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ALSO BY ROY MOXHAM

The Freelander

The Great Hedge of India

Tea: Addiction, Exploitation and Empire

A Brief History of Tea

Outlaw: India's Bandit Queen and Me

This Electronic Edition of The East India Company Wife

www.roymoxham.com

ISBN: 9781483536293

She a most beautiful lady, not exceeding thirteen or fourteen years of age. Clement Downing, ‘A History of the Indian Wars,’ 1737

If I had not laughed when my mother fell overboard, then perhaps things would have turned out differently.

I had watched her climb the ladder up from our boat to the deck of the ‘Loyall Bliss.’ She had almost reached the top when she somehow lost her footing. She then dangled for a while, but her weight was too much for her arms. She let go and fell. At first her gown billowed out so that she seemed almost to float. Then it shot up over her head to muffle her screams. Frantic waves of her arms then caused her to somersault and continue her descent head first. I saw a look of horror on her uncovered face. She continued to scream loudly until she disappeared into the sea.

'Hell and damnation,' my father swore, 'she can't swim!' and he dived in to save her. We three children looked on in shock until they both surfaced. Father held Mother to his chest and kicked his way back to us. As she was hauled back into the boat Mother was an amazing sight. Her elaborately piled hair was covered in a blanket of green seaweed that fell down to her closed eyes. It was then that I burst out laughing and Mother opened her eyes to see me laughing. I knew from the look she gave me that retribution was coming.

'You wait, my girl,’ she said. ‘I'll teach you to laugh!’

When we left Plymouth in that early April of 1709, I was looking forward to spending some years in India. I was a girl of thirteen who had never travelled before but I had heard many tales about the East, for my father was a captain in the army of the East India Company. He was returning to Bengal together with my mother and three children – myself, Catherine, and my younger sister and brother, Jane and Tom. Two younger sisters had been left behind in the care of relatives. Tom and I were close, but Jane was my enemy. For some reason that I never understood, my mother had never been affectionate towards me, and criticised me constantly, whereas Jane could do no wrong. I had often heard Mother complain to friends and relatives about what she described as my ‘tomboy ways’ or my ‘impulsive’ or ‘wilful,’ behaviour. Jane encouraged this favouritism by reporting to Mother any little misdemeanour of mine. I would sometimes hear her do this as she helped Mother lace her corset, a duty that I had thankfully been relieved of after I had once pulled the laces so tight that my mother found herself unable to breath.

Aboard ship, Mother watched my every move. If I so much as skipped down the gangway or laughed too loud at meals she would come out with the same refrain:

‘Catherine,’ she would scold me, ‘do try and behave more like a lady!’ Whether this was because I had recently started monthly bleedings or because she had heard stories of unsuitable alliances contracted on the ships to India, I did not know. I found it very tiresome. She was also reluctant to let me spend much time on the upper deck. She was a poor sailor and often sea-sick. During these bouts she would forbid me to go on deck, insisting that she had to keep an eye on me. Fortunately, I was in the next cabin to her and, as soon as I heard her gentle snore, I would sneak up to the main deck. I needed to escape the boredom of being confined in our tiny cabin. I loved to watch the sailors climb the rigging as they took in or let out the sails. I was aware that they liked to watch me too.

Matters came to a head in May when we reached the Portuguese islands of Cape Verde. This was to be our only stop before India, for we had left England late in the season and there was a risk that the wind would reverse before we reached Bengal. Accordingly, we were to procure as much fresh water and provisions as could be fitted into the ship. This would take several days and I was determined to go ashore. My mother would be the obstacle.

We put into Praya, the main port of the island of St Jago. It was my first sight of land in the tropics. I was enchanted, for it was just as I had hoped – there was a cove filled with a brilliant blue sea, its rim lined with sandy beaches and palm trees.

There was just the one midshipman on the ship, a pimpled boy of about my age. He and I had exchanged pleasantries at mealtimes. I had noticed that he was working on the longboat that was ferrying casks of water from the harbour to the ship. Two days after our arrival at Praya, I waited until I heard the first consignment of casks being offloaded and trundled across the deck above, checked that Mother was asleep, grabbed my startled brother from his adjacent cabin, and went up on deck. The midshipman was helping to drag the heavy casks when I spoke to him:

‘My brother wants to see what it’s like ashore,’ I said. ‘When you next set off, keep two places for us.’

‘Do your parents know?’ he asked.

‘I’m going to get Father’s permission.’

I waited until the casks had been stacked and the seamen began to descend into the longboat before I went to the roundhouse. I opened the door and saw my father, as always, carefully examining his cards.

‘Good luck, Father,’ I said, and then added softly, ‘Tom and I are just going for a little trip in the longboat – we’ll be back soon.’

I’m not sure he took in what I had said. Not waiting for a response, I dashed off, took hold of Tom, and we were soon over the side and into the longboat. The midshipman had left a space for us.

