By the Knife

by Steve Partridge

  Some three hours later he walked calmly onto the beach. He was naked with scratch marks over his legs and arms. As the longboat’s crew slowly approached him, he seemed vacant, saying nothing as they rowed him back to the ship.

  Once on board he walked to his cabin door. ‘Antigua,’ was the one word he spoke to the Indian.

  As before Carter was landed by longboat to the west of Falmouth Harbour in the dead of night.

  His hair was tied back, he wore a black coat over dirty blue britches and a large hat pulled down over his face. Seemingly with no fear of capture, he walked almost up to the dockyard gate before sitting down beside the road. It was midday by the time he was in place and two hours later he saw what he wanted.

  A young black lad strolled towards him. ‘Well met, young sir,’ he called out. ‘Will you sit with me a moment?’

  The boy looked nervous.

  ‘Don’t be afraid,’ Carter told him. ‘I’m just a seaman a little bit lost.’

  The boy came a little closer.

  ‘Now if you could tell me where I could find a good friend of mine, I would give you a silver piece.’

  ‘What friend would that be?’ the lad asked.

  ‘His name’s Fletcher,’ Carter told him. ‘He’s a lieutenant in the navy.’

  The boy relaxed. ‘Lieutenant Fletcher,’ he said, ‘has gone to England on the Mercury.’

  ‘Has he now and when was that?’

  ‘I’m not sure, must be two months or more. He killed the pirate Carter and came back with bags of gold.’

  ‘I guess he took the gold with him then?’

  ‘Yes, back to London, to the king.’

  Carter dug in his pocket for a coin and handing it over, said, ‘So he killed the pirate Carter, did he?’

  ‘Yes.’ The boy was looking at his money as Carter stood up. ‘He killed him in a great battle up island.’

  For the first time, the lad looked up into Carter’s face; his mouth dropped open in shock at the sight of his scars.

  As Carter turned and walked away, the boy shuddered and ran back towards the dockyard gate and the safety of the red-coated marines.

  As Carter limped back towards his longboat, his head spun as the rage surged up out of his chest, but then he stopped. He laughed out loud.

  ‘I’m dead,’ he said. ‘Nobody looks for me.’

  Once back on board Carter ordered the ship got underway and a course set for Virginia.

  He remembered the small shipyards and pious people. ‘Clean the brig, yourselves and your clothes,’ he ordered. Turning to the Indian, he said, ‘You and most of the crew will hide on one of the islands. I’ll take the ship and the prettier-looking hands to refit in Virginia. Then we will take back what is owed us, from any who have it.’

  HMS CHALLENGER

  THE YEAR IS 1746

  CHAPTER 1

  David Fletcher waited until the topsail dropped clear of the spreaders and then put the helm down. Watching from the foredeck, his cousin Joseph shook the anchor chain over the windlass. As the anchor bit into the ground the spritsail barge spun in her own length and dropped neatly alongside the family’s second barge, Ruby Ann. It always amused David that a flat-bottomed barge could spin so sharply. He threw the stern line to his other cousin Daniel who stood by Ruby Ann’s wheel and walked forward to where Joseph, having made fast the bow line, cranked the anchor back up to the stem. Toby, a lad of thirteen, slid down the starboard rigging, having put a grommet on the topsail, and between them they set shorelines forward and aft.

  The two barge crews, followed by David, walked across the quay to the tavern and sat on the wooden benches outside. The evening was warm, with the sun sending shadows across the quay as it descended behind the buildings to the west.

  For the past four months Lieutenant Fletcher had worked with his two cousins helping with the navy trade, which, since the French had come into the war, was the mainstay of the family business. As the war had progressed business had become brisker with demand for powder and shot steadily on the increase. The Fletcher family was fast becoming prosperous.

  Four months of good food and exercise had completed David’s recovery from the wounds he had received at the hands of the evil pirate John Carter whilst serving in the Caribbean. Now with his blond hair down to his shoulders and a light tan, the twenty-two-year-old lieutenant looked fit and rested.

