“Is everything else in place?”The first man now stood so close to him that Frederick feared he would turn to see him hiding in the shadows.
“Lord Cochrane understands we do this for him. He sent specific instructions.” With that, the men began to walk toward the warehouse’s main opening, and Frederick slowly peeled himself off the wall, preparing to move out the way he had come in. He wished he knew more, but he could not risk staying any longer. He rushed from one cluster of barrels to another, pausing only long enough to allow guards or workers to pass. Finally reaching the door, he edged it open, barely wide enough to slip his body through. He did not relax until he was well away from the building.
Frederick circled the area, coming out on a different pathway, before setting out for the meeting place on foot. Proceeding through the wooded farmland surrounding the village, he followed the hedgerows rather than cutting directly across the fields. It was a clear night; even without a full moon, he could see quite easily. Arriving near the copse of trees hiding his men, he let out the prearranged whistle before entering the wooded circle and heard Harwood whistle in return. All the men—his men—waited for him. Harwood rushed forward to meet him. “What did you find, Captain?”The other men closed ranks to hear his story.
“First,” Frederick began, “I want each of you to know what I am asking you to do is dangerous. Also, this is not like when we took ships and shared prize money. With this mission, you simply get what little I can give you; so if you want out, no one will consider it a shame, for you have already served your country and me most faithfully.”
“We follow you, Captain.” Harwood spoke first, but the others echoed his sentiments.
“Then this is what I know.A group of smugglers are, as I speak, moving cargo into a warehouse, evidently to separate it before distributing it to different interested parties. There must be four distinct types of commodities—for they divide the containers as such. I overheard some men speaking of pictures, and I observed large wooden crates, which must contain framed artwork, probably smuggled out of France to satisfy a member of the aristocracy.They also spoke of brandy, and I noted appropriate-sized casks in which, I suspect, the brandy can be found.”
“What of the other items, Captain?” John Langley, his former quartermaster and one of the men he placed in a shopkeeper’s position, asked the question all of them were thinking.
“Truthfully, Langley, I do not know. Barrels of some sort were being unloaded, but no markings showed. And something smelled like rotten fish or rotten eggs, but I do not know what it was.”
Harwood asked,“How many men?”
Frederick mentally counted the men he had seen. “A half dozen moved the supplies in and out; I counted four guards—two front and two on the sides; and there were three others—those are the ones I overheard speaking about the brandy and the crates.”
“Thirteen men then!” George Shipley, a lately minted midshipman, replied, his tone more forceful than his words.
Frederick looked around the group to assure that they each understood what he said. “Again, what I ask of each of you is not a requirement to maintain the position in which I placed you. I will not force anyone to become a part of this. These men we seek betray our government, making a quick profit at the expense of hard-working people like yourselves. They set themselves above the law. My interference will make some enemies—those who wish to forge an alliance with France being among them. If you come with me tonight, you will be a part of something great. We have left our ship, but the battle for a free England still remains.Yet, each of you must decide whether you wish to fight.As for myself, I fight for my wife and my unborn child; I want them to live in a country where such crimes are not tolerated by a titled man or a tradesman or a farmer.” Frederick’s expression became grim.
There was silence, and then John Langley asked, “How do we proceed, Captain?”
“First, we need a distraction to divert the attention of the guards in front while the majority of us slip into the back of the warehouse.”
“Drunks are common along the docks and in the warehouse district,” a mast captain added.“One of us could be obnoxiously drunk.”
Langley thought out loud,“We need to recruit some women to help us next time. A woman could pretend to be a lady of the evening and distract the guards.”
Frederick raised an eyebrow.“Next time,” he said.“But what about tonight, gentlemen? Who among you can be the most obnoxious?”
All eyes immediately fell on Christian Hollmes, a tall, broad-shouldered, lean, but muscular, man, with calloused hands and tanned skin.“I guess I am your man, Captain,” he said jovially as the others slapped him on the back.
“Good,” Wentworth commented. “You are large enough to handle any trouble once we are discovered. We are counting on you, Hollmes.”
