Larcum Mudge (Alexander Clay Series Book 8)

by Philip K Allan

  ‘Eh, no, that’s for certain, sir,’ said the steward. ‘Will you be wanting his divisional officer an’ all?’

  ‘No need to trouble Mr Todd. Just send for him, if you please.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir.’

  When Harte left the cabin, Clay opened the bottom drawer of his desk and took out a flat case of polished mahogany. He opened the lid and removed one of the two pistols it contained from its velvet-lined recess. He checked the priming, slid the weapon into the pocket of his coat, and returned the box to the drawer. Then he tidied away his report to Rear Admiral Montague. It was almost complete, save for a couple of details. The next few days will serve to resolve those, he told himself. He paused to glance over Corbett’s casualty list for a moment, before replacing it with another, much longer list.

  The rap at the cabin door was faint and hesitant when it came. ‘Come in!’ he ordered.

  The softness of the knock was matched by the guarded expression on Mudge’s face. He came in and stood in front of the desk, looking past his captain’s shoulder towards the bow of the Centaure.

  ‘She is a fine prize, is she not?’ said Clay, following his gaze. ‘The Admiralty will buy her for certain, and even split three ways, our share will be healthy.’

  ‘Aye, sir,’ agreed the sailor.

  ‘You played your part in her capture, I understand,’ continued Clay. ‘Mr Blake tells me that you and Samuel Evans were among the first to board.’

  ‘That we were. Thank’ee kindly, sir,’ agreed Mudge, relaxing a little.

  ‘Of course, there was the matter of you disappearing to go below, without your petty officer’s permission,’ said Clay. ‘Mr Fletcher was quite vexed, but I think I can afford to be generous in that regard, given your later contribution to the victory.’

  ‘I take that most kindly, sir.’

  ‘Yes, you have done well,’ continued his captain. ‘Rated able so soon after joining the ship, all the reports I hear from your officers are satisfactory, and Mr Russell speaks very highly of the manner in which you conducted yourself during the attack on the Peregrine.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said the sailor, the ghost of a grin appearing on his face. ‘I were only doin’ me duty, like.’

  ‘Quite so,’ agreed the captain. ‘Of course, in his enthusiasm to praise your actions, he never thought to ponder how exactly it was that you were able to navigate your way in the dark, from out of a burning ship that you were wholly unfamiliar with.’

  The grin vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The sharp features, side-lit by the bright sunlight from outside remained, the dark eyes wary.

  ‘But perhaps you knew the layout perfectly well,’ continued Clay, his eyes watching the sailor closely.

  ‘Them little sloops of war be built much the same, sir,’ offered Mudge.

  ‘Really?’ queried Clay. ‘My first command was another sloop, you know, named Rush. Sedgwick, O’Malley and Evans all served with me on her, and yet that experience doesn’t seem to have been of any assistance to them. Only you knew the way to safety. What do you suppose accounts for that, pray?’

  Trapped at last, thought Mudge to himself. The sound of the ship’s bell from elsewhere in the Griffin had a funereal air, and the oak walls of the cabin seemed closer about him than earlier. He looked outside, where the sunlight glittered on a sea of impossible blue, and realised how fervently he wanted to live. He found himself taken back to a similar, earlier occasion. The sea had been lovely that evening too, up on the Griffin’s forecastle, as the chime of the bell had signalled the changing of the watch. He remembered Sedgwick, leaning close amid the confusion, urging him to have a better explanation ready when next asked about that night of fire and terror. But somehow, under the remorseless gaze of those cold, stone-grey eyes, nothing came to him. All he could manage was a shrug.

  ‘Come, let us be frank with one another,’ urged Clay. ‘It is plain that you knew the Peregrine because you have recently served on her. You are one of those damned mutineers! It explains much, not least why you spent so long below deck during our chase of the Centaure. Conspiring on the orlop with your fellow rebel, perhaps?’

  ‘Has that bastard Tombstone been a squealing?’ he demanded. ‘I knew I should have stuck him when I had the chance.’

  ‘Ah, now we see your true character, Mudge,’ said Clay, slipping a hand into his coat pocket. ‘The red-handed mutineer! No word of remorse for the slaughter you took part in? Your only regret that you failed to claim another victim when you had the chance!’