When we reached the shore I found it strange to stand on ground that did not move. There was a dense throng of natives. They wore small brightly coloured cloths about their waists, the men bare-chested, the women with a flimsy covering over their breasts. Most were Negroes brought from Africa although a few seemed to have Portuguese blood. In addition to the casks of water they had waiting for us, they had chickens and goats for sale, as well as coconuts, oranges, lemons, melons, bananas, and other fruit and vegetables whose names I did not know. I picked some up to see what they felt and smelt like. The natives were keen to exchange their goods for our used and worn clothes. The sailors, some having been here before, had bought along plenty of these so that the purchases worked out very cheap. I exchanged a kerchief for some coconuts, a fruit of which I had heard but never seen before, as well as oranges and lemons. It took me a while to realise that the seamen had an arrangement whereby, while some of them worked to load the longboat, others took a woman off to the flimsy huts at the top of the beach. I pretended not to notice.

After an hour on shore, we climbed into the loaded longboat for the return journey. We were just about to cast off when there was a cry from behind. I turned to see John Flowers, one of the captain’s servants who had been put on water duty, run down the beach towards us. His long shirt flapped loose.

‘They’ve stolen my breeches!’ he cried. ‘Stolen my breeches!’

The seamen collapsed in laughter. I tried to keep a straight face, but it was impossible. My brother looked bewildered.

‘How can he have lost his breeches?’ he asked.

This caused so much laughter that I thought some of the men would choke.

The weight of the water-butts made the longboat low in the sea and it was hard work for the oarsmen to reach our ship. The journey was made even more exciting for me when a number of dolphins appeared. They jumped out of the blue water and playfully nudged our boat. It was a wonderful morning. However, as we approached the ‘Loyall Bliss’ I saw my mother and father looking over the side toward us. The seamen were still giving poor John Flowers a hard time. One of them continually did a falsetto imitation of my brother’s voice:

‘How can he have lost his beeches? How can he have lost his beeches?’

As I looked up at my grim-faced mother, I knew that I was in trouble.

‘How can you have gone off alone with all those men?’ Mother shouted at me once we were below. ‘Anything could have happened to you.’

‘I wasn’t alone,’ I protested. ‘I was with Tom.’

‘Don’t be impertinent!’ she screamed. ‘He’s just a boy. You went off without permission.’

‘But, I asked Father.’

‘Your father denies having any idea where you’d gone to. Do you imagine that, if he’d known, he would have allowed it? If people find out that you behave like this, who will marry you?’

She went on and on, not only then but for day after day and for the rest of the voyage. I had never been close to my mother but from that day onward our relationship became extremely strained. It was also the first time that she had used the expression ‘who will marry you?’ - a phrase that was destined to become a constant refrain. Did this mean that she wanted to marry me off soon?

Early next morning we weighed anchor and left the Cape Verde Islands. Our next port of call would be in India. After my escapade ashore I was confined to my cabin. The ‘Loyall Bliss’ was one of the Company’s smaller ships. It had its full company of seventy, which left precious little room for us passengers. Because of my father’s rank, we had cabins in that part of the ship reserved for officers. These ‘cabins’ were poor affairs. They ran down each side of the lower deck, with an alley between, and were divided by flimsy canvas partitions. My parents had a cabin that was reasonably large. We three children each had our own tiny cabins, with barely room for a chest, a single chair, and a cot that swung from a beam in the ceiling. For several days I languished in my cabin, my pleas to be allowed to leave curtly rejected. Mother urged me to get on with my embroidery but this had never really interested me. I lay on my cot and dreamed of what life might bring in India.

When it was first announced that I would be accompany my parents to Bengal I had often talked of the future with Lucy, my best friend in the village.

'You're so lucky,' she kept telling me. 'Bengal is full of handsome young men and there are very few young Englishwomen. You'll have your pick. Then you'll return to England with a young, rich and good-looking husband, I'm sure you will.'

'I will, I will,' I told her, but only half-believing it. 'I'll enjoy myself for a few years and then choose someone. I'll not come back until I succeed.'

Marooned in my cabin for days on end, longing to get away from my mother, I resolved that I really would do what I had promised so lightly.

My father was far more indulgent to me than his wife. He was so different from my mother that I sometimes wondered how they had come to be married. She was short and plump, with black hair and a sour face that matched her Puritanism. Father was tall and thin, with blue eyes and a mop of flaxen hair. I though it fortunate that I took after my father – for I was also tall, with the same blond hair and blue eyes. Father spent most of his days in the ‘roundhouse’ at the stern of the ship. This was where we ate our meals and where, during the day, the captain plotted our progress on his charts while the other officers, not needed on duty, drank and played cards. My father was fond of gambling, too much so, for I had overheard Mother berate him for squandering his money.

'If you hadn't frittered everything away,' she said bitterly,' there would have been no need for us live with my relatives; to risk our health by going to India again.'

Desperate to be freed from confinement in my cabin, I petitioned my father at regular intervals.

'Please Father,' I cajoled, 'please persuade Mother to release me.'

'You've been very foolish, Catherine,' he replied. 'You'd be wise not to antagonise your mother so often.' He would then give me a conspiratorial wink, his blue eyes twinkling. 'But I'll see what I can do.'

Nevertheless, it was Mother who held sway over us children, and it was a week before she relented. It was a great relief to take my meals in the roundhouse after days of having to eat with Tom and Jane who were too young to join the adults.

