A Question of Duty

by Martin McDowell

  “Good morning. I assume that I am at the residence of Mr. James Fallows?”

  The head nodded.

  “Then please tell him that Captain Argent of HMS Ariadne would like a moment of his time.”

  “He’ll not see you before breakfast!”

  This spoken through a wide mouth, full of suspect teeth.

  “I’m afraid that if Mr. Fallows does take that attitude, then you need to tell him, that I am here on the King’s business. It won’t wait, and if I need to come in, I’ll come in with Marines at my back.”

  Suddenly an English voice was heard from behind the door.

  “It’s all right, Michael, go about your business. Ready a horse, I’ll need one soon.”

  The head of Michael disappeared to be replaced by the full torso of a medium height, slightly overweight, man; evidently a gentleman or dressing himself to be such. He was wearing a man’s clothing that was more the fashion of 4O years previous, a frilled shirt, a long waistcoat, knee breeches, buckled shoes and, most old mode of all, a three-quarter wig. But what was evident was the quality; silk, velvet and brocaid were much in evidence. His face was full and showed easy living. It was he that spoke first.

  “I saw you marching up, Captain, from my window. I thought you would appreciate being met at the gate. Now, you have business with me.”

  It was spoken as a statement of fact and Argent responded.

  “Yes, Mr. Fallows. A cargo of 200 bolts of linen, definitely made here, has been found aboard a French smuggler. 200 bolts. I’m told that you take the majority of the production from the mill there. Can you shed any light on how such a quantity can be assembled?”

  Fallows face remained expressionless.

  “No. All the linen I buy goes on to various merchants. Vanyard in Kinsale takes the most but not the majority. There are five or six other merchants that I sell to. Where it goes after them, I cannot say.”

  “No, Mr. Fallows, that’s understood, but if you could furnish me with a list of all the merchants you sell to, that would be appreciated. If I could send one of my Officers to collect the list sometime this afternoon, would that be convenient?”

  Fallows folded his arms and thought, his face registering the annoyance he felt at this prying into his concerns. However, the alternative was the unwelcome military doing their own prying. The latter came uppermost.

  “I’ll do that for you, Captain, with pleasure.”

  He stepped back to take hold of the door edge.

  “Now, unless there was anything else?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid there is. My orders are to search the village, which does, I’m afraid, include your residence here.”

  Fallows’ attitude changed utterly.

  “I’ll have none of you in here. You away, and be damned!”

  Argent set himself squarely on his feet.

  “I can understand your concern, Sir, but it must be done. We will be searching everywhere to find, or not, evidence of dealings with the French. I have the force of the King’s business behind me, and I’m sure you do not want me to use my Marines to achieve entry and then search. If it eases your concerns, I will allocate for your premises, only my Officers.”

  Fallows retained a look of thunder, his eyebrows knitting together over narrowing eyes in a reddening face. Argent stood and waited, then Fallows spoke, his jaw almost clenched.

  “Only your Officers?”

  “Yes, you have my word. They will arrive directly and you may give the list to one of them, if you choose.”

  Fallows gave a curt nod, face remaining stormy. Argent made his reply.

  “Thank you and good-day.”

  The door thumped together without another word. Argent led the Marines back down the hill, satisfied, at least with that outcome. He went straight to Ramsey.

  “Is all well, Arnold?”

  “Yes, Sir, but I say, what a “looker”. No wonder they speak of the ‘Emerald Isle’ if they all have eyes like that.”

  Argent smiled.

  “You’ll get no argument from me. Right, take yourself, please, Bentley and Ffynes, up to the mansion there. Make a search. He’s expecting you, but is wholly displeased, as you can imagine, nevertheless take a look, top to bottom. You can take all day if needs be, but you’re looking for anything that can prove recent dealings with the French. Whatever; anything; from a bottle of wine with no dust yet settled, to a gold Napoleon.”

  Argent looked around, but all was in order.