  A buxom serving wench came out of the bar carrying tankards of ale, which she put down beside David. Running her hand over his shoulder she asked if he would be staying in town later.

  ‘You can take the horse home, David,’ Daniel told him. ‘We won’t be back until the morning.’

  David looked at his cousins with affection and wondered, not for the first time, what kept them out all night at least twice a month. Both had long, mousey-brown hair and powerful shoulders. They reached for the ale with cracked, tar-splattered hands.

  ‘In that case, Jane, I’ll be with you later,’ he told her with a smile.

  In fact, life was good. Both the barmaids were happy to share their charms with him, sometimes both at the same time. His family doted on him and he was something of a hero in the village of Mistley and on Harwich town quay.

  David was, however, becoming bored and as time went on more and more worried.

  He had been promised a command when he had arrived in England four months before and had waited eagerly for his summons, which to date had not come. At first, he had thought they wanted to be sure he was fit, but now he was afraid he had been forgotten, or was not wanted. He had considered going to London to demand employment from the Admiralty, but was afraid of being rejected. The idea that His Majesty’s navy did not want him was too bitter a pill to swallow.

  That evening as they lay in bed, with Jane running her hands over the scars on his naked body, he decided that if he heard nothing by the end of this month he would go to the Admiralty to learn his fate. He sat up and kissed her hard on the lips.

  ‘Once more,’ he whispered, ‘and then I must go.’

  To David’s surprise there was a light in the cottage window when he arrived home. He turned the horse out into the field behind the house and walked in through the front door. There in Uncle Tom’s old chair, his red coat thrown open, sat Sergeant Chaney of His Majesty’s royal marines.

  ‘Chaney,’ David cried. ‘When did you get back to England?’

  ‘Over a month ago, sir.’ Chaney grinned. ‘I came down from London on today’s coach.’

  David looked at the marine who had twice saved his life. Tall with dark, unruly hair, the man was powerfully built, his unlined face unchanged since David had first met him. At twenty-six years old, Chaney looked fit and well.

  ‘I come with a communication from the Admiralty.’ He held out a package with a large red seal. David snatched it from him and moved closer to the candle on the table. ‘It gives you command of the Challenger sloop of war. Twenty guns, she’s a baby frigate.’

  David took the knife from his belt and slit open the package. ‘Lying at Portsmouth,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, sir, alongside the dock,’ Chaney agreed.

  ‘You are very well informed, Chaney,’ David remarked, turning towards him.

  ‘Well, yes, sir, I’m your sergeant of marine. I told Admiral Keyton you would want me with you, sir.’

  ‘Keyton is in England and you have been talking to him?’

  ‘Yes, sir, on the way back across the Atlantic.’

  ‘You had best come and sit at the table, Chaney, and tell me what’s been happening.’ David pulled out a chair and sat down.

  ‘Well, sir, not long after you left in the Mercury, Admiral Keyton sailed for Canada in the Orion, his sixty-four, with the Trojan as escort. You remember Mr. Peterson and I were sent into the Trojan, sir?’

  ‘Yes, Chaney, I do remember,’ David answered.

  ‘At dawn on the second day out we sighted one of those new French seventy-fours with two sloops to leeward. Admiral Keyton went strai
ght for the seventy-four whilst ordering us to try and keep the sloops busy. We kept them busy alright, but by the time the French broke off the action the poor little Trojan was finished. Dismasted and sinking with most of her company dead. The Orion was in pretty bad order as well. So we sailed back to Antigua on board the Orion. The dockyard decided she was too badly damaged for them to repair and after some patching sent us home. Admiral Keyton had a change of orders and so he came home as well.’

  ‘You spent the voyage home chatting with the Admiral?’

  ‘Not really, sir.’ Chaney grinned. ‘But he did ask about you a couple of times.’

  ‘How is Mr. Peterson?’

  ‘He’s well, sir; I have a letter here for you. He asks if you might consider him for second lieutenant, as you already have a first lieutenant.’

  ‘Do you read all my mail, Chaney?’

  ‘No, sir, I was just there when he wrote it.’

  ‘So who is my first lieutenant?’

