Free China Flyer by Porter Hill Page A

brought Fanshaw’s thoughts back to the present.
    He gripped the edge of the desk, listening to the screech of the wind as it tore through the rigging.
    Damn! That German lout was right. A storm was brewing.
    Frustrated at the possibility of losing more time on this voyage, Fanshaw saw that he must persuade Schiller to press ahead, whatever the weather.
    Before he left the cabin, however, he paused to put on his frock-coat and stock. A gentleman must always look the part, and never let the underlings see him improperly attired.

Chapter Twelve
THE DOLDRUMS
    Six days south-east of Madras, the Huma passed the verdant island of Pulo Penang and moved through the Malacca Strait. Then, west of Borneo, without warning the sea became as smooth as glass, its blue surface unruffled by the slightest breeze. Horne waited for a gust to rise and speed them further into the South China Sea, but the sails hung limp from their yards.
    The abrupt disappearance of all wind puzzled the crew. Horne tried to reassure them as they gathered amidships.
    ‘It’s not unusual, men, for the breeze to fall near the equator. One extreme follows another. A few days earlier we could have been tossed about by a storm.’
    A hum passed through the half-naked seamen, the natives of the area confirming Horne’s words with nods of agreement.
    ‘We can’t sit around waiting for a breeze,’ Horne said more forcibly. ‘There’s work to do.’
    Inventing chores to keep the men occupied, he ordered Jud and Groot to lead yard drills. Kiro was set to race gunners back and forth from larboard to starboard stations, Jingee to teach novices how to mend sails. Babcock took a work gang below deck to repack the stores.
    During the forenoon watch of the second windless day, Groot and Babcock reported to Horne’s cabin. ‘The men are beginning to feel restless and trapped, schipper ,’ Groot announced.
    Babcock stabbed a finger at the stern window. ‘Trappedin the middle of all this bloody salt water and worried about dying of thirst.’
    ‘Reassure the men we have ample fresh water supplies,’ said Horne.
    ‘They ask what do we do, schipper, when all our drinking water’s gone.’
    ‘During both the past two nights, Groot, there’s been a heavy downpour. Prepare the first and middle watch to catch rain-water.’
    ‘What about shade, schipper ?’asked Groot. ‘During the day there’s nowhere for the men to get out of the sun.’
    Horne glanced at some drawings on his desk. ‘I’ve been making plans for temporary shelters.’
    ‘Schipper, the deck’s so hot we have to tie coverings on our bare feet.’
    Babcock chorused, ‘Below deck it’s a bloody oven. I can’t work men down there for more than an hour at a stretch.’
    Horne acted on Groot’s and Babcock’s report, cutting the watch hours. He also showed the men how to stretch canvas awnings along the ship’s railings. The makeshift shelters allowed protection from the sun as well as giving them a spot from which they could fish for the brightly coloured fish swimming unafraid near the water’s calm surface.
    ‘But don’t get any ideas about jumping overboard to cool off,’ Horne warned the crew.
    ‘Swim, swim,’ a Malayan sailor bragged, moving both brown arms in front of his naked chest, making the swimming gestures of a turtle.
    ‘No,’ Horne said firmly. ‘No swimming.’
    He raised his forefinger and, moving it round and round in a circle, he pointed another finger at the mirrorlike sea, warning, ‘Sharks.’
    * * *
    The quarter-deck awning under which Horne had rested during his recovery from the head wound was once more brought out of the hold. Horne gathered his Marines in its shade to listen to the Chinese linguist, Cheng-So Gilbert, whom Governor Pigot had assigned to them as their interpreter in China.
    Of Chinese and English extraction, Cheng-So Gilbert was short and pudgy with tawny skin and shiny black hair hanging down to his narrow shoulders. Seated cross-legged on a