The meals in the roundhouse were surprisingly good. Mathew Fletcher, the cook, had been with Captain Hudson for many years, on many voyages. He had made sure that we had acquired plenty of provisions at St Jago. He had penned a large number of chickens in cages that ran along the walls of the interior of the roundhouse so that, even though the smell from them was somewhat overpowering, we were kept in fresh meat. In addition, there were also a few goats, which until night fell were tethered outside. A great deal of liquor was consumed. There was still some of the weak beer left from England, but wine was the main drink, especially madeira, after which many had brandy. I normally drank madeira diluted with water.

We, Father, Mother and me, ate at the captain’s table. Captain Hudson was a rather forbidding character. His face was deeply lined and his eyes were screwed up by tropical suns. He was polite and soft spoken unless he was angry. This was quite often because he would notice the smallest thing awry:

'That rope's not coiled properly!' he would bark as he strode the deck. 'Polish that tarnished brass!'

Nevertheless, the men liked him.

'He's always willing to pitch in himself to haul on a rope in an emergency,' one told me. 'And he's not as keen as some to have us flogged.'

They were all a bit frightened of him but respected his judgement. He went out of his way to be pleasant to me. Luckily, I had received a better education than most girls in the village, for Lucy's surgeon father had engaged a tutor and kindly allowed me to attend her lessons. I even knew some mathematics. The Captain took pleasure in showing me the ship’s charts and how he took sightings of the sun and of the pole star with his cross-staff to calculate our latitude.

The others around the table would include either Mr Sharrow, the chief mate, or Mr Misenor, the second mate, depending upon which of them was on watch. Mr Sharrow was an accomplished fiddle player and would often entertain us after dinner. The officers loved to talk of their ‘investments.’ They were allowed several tons of cargo space on the Company’s ships to carry goods that they could sell in India. The captain was entitled to much the largest portion and the remainder of the space was allocated in order of seniority on a descending scale. Since the ‘Loyall Bliss’ was travelling to Bengal the officers had invested in what they thought the English community there would pay good money for. It was something of a gamble because other ships might have flooded the market with what they had chosen. Nevertheless, the amount of money that could usually be made was many times the officers’ modest salaries and they could expect to make even more from the return journey. Most had hedged their bets and invested in a mixture of goods that were liable to be in demand – spirits, fine wines, cheeses, pickles, hams and tongues, cutlery and glassware. Dr Pennicot, our surgeon, was the odd man out. He had only bought items that would appeal to ladies - millinery and haberdashery; jewellery and perfumes.

‘Men earn, but women spend!’ he said confidently.

Dr Pennicot was the other regular at our table. He was something of a character. Older than any of the other officers, he had a huge shock of white hair. He had spent many years in India and, with a twinkle in his eye, would regale us with stories of the eccentricities of the European community. He usually sat next to me and in a low voice would tell me little pieces of tittle-tattle. How men would climb over the walls of the Company’s forts when the gates were shut for the night in order to visit their native mistresses; of how young men just out from England would be plied with liquor and then paraded naked through the streets. It was impossible for me to check my over-loud laughter and Mother would give me a warning look. She would have probably confronted anyone else but Dr Pennicot, but like everyone on board she wanted to keep on good terms with the ship’s surgeon, lest he be needed in the future. Initially I had cast envious glances at the other table in the roundhouse, the table for the junior officers. They drank copious amounts of beer and wine and, judging by the laughter, always seemed to be having a good time. However, Dr Pennicot made my meals at the captain’s table a good deal more enjoyable than they might have been.

It was Dr Pennicot who discovered that I knew some music.

‘What instruments do you play?’ he asked.

‘Harpsichord, violin and flute. Not very well, I’m sorry to say.’

‘You’ve brought them with you?’

‘Only the violin and flute.’

My father was listening to this exchange and chipped in, ‘Don’t believe her, Doctor, she is being too modest. She is a wonderful player of both instruments. Go and fetch them, Daughter.’

‘But Father...’

‘Don’t argue - do as I say. Fetch your violin.’

To my embarrassment, I then had to play some pieces to the audience around the table. Fortunately, however, I made only few mistakes and was congratulated by all.

‘Well done!’ Captain Hudson called out. ‘You must play regularly for us.’

After that, every few days, I would be asked to play after dinner. Sometimes I played violin and sometimes flute. I was careful to defer to Mr Sharrow, our regular violin player, who was the better musician. He took no offence at my interventions and often asked if I would play together with him. It became a regular thing for him to play violin and for me to accompany him either on violin or flute.

During the three weeks until the end of May little happened; the days became monotonous and I longed for the voyage to end. The one day of interest was when Captain Hudson announced that we were crossing the equatorial line. As was customary, the men who were doing this for the first time either had to buy liquor for the other seaman or submit to the traditional ordeal of being ducked and shaved. Several of the sailors, unwilling or unable to spend money on liquor, found themselves attached to a rope and thrown overboard. One unfortunate, an unpopular man, was dragged behind the ship for so long that I thought he would drown. The bedraggled victims were then shaved with a huge blunt razor that left their faces bleeding. The sailors thought this great fun and, fuelled by the copious free liquor, became extremely rowdy. A handsome burly young man made his way towards Jane as if to grab her. Horrified she hid behind Mother. He then turned to Mother.

'You'll dance a jig with me, won't you madam?' he slurred.

