by James McGee
Morgan shook his head in disdain. "And they wonder why Deal folk have a tendency for rebellion. You'd be rebellious, too, if you'd seen your livelihood going up in flames. By God, the government was keen enough to accept the help of Deal men to bring the Danish fleet back to England back in '08 and to use their galleys at Walcheren, and it doesn't object when we pass it word of what we've seen and heard as regards Boney's activities. But if some poor bloody foot soldier or fisherman tries to put food on his table by bringing in a few tubs, that's a different matter. And do you think there's mention of compensation for seizing and burning a man's boat? Like hell there is!"
Morgan picked up the coins and replaced them in the bag. Despite his display of anger, his movements were calm and unhurried.
When the last coin had been put away, he looked up and sighed. When he spoke, his voice was steady. "I told you earlier it wasn't personal, it was business. That's not strictly true. Those were my galleys they seized. I use them because they're not subject to the whim of the breeze. They're swift and they're manoeuvrable and they don't need a lot of men to crew them. A good team can cross the Channel in a couple of hours. Not having the galleys increases the chances of the guinea runs being intercepted. And if I can't deliver, Bonaparte will close off his ports, which means I'll lose business. I've got customers, people who rely on me. I have responsibilities; investors, who won't take kindly to being short-changed. My reputation's at stake. That makes it personal." Morgan paused and then said, "Which is why you're here, gentlemen. To hell with those bastards in the government; with your help I'm going to teach them a lesson they'll never forget."
"How?" Lasseur asked.
"By giving them a taste of their own medicine. They've taken from me, so I'm going to take from them. They think they've stopped the gold runs. I'm going to prove them wrong. I'm going to get Bonaparte his gold."
Hawkwood said, "And you're going to do that, how ... ?"
"I'm going to steal it."
"From the government?"
"Not exactly."
"Who then?"
Morgan smiled. "Wellington."
"Lord Wellington?" Hawkwood said cautiously.
Morgan tossed the bag of coin to Pepper, who caught it nimbly with his good hand. "You know of another one?"
Hawkwood ignored the riposte. "The last I heard, Wellington was still in Spain. How are you going to steal his gold?"
"Well, strictly speaking, it's the army's gold. It's to pay Old Nosey's troops."
"You want us to help you steal gold from the British Army?" Rousseau blinked behind his spectacles.
Hawkwood flicked a glance at the faces around the table. Everyone was looking equally stunned.
Finally, after several seconds' consideration, Souville enquired tentatively, "How much gold?"
Morgan placed his palms on the table and leant forward. "Five hundred thousand pounds' worth."
Beaudouin, his eyes as wide as saucers, was the first to break the silence. "What's that in francs?"
"About twelve million," Rousseau said, sitting back in his seat and polishing his spectacles with the hem of his shirt.
"God Almighty!" Leberte breathed.
Morgan surveyed the room. "I take it your interest has been piqued, gentlemen?"
You could say that, Hawkwood thought, his brain spinning.
"This gold," Lasseur said cautiously, "where is it?"
"At the moment, that's not important; it's where it's going to be in four days' time."
"And where's that?"
"Deal."
"Deal?" Lasseur stared at Morgan in disbelief.
"They've been using the place as a transit point for bullion for years." Morgan smiled wryly. "You've got to admit, it does have a certain irony."
"Where in Deal?" Le Jeune's tone was instantly suspicious.
"There's a castle," Lasseur said, looking at Morgan for confirmation.
"There is indeed, but that's not where they're storing it. Captain. That's the beauty."
Lasseur's features took on a dubious frown. "Where then?"
"The Port Admiral's residency."
"Why in the name of God would they be storing it there?"
"Because that's where they put all the bullion that goes through the town. Before the government bought the house, it belonged to a banker. It still has a strong room. All specie and bullion passing through Deal is kept there. It's either landed from a ship to be forwarded by escorted wagon to London or it's transported from the London banks to Deal for shipment abroad, usually to Spain to pay the army."