  “These poor Devils have nothing to do with this, Arnold. It’s all they can do to keep body and soul together, never mind assembling a 200 bolt cargo of highest quality linen. If it’s anyone here, it’s our Lady Malley up there, or the Lord of the Manor, further up there. Whatever, we’ll hold all here and search. As soon as the Militia arrive, it’s not our problem.”

  “Right, I’ll take myself off, Sir.”

  Ramsey strode off up the street, gathering Bentley and Ffynes to him. Argent looked over to Ariadne. Fentiman had eased the ship in further on minimum sail and she was now no more than 100 yards off the beach. Argent looked and saw, at the same time, the four fishing boats being readied on the shoreline. He called over to Whiting.

  “Whiting. Go over to those fishermen. Tell them we’ll buy whatever they catch. Top price.”

  On the run, Whiting delivered his “Aye, aye, Sir, and knuckled his forehead. Argent looked for Sanders, saw him and called him over.

  “Jonathan. Captain Ramsey has placed the men as sentries on the cottages, with his Marines occupied at the mill. Organise two men at each cottage to go in and search. Emphasise strongly, strongly mind, that nothing is to be damaged. They are looking for anything to prove recent contact with the French. But, tell them to take very great care.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir.”

  A salute, then a run to the first cottage. Whiting then returned from the fishing boats.

  “I did my best, Sir, most only speak Gaelic, but one. He had some English, Sir, and I think I got through.”

  “Very good, Whiting. Thank you for your efforts. Now, I do believe that you will soon be employed. Re-join your party.”

  This time respects were formally made and Whiting walked off to the cottage that was guarded by the men of the Foretop. Sanders waited for Whiting to arrive.

  “Whiting, and you, Jones. The Captain wants a search to be made, but nothing to be damaged. No damage. None. Can I leave that to you both?”

  Whiting knuckled his forehead and spoke his response whilst walking to the door. Jones followed and Whiting knocked on the door. He had seen the son leave for the mill and assumed the man of the house was upon the boats just leaving. As it opened he stepped slightly inside, but the woman, plainly terrified, took herself to the back wall, her children running to her. Whiting looked at them and smiled, whilst moving his hands up and down in the best gesture of placation he could think of. It had no effect, but at least they were out of the way. Whiting looked back at Jones.

  “Search! What’s to bloody search?”

  His point was obvious. What little there was, was all on shelves or wooden pegs hammered into the cob wall and nothing more was there beyond shawls, shifts and shirts. The shelves contained mostly emptiness, bar a stack of earthenware crocks and some crumpled and forlorn packets of such as flour. There was no table, just a bench and some stools by the grate, where a black pot hung on a chain over the peat fire, now smoking on the earthen hearth. Whiting noticed that the floor was also bare earth, and when he looked up, he saw but empty rafters and dirty thatch between them. There was one opening in the wall to the left.

  “Take a look in there, Abe.”

  Abel Jones went over to do no more than stand in the opening after drawing back the hanging cloth, whilst he looked through into the room.

  “Just sacks of straw, Gab, and a few old rags as bedclothes.”

  Whiting nodded.

  “Look under, but make sure they goes back as found.”

  Jones disappeared an
d Whiting turned to the still cowering Mother and children. He crouched down to the level of the nearest child and smiled and nodded, but the response was an even more desperate clinging to her Mother’s leg. Whiting rose up as Jones reappeared.

  “I’ve seen enough, Abe. Check round the back, and then we’re done.”

  He looked at the wife and children, still cowering, but perhaps less terrified. All he could do was smile and nod some more and then he allowed Jones to leave before him, before he pulled the door to. As Jones took himself around the back, but Whiting took his seat on the low wall, to lower his shoulders and shake his head.

  Sanders, having dispensed his orders, returned to Argent.

  “All done, Jonathan? And no damage?”

  “Those were my orders, Sir.”

  “Very good. Now, more urgently, I ordered some food brought over. Any sign of it? I sent Berry, as a gesture of faith.”

  Sanders turned towards the ship.

  “I think your faith may be justified, Sir. Something seems to be casting off now, with not too long a journey.”

  Argent looked over himself to confirm what Sanders had seen.

