A Stormy Peace

by David McDine

  Anson observed playfully: ‘I’m told that ladies who marry sea officers are advised to close their ears on occasion. What do you say to that?’

  ‘That’s sound advice. Elizabeth told me that she developed selective hearing as soon as you became a midshipman. She said your mother was quite shocked when you first came on leave full of lower deck expressions.’

  Anson protested: ‘What can you expect when we have to live hugger-mugger with rough sailors?’

  *

  The breeze was freshening, and as they walked back down the pier Anson eyed the choppy sea a trifle anxiously.

  It would be no problem for the likes of him and Hurel, but he was not so sure about the others. Parkin was not exactly robust, Cassandra had never been afloat, and a bad crossing would set the Paris trip off on entirely the wrong foot.

  They retired early and next morning, on the advice of the hotel proprietor, Anson accompanied Parkin to seek out the captain of a two-masted vessel — the reassuringly-named Dover Goodwife — and found him on the pier supervising the loading of stores.

  Anson cast a professional eye over the Goodwife. Her fore and aft rigged masts were raked very much like a schooner, and her long bowsprit was near horizontal. The courses were gaffsails that could be extended by booms as in cutters. Square topsails could be carried on both masts — and a square course when running before the wind. Clearly, she was built for speed. He reckoned she was of around fifty tons with a crew of under a dozen.

  The captain, a genial middle-aged man with well-weathered face, removed his clay pipe to ask: ‘Can I help you, gentlemen? Cap’n Thomas Sutton, at your service.’

  Parkin looked to Anson, who asked: ‘You’re on the Calais run?’

  ‘I am, sir. Brought the Goodwife down from Harwich recently to run passengers across now that peace has broken out.’

  Anson nodded. There would have been precious little passenger traffic out of Dover during hostilities and he knew some skippers had migrated temporarily to East Anglia, where there had been richer pickings. Sutton was clearly one of those who had thought it worthwhile to return.

  ‘We’re seeking a passage and we’ve been recommended to you.’

  ‘That’s on account of the old Goodwife being the best, sir. Just the two of you for Calais, is it?’

  ‘We have a party of five, all told, staying at the Ship Inn and keen to sail as soon as possible.’

  ‘Very well, sir. I can do you a very good price for five. Let’s say two guineas a head.’

  As a banker, albeit retired, Parkin had done his homework and would not be dunned although he could well afford to be. ‘We’d rather pay a guinea a head, that being more like the going rate.’

  ‘Ha, you should have said you were local! There’s a price for locals and another for strangers, especially Londoners. So, when is it you’re wanting to sail?’

  ‘Tomorrow, if wind and tide are right.’

  ‘Tide’s constant, give or take, but wind’s variable. This north-westerly is a trifle strong but should suit us, so unless it changes, I’ll plan to sail tomorrow morning on the ebb, around eight o’clock. You’ll all need to be on board, bags and baggage by seven, no later.’

  Parkin asked: ‘And when can we expect to arrive in Calais?’

  The captain chuckled indulgently. ‘Bless you, sir, ’tis plain you’re no sailor! We’ll get there when the wind lets us and not before.’

  He looked out to sea at the white-topped waves and warned: ‘Looks to me as if it’ll be a rough passage, but a quick one.’

  ‘Will you be taking any other passengers?’

  ‘I will, sir, but only five others, so you won’t be crowded out.’

  Before securing the deal, Anson enquired who the other passengers were. With his clandestine role in mind it paid to be careful.

  Sutton took off his battered tricorn hat and scratched his balding pate. ‘The others? Let me see. There’s a military-looking gent with his sister and fiancée. Says they’re getting married in Paris, romantic, see?’

  ‘And the others?’

  ‘There’s a man of business with a fellow he calls his valet but who looks more like a bruiser.’

  ‘A bodyguard?’

  ‘I reckon so. The business gent’s short and chubby and carries a big leather bag around with him that he never lets out of his sight. The other cove keeps watch on him, always looking round, furtive like, as if he’s expecting someone to try and rob them at any minute.’

  There was something familiar about the packet captain’s description of the businessman, but no doubt all would be revealed when they embarked next day.