“Do not worry, Captain,” he assured.
“Gentlemen, we set sail in unknown waters—very dangerous waters.Think of your first boarding of an enemy ship. None of us knew what to do the first time. It will be the same tonight. Be safe—take no undue chances. Capture whom you can, but do not follow a man into the night—into the unknown. I want no casualties. None of us has spent much time battling the enemy on land. Let us learn from tonight’s encounter.”
As he led the men back along the hedgerows toward the warehouse, Frederick thought about why he was undertaking this perilous mission. He desired a proper home for his Anne and their child. Also, he had made a promise to the British government, and he was a man of his word. Further, he hated being under Wallingford’s watchful eye; if he must act in the name of the government, he would do it on his terms. Finally, he took responsibility as Viscount Orland. All seemed logical reasons—rationales for his actions—but were they the whole truth? In reality, he did not know.
CHAPTER 25
Now thou hast loved me one whole day,
Tomorrow when thou leav’st, what wilt thou say?
Wilt thou then antedate some new-made vow?
Or say that now
We are not just those persons which we were?
—John Donne,“Woman’s Constancy”
When the men signaled to one another that they were in position to enter the back of the warehouse, Hollmes—shirttail out of his breeches, face smudged with soot, and ale obtained from a flask Shipley carried, splashed on his person—staggered forward out of the shadows. He greeted the two men standing guard. Everyone else seemed to be inside. “Hey, Boys, what be here?” Hollmes called out as he lunged against the wagon, pretending to be barely able to stand.
The two guards searched the darkness to see if he came alone. “Nothin’ for your concern. Be gone with ya’,” the larger one warned while they both brought up their guns, prepared to deal with a drunken intrusion.
“Ya’ got drink in there, Boys?” Hollmes staggered closer.
“We be tellin’ ya’ no more. Ya’ need to be leavin’,” the man’s tone became more demanding.
Hollmes plastered on his silliest smile as he stepped forward one more time.“Share ye drink with ole Toby. I be needin’ a drink bad.”
The smaller guard reached out to steady Hollmes’s movements. Chuckling lightly, he spoke a little less intimidatingly,“Ye be drunk enough, ole Toby.”
Realizing he would never have a better opportunity, Hollmes moved quickly. Grabbing both men by their necks, with one swift, powerful thrust, he clanged their heads together, dazing them both. He let the smaller man slide to his knees while he turned and delivered a well-placed upper cut to the larger of the two. A sharp crack of the guard’s jaw told Hollmes he would have no more worries from him for a while. The smaller man then staggered to his feet, preparing to shoot Hollmes in the back. Used to hand-to-hand combat during boardings, in which the enemy came from all directions at once, Hollmes spun, leg extended, and took out the second guard’s footing. Then he hauled the man back up against the warehouse wall and applied a profound pressure to the man’s neck. In a few second
s, the guard’s limp body slumped against him. Quickly, he moved to drag the bodies out of the light in case someone else came along.
In the back of the warehouse, as Christian Hollmes stepped from the shadows, Frederick, Harwood, Langley, Shipley, and three others slipped through the rear door. Frederick placed a man at each entrance to prevent anyone escaping, and then he sent Timothy Smallridge and Lucas Kendrick to the building’s roof to work their way down from the upper floor. They were his best climbers on board The Resolve—no rope or ladder ever stopped either of them.
Hearing the commotion in the front, several men rushed for the main entrance, but Hollmes managed to swing the door shut just as they reached it. In the confusion of their attempted escape, they did not check to see if the door was bolted closed; instead, en masse, they immediately turned toward the other exit, running to find safe refuge.
From his vantage point behind a cluster of barrels, Frederick waited until the group was center court in the warehouse before signaling his men, and then they all stood, guns pointed at the retreating thieves. “Stand and deliver,” Shipley demanded, as the robbers skidded to a halt and prepared to defend themselves.