  ‘Lieutenant Clark, sir, he came with the ship.’

  ‘Very well. We will travel to London on the next coach.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir. Can I ask how your arse is, sir?’

  ‘No, Chaney, you may not,’ David replied. ‘If I am to be your captain, you cannot ask questions like that,’ and then relenting slightly, ‘but my leg is well, thank you,’ and finally with a smile, ‘there are, in fact, some ladies who think your stitching is quite artistic.’

  Chaney’s interest quickened. ‘Ladies, sir? Would they like to meet the artist?’

  The next day the cottage was all excitement with the news of David’s new command and it was not until breakfast was finished that David realized that his mother had said nothing all morning. He looked at his mother’s greying hair and work-lined face. She had once been a pretty girl and even now had the firm features and straight back of a strong woman. Once they were alone, he knelt beside her chair and asked, ‘Mother, are you not happy for me?’

  Mrs. Fletcher looked down into her handsome son’s face and with tears in her eyes said, ‘Why, David? Why go away again? You have everything here: a loving family and a nice home. You are all I have left, David. Would you break your mother’s heart?’

  David took her hand in his. ‘Mother,’ he said. ‘This command is a great honour. To fight a king’s ship; to be known as a captain in His Majesty’s navy: it is the greatest thing I can imagine.’

  His mother let go of his hand and stood up. As she walked into the kitchen she called, ‘You will not be content until some madman has cut you to pieces.’

  David remained beside the chair, all his happiness gone, a heavy feeling in his chest. As he knelt there the front door opened and his cousins came in.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Daniel asked, looking down at him.

  ‘Nothing much,’ David told him. ‘I have a new command and my mother is not happy.’

  ‘I can imagine. Look, David, why go?’

  ‘Don’t you start, Daniel,’ David almost shouted. ‘I’m a naval officer. Let that be an end to it.’

  At that moment Chaney came in from the kitchen. Both Daniel and Joseph jumped back at the sight of his red coat.

  ‘This is Sergeant Chaney of His Majesty’s marines,’ David told them. ‘Don’t worry, he’s not excise.’

  The day was spent packing for departure. David went to visit the squire, the man who had put him in the navy. Ageing and infirm with a large stomach, Squire Morton was full of praise for David’s achievements.

  ‘So young to be a lieutenant commander,’ he enthused.

  At least someone is happy, David thought.

  That evening he went to say goodbye to his two barmaids, refusing Chaney’s offer of help. More tears, but the sex was good.

  The next morning his mother held his hand as they waited for the London coach. Aunt Molly, Daniel and Joseph stood with them. At last the coach arrived and as they set off down the road David looked back at the little group and felt a real pain in his chest. He waved until they were out of sight and then settled back in his seat.

  After a while Chaney said, ‘Do you think your cousins are gentlemen of the coast, sir?’

  ‘I don’t know, Chaney,’ David replied.

  ‘Only the Challenger is a small ship; we could be sent to this coast, sir, it could be difficult.’

  ‘No.’ David smiled at him. ‘I think Admiral Keyton has plans for us and he’s not a man to worry about smugglers.’

  The journey to London was, as always, long and boring. The stops at Colchester, Maldon and the rest seemed to take forever. David who had never liked coaches knew that, in fact, it was his need to get to his ship that made the trip so hard to put up with.

  Once they had arrived in London and installed themselves in the same tavern as always, he went immediately to the Admiralty’s office, only to be told that he would be sent for when he was required to attend. Chaney went on to Portsmouth the following day with a letter for Peterson offering him the position of second lieutenant. Left to his own devices, David wandered from room to room afraid to go too far in case he missed the summons. He did fall into conversation with a lieutenant who had just returned from the Americas.

  This officer told him of the increasing problems with the French. ‘They are trying to hem us in from both ends of the continent,’ he said. ‘As always they want everything for themselves. In the end we will have to send them back to Paris.’

  Just before noon on the second day a messenger arrived from Admiral Keyton and David went immediately to the Admiralty. Shown into Keyton’s office, David was told to sit whilst the admiral finished a somewhat heated conversation with a clerk.