'Certainly not!' she retorted, turning her back on him and making to leave.

'Ah,' he said, looking at me, 'Perhaps the pretty young miss will,' and started to hop opposite me on surprisingly nimble feet.

Taken by how well he danced, I began to imitate his steps. Young Tom clapped his hands in rhythm.

'Catherine,' I heard Mother's furious voice behind me, 'whatever do you think you're doing! Come here at once, the two of you!'

I gave a little bow to the sailor and the two of us hurried after Mother.

'Will you never learn?' she demanded, her voice full of anger. 'When, when, will you start behaving like a lady?'

The weather changed. It was hot and sultry; lightning lit the distant sky. Over the next few days we were drenched. A choppy sea made the ship buck violently and slowed our progress. Mother was often sick. This gave me some peace from her continual harping on my 'disgraceful behaviour.'

On the last day of May we spied an English man-of-war. We fired a cannon to salute her and ran up a friendly signal. They gave us three butts of fresh water – not easy to transfer by longboat, as they each weighed half a ton – before sailing west to South America. When Captain Hudson calculated that we were south of St Helena we raised a huge Company flag - a flag that the Company’s ships were only permitted to fly in eastern waters. It had thirteen bold horizontal red and white stripes and the new union emblem, with both the cross of St George and that of St Andrew, in the top corner.

At the beginning of June there was a brief improvement in the weather. Even Mother was happy to promenade on the main deck. Despite the improvement, however, there was a terrible incident. John Flowers, the man who had his breeches stolen on St Jago, was lost overboard. No one knew exactly what had happened. He had been seen at about ten that morning hauling up buckets of sea water. It was noon before anyone noticed that he was missing.

'However could it have happened?' I asked one of the sailors.

'Probably it'll have been a calenture,' he told me.

'A calenture?'

'Aye, calentures are common in these waters.' He shook his head sadly. 'You think the sea is a green field and cannot stop yourself jumping down to it.'

'Yes, it must have been a calenture,' chipped in another seaman, 'why else would a man go overboard in these calm waters? Yes, you can be sure it was a calenture.'

Whatever the cause, his loss caused great sadness since, although he was a bit simple and the butt of many jokes, he was a good natured and popular man. We had no chaplain on board but Captain Hudson conducted a brief prayer service. I broke down in tears. My loud sobs earned me disapproving looks from my mother.

The weather changed for the worse. For the next month, as we drew towards the Cape, we battled against heavy seas. The winds were ferocious and to make their instructions heard the officers had to bellow through trumpets. Huge waves created massive peaks and troughs. Sometimes we would be suspended on top of one of these peaks, seemingly forever, before being hurled down with a sickening crash that seemed as though it would break the ship into pieces. Immediately afterwards the sea would tower above and threaten to engulf us. Day after day, water washed over our bows and over the forecastle. To expel water from the bilges the chain pumps rattled day and night.

The journey from our cabins to meals in the roundhouse was hazardous and sometimes we had to eat below. The cooks could not prepare proper food and on many days we had to make do with ship’s biscuits and salted meat. Furniture shifted. One day my parent’s chest of drawers snapped the rope that held it to the side of the ship and it careered down the length of the lower deck. It burst through the canvas walls of my cabin and put a gash in my leg before it demolished several more cabins. The carpenters did their best to repair the damage but it was difficult for them to work while the ship continued to roll. It was several days before our cabins became private again. The ship’s progress was, I gathered from the officers, painfully slow. It was mid-July before we rounded the Cape, a Cape that we never saw, and the seas became calmer. We then altered course to head northeast for India.

That special day of our voyage coincided with my fourteenth birthday. My family gave me little presents, ribbons and lace. Captain Hudson allowed me to use his sextant to try to calculate our latitude. This I managed to do successfully, which pleased me greatly. Later that day, however, my mother with whom I still had a strained relationship, called me to her cabin.

‘Now that you’re fourteen,’ she said, ‘we’ll have to find a husband for you.’

‘Marry!’ Even though she had vaguely alluded to marriage before, I was stunned. ‘I don’t want to marry yet. I want to meet several eligible young men before I decide on a husband.’

‘You decide?’ her voice became strident. ‘You decide? Let me tell you Catherine, it will be your father and I who will decide on a husband for you!’

‘Let me wait a year or two, at least.’

‘Nonsense! You’re already older than I was when I got married. Out in India there are plenty of men with money. We’ll find someone suitable for you within the year.’

‘But Mama...’

‘Enough! Who do you think you are? You’ll marry whoever your father and I think best for you. And it’ll be soon!’

In the evening the men in the roundhouse drank a toast to me and told me how pretty I looked. Mr Sharrow played his fiddle. My mind was in turmoil though, as I considered what Mother had said. In England there had been vague talk of my marriage, but in some distant future. It seemed that my father had saved little money to date but with his new position, overseeing the expansion of the fortifications at Fort William, he would be awarding large contracts and could expect to amass a fortune. There had been talk of him then being able to provide sizable dowries for us daughters so as to make good marriages. Was that plan now to be abandoned? Did my mother just want to be rid of me?

One morning towards the end of July I was up on deck watching the seamen work above me in the rigging. Suddenly one of them lost his hold and tumbled into the ocean.

