile from each other.

For three days they were tossed about in the sea, their masts broken, sails torn to shreds and leaking everywhere. But all the people survived.

Gamack described how Maj. Bunbury, the senior-most military officer swiftly declared military administration and organized the survivors into a camp by clearing the jungle.

The Briton was not badly damaged but had no stocks of food. The Runnymede was completely smashed up, but held fairly good stocks of food. All items that could be salvaged were placed under the control of the commanding officer. Food was rationed so that everyone got enough to last for at least a month.

The ships had carpenters and blacksmiths. Very soon a small boat was constructed. It was named the “Hope” and sent off to get help.

Discipline was maintained by imposing martial law and holding regular courts-martial. The men fished, shot birds and pigs, fought off the Andamanese and even raised a garden of vegetables.

There were fevers and accidents, but very few died – some due to fever and two by drowning.

A month after the wreck a ship of the East India Company came to the island. The Hope reached Mergui in Burma within twelve days. The news of the wreck was conveyed to the Government. Immediately the George Swinton, a schooner was sent to the Islands, with the Hope in tow.

By the time the rescue ship arrived the food stocks of the camp had dwindled to starvation levels. But Swinton brought rice, ghee, tea, sugar, salt fish and yams.

Gamack remembered celebrating Christmas with great festivity on that forlorn island. All tents were decorated with buntings and flags. A special plum pudding was prepared and served to all.

By the end of the month ships started coming to John Lawrence. In a well-organized operation the camps were struck and the people embarked on the ships.

As the ships were getting loaded with the stores the natives attacked the camp, but were scared away by firing cannon.

On 5th January 1845 all the people left, all 620 of them, leaving seven adults and a few children who died during the 55 days of their stay on the Island. They carved the names of the dead on a stone tablet and left it near the burial ground.

It was that tablet Portman came looking for. It was never found. Perhaps the Andamanese smashed it up.

The miraculous survival story made headlines in many Calcutta newspapers. Hemraj saw Portman having a copy of the “Englishman” of Calcutta with an account of the whole story.

Now that fate has deposited them again on the same island Hemraj quickly started preparations for their own survival. He knew the place where the camp was. There were wells dug by the survivors. They quickly made their way to the place and filled their water casks. The Andamanese were on the neighbouring Henry Lawrence Island. They must leave before they could be spotted by them. Traps set by Sheobrat yielded some pigs. The boat was repaired.

As a full moon rose above the sea with a gentle breeze the new ‘Hope’ of Hemraj glided off into the ocean. There will be no stops this time, till they reach their ‘promised land’. (To be continued….)

 

N. Francis Xavier
Part XIV, (Continued from last week)

Col. Thomas CadellVC, sat on the bed and pulled on his boots. A turbaned orderly helped him.

He was getting ready to visit some new places in his domain. He wanted to go to places which have not been visited by a Chief Commissioner till then so that he could include them in his monthly report. His predecessor, Lt. Gen. Barwell hardly stirred from the Government House. Cadell wanted to show that he was different. He had already visited many distant outposts, where convict settlements had come up.

Wherever he went the convict settlers and ticket-of-leave men came up to Col. Cadell and presented many petitions, and aired their grievances. Many spoke of the threat from the Jarawas.

“Some petition-writer is very active here”, Cadell thought.

That day he planned to go to Mt. Harriet, and then onwards to Kala Pathar, or the ‘Black Rock’. He heard that most of the officers wanted to carve their names on the rock. It became a kind of ritual. He too wanted to etch him name, for eternity.

Cadell’s horse had already been sent to Hope Town, on the other side of the bay.

Capt. Birch, the unofficial Aide de Camp came in unannounced. It was irritating how Birch barged in when he was not wanted. Cadell did not like his unsolicited comments. The servants didn’t like him either. Cadell came to know about the spat between Birch and another officer four years earlier, during Gen. Barwell’s time.

“Sir, I ordered an armed guard to follow you,” Birch announced.

“Capt. Birch, I told you that I don’t like much pomp and show. I want to meet the people and know about their problems. That would not be possible if there are too many officers and soldiers around,” Cadell shot back.

“Sir, we can’t take chances. You know what happened in 1872”.

Birch was obviously referring to the murder of Lord Mayo at Hope Town jetty during his visit to the Islands.

That further irritated Cadell.

“I know how to take care of myself Capt. Birch. You may see that I have packed one of the new revolvers, and I carry my sword always. Perhaps you know that I took part in the Siege of Delhi during the Great Uprising?”, Cadell said, while lifting his coat a bit to show the shiny holster with the revolver.