  “Good. I’m going to send you around again. One man from each cottage to go to the shoreline and draw rations.”

  Sanders saluted and went first to Whiting’s cottage. Argent saw Fenwick leave and stride off for the beach, after being spoken to by Lieutenant Sanders, so, with that in train, he took four steps up the street and stopped, none too happy. They now had to search the mill.

  Whiting was sat with Jones, King, and Beddows, all sat on the wall before the cottage. He gave his firm opinion.

  “Well, this must be the most miserable damn place that I been in for many a long year. They don’t live in much more than a hole in the ground with a bit of straw spread over. In the winter this must be the most glum and dismal muck pot as can be imagined.”

  All nodded, but Jones more than most.

  “So this is Ireland. I’ve seen more cheer in a graveyard. Childers all thin and weedy, an’ all of ‘em, adults too, I bet, wears all day what they wakes up in, one bit of clothing each, and that’s that.

  Fenwick had arrived with the food, a mess canister suspended from each hand, a bag of ship’s biscuit tucked under his arm.

  “’Tain’t very hot, but what’s worse, there’s nothin’ to eat it with, nor from. That’s been forgot.”

  He set down the canisters and the five sat and looked in at the contents. It was King who spoke first.

  “Well, do you think we could borrow some, from them inside, like?”

  Whiting answered.

  “You can try, but good bloody luck to you. The ones I spoke to spoke no English. Just heathen Gaelic.”

  King rose, went to the door and knocked, needing to almost bend double under the thatch. The door opened and the again terrified woman stood to greet him, half behind the door. The light showed her shapeless in a cotton shift, light blue and stained, beneath which thin legs extended down to crude leather slippers. Her face was blotched and thin, with unkempt hair, but she responded faintly to King’s wide grin. When he asked if they had any plates, the reply was a blank look. There was then enacted, by him, a farcical pantomime that had his mates in stitches of laughter, which ended with the giant King sat on the ground going through the motions of eating and making round circles with his hands to show where the plate would have been. Three children had come to watch, to soon laugh as loud as anyone. Then one uttered something and disappeared back into the hovel. She reappeared with five crude earthenware platters and five spoons, of various designs and age. King’s messmates had been speechless at his antics, but with his success, their thinking changed.

  “You should be on the stage, Mose.”

  “That’s right. Sweepin’ it.”

  However, the plates were spread amongst them, along with the spoons, and the food began to be shared out. With the canisters almost emptied they looked to start, but it was then that they found they had an audience; five children had emerged from the door to stand and watch. Whiting stopped his spoon midway to his mouth as soon as he saw the look on their faces. He gave a deep sigh that emptied his lungs, then held out the spoon to the nearest child, the one he guessed to be the second eldest. She ran forward and allowed Whiting to feed her. He repeated the feeding, then he simply handed over the plate and the spoon, which action was soon copied by his fellow topmen. With all five children busy eating the beef, peas, and potatoes, he looked across at his messmates, all sat resignedly, with their elbows on their knees.

  “Looks like we’n makin’ do with the biscuit.”

  However, by this time, their mother was at the door and Whiting was the first to notice.

  “Abe. What’s left in they pots?”

  Jones leaned forward to form an answer.

  “Some, but not much.”

  “Tip all into one and give it to Mother there. Throw in a couple of biscuits.”

  Jones obeyed and offered the food to the mother. She took it with both hands and a grateful smile, but then disappeared back into the cottage. However, within seconds she was back returning the empty canister. Whiting realized immediately what she had done.

  “God Damn, she’s chucked it into the family pot! Savin’ it for tea. God Damn, what a bloody place!”

  However, he watched in fatherly manner the five chewing faces lined up before them. When the food was gone, then the plates were carefully licked, then the spoons, then their fingers. He placed his huge and distorted hands over his face and uttered something between a cry and a shout.

  “Lads, this is breakin’ my heart. We got new prizemoney due. What say we uses some of it to buy supplies off the ship, which we got plenty of, more’n we needs now that we’n nearly half through our stint?”

  The rest looked at him puzzled, but it was Beddows who spoke.