'Collapse the sails!' shouted Captain Hudson, 'Stop the ship!'

The men worked frantically to lower the many sails, which they managed to do with great speed. All the time I could make see the struggling figure in our wake. Even before the ship came to a halt, ropes were thrown to him. The sailor was, however, too far behind to catch them. I saw him make one final effort to grasp a line before a wave took him away and he disappeared from view. The ship remained motionless for fully half-an-hour but we saw no further sign of him. Captain Hudson held another service and once again, as I ignored Mother's warning looks, I sobbed uncontrollably.

I was surprised that an experienced seaman should fall overboard, especially as the wind that day was gentle and the sea relatively calm. At dinner I mentioned my mystification to our surgeon, Dr Pennicot.

‘Surely you’ve noticed how lethargic many of our men are?’ he said. ‘It’s the scurvy. It’s been too long since we put ashore. It’s a pity we did not call in at St Helena. We shall have more deaths.’

‘But what causes it? Can nothing be done?’

‘Ah, if only we knew. It seems that the fresh food ashore keeps it away. Exactly what kind of food is a mystery. All I can tell you is that those of us who stocked up well on fresh fruit and vegetables at St Jago will probably survive, and several others will not.’

And so it proved. As we went into September the symptoms of the scurvy became more obvious every day. The officers seemed unaffected, presumably because they had laid in fruit and vegetables. The men, who had little spare money, relied on what the cook provided – invariably ship’s biscuits with boiled salt beef or pork. As I watched the sailors walk I now noticed that many were unsteady. Some complained that they did not have enough strength to do their work properly; they were short of breath and their bones ached. Some found that their teeth were becoming loose, which made eating difficult. In order to give them enough energy to man the ship Captain Hudson issued each man with an extra ration of strong beer and brandy mixed with sugar. Even so, the men were slow to obey commands. The sails were not managed promptly and consequently we lost more time.

The wind still blew towards India.

'It'll soon reverse,' Captain Hudson told us. 'That'll make it impossible to reach Bengal quickly. I'm worried that so many are dying of the scurvy. What's more we are low on water.'

Father went to a consultation that the captain summoned in order to consider what to do.

'We're going to make for Carwar,' Father told me.

'Carwar?'

'Yes, a popular place for ships to collect provisions. There's a Company trading post, a ‘factory,’ where we can get help for the sick. And the captain told us that there's a fort on a nearby island that belongs to our allies the Portuguese. It has a hundred cannon, cannon that can offer us protection against any French marauders.'

'How far away is it?

'Only a few weeks. The sooner we reach there the better!'

September was a dreadful month. The scurvy spread to nearly all the seamen and was also rife among my father’s soldiers. One of these, who had been ill for a month, was the first man to die aboard of the dreadful disease, but he was not the last. Many of the seamen were too ill to come up on deck and remained in their quarters far below where, I learnt from Dr Pennicot, they slept crowded together in the pestilent air. With the men incapacitated, the officers had to do most of the work on deck. They became exhausted from managing the sails day and night. Some days we had little or no wind and constant work was needed to achieve any headway. On other days there were huge thunderstorms, with lightning all around and heavy seas.

Amazingly it was Tom who, towards the end of September, saw the first indication of approaching land. He was up at the ship’s prow.

‘Look, Catherine, look!’ he shouted to me, as he jumped up and down with excitement and pointed at the ocean.

I rushed to join him. In the sea there were hundreds of snakes, large and small. The larger ones were fully three or four feet long. They were yellow, crossed with broad dark-blue stripes. They writhed strongly as though heading east in a hurry. Some sailors came to look.

‘At last!’ one of them exclaimed. ‘We always run into snakes just off the Indian shore. We must be nearly there!’

I hardly dared believe that land was close but, on the last day of September, we had welcome visitors. A number of small birds landed on the ship. They were not gulls but tiny songbirds that perched in the rigging and lifted our spirits with their sweet refrain. They were followed a few days later by the arrival of some orange and black butterflies. Two days afterwards, at dawn, the lookout shouted that he had sighted land. We hurried to the prow of the ship, from where we soon saw a small mountain silhouetted by the rising sun.

‘Mount Delly,’ the lookout shouted down to us, as the captain altered course to sail north. ‘We’ll be in Carwar tomorrow!’

On October the 7^th, six months after leaving Plymouth, we sailed into Carwar Bay. The sky was an uninterrupted blue; the palms that lined the shore brilliant green. Captain Hudson anchored the ‘Loyall Bliss’ in a cove on the south side. The Company’s factory was a few miles up the river, but there was a bar across its mouth which made it impassable to ships of our size. The captain and my father’s main priority was to transport the sickest seamen and soldiers to shore, where they could obtain lodgings and fresh food in the village behind the palms. The longboat made several trips. Meanwhile, a yacht commanded by a fresh-faced young Englishman. arrived from the factory.

‘The Chief’s compliments, sir,’ he shouted to Captain Hudson. ‘And he’d be most obliged if you and your officers would join him for dinner. I’m to take you.’ He then noticed Tom and me. ‘And of course, your families.’

‘We’d be delighted,’ Captain Hudson shouted back. ‘We’ll be with you shortly.’

