Larcum Mudge (Alexander Clay Series Book 8)

by Philip K Allan

  When all seemed ready on deck, Clay got up and made his way to the side. He settled his hat on his head and pulled his sword clear of his feet. Two hand ropes dangled down, woven from red and white strands in a pleasing crisscross pattern. He seized them both and pulled himself up the side. His progress was slightly crabbed, as he favoured his right arm; his left shoulder had never fully recovered its strength from the Spanish musket ball that had nearly killed him in these waters, five years earlier. The tumblehome of the side helped him as he neared the top, and he managed to arrive at the entry port with some of the dignity to be expected of a post captain. His hand rose to acknowledge the line of white-gloved ship’s boys, boatswain’s mates and saluting marines.

  Even for a flagship, the Stirling was immaculate. The scrubbed planking was almost white and the lines of upper-deck cannon were painted with gloss black paint so thick they appeared to have been lacquered. The ropework all around him showed a profusion of elaborate Turk’s Heads and Monkey’s Fists, and the officers on the quarterdeck all seemed to be in full dress uniform. Some of the more fashion-minded even wore the hessian boots that were starting to take the place of buckled shoes in the service. A man with a bald pate whose uniform matched Clay’s stepped forward with a warm smile and an outstretched hand.

  ‘Welcome on board, Captain,’ he said. ‘My name is William Thompson.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Captain Thompson,’ he said, taking the hand. ‘Alexander Clay. What an astonishingly well-turned out ship you have! Not occasioned by my visit, I trust? Perhaps the governor is due to inspect her later?’

  Thompson made to reply, but noticed the twinkle in his visitor’s eye, and smiled in response. ‘Ah, you seek to make game of me, Clay,’ he said. ‘I collect you must have served with Sir George before?’

  ‘Indeed, in the Indian Ocean. Does the admiral continue to keep a private supply of paint, mixed to his own specification?’

  ‘He may even have ventured to improve the formulation since then,’ laughed Thompson, leading the way below. ‘If you care to accompany me, you can ask him for it yourself.’

  Rear Admiral Sir George Montague had changed little since Clay had last seen him. His uniform was as beautifully tailored as he remembered. The short dark hair was a little greyer over the temples, but there was the same haughty look in the eyes that regarded him as he approached. They left his face to flicker over the details of his uniform. Then he rose from behind a desk of carefully arranged items and held out his hand.

  ‘Good to see you again, Captain Clay, and welcome to the Leeward Islands,’ he said. ‘I trust you will not find us overly dull after all your recent exploits in the Baltic. Here catching privateers and impounding smuggled French sugar are our chief concerns, what?’

  ‘Not at all, Sir George,’ said Clay, shaking the proffered hand. He ran a finger around the top of his neckcloth, and shrugged at his heavy coat. ‘But goodness, it is certainly considerably warmer than I was acquainted with in those waters.’ Montague frowned at his new arrival.

  ‘If you were hoping for permission to remove your coat, Captain, I fear you will be disappointed,’ he said. ‘We maintain high standards in this squadron, which includes the matter of my officers’ appearance. You will find my observations on the matter within your standing orders. But I can offer you the comfort of a chair, at least, before you expire where you stand. Would you care for refreshment?’

  ‘Thank you, Sir George,’ said Clay, sitting down, and accepting a glass of sherry from the white-gloved steward who had appeared beside him.

  ‘We are not strangers to inclement weather ourselves, you know,’ continued Montague. ‘A most powerful hurricane passed through Antigua last year. I witnessed rain and wind the like of which I had scarce thought possible. Noah and his flood weren’t in it! It is hard to imagine on a day such as this, but the island was very roughly handled. If I had a shilling for every plantation owner who lost his sugar crop, I could retire the service and renounce my pension, what?’

  ‘I did note some destruction on the hillsides to the west of here, Sir George,’ commented Clay. ‘How did the squadron fair?’

  ‘Tolerably well, for we do not keep the sea in that season,’ said the admiral. ‘We were snug enough in English Harbour, double moored with our masts struck below and the hatches all battened down. Of course, we were desperately worried on account of Captain Daniels and the Peregrine. Rightly so, as it turned out, although it seems he succumbed to fury of a different stamp.’