"And how do you plan to remove this gold? Knock on the front door and ask them to hand it over?" Lasseur looked sceptical.
"I was thinking of something a little more persuasive."
Hawkwood realized that no one had asked the pertinent question. It looked as if it was up to him.
"Why us? What about your own crew? You told me if there was one thing you weren't short of, it was men."
Morgan nodded. "That I did, Captain, and it's no word of a lie. But there's no harm in recruiting extra bodies, especially men who've proved they're not afraid of a challenge and who are willing to take risks to achieve their objective. In my book, you all fit the bill. You've endured hell on the prison ships and yet you've not been cowed by capture. You've escaped using ingenuity and lived to tell the tale. That proves to me you have the character. You're all experienced seamen and soldiers. That tells me you're used to discipline and can work as a unit. More importantly, you've no allegiance to King George, so I doubt you'll consider betraying our intention to the authorities. In short, gentlemen, my proposition is this: I'm offering you a chance to get your own back on the country that's treated you worse than rats in a cage. They say revenge is sweet. What do you say? Do you fancy a taste?"
Morgan's eyes flashed. "Think of the glory. Instead of returning home with your tails between your legs as prisoners captured on the field, you'll be going back as free men, laden with treasure. By God, gentlemen, you'll be given a heroes' welcome! When your Emperor sees what you've done for him, there's nothing you will want for!"
"And you're doing this because your boats have been confiscated?" Lasseur said, staring hard at Morgan.
"I'm doing it for two reasons, Captain. The first is payback for what they've stolen from me and from the men of Deal. As for the second; the way I see it, twelve million francs will buy me a lot of favours with your Emperor. He'll keep his ports open and I can carry on trading; hopefully build more galleys. The last thing I need is a breakdown in supply. I don't want to give the edge to my competitors."
"I didn't think you had any competitors," Hawkwood said.
Morgan gave Hawkwood a sharp look. "There's always someone who thinks they should be top dog. Right now, that's me. I intend to keep it that way. Look upon this as a special delivery. A gesture of good faith on my part."
"You mentioned an escort," Hawkwood said.
"Nothing we can't handle," Morgan said confidently.
"Perhaps you should let us be the judge of that," Lasseur said drily.
Morgan looked towards Pepper.
Pepper came out of his state of repose. "A small detachment of marines."
"Is that all?" Lasseur said. "You had me worried for a moment. I thought it was going to be difficult."
"How small?" Hawkwood asked.
"Shouldn't be more than thirty men. They won't be a problem, though."
"Why not?"
"Because they won't be watching the gold all the time."
"How so?"
It was Morgan who replied: "Because Admiralty House doesn't have the facilities to accommodate troops. It's too small and, in any case, it's a residence. While the gold is in the strong room, the guards will be quartered in the castle."
"I thought Deal had a barracks," Lasseur said.
"There are troops stationed in the town as well?" Le Jeunc said quickly.
"A token force. There used to be two companies of volunteers, but they wer
e disbanded. Plans to raise a militia never came to anything because the townsfolk raised a stink. The barracks are mostly used as a way station for transients. In any event, they're almost closer to Walmer than they are to Deal.
There's a company of Bombardiers at the castle to man the guns. Other than -"
"Guns?" Hawkwood interjected. "You mean cannon?"
"Nine 36-pounders, but they're all facing seawards. They're not expecting an attack from the land."
"So no more troops?"
"Other than the ones in the castle, the nearest are a couple of miles to the north. There's a shore battery on the Sandwich Road, but they won't be a threat. They'll be kept occupied."
"What about those castle troops?" Le Jeune asked.
"They and the marines will be occupied. I've a diversion planned to keep them bottled up."
"How do you expect to get away?" Hawkwood asked.
"There'll be a ship lying off the beach, ready to transport us across the Channel."
"Right in front of those Bombardiers with their 36-pounders," Hawkwood pointed out.