  ‘It weren’t like that, sir!’ pleaded the sailor. ‘Least ways, not my part in it, whatever Tombstone’s been saying.’

  ‘Actually, he has not breathed a word, but thank you for confirming that you are acquainted with him.’ Clay picked up the list from his desk. ‘This is a copy of the Peregrine’s muster book, issued to all ships by the Admiralty. Tombstone, Tombstone … Ah, I have him. John Graves, forecastle man. One of the uprising’s leaders, I believe.’

  The grey eyes were back on him again, penetrating and hostile.

  ‘So what was your part in these revolting events, I wonder?’ continued Clay. ‘Did you kill the fourteen-year old midshipman?

  ‘No, sir!’ exclaimed the sailor.

  ‘Really? Then perhaps it was you who struck down Lieutenant MacDonald, as he lay unconscious with the Yellow Jack?’

  ‘No! I never touched him!’

  ‘How curious,’ sneered Clay. ‘A mutineer as mild as any Quaker!’ He spun the paper around on his desk and prodded it towards the sailor. ‘There is the watch list. Tell me who it was you killed?’

  Mudge stared at the paper, his head bowed, sweat beading on his forehead. ‘I … I ain’t got me letters, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Give me a name,’ growled Clay, his face cold with suppressed fury.

  ‘Daniels,’ muttered Mudge. ‘I killed that bastard Daniels, sir.’ Then he looked up, and held Clay’s eye. ‘And I ain’t sorry for it, neither. He were the only one that I done for that night, an’ that be the honest truth. I’ll go to my grave sorry I did nothing to check the slaughter that followed, but I ain’t never going to say sorry for that man’s passing.’

  Clay watched the play of emotions on the sailor’s face. Fear, for the most part, blended with defiance. But also truth, if he was any judge of a seaman’s character. ‘Let me give you some advice, Mudge, or whatever your name truly is,’ he said. ‘This mutiny has run its course. Those responsible will be found and punished, however they twist or turn. Cooperate with me now, and it will stand in your favour when you come to trial.’

  He waited in silence for an answer, letting other shipboard sounds fill the void. The creak of the rudder, louder than normal through the broken windows. Midshipmen Todd and Russell sharing a joke, somewhere on the quarterdeck above them, and the sound or Blake reprimanding them for doing so on duty. The continuing clank of the ship’s pumps. The distant thump of hammers as the work of repairing the frigate went on.

  ‘It be Broadbent, sir,’ said Mudge at last. ‘Jack Broadbent.’

  ‘Broadbent … yes I have you set down here,’ said Clay. He replaced the list in front of him, and returned his attention to the mutineer. ‘What occasioned you to select such an unusual alias? Most sailors in my experience are content with Brown or Smith.’

  ‘I borrowed it from the parson back in my village in Suffolk, like, sir,’ said Broadbent. ‘He were a proper whining, stuck-up arse, beggin’ your pardon. In truth, I chose his name for the sport if he ever heard tell as I were using it.’

  ‘I can well picture the Reverend Mudge’s annoyance,’ said Clay. ‘How long were you in Guadeloupe, after the mutiny?’

  ‘Maybe two-month, sir,’ said Broadbent. ‘The Frogs looked after us well enough, but it didn’t feel right, staying on in an enemy port, like. So I got myself smuggled out sharpish, on a schooner bound for St Croix. From there I worked a passage home on a Danish brig. No word of the mutiny had broke then, so ’twas easy enoug
h.’

  ‘Did you see much activity while you were in Pointe-à-Pitre?’ asked Clay. ‘Shipping movements, for example?’

  ‘Oh aye, that I did, sir. Not at first, mind, it being the hurricane season an’ all. But once that had passed, them little schooners was a comin’ and going like bees from a hive.’

  ‘That is interesting. If I asked you to sit down with my clerk, and furnish him with particulars, would you give them to him? It could help at your trial.’

  ‘Aye, I reckon I could do that, sir,’ confirmed the sailor.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Clay. ‘Let us come to the part that I find truly peculiar. What was it that persuaded you to re-join the navy? Were you not fearful of being caught?’