A few of them foolishly reached for their weapons before realizing men with guns, loaded and cocked, surrounded them.A man near the front slowly put his hands in the air. “Who be you?” he demanded, although he evidently planned to surrender without a fight. Frederick recognized the voice as being that of the local he had heard on the steps.
“Interested citizens,” Shipley responded as they edged from behind the barrels to take the guns held by those they surrounded.
The man leading the group pointed at the cargo.“Interested in what?” He grinned; a flash of movement in his eyes told Frederick that he planned something.
Without speaking, Frederick motioned ever so slightly with his head, and Harwood nodded in response.They both stepped to the back of the group and took up positions holding hostages to persuade those in the front to abandon any thoughts of a fight.When the group leader noted their changed circumstances, he shoved his hands a bit higher.“How ’bout some Frenchie brandy, Boys?”
Shipley, by silent consent, still spoke for Frederick’s men.Wentworth did not wish to appear to be in charge. “We will help ourselves, But first, where are the rest of your men?”
The same man spoke for the smugglers.“What other men?’ He kept his eyes noncommittal.
Shipley knew now the man spoke half-truths. They stood facing each other—sizing each other up. Shipley shot a glance toward Frederick; he caught it and raised an eyebrow.Then Frederick took the gun he held next to the temple of his hostage and pushed it hard against his head, as if he planned to pull the trigger. The hostage gulped out the word,“Upstairs.”
“Shut up!” the gang’s leader ordered.
“Ye shut up!” the scruffy-faced thief shot back.
Frederick motioned with his gun for Harwood to follow him, and they both began to edge their way up the stairs. Meanwhile, Shipley motioned to the others to tie up the ones they had caught. Moving cautiously forward and letting his gun hand lead, Frederick’s mind remained alert although his chest felt tight with dread—one small step at a time, ever closer to the upper levels. He knew by now Kendrick and Smallridge had to be in place and were probably herding those remaining in the warehouse toward him.
But when the attack came, it still took him by surprise. A club came down hard on his forearm, and the gun skittered across the floor.With his other arm, Frederick reached up to grasp his opponent’s jacket to try to pull the man off balance. In doing so, they became entangled, and they began to wrestle, tumbling down the short flight of stairs. Frederick sensed, rather than felt, Harwood jump clear of this struggle, as well as a perfectly tossed cask of brandy smashed and dripping onto the packed-dirt floor. Banging first against the wall and then against the railing, Frederick held on until they came crashing down in a heap of bone and muscle, slamming into the hardened ground, which served as the floor of the building. Somehow, he ended up on top of his attacker, and he heard the air rush from the man’s lungs as Frederick’s weight hit him full force. Jostling to gain the advantage, Frederick pulled his knee up to first strike the man between his outstretched thighs and then to kneel on the man’s chest, the packed weight of his body pushing down as his knee came under the man’s chin and cut off his air supply. “Move, bastard, and I will kill you,” he growled close to the man’s face.
Sounds of gunfire from above sent Harwood scrambling up the steps, but moments later he reappeared, leading at gunpoint another of the gang of smugglers ahead of him. Kendrick and Smallridge followed, and Frederick gave a silent prayer that all of his men were well.The rest of his men appeared; Hollmes shoved his two captors toward the others. “Are you all right, Sir?” Harwood asked, close to him.
“Yes,” he whispered, aware of his racing pulse.“Let us lock these men up until we see what we have.” Frederick rolled off the man and landed in the puddle of brandy.
They pushed all twelve into a small toolshed inside the warehouse. “Barely enough room to stand!” the men complained, but Frederick’s crew turned a deaf ear. Prisoners secured at last, his men began to survey the accumulated goods. Breaking open one of the casks of brandy, they found cups enough for all of them to share before taking an inventory of what they had recovered.
Frederick and Harwood moved to a table to find any paperwork associated with the haul. Frederick’s arm throbbed from the pain of the blow, but he simply gritted his teeth. He buttoned his greatcoat to chest level and slid his arm through the opening, bracing the arm to his body, like a sling.
Harwood teased,“You remind me of Napoleon.”