  ‘Ain’t that the truth,’ said Clay. ‘Have many of the mutineers been apprehended, Sir George?’

  ‘A dozen or so, but we shall presently find the rest, have no fear, once the bounty on offer for them is generally known,’ said Montague. ‘Such ill-bred types are hopeless at dissembling. Why, we caught one brazen fool right here in Antigua, this very week. He was found in an alehouse in St John. He partook of more rum than was wise and made some boastful remarks to the company about the mutiny. While he slumbered, his drinking companions decided among themselves how they would share the reward, and then called in the constables. I take it your arrival is not unconnected with that affair?’

  ‘Indeed, I have dispatches here from the Admiralty which explain all, together with my report of my voyage, Sir George,’ said Clay, passing the documents across. ‘We also brought mail from home with us. I took the liberty of having those letters from Lady Montague separated so that I could give them to you immediately.’

  ‘Thank you, Captain, said his host, placing his wife’s letters to one side without a glance. ‘I shall attend to those later. Will you excuse me while I read the orders?’

  ‘Of course, Sir George,’ said Clay. While the admiral read, he took the opportunity to look around the wide, spacious cabin. The Stirling was one of the older sixty-fours in the service, built with the comfort of its officers in mind. Behind the admiral was a run of large stern windows, all open, through which he had a fine view over a bustling stone quayside. Shouted orders and the cries of hawkers drifted on the warm air. There were handcarts laden with tropical fruit or caged birds, while further back a line of black slaves were walking up a gangplank, each man bent under the weight of a heavy sack. Then his attention turned to the arrangement of the windows themselves. Most of them had a locker with a padded seat fitted to the lid beneath them, but there were two that had none. He realised that these must be a pair of concealed doors that led out onto a stern gallery. He had noticed it as he rowed over, projecting out like a balcony over the water. Clay stood to look through the nearest window and noticed the gallery’s ornate carved rail.

  ‘It is a pity that such detail is vanishing from our ships of the line, is it not, Captain,’ said Montague, following where his guest looked. ‘The modern trend for enclosed sterns is doubtless more economic in the matter of space, but I do so enjoy taking my ease out there, of an evening, when we are at sea.’

  ‘It must be very agreeable,’ said Clay.

  ‘Mind, that does not bear on the current matter in hand,’ said the admiral, tapping the open dispatch in front of him and returning to his customary briskness. ‘I collect that you have been sent to find the wretched Peregrine and bring her out.’

  ‘That is so, Sir George. His lordship has received information that the mutineers took her into Guadeloupe and sold her to the French.’

  ‘I daresay the blighters did!’ snorted Montague. ‘Most trouble hereabouts comes from that nest of vipers! Of course, his lordship knows Guadeloupe passing well. He commanded the fleet when we captured the island back in ninety-four. Mind, that was a short-lived triumph.’

  ‘The enemy promptly retook the place, did they not, Sir George?’

  ‘Quite so. Soon as they learned of its fall, the damned Frogs sent out a revolutionary hothead named Victor Hughes as governor, with an army of Jacobin zealots. He retook the place, freed all the slaves, and sent many of their former masters to the guillotine. Now Guadeloupe is full of every mischief this side of Ha
des, and all within a day’s sailing of where we are presently seated.’

  ‘Can nothing be attempted against the place, Sir George?’ asked Clay.

  ‘That is easier said than accomplished,’ explained the admiral. ‘Hughes has armed all the negros and taught them soldiering. There are tens of thousands of the blighters, and with their freedom at stake, you can expect them to resist any occupation like demons. The Admiralty has not seen fit to replace the Peregrine, and with the trade to protect, the best I have been able to do is keep one of my sloops bottling up the place. Captain Camelford is on station there at present, in the Daring.’

  ‘If she is indeed there, where do you suppose the Peregrine will be found?’ asked Clay.

  ‘Guadeloupe has a few harbours, but only one of note, which is Pointe-à-Pitre,’ said Montague, sipping at his drink. He paused to look at the glass, holding it up to the light for a moment, and then rounded on his steward. ‘For God’s sake, Thomas, this glass is filthy! There is half a finger mark on the base, damn your eyes!’