  ‘Tombstone reckoned how word of the mutiny would stay quiet, but I were certain it would come out, sir,’ explained Broadbent. ‘The Caribee ain’t like the South Seas. It only needs one drunken fool to talk when he shouldn’t, and we had no shortage of them on the old Peregrine. I had thought to join a merchant ship, but that were too obvious a place to hide. Then I chanced to be in Tavistock one market day, and caught sight of some jacks by a poster on the side of an alehouse. Why not join the navy once more, I was thinking? Surely that’ll be the last place as folk would come a looking for me. So I went an’ got myself signed up, there and then by Mr Macpherson. Besides …’ The sailor broke off.

  ‘Besides …’ prompted Clay.

  ‘I don’t want to rattle on, over much, but it … it felt right, sir,’ he said. ‘Serving the king, like, ag’in them Frogs. Under that bastard Daniels, we was just staying hid, to be clear of the next flogging. Them four outside that tavern seemed right proud of their barky, and maybe I just wanted a taste of how that felt, for once.’

  Clay felt shame. Shame as no captain should of his navy, and shame that he had thought to place a loaded pistol in his pocket. The competing emotions within him made his voice unusually harsh and grating as he called towards the cabin door. ‘Harte!’ he yelled.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said the steward, coming in after a pause that was just sufficient to suggest that he had not been listening at the door the whole time.

  ‘Kindly ask the master at arms to step this way,’ ordered Clay.

  ‘Aye aye, sir.’

  ‘Am I to be arrested, sir?’ asked the sailor.

  ‘I am afraid so, Broadbent,’ said his captain, ‘and you will be tried for mutiny.’

  He bowed his head at this. ‘Will I swing for it, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘You must reconcile yourself to that probability,’ said Clay. ‘The rising was of such uncommon violence that I would not be expecting mercy if I stood in your place. And you did kill your captain, which is like to go ill with judges drawn from his fellows.’

  Broadbent raised his pale face towards Clay. He seemed about to say something more, but no words came.

  ‘Perhaps I can offer you a little comfort,’ continued his captain. ‘It may not suffice, but I am minded to speak in your favour at that trial. Whatever you have done in the past, your service to this ship deserves to be considered.’

  Chapter 13 Antigua

  The sun had cleared the eastern horizon, and another day was well underway in Antigua when the squadron limped into English Harbour. To the triumphant clatter of the bell in the dockyard chapel, the French crew of the Centaure were taken ashore and handed over to a detachment of the West Indian Regiment who lined the quayside to receive them. Her surviving upper masts were all then struck down on deck, and the great ship was beached to prevent her sinking. She would have to wait, while the dockyard concentrated on repairing the British ships.

  Of these, the Daring had survived almost unscathed. The Centaure’s stern chasers had been abandoned during the heat of battle, as their crews had been urgently redeployed to man the guns facing the larger opponents. This had left the little sloop to pour her stream of broadsides into the enemy’s stern unopposed. In her own noise and fume, she had been largely oblivious to the ferocious hand-to-hand fighting taking place close to her. It was only when the French ship’s tricolour had come down and the clouds of smoke had parted that Camelford had become aware of how fierce the fight had been aboard his admiral’s flagship.

  The Stirling was in the worst state. As the Centaure’s largest and most dangerous opponent, the French had concentrated their attention on trying to defeat her. Her starboard side was beaten full of shot holes. Port lids had been ripped away, and her paintwork was scorched by the flame of her enemy’s guns. A mournful precession of boats ferried her wounded across to the hospital ashore, before she was handed over to the dockyard for urgent repair.

  ‘All in all, we may count ourselves fortunate to have come through such a battle in the state we have,’ said Clay to his first lieutenant, as another boat full of the Stirling’s wounded passed under the stern windows of the frigate, and headed for the shore.

  ‘Indeed, it only needed three trips with the launch for Mr Corbett to take our worst cases across,’ confirmed Taylor from the far side of Clay’s desk. ‘Twenty-four dead, and forty wounded, of which the surgeon believes all bar a dozen will make a full recovery. Many of the lightly hurt have asked to stay on board.’

  ‘Very wise,’ observed Clay. ‘I fear the dockyard hospital won’t have had this much to do since Hood bested De Grasse. I shall go across later to visit our people, but I do fear what sights will greet me. The Centaure had close to three hundred wounded alone.’ He let out an involuntary shudder and the scar on his shoulder ached in sympathy. It was just over five years since another naval surgeon had dug a musket ball out, while Clay wrestled against the straps that held him down, with only a hasty mouthful of rum to dull the pain.