Morgan shook his head. "They'll be too busy watching their backs, and even if they aren't, they won't see us."
"Why not?"
"We'll be carrying out the raid at night. The darkness will give us the cover we need. It will be easier to spread confusion, and we'll be able to take advantage of the tide."
"What about the weight?" Lasseur asked.
"Four tons, give or take. A couple of stout wagons, specially strengthened, will be sufficient."
"Still a devil to move, though." Lasseur pursed his lips as he considered the implications.
"We won't be moving it far. It's less than four hundred yards from the front door of the residency to the shore. It's a straight run with no obstacles. Even if we only manage to shift half the damned stuff, we'll still be in profit."
"How do you plan to get into the strong room?" Hawkwood asked.
"That won't be a problem."
Morgan did not expand on his statement. Evidently, he wasn't inclined to give away too much information at this stage.
He's baited the hook well, Hawkwood thought. He looked around at the flushed faces. Flattery had helped.
Rousseau took off his spectacles. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And our commission; what did you have in mind for that?" He held Morgan's gaze. "Because you won't be giving the Emperor the gold, will you? Even though you haven't actually paid for it, you'll be selling it to him, the same as with the other deliveries you've made."
All heads turned towards the head of the table.
Morgan smiled. "I wondered how long it would take you."
Backs straightened as the significance of Morgan's response permeated the minds of the men gathered around the table.
Rousseau breathed on his lenses, polished them with his sleeve and slipped the spectacles back over his nose.
"What's the usual profit on a guinea run?" Masson asked, trying to appear nonchalant but failing comprehensively.
Morgan glanced towards Pepper, but his lieutenant's countenance remained as inscrutable as ever. Morgan turned back: "Ten per cent."
"In that case," Rousseau said, "let's not be greedy. Why don't we make it fifteen per cent of the final profit?"
"It's going to be all profit," Masson said. "Remember?"
"Sounds fair," Le Jeune said, fixing Morgan with a speculative expression.
Hawkwood tried to calculate the amounts in his head. Fifteen per cent of twelve million francs - nearer fourteen, if Morgan realized his usual advantageous exchange rate - was a fortune, whether in francs or sterling.
Morgan stared at Pepper. Again Pepper said nothing, but this time a look passed between them.
Morgan nodded slowly. "Very well; fifteen it is."
A sequence of widening grins ran around the table.
"So, gentlemen, that's settled. Now, are you with me?"
Hawkwood looked round the room. There wasn't a man present who didn't look like the cat about to swallow the cream, except Pepper, of course. Did anything disturb that grey-bearded countenance?
Le Jeune was the first to voice his response. He nodded and laughed. "I'm up for it, by God!"
"Me, too!" Bonnefoux said eagerly. "If it means I can get my own back on those bastards!"
Morgan's eyes swept the room. "What about the rest of you?"
"Damned right, we're with you!" Masson clapped Souville on the shoulder. "Wouldn't miss it, would we, lads?"
Hawkwood wondered why Morgan bothered to ask the question, for the light of greed in their faces should have been enough to persuade him he already had them in the palm of his hand. Any lingering resentment caused by the delay in returning home had been eclipsed the moment the gold coins had hit the table top. Hawkwood caught Lasseur's eye. The privateer lifted an eyebrow in silent enquiry.
"Captain Lasseur," Morgan said amiably. "We've not heard from you."
Lasseur broke eye contact with Hawkwood and turned. "You put your case very well, my friend. I'm almost persuaded." The privateer smiled. It was the first time he'd shown any spark of humour since leaving the widow's. "But for a twenty per cent share I could be convinced beyond all doubt."
Pepper's head swivelled.
The chatter ceased.
Morgan stared at Lasseur. His expression was impenetrable.
The world revolved slowly.
Then Morgan nodded. "Agreed." He turned to Hawkwood. "Looks like you're the only one left, Captain Hooper. Are you in or out?"