That silenced Birch.

“Well, any more news about Hemraj? What are my appointments for tomorrow”, Cadell asked.

“Sir, nothing was heard after the message we received from the Charlotte. But we’re expecting a ship from Rangoon tomorrow. We may get some mail in her”, Birch said. “And, sir, we have a hanging to be carried out tomorrow, that of Kangal @ Janki for the murder of Nihal”.

Cadell remembered the case. He had been asked to submit a report on the increasing number of attacks on warders. He had already prepared a draft reply. As the convicts did not appear to be afraid of being hanged he suggested that they be publicly flogged and then hanged. He hoped that it would act as a deterrent.

“OK then, you go to Viper, and make the necessary arrangements for the hanging. I’ll take Lt. Deane with me”, Cadell said, dismissing Birch.

He went down the steps to the porch where a liveried convict servant held the reins of a saddled pony. After he mounted it the servant led it by the reins to the jetty where his cutter was waiting, with its twelve Sikh oarsmen at the ready.

“Chalo”, Cadell said, as he took his seat in the stern. “Let’s go to Mt. Harriet.”

The oars dipped and rose as the men pulled away.

Cadell had known Harriet Tytler. They too were in Delhi during the Mutiny. RC Tytler was much older than him, but Harriet, his second wife, was quite young. They never thought they would one day be sent to rule over the same mutineers in a distant island penal colony.

After the fall of Delhi it was rumoured that the Tytlers came across huge wealth hidden in the walls of the abandoned houses and the palace of Bahadur Shah Zafar, the last Mughal Emperor of India.

One of the items Col. Tytler grabbed from the old monarch was a crown. He took it to London and presented it to the Queen, expecting a huge reward. All that he got was the job of the Superintendent of Andamans.

The tenure of Col. Tytler in Andamans was known for its misgovernment and apathy towards the natives. When James Pratt, a sailor tried to rape an Andamanese woman and was killed by her husband at North Bay, Tytler ordered the village to be attacked and burnt down without investigating the matter. He was severely reprimanded for his actions by the Government and sent back.

Tytler’s only contribution was clearing the hill and naming it after his wife Harriet.

But Harriet was more accomplished than her husband. She had learnt the new art of photography from some famous photographers of the time, and produced some good collections relating to the Great Uprising of 1857.

His thoughts were interrupted when the boat gently bumped against Hope Town jetty. Lt. Deane, the District Superintendent of Police was already there with a saddled horse. The party started off immediately. Some more men accompanied them on foot and ponies.

Giant trees rose on either side of the narrow trail as it snaked through the tropical forest forming a thick canopy overhead. Huge lianas hung down from their branches like pythons. A few rays of sunlight filtered through the dense foliage. There was a chill in the air although it was midday. Everything was eerily silent except for an occasional shrill call of a parrot or the drumming of a woodpecker.

The trail seemed endless as it dipped and rose and again dipped into the evergreen forest.

In the bungalow on the top liveried servants served drinks and refreshments to the party. The horse and the ponies were left there and the party started out on foot in search of Kala Pathar.

After a considerable trek, suddenly, right in front of them they saw a huge black rock, worn smooth by the weather, with many names cut into its surface.

The first name Cadell saw was that of Hemraj, in Urdu, below the name of MV Portman and many others. Anger welled up inside Cadell. He took out his revolver and fired a shot at the despicable name. The bullet chipped off a bit of stone and ricocheted into the forest.
“Break off that part of the stone”, Cadell shouted to the men.

A man inserted a crow bar into the crack that ran along the surface. After a few attempts the stone gave way and crashed into the deep chasm below.

“Find a stone without any names where my initials could be carved”, Cadell told Lt. Deane. “I don’t want my name in the midst of all these ruffians”.

The sun started setting. The party decided they would retire to the bungalow for the night and complete the task the next day. ( To be continued….)

 

N. Francis Xavier
Part XIII, (Continued from last week)

The boom of the gun was followed by a terrible flash of lightning and earsplitting thunderclap. Hemraj understood that the lightning was right overhead as there was no delay in hearing the sound after the flash.

They were in no danger, but the tall ship was. Through the driving rain they saw what could be the Charlotte, the sailing ship that plied between Port Blair and Rangoon.

Charlotte was a three-master almost a hundred years old. However, it gave good service, in spite of being slow, as it was built entirely of wood, had no engines and needed simple maintenance. People who didn’t like the smoke and sound of the steam ships preferred to travel by Charlotte. It carried mostly cargo and a few convicts from Burma.