We all hurried to put on suitable dress. I was soon attired in my favourite blue mantua of plain silk. Tom dressed quickly but Jane made a fuss as she kept on changing her mind. However, it was my mother who really delayed us. She tried on several dresses before she decided on a patterned damask mantua. Then she took an age to dress her hair. I never wore anything on my head, but always left my blond hair in loose ringlets. On formal occasions, however, Mother insisted on constructing a towering French ‘fontange’ for herself that had many tiers of wired lace festooned with ribbons. It rose high above her head and made her look rather ridiculous.

‘Help me with my eyebrows,’ she commanded.

I took out a pair of the bushy mouse-fur eyebrows that were all the rage in Europe, of which she had brought a large supply. Then I carefully glued them on slightly skew-whiff. Her eyesight was poor and I knew that when she looked in the mirror she would not notice. Unfortunately, however, my father burst in at that moment to hurry us up.

‘Good God!’ he exclaimed, ‘whatever have you done to your eyebrows? You look absurd. Catherine, put them straight.’

I did as he commanded. Looking into my mother’s face, I could see that she fully realised that I had acted deliberately. I knew that once again I had been too reckless and that there might be consequences.

‘You wait, my girl,’ she whispered. ‘You’ll suffer for this.’

We climbed into the Company’s yacht, we women in our finery, the men in their best uniforms with their bob wigs freshly powdered. Captain Hudson and Mr Sharrow wore dark-blue jackets with gold trimmings; Father looked splendid in scarlet. Both Captain Hudson and my father had strapped on their swords. The yacht cast off and we headed towards the river and the Company’s factory.

It was a beautiful clear morning but hot in the sun. The bay was crowded with canoes that were returning from fishing. These were merely hollowed out logs with an outrigger on one side to make them stable. As we passed, the fishermen waved and held up fish for sale. We crossed the bar to enter the Kalinadi River. It was wide, much wider than any river I had seen in England, perhaps two miles across. For about half a mile the right bank was lined with palms, then the buildings of Carwar town began. As we progressed, these buildings became more substantial. Our escort, Richard Vincent, pointed out mosques, temples and the ruler’s fort. The river bank was lined with warehouses and piers. Half a mile further on the river split into two halves and we took the fork to the right.

'That's a large island on our left,' Mr Vincent said. 'Pepper Island. It belongs to the Company.'

A few minutes later, at the further edge of the township, the Company’s fort came into view.

This fort was much smaller than I had imagined. It could not have been more than fifty paces square. It was given some grandeur by an imposing gate at the front and two small towers at the corners. The stone walls were only about twenty feet high. However, they were thick, for on top I could see cannon. Several small ships and boats were moored alongside the quay that stood in front of the factory gate. Bales and sacks were being unloaded and carried through the gate by an army of native porters.

As Captain Hudson stepped onto the quay the fort’s cannon fired the salute of thirteen guns accorded to the captains of the Company’s ships. The procession of porters through the gate was halted. A guard of honour turned out to line the way to the great gate. It was manned by what Father called ‘topasses,’ soldiers of mixed Indian and Portuguese blood. Between them stood the Chief of the factory, Mr Harvey.

'Welcome to Carwar,' he said. 'It's always a pleasure to meet those fresh from England.'

Mr Harvey was elderly, over sixty. He was thin, too thin, as though he had been ill. The splendid coat he wore – red with much gold – hung loosely on his frame; his breeches looked too big. As he led us through the gate, I saw that he walked as though his back was twisted and that he had a severe limp.

Once we were all inside the fort, Mr Harvey introduced us to the other Englishmen and their families. There were nine men. Two of these were ‘factors,’ those who bought and sold for the Company, and six were ‘writers,' young men who recorded the transactions. The two factors, Robert Byron and Edward Hicks, had their wives and children with them. None of the writers were married, for the Company disapproved of marriages by their young clerks. Mr Harvey, it seemed, was a lifelong bachelor. In addition to the Company’s merchants, there was also an unmarried gunnery officer, Mathew Parr.

We made a quick tour of the trading post. Built against the fort’s internal walls were the warehouses, the ‘godowns,’ that stored the goods the Company was buying for export. These were simple affairs with a thatch of palm-fronds. They housed large calico-wrapped bales. More of these were arriving all the time to be weighed and stacked.

‘Cloth,’ explained Mr Harvey. ‘This time of year there's hardly any production of spices, so we concentrate on buying in cloth and muslin. The river stretches back many miles into the interior, which makes transportation from the villages easy. In a couple of months we’ll be busy with pepper. That used to be where the money was, but now cloth is the more profitable.’

Along one of the fort’s walls were stables that housed horses and oxen, together with cows for milk. Towards the centre of the courtyard there was a beautifully laid out garden, with rose bushes and flowering shrubs. At its edge were two large and deep circular wells.

‘There’s plenty of good water, thank goodness. The wells are fed from the river so never dry up. That's as well since the local Raja sometimes makes threatening noises. One day we might have to withstand a siege.’ He gestured to one of the godowns. ‘We’re also well stocked with food and ammunition.’

There was a long two-storied brick building with numerous windows at the centre of the compound. Beside it, there was a smaller building, single storey and surrounded by a veranda. Above it flew a large Company flag.

