Cut and Run: The Fourth Book in the Fighting Sail Series

by Alaric Bond

  “Rogers!” he said. The word came out involuntarily, but he was alert enough to bite back those that were keen to follow.

  “Indeed it is, Mr King,” the man said coldly. “And I am not insensible to the fact that the pleasure appears to be entirely mine.”

  Chapter Two

  King pulled himself together and attempted to wipe the expression of horror and disgust from his face.

  “I'm sorry, sir. I just didn't expect…” His voice trailed away.

  “Apparently so, and yet you applied for a position in my ship, and I was good enough to accept you.”

  Still, King's mind refused to function. Yes, it was a Captain Rogers he had written to, and the signature had been clear enough on the letter of acceptance. Yet never in his most troubled nightmares had King connected a senior naval officer in a respected merchant service with the incompetent buffoon standing in front of him now. Rogers was second lieutenant in Vigilant, where his bullying ways caused no end of friction, both in the wardroom, and throughout the ship. The man had proved to be impossible to work with, and yet here he was, not only in front of King, but apparently his commanding officer.

  Captain Rogers turned to the two men who now joined him on the gangboard. “Mr King here was an officer in Vigilant; I have told you of my time with her, I believe?”

  “Indeed,” the first spoke. He was probably mid-twenties, short, with greasy black hair and sallow skin that was pockmarked with old chickenpox scars. “A gallant action, sir.”

  “Willis, my chief officer,” Rogers gave an offhand nod to the

  man who stepped forward to shake King's hand. “Mr King has joined us as midshipman,” the captain continued.

  King's jaw dropped. “Sir, I have passed my board; I was made lieutenant in my last ship.”

  Rogers showed little surprise or emotion. “Indeed? Then, I wish you joy of your commission, but you will be rated as midshipman aboard Pevensey Castle.”

  “That was not the agreement, sir.” The last word was added hurriedly, and there was a noticeable stiffening from the two at Rogers’s side as King continued. “I was at East India House, I have been sworn in, as…as an officer of the Company.”

  “I do not doubt it.” The captain studied him for a while, as if wishing to remember the moment for always. “And the agreement, sir,” he continued with emphasis, “was for you to join as an officer of this ship; that is what you committed to, that is what I accepted. No mention was made of actual rank, however.”

  King knew that his face was glowing red, but Rogers left him no room to speak.

  “If your work meets my exacting standards you might act as sixth mate, but midshipman is your station, and be glad of it. You will find it a slightly different role to that of the Navy; but then many things are, aboard an Indiaman.” He glanced at the two officers and received knowing, worldly looks in return. “Besides, I could not appoint you as mate, with so little knowledge of the service.” King wondered how much experience Rogers claimed. “It would be wrong, and totally contrary to Company rules.”

  “How so?” It was Kate's voice. She had been watching with interest and now stared hard at Rogers who looked appraisingly back at her.

  “Beg pardon, madam; I do not believe we have been introduced.”

  “Katharine Manning,” King began, but she continued for him.

  “I am to assist the purser.”

  “Then, as your captain, you will address me as sir!” Rogers’s roar was powerful, although the only reaction it elicited from Kate was to bring a slight reddening to her cheeks.

  “I said, I was appointed, sir,” she spoke clearly. “But I fear it is not to be. From this brief exposure, I can say that I should rather serve as a lily white in hell than stay a moment longer in a ship where you have command.”

  “Is that so?” he looked from one to the other. “Well, ain't that a fine welcome to a captain?”

  King's eyes fell momentarily.

  “Fine indeed; I comes aboard to greet my new officers, and this is the respect I am given. You see here?” he indicated Kate and King. “One has not been aboard more than a watch, and he's demanding promotion, an' the other swears she won't serve with me, though we have never before met, and I have yet to even read myself in!”

  The two officers nodded sycophantically while considering the utterly deplorable creatures before them.

  “Let me tell you this, Mr Midshipman King.” Rogers’s words were close clipped and carefully chosen. “A mate is a respected and senior position. You are unable to serve in anything other than an acting capacity aboard a Company ship until you have accrued sufficient sea time. That is not time with the Navy, it is with this service, learning our ways and the proper procedures aboard an Indiaman. And that ain't my ruling; you may take it up with those at East India House if you have any dispute.” He gave a brief nod towards the men next to him. “Mr Willis here has made three India trips, and Mr Seagrove two.” It was a point well made, and King felt suitably humbled. Then, Rogers’s eyes fell to Kate.

  “And madam; be in no doubt that you may leave this ship whenever you choose.” She raised her head slightly as he continued, “but to undertake a responsibility only to decline when a ship is about to sail is not the act of an honourable person. I will see to it that anyone who has dealings with merchant shipping is well aware, before they deem it right to employ you in the future. I will also require your two months' advance payment returned this instant. The same will apply to you, Mr King, 'though in your case I shall have no hesitation in speaking with Earl Spencer. He is a personal friend of my father.”

  King swallowed. He had forgotten about Rogers’s family connections.