  ‘Apologies, Sir George, let me replace it,’ said the servant, hastening around the desk with a fresh drink.

  ‘Is your glass clean, Captain?’ asked Montague.

  ‘Eh, perfectly so,’ said Clay. ‘You were saying that you thought that the Peregrine might be found at this Pointe-à-Pitre?’

  The admiral consulted the dispatch once more. ‘His lordship says that he believes the appearance of the Peregrine may have been changed, and that is the only port with the facilities to accomplish such a transformation in the possession of the enemy.’

  ‘Splendid,’ said Clay. ‘At least I have some notion of where to start. What orders do you have for me, Sir George?’

  ‘Certainly, you must commence your search at Pointe-à-Pitre. But I can give you very little assistance, for I have to be mindful of all my other responsibilities. I have the Jamaica convoy to consider, which will pass in the next two weeks. But you can naturally call on Camelford and the Daring to assist you.’

  ‘A heavy frigate and a sloop,’ said Clay. ‘That should suffice, Sir George.’

  ‘You might want to examine the place first, before offering such a decided opinion, Captain,’ said Montague. ‘The Pointe-à-Pitre lies at the bottom of a difficult bay that is full of reefs and islands. There is only one practical entrance for shipping, and that is protected by some notable fortifications. I wish you the best of good fortune getting in there, for I am certain you shall have need of it.’

  Chapter 4 Guadeloupe

  Clay was busy at his desk, putting the finishing touches to his latest letter to Lydia. His wife had a keen interest in the outside world, and there was much in Antigua that would have delighted her. He had just been describing the line of white pelicans, all beaks and angles, that he could see through the stern window of the frigate. They occupied a line of mooring posts, with one huge bird stood on each, busy preening themselves. He had just completed this task when the expected knock came at the cabin door.

  ‘Come in,’ said Clay, laying down his pen.

  Midshipman Todd marched across and stood in front of his captain. ‘Mr Blake’s compliments, and a boat has just put out from the Echo, sir,’ said the youngster.

  ‘Please give him my thanks, and tell him that I will be on deck directly,’ said Clay. Todd touched his hat and returned the way he had come, while his captain looked around the cabin to check that all was ready for the arrival of his friend. The dining table had been reduced to its smallest, and was laden with glasses and silverware, together with a basket of fresh bread delivered that morning from ashore. A pair of decanters stood on a table nearby, beneath the portrait of his wife who smiled down on proceedings. Both the cabin’s gun ports and all of the window lights that ran across the stern had been opened to let in a little breeze, although it was still uncomfortably warm. His steward, Harte, came bustling in with a beautiful spread of cut flowers that burst from out of a large copper cylinder. He placed them on the table, and then fussed over their arrangement.

  ‘Compliments of the purser, who was ashore this morning, sir,’ he said, by way of explanation.

  ‘They look very fine,’ said Clay. ‘Please give my thanks to Mr Faulkner. But what, pray is that unusual vessel you have put them in?’

  ‘Welcome as his gift may be, there weren’t a vase in the whole barky to stow them in, sir,’ explained the steward. ‘Which ain’t so very strange, seeing as we’re not overburdened with flowers out at sea. So, I had the gunner saw the top off an eighteen-pounder canister round, and take out all the musket balls. It don’t look so shabby, do it?’

  ‘No indeed,’ said Clay, rising to his feet. ‘Very inventive. Was Mr Faulkner also able to procure the flying fish?’

  ‘Half a dozen, caught this very morning, cleaned and ready for the pan, sir,’ said the steward. ‘An’ fresh pineapple to follow the cheese. Shall I get you your coat and hat?’

  ‘If you please, Harte,’ said Clay, doing up his waistcoat. He would dearly have liked to stay in his open linen shirt, but appearances had to be maintained, especially moored in English Harbour, within easy view of his fastidious admiral. He stood up and held his arms behind him to receive his coat, pulled it straight and accepted his hat as he left the cabin. It was a short stroll to the entry port, where his friend was coming on board without the usual ceremony that even a naval commander was entitled to. Instead a group of the frigate’s younger officers replaced the usual boatswain’s mates and ship’s boys. John Sutton had served with most of them, and was well liked by all.