‘Our quarters’ the Chief said. ‘The one with the flag is my residence and office, the larger building is for my colleagues.’

In front of these buildings there was a tall wooden frame from which hung a large bell. As we watched, a topass went up and struck it with a mallet. The sound reverberated round the fort’s walls.

‘Goodness, it’s one o’clock,’ the Chief said. ‘I’m sure you must be hungry. Let us go into dinner.’

Close by the residences was a stone building that looked like a chapel but was the dining-hall. At one end was a lean-to, which belched smoke and steam. We could see fires with spits and cauldrons. Inside the hall, at one end hung a crucifix and a large portrait of Queen Anne and at the other end a carved and gilded coat-of arms of the East India Company. A long wooden table ran down the centre of the room. From his place at the head of this table, Mr Harvey assigned us to our seats. My mother and Captain Hudson sat to his left and right. The gentlemen and two ladies were then placed down both sides in order of seniority. We three children were put near the foot of the table, next to Richard Vincent, the most junior writer, who sat at the end. It was he who said grace before we sat down. Native servants, referred to as 'peons,' appeared with basins and ewers with which to pour water over our hands. Then the food was carried in.

It was a sumptuous meal with innumerable dishes. There was roast peacock and roast venison. Beef and mutton appeared, cut into cubes and roasted with herbs on small spits. There were ‘dumpoked’ partridges, boiled in butter and stuffed with raisins and almonds. Afterwards we had all kind of fruits – pineapples, apricots and grapes.

From the other end of the table came snatches of talk. It was mostly about the news from Europe that we had brought with us, particularly about Marlborough’s latest victories, although this news was, of course, now six months old. Mother was deep in conversation with Mr Harvey. Every now and then I caught him looking at me.

I was sitting next to Richard Vincent, who was most solicitous. He insisted on helping me to extra portions of everything.

‘What do you like to drink?’ he asked.

‘I normally drink a little madeira, with water.’

‘Try this shiraz,’ he said, pouring me a large glass, ‘the Company brings it down from Persia. It’s all the fashion now.’

‘It’s nice,’ I said as I took a sip.

‘Well, we don’t mix it with water,’ he said and laughed.

Later on I had a good deal more to drink as we drank innumerable toasts. First, Mr Harvey proposed the toast to the Queen, then Captain Hudson proposed the health of Mr Harvey, then Mr Harvey proposed a toast to Captain Hudson, then Captain Hudson made a toast to the factors and the writers, then Mr Parr proposed a toast to my father and his family, and so it went on. Richard Vincent kept my glass topped up.

The dinner lasted two hours.

‘You’ll be wanting to get back,’ Mr Harvey said. He looked tired and I suspected he wanted his afternoon sleep. ‘Mr Vincent will take you.’

As I stood up I felt slightly unsteady. My father and Mr Sharrow had definitely had too much to drink and they had to support each other along the path to the fort gate. The guard turned out once again for our departure. We thanked our hosts profusely for their hospitality.

‘We’ll expect you back tomorrow or the day after,’ the Chief said. ‘Send a runner with a message and we’ll prepare a real feast for you.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Captain Hudson replied. ‘I’ll let you know. But it might be in a few days’ time as we have to prepare for the voyage onwards to Bengal.’

He saluted the Chief and gave a nod to Mr Vincent to cast off. We had to battle against the wind, which was still blowing strongly from the southwest. It was nearly dusk by the time we reached the ‘Loyall Bliss.’ As I left the yacht, Richard Vincent took my hand to steady me.

‘Do persuade them to come soon,’ he whispered.

I stayed up on deck to watch the yacht tack across the bay. The setting sun had turned the clouds red. I was in a reverie when my mother came up behind me.

‘Don’t get any ideas about that young man,’ she said sharply. ‘There’s no future for you there!’

It was several days before we again visited the Company’s fort, for the day after our visit a message came from the Chief that he had received intelligence that three French men-of-war were marauding down the coast. Captain Hudson decided that it would be safer for us to repair to Anjediva, where we would be protected by the cannon of the Portuguese fort. Accordingly all the soldiers and sailors that had gone ashore at Carwar were brought back to the ‘Loyall Bliss’ for the move.

Anjediva was only about four miles offshore. We flew the Company’s flag and the Union flag to alert the Portuguese that we were friendly and reached there in barely an hour. A pilot came to lead us to anchor right under the walls of the massive fort, whose battlements and cannon towered above us. Safely ensconced, as many sailors as could be spared were sent ashore to recuperate. My father sent all of his soldiers to join them. Many were extremely ill with the scurvy, so we were sad but not surprised to learn shortly afterwards that two of them had died in the night. Next day there was the death of a sailor.

I had thought that we might move to accommodation on the island but Captain Hudson was insistent that the officers remain with the ship. My father went occasionally to see how things were with his troops, but spent most of his time aboard the ‘Loyall Bliss’, playing cards and drinking. From the ship we could see churches and schools. Any hope I had of going to look at them was firmly vetoed by my mother:

‘Do you imagine, Catherine, that I would even think of such a thing after your behaviour at St Jago? You’ll stay here, where I can keep an eye on you.’