  “I am sure he will wish to learn of any officer who is not inclined to abide by his word, be they humble midshipmen or lofty lieutenants. And, as First Lord of the Admiralty, he is in an excellent position to see that they are suitably remembered, should they be foolish enough to apply for employment in the future.”

  The silence lasted all of thirty-seconds, before Rogers’s gaze finally switched to Manning. “And you, sir; we have met before, I recall; remind me of your name and position, assuming, of course, that you intend to take one up?”

  Willis and Seagrove simpered as Manning searched for words. “Robert Manning, sir,” he said, finally. “I called on you some weeks ago. You posted me as assistant to the surgeon. I have since satisfied the Company’s medical board who agreed to the appointment.”

  “Very good, Mr Manning.” Rogers indicated Kate. “And this is your wife, your sister, or perhaps your mother?”

  “M-my wife, sir. We are just married.”

  “Indeed.” A lewd smirk was not very far away, but Rogers continued, “Well, I trust you will learn to keep your rib under better restraint in future.”

  Kate flushed, but said nothing.

  “And so, Mr Manning, are you to honour your commitments, or do you also threaten to desert?”

  “I will stay, sir,” Manning said quietly; he was aware of having no other option.

  “And I am glad of it. Welcome aboard; I hope your time is pleasant. Now, if you will excuse me I have important matters to discuss with my senior officers.” Rogers walked smartly towards the quarterdeck with Willis and Seagrove who paused only to deliver further contemptuous looks, before hurrying away. Ward touched his hat and dismissed the seamen, all of whom were witnesses to what had been said, leaving Kate, Manning and King alone by the entry port.

  “Well,” said the woman. “That might have fared better.”

  “Do you think he means what he says?” Manning asked. “About his influence? Could he really break us—and even if he could, would he?”

  “Oh yes,” King was positive. “I'm afraid I know Mr Rogers of old. And believe me, he would like nothing better.”

  * * *

  “Aha!” Ward said, finding Johnston settling for the night. “Secured yourself the best berth, then?” The forecastle accommodation was intended for senior ha
nds and petty officers but with so few aboard and little order, Johnston felt justified in slinging his hammock there.

  “You don't mind?”

  “Na.” Ward slumped down at a nearby mess table. “Finer perch than in steerage; better still when the galley stove's properly alight. And we got the heads close at hand.” He reached for the chunk of dark yellow cheese that was left over from supper and cut a generous slice with his knife. “Takin' on fresh hands tomorrow; upwards of fifty, so you can expect it to be a bit more tight. But, you may as well stay there for now, if you've a mind.”

  “Fifty? That's a lot to magic up in one go. Are they Lascars?”

  Ward shook his head. “No, most'll be British, come down from the old Boreham so I believes. Young Seagrove told us not ten minutes ago. An' they got a load more officers; should make a difference—might even get this barkey back into order. Mind, we made a good start today.” He bit into his cheese and chewed meditatively. “That new bloke, King; he's a live one, right enough. Thought he were a mate, the way 'e was behavin', but now it seems he's naught but a middie. Still, a few more like 'im, and this could turn into a decent berth again.”

  “I knows him,” Johnston said quietly.

  “Do you now?” Ward looked across with interest. “Good as he seems, is he?”

  “As an officer yes, there'd be few to beat him; but my worry is just how keen. We was in a previous ship, see. An' I didn't stay to see me wages.”

  The boatswain's mate took in the information without comment.

  “So, do you think I got to worry?” Johnston said, after a while. Ward turned round on the bench and faced him.

  “Well, maybe you 'ave, an' maybe you 'aven't; I couldn't rightly say, but you won't be the first to run from 'is Majesty, that's for sure. An' those that do usually wind up here, or hereabouts.”

  “But if he peaches on me…”

  “If he does you'll be handed back; but he'd be a fool, and he don't come over that way. It were a different ship, an' a different navy,” his eyes twinkled in the half-light, “an' I'll bet a different name.”

  Johnston nodded, “I was known as Simpson.”

  “Chances are he won't remember or, if he does, won't say nowt. Can't be certain, mind, but that's one of the 'azzards of runnin'.”

  Johnston lay back in his hammock and sighed. Of course, he didn't have to take the risk at all. He could go now, this very minute. A simple trip to the heads would hardly attract suspicion; he could be over the side and half way to the shore by the time anyone missed him. And even then, it was doubtful they would do anything about it. He had no real possessions, no ties, and this particular ship didn't seem destined to have a happy cruise.

  Yes, it was probably the best option, and he half raised himself up in his hammock when Ward began to speak again.

  “But I do know this; if anyone jacks you in, it'd 'ardly show kindly on them.”

  “No?”

  “No.” Ward was positive. “There are only so many proper seamen in England, and they got to go somewhere. If every King's man who runs to the Company were given back, there'd be hardly any to serve our ships.”

  It was a point that Johnston had not considered.

  “Better stay, that is if you'd a mind to go,” Ward continued. “I reckons your man is not such a fool as all that. Besides, if you're that worried about being sprung, you'll start giving me the jitters an' all.”