  ‘Now, gents, if you’ll kindly leave a deposit to secure your berths, I’ll crack on with loading stores. Oh, by the by, I’d be obliged if you don’t mention to the other passengers how much you’re paying. They’re Londoners, y’see, so qualify for the full rate, same as foreigners.’

  Amused at the captain’s audacity, Parkin and Anson made their way back to the Ship Inn to announce what was planned, and recommend that after a sight-seeing visit to the famous castle the party should eat and retire early so as to be in good form for the crossing.

  32

  The Woodhurst Militia

  As it grew dark Hoover accompanied Brother Finch to the vicarage, announcing to the servant who answered their knock that they had a matter of the greatest importance to discuss with the incumbent.

  After a lengthy wait in the hallway they were ushered into the study, where they found the Reverend Tobias Root smoking a pipe and enjoying a glass of postprandial brandy.

  Hoover raised an eyebrow. This didn’t augur well. They were about to ask the vicar to cut off his brandy supply, which would surely happen if he co-operated to thwart the smugglers.

  But the interview went better than expected.

  Seated and offered a glass, which both politely declined, they quickly outlined the situation — the beating of William Philpot and the smugglers’ threat to burn the chapel and the houses of anyone who refused o cooperate with them.

  The vicar listened without reaction, but when Hoover explained that he was a sergeant of marines and had been sent by Lieutenant Anson of the Seagate Sea Fencibles to protect the village, he beamed.

  ‘Anson? Kin of the Reverend Thomas Anson, rector of Hardres-with-Farthingham?’

  ‘His son, sir.’

  ‘His second son, I think you’ll find. The eldest, Augustine, is a canon at Canterbury Cathedral. So this must be...?’

  ‘Oliver Anson, sir.’

  ‘Yes, yes, the young man who escaped from France and captured a French man-of-war!’

  ‘It was a privateer, sir.’

  ‘An enemy ship nevertheless, however you’d care to describe it. I know the young man’s father well. So, how can I help?’

  An hour later Hoover and Finch left the vicarage with permission to station a lookout in the church tower and to take refuge there should it prove necessary. What’s more, the Reverend Root had offered to find a few volunteers ‘sound of wind and limb’ to join the Woodhurst Militia, explaining with a broad smile: ‘If the smugglers do attack the village, I can’t have it said afterwards that they were beaten off by half a parcel of non-conformists! No, this must be a joint effort!’

  Back at the pub, Hoover updated the bosun. ‘The vicar ain’t fussed if we post look-outs in his tower and use the church for shelter if we’re hard-pressed. I didn’t tell him that’s where I reckon the action will be, but we won’t worry ourselves about that ’til it happens.’

  ‘While you was hobnobbin’ wiv the vicar, young Tom Marsh ’as come back wiv you-know-what.’

  ‘The muskets? Has Boxer squared it?’

  ‘Yeah. Young Tom says when ’e took ’im your note George told ’im ’e’s already written some orf, wiv bayonets, powder, balls — the lot. Mister Anson’s orders.’

  All it had needed to win the quartermaster’s cooperation was the mention that the smuggling gang threatening Woodhurst was led by
one Billy MacIntyre.

  Boxer and Black Mac had history, the former bosun of the Seagate detachment having blackmailed him by threatening to shop him to the impress, wounded veteran or not, unless he paid up.

  Hoover frowned. ‘How come he’s managed to write off the muskets? I bet it ain’t strictly legal, is it?’

  ‘’Course it ain’t! They all got lost overboard from the boats when we attacked Boulogne, didn’t they? Leastways, that’s what the paperwork says. Quartermasters love a bit of henemy action, so’s they can write orf all sorts of stuff.’

  ‘But losing half a dozen muskets overboard sounds a mite suspicious.’

  ‘Nah, nah! Ain’t yer learned nuffink all the time yer bin in the marines? No, silly, ’e’s sent us seven. See, when y’want to put one over on the ’ammock-counters what ye do is give ’em an odd number...’

  Hoover looked doubtful.