  “What, you mean buy some barrels of salt pork and suchlike off the Purser and give it to these here?”

  “That’s exactly what I means. We can go and talk to the other lads around and see what they says. If they agrees then we’ll talk to the lads back aboard and see what it can amount to.”

  “You needs to see the Captain, first.”

  “Not yet, only after we’ve seen the others, here on shore. That’s first, so stir your stumps.”

  In response to the orders of their Captain of the Foretop, they took themselves off to the men guarding the other cottages. The response was wholly positive, like themselves and for the same reason, few had eaten of the food brought ashore. Whiting went to talk to Captain Argent, while most looked on. They saw their Captain stood stock-still, saying nothing, then nodding his head, then speaking. Whiting returned to his fellow conspirators.

  “The Captain says yes. He says allow for three shillings per man. I’m to take that back aboard and talk to Maybank, to see if there’s any charity somewer’ in there. I’m to take the jollyboat, so Sam, Moses, I needs you on the oars.”

  Soon both were sculling off to the ship, but Argent gave these new developments little thought, he had to deal with the mill. He took himself up to the door and entered, to be immediately saluted by the first sentry. He looked around and saw Sinaid Malley examining some linen yarn. From all round in the mill came the fierce clatter of looms working full out, backed by the rumble of the waterwheel. He eased his way around some carts full of bobbins and went and stood in front of her, because to try to speak to call her attention was useless. The frown of earlier immediately returned, but Argent pointed to the door. Outside she placed herself almost as aggressively as before and said nothing, but waited for Argent.

  “Miss Malley. There are two things I have to say. Firstly, that I have to search your mill. Secondly, my men have made a collection and with it they are going to buy some food supplies from the ship, to give out to the people here. Each man is contributing three shillings, each Officer six. It’ll come from our prizemoney from the French smuggler. When it comes ashore, what’s the best w
ay to distribute it, do you think?”

  Sinaid Malley’s stance softened slightly, but her face grew suspicious, but the idea of a search of her mill didn’t seem to concern her.

  “You’re going to give the village some food?”

  Argent spoke as if to a child that had finally understood.

  “Yes, that is right, we are, well, my men are, mostly. But how should we give it out, to each family?”

  Her face changed and she almost smiled.

  “What form will it take? What kind of food?”

  “Well, salt pork and salt beef in barrels, sacks of dried peas, potatoes, flour, biscuit, apples and such, I would guess.”

  Everything changed about her, like a young girl in her first dress of fashion. Her pose matched her new mood and above that, an incandescent smile, that reached up into her deep green eyes. The change hit Argent like a hammer and he had to re-gather his dismembered thoughts.

  “Well, Captain, Reuben, if you land it on the shoreline, the people will collect it from there.”

  “Yes, er, Sinaid. But I’m thinking that some should stay in the barrels. It’ll keep better then, for future use.”

  Her knowing half smile was disarming, coquettish and knowing, under the befuddling green eyes.

  “That’s a grand idea. Now, you organize your bit of it, and I’ll do mine.”

  “And the search?”

  “Ah, see Patrick. He’ll open anywhere you’ve a mind to peer into.”

  With that she ran off to enter the nearest cottage. It wasn’t long before Argent heard shouts and screeches coming through the glassless windows. He found a Corporal of Marines.

  “Collins. Get three men, no just two, and search the mill. No damage, am I clear? No damage. Someone called Patrick will conduct you around. A thorough search, but no damage.”

  Collins gave a sharp salute and jogged off to the mill.

  The westering of the sun saw the supplies landed from the laden longboat, so full that there was only room for half the usual oarsmen. Many hands, at least half of them Irish, carried the barrels, boxes and sacks up to the shoreline, where they were transferred into handcarts and wheelbarrows. Some barrels went to the mill, Argent assumed for storage and, by the time all was packed away, the day was dying, long shadows from the mountains extending over to claim the village for the coming night. More cooked food came across from Mortimor’s galley and the men ashore this time ate the food undisturbed, for, as they were certain, a fine feast was happening indoors, under the thatch.