 

The tall masts of the Charlotte are vulnerable in a thunderstorm. If the lightning rods are not proper it may catch fire. The captain would not take the risk of pursuing them.

Hemraj knew that Charlotte would not be able to pursue them in the stormy seas. But it would certainly pass on the information to Port Blair. They must change course, but, they had come very far north. Their nearest landfall was Burma, where they would surely be caught as soon as they touch the shore. He must think quickly.

Even before he could make up his mind the storm broke out upon them with hurricane-like force. Waves rose like mountains. With reefed sails the men had to pull for their lives to scale the seas and plummet into the chasms on the other side. Hemraj took the tiller, knowing that he must turn the bows to face the waves as they come.

There was no knowing in which direction the boat was going. It was just survival.

In spite of all their mastery in handling the boat waves often broke over it. Two men baled out the water continuously with their lotas. Most of their supplies were lost. But Hemraj knew that the whaler was unsinkable, even if it gets filled up to the brim. The buoyancy compartments in the bows and stern kept her afloat. But if they are smashed against rocks it would crack like an eggshell.

By midnight the storm intensified further. Hemraj ordered the mainsail taken down. With the jib and the mizzen they could just manage to get some headway. The men were drenched to the bone and shivering. But the desire for freedom kept them at their stations.

‘It’s better to die smashed on the rocks than hang on the Viper gallows’, Hemraj yelled as he tried to maintain the boat on an even course.

The only way they could find their position would be when the sky clears or the sun breaks out.

Men frequently leaned over the side and threw up. Their stomachs were now empty. Even Hemraj was sea sick, for the first time in his life. He felt as if his insides would burst as waves of nausea hit him. But he kept telling the men to keep sipping water and chew on the dried venison. That would prevent dehydration. He didn’t want to bury anyone at sea.

Suddenly, as the boat rose with a rising wave, the men saw what appeared to be a light. Hemraj counted its revolutions. They didn’t correspond to the Great Coco or Table Island light houses.

What could it be? He heard of the Balatan lighthouse that disappeared altogether…and the story of a haunting tale.

Hemraj remembered what MrEales told him. Eales died soon after Hemraj’s arrival in the Islands. Poor man, he was buried on Ross Island. But it was he who taught him seamanship. How to handle a boat in a storm, under sail, with oars… it was all MrEales’ teachings that made Hemraj, the hillbilly from Nepal, into a seasoned sailor.

Eales was with Dr. FJ Mouat during the initial explorations of the Islands in 1858. He later came to Port Blair with the first batch of convicts, as a part of the Naval Brigade.

One eveningEales told Hemraj the story he heard from Dr. FJ Mouat, the story of David Barclay, the Glasgow boy.

David Barclay was a lighthouse keeper on Balatan Island lighthouse.

He was so disfigured by frostbiteon his face during a voyage that he never hoped to find a bride.

He shunned company due to his horrible face.

The job of a lighthouse keeper suited him best, without any visitors who would gasp the moment they looked at his face.

Being a good Christian, who believed in resurrection he made his native servants perform a strange ritual every month before he paid their wages.

He made them put him in a nice, silk lined, mahogany coffin he got made for himself, go round the place three times and then put him in a grave he prepared for himself for sometime. He never thought he would ever have a family.

However, “The Lower Female Orphan Asylum,” had many half-caste girls left behind by their English fathers who took the sons back to England but left their native wives and daughters in India.

DrMouat succeeded in finding a bride for good David, who was willing to go with him to the desolate rock and live with him, ‘the lily of the flock’ as David called her.

David’s life was full of bliss then onwards.

On a stormy night, as he kept the light alive to warn a passing ship, his wife gave birth to a bonny baby boy.

David sent his wife and child to Calcutta so that they could have a better life than that on a small island in the midst of the sea.

Then, on the Queen’s birthday, David decided he should fire a Royal Salute to Her Majesty. He loaded a rusty gun on the rock, and applied the match to the touchhole.

The rusty gun blew up in his face.

His servants, already trained in what to do in case of sudden death, collected the bits and pieces that were his body and buried them in the already prepared grave.

Eales told Hemraj that David’s ghost still haunts the area.

Whenever a ship is in danger of dashing against rocks he shines a light to warn them.

Could it be David warning them?

Hemraj pushed the tiller hard up to turn the boat around. Seconds later he heard the roar of waves smashing on rocks. They were very close to death.

As the boat slid away in the opposite direction, Hemraj turned round to see where the light was.

There was nothing in the darkness, except the crests of huge waves.

Hemraj said a silent prayer of thanks to David and held the tiller tightly.

They would have to wait till morning to find where they were. (To be continued….)