“It’s just that he loves money more than his country,” Sharpe said sourly.
“And you told me yourself that he could have tried harder to evade the Revenant,” Dalton pointed out to Tufnell.
“He could, sir, he could,” Tufnell admitted, appalled at Cromwell’s betrayal.
They went to Ebenezer Fairley’s cabin and the merchant grunted when he heard Sharpe’s tale, but did not seem unduly surprised. “I’ve seen folk beggar their own families for a slice of profit. And Peculiar was always a greedy man. Come in, the three of you. I’ve got brandy, wine, rum and arrack that needs drinking before those French buggers find it.”
“I hope Cromwell was not carrying any of your valuables?” Dalton asked solicitously.
“Do I look like a blockhead?” Fairley demanded. “He tried! He even told me I had to give him my valuables under Company rules, but I told him not to be such a damned fool!”
“Quite,” Dalton said, thinking of his father’s watch. Sharpe said nothing.
Fairley’s wife, a plump and motherly woman, expressed a hope that the French would provide supper. “It’ll be nothing fancy, mother,” Fairley warned his wife, “not like we’ve been getting in the cuddy. It’ll be burgoo, don’t you reckon, Sharpe?”
“I imagine so, sir.”
“God knows how their lordships will like that!” Fairley said, jerking his head up toward Lord William’s cabin before offering Sharpe a sly glance. “Not that her ladyship seems to mind mucking it.”
“I doubt she’ll like burgoo,” Dalton said earnestly.
It was almost nightfall before the French had emptied the Calliope of all they wanted. They took powder, cordage, spars, food, water and all the Calliope’s boats, but left the cargo intact for that, like the ship itself, would be sold in Mauritius. The last boat rowed back to the warship, then the Frenchman loosed her topsails and chanting seamen hauled out the foresails to catch the wind and turn the ship westward as the other sails were loosed. Men waved from the quarterdeck as the black and yellow ship drew away.
“Gone toward the Cape of Good Hope,” Tufnell said morosely. “Looking for the China traders, I don’t doubt.”
The Calliope, now with the French tricolor hoisted above the Company ensign, began to move. She went slowly at first, for her prize crew was small and it took them over half an hour to loose all the Indiaman’s sails, but by dusk the great ship was sailing smoothly eastward in a light wind.
Two of the Calliope’s own seamen were allowed to bring supper to the passengers and Fairley invited the major, Tufnell and Sharpe to eat in his cabin. The meal was a pot of boiled oats thickened with salt beef fat and dried fish that Fairley declared was the best meal he had yet eaten on board. He saw his wife’s distaste. “You ate worse than this when we were first married, mother.”
“I cooked for you when we were first married!” she answered indignantly.
“You think I’ve forgotten?” Fairley asked, then spooned another mouthful of burgoo.
The light was fading in the cabin as they ate supper, but none of the prize crew bothered to ascertain whether any of the passengers were using lanterns and so Fairley lit every lamp he could find and hung them in the stern windows. “There are supposed to be British ships in this ocean,” he declared, “so let them see us.”
“Give me some lanterns,” Sharpe said, “and I’ll hang them in the Baron’s window.”
“Good lad,” Fairley said.
“And you might as well sleep there, Sharpe,” the major said. “I can give you a blanket.”
“We’ll give you a blanket, lad, and sheets,” Fairley insisted, and his wife opened a traveling chest and handed Sharpe a heap of bedding while Fairley fetched two lanterns from the passageway outside his cabin. “Do you need a tinderbox?”
“I have one,” Sharpe said.
“At least you get a good cabin for a day or two,” Fairley said, “though God knows how we’ll make out in Mauritius. Bed bugs and French lice, I dare say. I was in Calais once for a night and I’ve never seen a room so filthy. You remember that, mother? You were costive for a week afterward.”