  The room was uncomfortably warm with a fire roaring up the chimney. David soon began to sweat under his uniform coat. Keyton was fatter than ever and spoke in a loud voice from under a long, white wig.

  As the clerk left, Keyton turned and held out his hand. ‘Fletcher,’ he said. ‘You look well. No ill effects from your injuries, I hope?’

  David leapt up from his chair and shaking the outstretched hand said, ‘No, sir, thank you, sir.’

  ‘Good, sit down. Would you like a glass of claret?’

  ‘I would, thank you, sir.’ The admiral filled two glasses and then sat behind his desk.

  ‘Well, Fletcher,’ he began. ‘Your adventures with John Carter have raised quite a lot of interest.’

  ‘The idea that our little endeavours can bring in large amounts of bullion is very pleasing to some people.’

  ‘What do you think of the Challenger?’

  ‘I haven’t been on board yet, sir, but she sounds excellent.’

  ‘Yes, she is. She’s the most powerful ship we have of her size. With eighteen nine-pounders and two four-pounders she should be a match for anything below a frigate.

  ‘The thing is, Fletcher, the French are mounting a campaign against our merchant shipping. They are giving letters of marque to any privateer who fancies attacking our merchantmen. These legalized pirates are preying on some of the richest cargos in the world. The navy is, of course, hunting them down with our frigates, but I thought why don’t we do a little privateering ourselves? Somewhere down the West African coast there is a base used by these ships, I’m sure of it. If we could wipe out that base, sink some of those ships and capture any goods they have stored there it would strike a strong blow against the damned French.

  ‘What do you think?’

  David thought for a moment. ‘How many ships might we be talking about, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve no idea, but they won’t all be there at once.’

  ‘Do we have any information on where this base might be, sir?’

  ‘No.

  You can take forty marines with a lieutenant. That sergeant of yours seems keen to see action again.’

  David grinned. ‘That he is, sir.’

  ‘Very well, Captain. I wish you good luck.’ Keyton stood from behind his desk. ‘My final orders will be with you during the next few days.’


  ‘I thank you, sir.’ David stood and walked to the door. ‘And thank you for your confidence in me, sir.’

  Keyton laughed. ‘Bring us back some more gold, Fletcher,’ he said as he closed the door.

  David walked down the street with a huge grin on his face. Not only did he have his own command but he was being sent off away from the fleet’s control, his own man under god.

  Back at the tavern David demanded to know when the coach for Portsmouth would leave. ‘You just missed it, sir,’ the landlord told him. ‘Tomorrow at noon for Guildford.’

  David’s mood would not let him sit around. He walked the streets, looking in shops until he found himself outside an armoury displaying beautifully carved sporting guns as well as swords.

  Touching the sword clipped to his hip David looked at the blades in the window. He then remembered when Phelps had given the blade to him and the fight with the damned pirate. No, he thought. I’ll keep to my old friends.

  ‘Can I interest you in anything, young sir?’ a tall, thin man asked him from the shop doorway. His eyes rested for a moment on the single epaulette on David’s shoulder. ‘I have many interesting items for a young captain.’

  ‘Thank you, no.’ David smiled. ‘I have all I need.’

  ‘Do you sail to war, Captain?’ the man asked. ‘What about a fine pair of pistols or perhaps a dagger to supplement that sword?’

  ‘I have a dagger, thank you.’ David opened his coat to show the knife. The man bent forward to better see the blade.’

  ‘That was a fine knife when it was made,’ he said, ‘but it shows some use.’

  ‘Yes,’ David said. ‘I carry the scars.’

  The following morning David ate a good breakfast before joining the coach. Only two days until he reached his ship and got back on navy rations. His excitement was mounting.

  Two days later Captain David Fletcher stood at one end of the dock and looked at his new command. She was indeed a miniature frigate. Her bow, unlike most, was not bluff but almost hollow at entry, a slack amidships section gave her room for her impressive row of guns and her tumblehome ended in an almost delicate transom. The rake of her masts was greater than any he had seen.