  ‘My thanks for those lovely flowers, Mr Faulkner,’ he said to the ship’s purser. The officer gave a stiff bow, his elegantly uniform coat swishing open as he did so.

  ‘It was nothing, sir,’ he said, in his aristocratic tone. ‘They are to be obtained on the quayside for such a reasonable price, I purchased some for the wardroom too.’

  ‘Aye, for which we give thanks,’ said his friend Macpherson. ‘They at least serve to mask some of the ranker odours emanating from the hold.’

  ‘Or Mr Corbett’s ill-washed linen,’ added Blake, whose cabin was next to that of the ship’s surgeon.

  ‘Boat ahoy!’ yelled the midshipman of the watch from the quarterdeck above them. Clay leant forward and saw his friend sitting in the stern sheets of the approaching launch.

  ‘Echo!’ came the reply, followed by the clatter of the boat coming alongside. From the sound of the muttered oaths from below, one at least of the sailors had failed to get his oar clear in time. A moment later the beaming, darkly handsome face of the sloop’s commander appeared in the entry port as he bounded up the side. There was much hand shaking and laughter among the officers, and then his friend was stood before him.

  ‘Good to see you, John,’ said Clay, pulling his visitor into an embrace.

  ‘It has been much too long, brother,’ said Sutton, holding him close. The two ship’s captains parted, and Clay led the way towards his cabin. As soon as both men were inside, they quickly shrugged off their coats, and surrendered them to Harte.

  ‘How is your delightful wife?’ asked his friend, gesturing at the portrait.

  ‘In good health, I thank you, John,’ said Clay. ‘In fact, she was quite blooming when I left England. We have hopes that our little family may be extended shortly.’ Clay took his place at the table and hastily touched the surface, while his friend sat down opposite.

  ‘Why that is wonderful!’ exclaimed Sutton. ‘Some wine here, Harte, if you please.’ When both men had been served, he held his glass aloft. ‘To the health of Lydia Clay.’

  His dark eyes sparkled with pleasure, touched with something sadder. Clay leant across and placed a hand on his friend’s sleeve. ‘Betsey’s time will come, soon enough, I am sure.’

  ‘Not if the Admiralty persists in stationing me on the far side of the Atlantic,’ said his friend. ‘She yearns for a family, Alex, and while being an aunt again will bring her joy, it will come with a little envy too. H
ow was she when you last saw her?’

  ‘My sister was in the best of health,’ said Clay. ‘She has started work on a fresh novel, which she tells me is going very ill, and she is naturally missing her husband greatly, of course. But perhaps this peace that everyone speaks of will remedy that.’

  ‘Precious little sign of it breaking out in these waters,’ snorted his guest. ‘We have to contend with French privateers, Yankee blockade runners, Spanish warships and any amount of smuggling. Which reminds me, I noticed a bumboat selling coconuts to your crew through an open gun port as I approached.’

  ‘Very like,’ said Clay. ‘What of it?’

  ‘Only that the latest ruse for bringing illicit spirits on board is to drain away the milk and replace it with rum. I believe the hands refer to such refreshment as sucking the monkey.’

  ‘Harte, my compliments to Mr Taylor, and tell him that no coconuts are to be sold to the men other than via Mr Faulkner,’ ordered Clay. ‘And say he has my permission to drop an eighteen-pounder ball through the bottom of any bumboat that comes alongside intent on selling directly.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ said the steward. ‘Shall I also fetch the flying fish?’

  ‘If you please.’

  ‘Fish, how splendid!’ enthused Sutton. ‘That will make a pleasant change from Salt Beef Pepperpot, which is the only local delicacy my steward seems able to produce.’

  ‘I was delighted to find you in port when I arrived, John.’

  ‘Pure good fortune, brother,’ said his friend. ‘A sprung topgallant yard and an empty hold is what has occasioned it. The moment I have revictualed, I shall be off back to the Mona Passage, hunting down smugglers.’

  ‘Is smuggling endemic in these parts?’ asked Clay.