“No Bonaparte jokes, if you please, Mr. Harwood,” Frederick warned.“I keep telling you I am too tall.”
Frederick poured himself one drink; tossed it back, and then poured another to steady his nerves before returning to the task at hand. After a celebratory toast, his men went to work examining what they had found. A smooth brandy was a hot commodity in those parts.The men reported the number of casks at fifty, counting the one from which they already drunk and the one with its contents sloshed on the floor. Opening the crates, Frederick recognized the works of Jacques-Louis David, the dazzling costumes and jewelry fashionable at the court of Napoleon Bonaparte clearly evident in each portrait. Another crate held work from François Gérard, known for his portrait of Madame de Talleyrand. “I prefer landscapes,” Harwood commented when the man held up the painting for Frederick to see. “What will we do with those?” he asked as Frederick indicated for the men to replace the piece in the crate.
“Maybe I should make a contribution to my Prince—repayment for the gift of my title.”
Finally, the men came to the barrels at the far end of the warehouse. “Whew! These surely stink, Captain, even before we have taken the lids off,” Shipley sang out.
“What is in them is all I want to know,” Frederick responded.
“Leave them capped after that.”
They found metal bars to break the seals. Frederick and Harwood ambled over to take a look at the first one, opened by John Langley.“What the hell is that?” Harwood mumbled as he dipped his finger into a black liquid with the consistency of a thick pudding.
“Coal tar,” Cavton Harris asserted as he touched the liquid.
Frederick turned on the man.“Are you sure, Cav?”
“Positive, Captain.”
Langley wiped his hand on his pants. “Why would someone smuggle in coal tar?”
“It has lots of uses,” Harris assured them, “but why steal it, and why in such huge quantities?”
Frederick waved them on.“Let us see what stinks so badly.”
They had barely cracked the lid on one of the other barrels before they all reached for handkerchiefs to cover their noses and mouths.“I—I am afraid to ask,” Frederick stammered as he backed away from the cylinder.
Tears coming to his eyes, Shipley quickly retu
rned the lid to its place.“Pray tell, what is that?” He gasped and coughed to clear his throat.
“Fire and brimstone,” Tweed Swift, a former gunnery mate, stated flatly.
“Explain,” Frederick demanded.
“Sulfur, Sir. I know the smell well.The Bible calls it brimstone; therefore, the phrase ‘fire and brimstone.’ It was a favorite saying when we loaded the guns on The Resolve. Sulfur is an ingredient in gunpowder.”
Harwood moved up beside him. “Again, why would anyone smuggle sulfur? It makes no sense.”
“Harwood, did you ever hear of Captain Sir Thomas, Lord Cochrane?” Frederick’s mind raced through the possibilites.
Harwood laughed good-naturedly. “Who has not heard of Le Loup des Mers, the Sea Wolf? With the frigate Pallas, he alone earned seventy-five thousand pounds sterling in prize money. But Lord Cochrane is in gaol, Sir—part of the London Stock Exchange scandal, a little over a year ago—lost his knighthood—dismissed from the Royal Navy—everything.”
“Then tell me why I overheard those men tonight talking of corresponding with Lord Cochrane?” Frederick muttered, exceedingly unsettled.
“A different Lord Cochrane—I do not know, Captain.” Harwood looked concerned. “If the thieves know Cochrane, it has something to do with the sulfur and the coal tar. It is not likely a man in gaol has use for fancy portraits or French brandy.”
Swift added grimly, “A man could use the sulfur and coal tar if he wanted a big fire or a big explosion.”
“Big . . . like a wall . . . or building . . . or a ship?” Frederick tried to understand the scope of what his man proposed.
“Certainly like a ship.There is enough coal tar and sulfur here to bring down Whitehall or, at least do heavy damage to the War Offices. Saint James even if one wanted to hurt the king. Maybe they planned on breaking Lord Cochrane out of gaol.” Swift thought the idea absurd but a possibility.
Harwood’s tone grew much harder—more distant. “What do you want to do about all this, Captain?”
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