  ‘Look, it’s like if yer was claimin’ some money back what ye’d paid aht on be’alf of the navy. Well, never say it was a pound, even if it was. What y’do is claim one pound one shillen and thrupence farthin’. Common sense ain’t it? If you claim a round pound they gets all suspicious. Mind you, always claims ’igh rather than low, but never a round figure, see?’

  Hoover reacted with a quizzical look at this piece of lower deck economic wisdom but let it go.

  ‘Where are these lost muskets right now?’

  ‘In yer room, mate, under yer bed. Weapons is marines’ kit, ain’t they? Anyway, if I ’appen to get lucky in the bar tonight I don’t want the floozy to trip over a pile of muskets, do I? Might put ’er orf ’er stroke.’

  But in the event Sam Fagg did not ‘get lucky’ in the bar and they both wisely decided on an early night. They had a militia to train.

  33

  Fellow Passengers

  Breakfasting early with the Ludden Hall party, Anson noted a ruddy-faced military-looking type accompanied by a hard-faced woman and a much younger, shy-looking lady at a nearby table. No doubt some of the fellow-passengers Captain Sutton had mentioned.

  His exchange of small talk with the Parkins and Hurel about the upcoming crossing was interrupted by the arrival of a short, well-upholstered, purple-nosed man sporting extravagant side-whiskers known in the service as ‘bugger’s grips’ and clutching a large leather bag as if it were a precious child.

  Anson near choked on a forkful of scrambled egg and rose to his feet. ‘Good grief, Obadiah Pettiworth!’

  The man and his companion, a tough-looking fellow with the appearance of a bodyguard, stared at Anson, who immediately realised that he must look different in plain clothes and with considerably more scars than he had when they last met.

  ‘You clearly don’t recognise me, Mister Pettiworth. Perhaps if I were in naval uniform?’

  The penny dropped and Pettiworth beamed. ‘Why it’s Lieutenant Anson, my saviour when robbers attacked me at the mail coach stop on the way back to London!’

  It had been back at the time of the naval mutinies in ’97 and Anson and Nat Bell had seen the villains off, although the guard had taken a pistol ball for his trouble.

  ‘I am still in your debt, lieutenant. Had you not come to my aid those miscreants would have made off with my bag.’ He patted it lovingly. ‘And, well, I would have lost a small fortune and my counting house might well have gone under.’

  ‘But I see you have your own security now, Mister Pettiworth.’

  ‘Obadiah, please. Yes, this is Crocker. He’s an old soldier and there’s no-one better at covering my back, barring your good self of course.’

  ‘May I ask what brings you to Dover, er, Obadiah? Might I guess that you are taking advantage of the temporary peace and crossing the Channel to take the benefits of your financial acumen to the French?’

  ‘You’ve got it in one!’ Pettiworth laughed. ‘Yes, after years of enmity there will be opportunities galore, so I’m taking passage in Captain Sutton’s vessel this very morning.’

  ‘Then once again we’ll be fellow passengers. Mister Parkin and his niece, Cassandra here, are off to Paris with me, and this is our friend Hur—, er, Mister Tunbridge. And would you believe it? Nat Bell, the guard who was wounded when you were attacked, is here with us.’

  Pettiworth chuckled happily. ‘Then from personal experience I can assure Mister Parkin and his niece that we could not be in better hands!’

  *

  Anson and Bell busied themselves collecting the party’s luggage and arranging for it to be taken down to the Dover Goodwife’s berth. But Bell insisted on carrying what Anson had called his ‘bag of tools’ himself. ‘I ain’t being parted from this,’ he announced. ‘It’s well known that these ’ere Channel ports is swarmin’ wiv ne’r-do-wells and it’d be more’n me life’s worth to ’ave this lot nicked!’

  Parkin paid the bill, ignoring protests from Anson by saying, patently untruthfully, that they could ‘settle up later’, and Hurel seized the opportunity to continue his campaign to charm Cassandra, who avoided him taking her arm by linking hers with young Bessie.

  It being only a musket shot from the pier, they walked together, talking excitedly of the adventure to come.

  But Anson’s attention was focused on the weather. He did not like the keen nor-westerly that seemed to have increased overnight.