  ‘How is the ship?’ he asked, driving back the memory of that dark time.

  ‘The dockyard can only spare us a dozen men for now, while they yet battle to keep the poor Stirling afloat,’ said Taylor. ‘We will be warped across there sometime tomorrow.’

  ‘Will it answer?’ asked Clay.

  ‘They have all the materials that we need, sir. We shall just have to make shift with what we have. Mr Kennedy and the boatswain know what they are about, and we have our crew for the less skilled work.’

  ‘And what of the mutineers?’ asked Clay.

  ‘Both handed over an hour back, sir,’ said the first lieutenant. ‘I still cannot believe Mudge to have been responsible for such wickedness. All his officers spoke so highly of him.’

  ‘According to Captain Sutton, Daniels was quite the tartar,’ said Clay. ‘It was probably only a matter of time before his men rose against him. I have said that I will speak up for him, when he comes to trial.’

  ‘Is that wise, sir?’ queried Taylor. ‘To defend a known mutineer?’

  ‘No, George, not if I value my progress in the service,’ said Clay. ‘But I have said that I would do so, now. I cannot but think that if he had served with us instead of on the Peregrine, he would have made an exemplary shipmate.’

  The two men were quiet for a moment, and then Clay picked up an open letter that lay on his desk. ‘Would you care for some more pleasant tidings, George?’ he asked.

  ‘I would like that above all things, sir.’

  ‘We have been invited to a reception this evening, hosted by the admiral in his residence ashore,’ announced Clay. ‘To celebrate our victory over the Centaure. I had best get Harte to give my shoes an extra polish.’

  ‘Really?’ queried Taylor, running a hand through his hair. ‘I am not sure those are welcome tidings, sir. As if we did not have sufficient to attend to with setting the ship to rights.’

  ‘Cheer up, George,’ said his captain. ‘I am sure it will be a most pleasant distraction. Besides, there is someone I particularly wish to speak with who will be present.’

  *****

  It was evening when the officers of the Griffin climbed down the battered side of their ship and into the waiting launch. The calm water of English Harbour was turning to the palest of blue in the
fading light, and the first lamps were being lit in houses high on the slopes around them. The commissioning pennant of the frigate fluttered and cracked in the sea breeze high above their heads, but down on the surface of the sheltered inlet lay a blanket of warm, still air. All around them were scrub-covered hills, like the walls of a crater. To add to their discomfort, the officers were wearing their heavy dress-coats, and were packed uncomfortably close in the boat.

  ‘Apologies for the tightness of the accommodation, gentlemen,’ said Clay, resisting the urge to run a finger around his neckcloth. ‘Blame the French, if you will, for knocking the bow off our poor longboat. Fortunately, the journey is but a short one. Carry on, Sedgwick.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir,’ said the coxswain, and then, rather more loudly, ‘Shove off in the bow, there! Larboard side, take a stroke. Handsomely now!’

  The launch gathered way, while the sweating officers looked on enviously at the open shirts and bare arms of the rowers. They headed across English Harbour towards a little stone jetty a few hundred yards away, where the cutter from the Daring was unloading its guests. The clatter of a dropped oar was followed by a shouted oath from Camelford directed towards the unfortunate sailor.

  ‘Goodness, the prize is attracting quite a crowd, sir,’ commented Taylor. ‘Why, half the island must have come to gawk. The Gordon riots ain’t in it!’ Clay looked towards the beach where the Centaure lay like a huge stranded whale. She was surrounded by a ring of red-coated soldiers from the garrison, who were struggling to hold back a mass of sightseers. The lane that ran along the top of the shore was thronged with carriages and traps.

  ‘It’s rather a sad position, for such a such a proud ship, sir,’ commented Preston. ‘Being reduced to a spectacle for the diversion of the mob.’

  ‘Easy there!’ barked Sedgwick. ‘Oars in!’

  The launch swept smartly up against the jetty, and the officers began to disembark. There was a party of marines guarding it, and they ushered them towards a path that cut its way up the hillside. Above them was a large square house ablaze with light on the summit of the headland. As the officers followed their guide, they were relieved to find the temperature dropping steadily as they climbed into fresher air, blowing in from the sea.