  * * *

  Rogers’s berth was a good deal better. Set below the poop deck, in an area known as the roundhouse, it was smaller than a captain's quarters in a similar-sized warship, but palatial compared with the other accommodation. There were magnificent stern windows that gave excellent light and ventilation, and room enough for his desk, three chairs and a rather comfortable couch; all that in addition to his bed space which was in a separate room. The entire roundhouse was divided in two by a deal-wood partition that ran down the middle. One half was entirely his; the other was separated into cabins for the better class of passenger. But, most of their rooms were little more than hen houses; nothing like as grand as the space he occupied. And he had his own private washing facilities and head. He closed the door to the cuddy dining room and strode into his domain. It was his right, of course; as captain, he should have the very best. Some masters chose to rent out their cabins to wealthy passengers and berth more modestly, but he had decided to retain this small indulgence as a necessary return for the responsibility and status of his rank.

  The door opened, and Luck, his steward, slipped in carrying a small tray.

  “Brandy, sir?” the man asked in barely a whisper.

  “Set it down,” Rogers replied, indicating the desk next to the stern lights. The man left as quietly as he had come, and Rogers lowered himself comfortably in front of the decanter. Despite the wine taken at dinner, the spirit warmed him, and he sat back content.

  Since his sudden departure from the Navy, something that his father, who knew little of the facts, was still working hard to understand and justify, Rogers had spent a mildly indulgent life. There was the odd bit of business in the city, of course, and he had taken responsibility for the family's investments and trusts—items that he immediately placed with more competent minds that did the work well enough and passed the credit back to him. Even so, it had not taken long for his father to insist that he took up a true career; something that might actually earn a return on the money already invested. He had thought to have found such a calling with the Royal Navy, but that later proved to be a dead end. He moved on from the unpleasant incident in Vigilant with barely a further thought. The years spent in His Majesty's service had taught him much, however, and a position with the East India Company—the Honourable East India Company, was really the obvious step. In addition, he could earn a decent pile. Some captains brought back wealth beyond measure, and there was the added advantage that progress within the service was more easily achieved. In fact, like the ship, most of the crew, his personal cargo, and even his future promotion could actually be bought.

  His father sorted everything, of course, but then that was always one of his greatest qualities. He knew people. More than that, he knew the right people, and how to handle them, so that he got his way, without anyone apparently suffering. It was quite a talent. The old man had certainly excelled when it came to meeting with the court of directors at East India House. They might have appeared a severe lot but, given time and the right attention, soon proved as willing to take assurances of Rogers’s competence, as they were the various gifts, arrangements, and opportunities that were sent their way. It was just a father looking after his son, but he did it admirably well.

  And he would see a return—there was no doubt of that: Rogers had all the material necessary. The ship was sound enough. She had just completed one India trip to shake down, then gone through a full refit. He was quietly confident that his knowledge of the sea coupled, even more importantly, with his knowledge of human nature, would be sufficient for everything else. He had two good men to support him in Willis and Seagrove; not the finest of officers maybe, but they did what they were told and could be relied upon to back him to their last breath. Furthermore, their complete lack of social status might also come in handy if a scapegoat were needed. If he had learned nothing from his father about getting his own way, manipulating the junior officers to his will, and generally seeing that matters were done—not actually by him, but to his requirements—then his life to date had been totally wasted.

  Pevensey Castle was carrying an official payload of lead, tin, ironware, and woollen cloth that would be sold upon reaching Bombay. A little over fifty tons was Rogers’s personal property, as would be the profit. A further allowance of thirty-eight tons' cargo space was also his for the return trip, where the real money was to be made. With earnings measured in hundreds of percent, it would be strange if he were not comfortably set up by the time they next anchored in the Thames. The idea pleased him, especially when he could acquire his fortune by si
tting in these pleasant surroundings, and with the reassurance that he was in ultimate control of all he surveyed.

  In front of him now was the passenger list. That was another potential source of, if not income, then certainly influence. Listed were the names of people with whom he would be spending several months in close proximity. They would be relying on him and his ship for most of their needs, and he had every intention of claiming future favours in return for his services. He glanced down the page; some were joining tomorrow, others at Deal, and a few more when they reached Spithead. The majority were small traders, factors, minor Company officials, cadets, and writers - the kind who cared not how they travelled, or were doing so at someone else's expense. These were unlikely to be of much use, but then there was also one in a very different station: Charles Drayton esquire, a man of influence, someone truly worth cultivating. A secret and quite unofficial ring known as The Marine Interest held virtual control over all ships offered for hire to the East India Company. Drayton was either a member or at least enjoyed close connections, and anyone who had risen to such a position was likely to be influential in other areas as well. Yes, there were definite possibilities there.

  His eyes flowed over the list for the second time. Several female names caught his eye, but most appeared to be travelling with their husbands or, in one case, an adult son. Still, the former might provide a little entertainment. Rogers wasn't above cuckolding the odd insignificant spouse; in fact, he usually found it added spice to a relationship. And even if all were loyal, they were bound to have ladies' maids. Again, he was open minded enough to share himself with women of any level. Besides, there was one, he noted, who appeared to be quite alone; probably being sent to India to secure a husband. That could mean she was as ugly as sin, but even then she might not be discounted, if the time showed signs of moving slowly.