  As they approached the Goodwife he could see that she was swinging at her moorings and he exchanged a quiet word with Hurel. ‘This doesn’t augur well for the non-sailors. Do you think we should delay our departure until it quietens down?’

  But Hurel shook his head. ‘Worry not, mon ami. It’s but twenty or so of your English miles and we’ll be there before you can flutter an eyelid.’

  Anson shrugged. ‘I think you mean bat an eyelid. A man fluttering his eyelids indicates something quite different in the British navy, but no matter. I was merely thinking of Parkin, Cassandra and her maid who are unused to the sea.’

  Captain Sutton was at the gangway to greet them. ‘Good morning gentlemen, ladies. With this heavy swell I fear conditions are not as good as I’d hoped, but as I said, we should be in for a quick passage.’

  Pettiworth and his man, the ruddy-faced military type, his hard-faced sister and shy — and, Anson noted, now greatly agitated — young fiancée were already on board, and the businessman could be heard lecturing them: ‘Yes, the peace brings opportunities for those bold enough to grab them! The blockades have starved the French of the benefits of trade and commerce, but I intend to put that right in short order!’

  Anson led his party over the gangway, touched his hat by way of salute and joined the other passengers amidships, where Pettiworth announced him. ‘Ah, here’s my very old friend Lieutenant Anson, of the Royal Navy.’

  The army man looked him up and down and announced himself: ‘Major Trumper, on my way to Paris on a diplomatic mission of the greatest importance.’ The emphasis on his rank and the pomposity with which he had described his reason for crossing made Anson take an instant dislike to the man. ‘And these people?’

  ‘Lieutenant Hur—’

  ‘No, no, my friend! Remember I am a civilian now. Gerald Tunbridge, at your service, major.’

  Trumper sniffed. ‘Another jolly Jack Tar, eh? So we’ll be well served at sea when we get to all the yo-heave-oh-ing, what?’

  ‘As you might deduce from our plain clothes, major, I am off duty for the duration of the peace and Hur—, er Tunbridge, here is no longer serving, so any yo-heave-oh-ing will be left to the ship’s crew, all of whom I am sure are fully up to the task of getting us to France.’

  The army man sniffed disdainfully and directed his attention to Parkin, who was watching a cloud of seagulls following a fishing boat into the harbour. ‘And you, sir?’

  ‘Me, sir? Parkin’s the name, a particular friend of Lieutenant Anson.’

  ‘Really? And why, may I ask, are you going to France?’

  Parkin, too, appeared a little put out by the major’s directness, but answered civilly enough:
‘We see this peace as an opportunity to undertake what you might call a grand tour in miniature.’

  ‘Huh, I’d call that a holiday.’ He turned away and Anson shrugged, thinking ‘there’s always one.’ No doubt the pompous major was one of those who had bought his commission, as was possible — indeed normal — in an army that had not shed much blood in the recent war.

  Captain Sutton left the gangway and joined Anson’s party. ‘We’re all ready for the off, gentlemen, ladies, but I fear the heavy swell will make for an uncomfortable crossing.’

  Parkin looked to Anson, eyebrows raised. Anson glanced seawards. ‘Well, there’s no rush as far as we’re concerned, so if you feel it’s best to wait until it abates, so be it.’

  But the major had overheard. ‘Wait! Why in the devil’s name should we wait?’

  Anson sighed. ‘The captain knows the Channel better than most and reckons conditions will make it an uncomfortable run. With the ladies and civilians in mind, perhaps we should delay sailing until the weather improves.’

  ‘Delay? I have already told you I am on important diplomatic business. There must be no delay! If you and your party are too lily-livered to make the crossing because of a bit of weather I suggest you take yourselves ashore and wait it out.’

  Bridling at the slight, Anson was ready to teach the man some manners, but Parkin restrained him with a hand on his arm and muttered softly: ‘The ladies.’

  Anson paused for a moment and nodded. It would not do to become involved in an undignified squabble with this cretin before they had even set sail. Instead, he gave the major a withering stare and said quietly: ‘Very well, let’s get under way and hope your stomach is as strong as your tongue.’

  ‘Pah!’ The major spun on his heel and went to join his sister and fiancée.

  34

  ‘A Bit of Weather’