This is bloody madness, Hawkwood thought. This went way beyond anything foreseen by Ludd or James Read. He looked at Lasseur. The privateer winked back at him.
Christ, Hawkwood thought.
Brain spinning, he turned to Morgan and grinned.
"Wouldn't miss it. I'm in."
CHAPTER 17
Hawkwood and Lasseur were in the cloisters.
Morgan and Pepper had departed the refectory leaving the room abuzz with excitement. Any despondency at the lack of home comforts had evaporated as quickly as the early morning haze. Uppermost in everyone's mind was the final instalment of Morgan's plan, which he had promised would soon be forthcoming.
Hawkwood had tried to imagine what £500,000 would look like accumulated in one place and had given up. The idea of four tons of bullion heaped on to the back of a wagon - most of which, according to Morgan, would probably be in ingots - hadn't proved any easier to digest. His head was spinning with the enormity of it. He needed to think. After a suitable period of listening to the others planning their futures - which seemed to consist entirely of country estates, fine wines and, for the ones who weren't married, and even for a couple who were, a supply of pliant women - he had left the refectory and walked into the open air.
Footsteps sounded behind him and he cursed under his breath.
"You have to admit," Lasseur murmured, "it's a devil of a proposition."
"There'll be a price to pay," Hawkwood said.
"Undoubtedly. Though I notice it didn't prevent you from accepting our host's offer," Lasseur commented wryly. He patted his pockets, as if looking for the last of his cheroots.
"Four tons of gold's a fearsome incentive," Hawkwood said.
"You think it's possible?" Lasseur asked. His hands gave up their search.
"Anything's possible," Hawkwood said and then thought, Well, maybe not anything, because alerting the authorities was now his first priority and so far he hadn't come up with a single feasible idea on how to do that. In the meantime, he reasoned, there was more chance of his foiling Morgan's insane plan by remaining inside the tent pissing out than outside the tent pissing in.
"Our host seems to have addressed all the likely hindrances."
"He thinks he has."
"You don't agree with his strategy?"
"He was a little short on specifics. I don't have enough information to hand to make a judgement."
Lasseur looked sceptical.
"I'm just
weighing the odds," Hawkwood said. "The moment you put a plan into action, what's the first thing that usually goes wrong?"
Lasseur thought about it. The corners of his mouth lifted. "The rest of the plan. So?"
Hawkwood nodded. "So remember what Tom Gadd told us? If we ever shook hands with Morgan we were to count our fingers afterwards."
"In other words, we watch our backs."
"And everything else," Hawkwood said.
"The others don't seem to share our concerns," Lasseur pointed out.
"They haven't had the benefit of Tom Gadd's opinion or the Widow Flynn's experience of dealing with the man. All they see is the gold at the end of the rainbow and the thanks of a grateful Emperor."
"Some might think that was sufficient," Lasseur said.
"Not me," Hawkwood said. "But, as you once pointed out, I'm a suspicious bastard. I've been around long enough to know that you don't get anything for nothing."
Morgan's warning about keeping within the grounds and the presence of pickets had suddenly taken on a new meaning. Now that Morgan had revealed his grand plan, it was clear those precautions were intended not only to keep unwanted visitors at bay, but to ensure that information did not escape from the compound. It occurred to Hawkwood that one form of prison had been replaced with another. Admittedly, as Denard had stated, there was a deal more comfort, but it was still a gaol of sorts. And one from which Hawkwood had to find a way out.
"You seem well informed about Deal," he said to Lasseur.
The privateer laughed. "Never walked the streets, but British merchantmen use the Downs as an anchorage and there are rich pickings along that stretch of coast for a crew with enough nerve and a fast ship."
"And the Scorpion's a fast ship," Hawkwood said.
"That she is, and the fortress makes a good landmark for navigation. Mind you, I've felt the breeze from those thirty-six- pounders a few times, too. Had my run-ins with the locals as well. They're fine seamen. There's more than one privateer that's been chased away from its target by a pack of sharp-sighted Deal boatmen."