Captain Hudson was keen to depart for Bengal. We still needed, however, to take on more drinking water. There were springs on Anjediva but they were only sufficient for the use of the residents. Although the journey from the cove at Carwar to Anjediva had been quick for our ship, it proved much slower for our longboat. It was only possible for it to make one journey a day. So it seemed we might be moored off Anjediva for many days – not a cheerful prospect.

Next day things improved dramatically. A native boat came with a message for Captain Hudson from Mr Harvey. He had realised, he wrote, how inconvenient Anjediva would be for us. The Carwar factory establishment was below strength, which meant that they had spare accommodation. It would be no trouble for them to have some of us to stay, indeed he would welcome it. He suggested that as many as could be spared come for dinner next day, and that those who desired could move in temporarily. He would send his yacht to collect us.

Although I was elated at the prospect of moving into the Carwar fort, I took care not to show it. My mother was likely to oppose any wish of mine. To my surprise, however, she was enthusiastic.

‘We’ll move there,’ she told my father. ‘It’ll be much more comfortable. I need a break from ship-life before we go on to Bengal. You can join us when your duties permit.

'Children,’ she commanded, without waiting for his reply, ‘start packing your things.’

Next morning Richard Vincent arrived with the yacht and we set off for the fort. Father came with us, although he wanted to return to the ship that evening to keep an eye on his sick men. Captain Hudson also came, together with the second mate, Mr Misenor, and our surgeon, Dr Pennicot. Once again the guard turned out to welcome us into the Company’s factory. Mr Harvey looked extraordinarily pleased to see us.

‘I do hope you’ll be able to stay for a few days,’ he entreated. ‘We get very few visitors at Carwar. Particularly visitors coming straight from Europe.’

‘Unfortunately,’ Captain Hudson replied, ‘we men will have to return later today. Many of our soldiers and sailors are down with the scurvy. We need to see that they are looked after. Without good care more are likely to die.’

‘I fully understand your concern Captain,’ said the Chief. ‘However, early tomorrow we have scheduled a hunt in your honour. This is a capital place for game, one of the best places in all of India. Surely you could spend just the one night here and return tomorrow?’

‘Well I don’t...’

‘Surely,’ my father interrupted, ‘just the one night away would do no harm. And,’ he added cleverly, being very fond of shooting, ‘we could ship back some of the meat to feed the men. It might improve their health. Don’t you agree Dr Pennicot?’

‘An excellent idea,’ affirmed the surgeon, a man who was himself fond of good food and Mr Misenor nodded his agreement.

‘Very well,’ said Captain Hudson, with a wry smile. ‘I can see when I’m outnumbered. But we must definitely leave tomorrow. That is,’ he added, ‘all of us men. I understand that Mistress Cooke wants to take advantage of your offer of accommodation and stay here with her children for a while.’

‘If that is still acceptable,’ my mother put in.

‘Acceptable!’ exclaimed the Chief. ‘More than acceptable – I’d be delighted! Let me show you the rooms.’

Our accommodation was on the upper floor of the merchants’ house. With so many staying the night, space was limited. Father and Mother took one room and we children the other. We unpacked our things. I put on a fresh dress of green silk for dinner and admired myself in the mirror.

‘So, Catherine,’ my sister said, ‘do you think you look pretty enough for Mr Vincent?’

‘Shut up Jane!’ I said, and boxed her ear, hard.

She then made a frightful noise, screaming her head off. Mother rushed into our room.

‘Whatever is going on?’ she asked the sobbing Jane.

‘Catherine hit me. I made a comment about Mr Vincent and she hit me.’

‘Catherine you’re fourteen now. Do try and behave like a lady.’ She gave me a malevolent look. ‘And adjust your modesty piece, you’re showing too much bosom.’

We went into dinner. I made to take the seat that I had occupied previously but, before I was in position, I saw Mother speak to Mr Harvey. She gestured for me to come up to the head of the table.

‘Catherine,’ she said with a sickly sweetness, ‘as you are now grown up, it would be more appropriate if you joined the adults.’ She gestured to the adjacent chair. ‘Come, you can sit next to me.’

From the foot of the table Richard Vincent said grace as before. After he had finished he glanced at me and raised his eyebrows quizzically. I sat down, my mother on my right and the grossly overweight Mr Byron on my left. The meal was even more elaborate than before, with huge sides of venison and beef. Everyone drank liberally from the two large silver bowls of punch. The Chief himself topped up my glass.

‘So, Mistress Catherine,’ he said, ‘what do you make of Carwar?’

‘Well it’s all very strange to me,’ I replied. ‘It’s so different from life in an English village. The heat, the palm trees, the natives. But I think I will enjoy India.’

‘Even in a backwater like this?’

‘It’s very attractive,’ I said, striving to be diplomatic, although really I wanted to be somewhere like Calcutta, with its parties and grand balls.

‘The thing is,’ chipped in Mr Byron, from my other side, ‘we are left to our own devices in a remote outpost like this. It’s a great place for making money.’

‘Come now,’ the chief said, ‘I’m sure Mistress Catherine does not want to talk business.’ He turned to my mother. ‘Tell me, what do you think of our punch? We use the local arrack. It’s distilled from the sap of the palm trees.’

He then launched into a lengthy description of how the punch was made.