Game of Bones

by David Donachie

  ‘I never heard of that rating before.’

  ‘No,’ Patton replied, adding a rueful smile. ‘The board made it up, they said to save money. But really it was an attempt to divide the men, to separate the sailors and the landsmen. Amazingly, Gardner nearly got them to accept it. But then the two delegates from the Royal George arrived and swung the meeting against him.’

  ‘Who just happen to be men from one of the ships where the mutiny started,’ said Harry.

  Patton fought hard to avoid the look that said Harry Ludlow was stating the obvious, and didn’t quite succeed.

  ‘Valentine Joyce and John Morrice, they’re called,’ said Griffiths, ‘and for my money they certainly hold sway over some of the other delegates. I’ve been told that pair are watched wherever they go.’

  ‘And?’

  Patton smiled, and held up his hand to interrupt Griffiths. ‘I have it, on good authority, that they are no more than what they say they are, delegates from their own ship.’

  ‘The offer has been increased,’ said Griffiths, dolefully, ‘but the money parts have yet to be agreed.’

  Patton interrupted again. ‘And they have to be voted through Parliament, which takes time. That’s what has made the men impatient. The ships refused to sail from St Helen’s this morning.’

  ‘I saw that for myself.’

  ‘You could say,’ said Griffiths, shaking his head, ‘having settled one mutiny we now have another one, much worse, on our hands. Half the officers in this room have been ordered out of their cabins, though thankfully without a scratch to anything but their pride.’

  ‘I saw plenty of officers aboard the ships of the St Helen’s squadron.’

  ‘These are the unpopular ones, Harry,’ whispered Griffiths.

  Patton pointed a thumb at the ceiling. ‘The admirals are at it this very minute, right above our heads, trying to work out a form of words which will get the men back under control.’

  ‘Bayonets will do that, Patton!’ All four men looked up simultaneously, into the florid face of Captain Jack Willett Payne. Behind him stood the pretty, over-powdered young girl, blushing a trifle as she contemplated her companion. ‘Cold steel or the wrench of rope is the remedy.’

  ‘If you wish to attempt it, Payne,’ said Patton, ‘I would be the last to stand in your way.’

  ‘Then pass it on to those bloody admirals who you’re so friendly with.’ His eyes moved just enough to take in Harry. ‘Mind, you seem to be able to find companionship in the strangest places. You’re so eager to tell how clever you’ve been, you’ll consort with thieves and vagabonds.’

  ‘While you,’ snapped Patton, deliberately looking at the girl, ‘seem to be confined to the companionship of the bedchamber.’

  ‘Give me a decent whore any time,’ Payne replied, oblivious to the distress this caused the girl. ‘At least if they rob you they give something in return. Not like damned privateers.’

  Harry started to rise, but Payne was already walking away, dragging his confused companion behind him, and Ned Griffiths had a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Pay no attention, Harry,’ said Griffiths, seeing the glare in his old friend’s eye. ‘I reckon someone at the Admiralty had a sense of humour. They gave him a thirty-two-gun frigate called Impétueux.’

  It was the noise that distracted Harry, not Griffiths’s hand, his attempt at humour, or his plea to remain calm. Suddenly the staircase to the upper floor was full of senior officers, all descending, the masses of gold braid fronting their uniforms flashing in the lamplight.

  ‘The meeting is over,’ said Patton, standing quickly. ‘Let’s see what they’ve decided.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘WHAT the devil are you doing here?’ demanded Lord Bridport, the moment he spotted Harry Ludlow in the throng.

  ‘Merely curious, my lord,’ Harry replied, with a smile.

  ‘Then you join a great and pestilent mass, sir,’ said the admiral next to him, a tall, gaunt-looking man with hollow cheeks, a prominent nose, and bushy, beetle brows. The eyes beneath them flashed angrily as he continued. ‘It’s like being at the centre of a cowpat, the number of flies there are around seeking to dip their feet in fresh shit.’

  ‘May I be allowed an introduction, Uncle,’ said Griffiths, slightly flustered. By the look he’d given Harry when Bridport spoke, he was of the opinion that his friend should have stayed seated at the table. ‘Captain Ludlow, of the Letter of Marque Bucephalas. Harry, my uncle, Admiral Colpoys.’

  ‘Tom Ludlow’s brat?’ demanded Colpoys.

  ‘None other,’ said Bridport. ‘And with all the family traits firmly in place, as I recall it.’

  ‘You will be pleased to know, Lord Bridport, that the orders you wrote were accepted with alacrity.’

  That made Bridport frown, bringing the edge of his wig very close to his eyebrows. At their last meeting Harry had practically threatened him, and it was clearly an unpleasant memory. But if he’d intended to allude to that occasion, Colpoys’s interruption prevented him.

  ‘You’re never a privateer?’

  ‘I am, sir.’

  ‘Damned disgrace! A sea scavenger no better than a privy cart labourer. Your poor pa would spin in his grave to hear of such a disgraceful thing.’

  Harry’s eyes now flashed just as much as Colpoys’s, and there was no gentility in his voice. ‘Do all admirals forfeit good manners when they hoist their flag.’

  ‘Harry,’ said Griffiths, looking anxiously at his commander. But Colpoys gave a great booming laugh and turned to Bridport.

  ‘Damn it, you’re right, my lord. He’s his father’s twin for a riposte. I always enjoyed Tom Ludlow’s temper.’

  ‘That is a singular pleasure, Admiral Colpoys,’ Bridport responded, as he turned to enter the dining room, ‘that I can never recall sharing.’

  Colpoys addressed the retreating back. ‘That’s ’cause you were his equal, sir. I only ever served under him, which given his ways was a damn sight more comfortable.’

  He gave Harry a last hard look, before turning his attention to Griffiths, his voice dropping to a near whisper. ‘We have to forgo our dinner, Ned. Call in my barge, then send out a general signal for all delegates from the Spithead squadron to assemble aboard my flagship at four o’clock. Do it in such a way that it can’t be seen over in St Helen’s.’

  ‘May I enquire as to the terms you propose, sir?’

  ‘In time, Ned, in time. If I’m going to miss my victuals I need to line my rib bones with a pint of port. Ludlow, you will join me?’

  If it was an invitation, it sounded very like an order, which almost caused Harry to refuse. But he was as eager as Ned Griffiths to know what was on offer to the sailors, which was enough to make him hold back.

  ‘My brother and I already have a table, sir, if you would care to join us.’

  ‘Brother,’ boomed Colpoys, as they entered the taproom. ‘Is that the one who’s a bit of a limner?’

  Harry replied quietly, since they were rapidly approaching the table. James wasn’t vain as regards his reputation, but to be likened to someone who painted signs for public houses and taverns would certainly make him bridle.

  ‘He’s somewhat more than a limner, sir. Though I’m no expert, I know that his fees are substantial and that he’s highly regarded in London society.’

  ‘God knows why, Ludlow,’ Colpoys said, in a loud growl that was supposed to be sotto voce. ‘I saw a picture he did of Lord Mansard at his house in Piccadilly. Far too much light and shade for my liking. Half the subject’s face was in shadow, like one of them Dutch peasant women. Not a patch on Beechey, if you was to ask me.’

  ‘My brother, James,’ said Harry, to the figure now standing right in front of the admiral, looking perplexed. ‘Admiral Colpoys.’

  ‘Delighted, sir,’ replied James, with a slightly bewildered air. Harry hoped he hadn’t heard, though he was at a loss to know how he could have failed to do so. His next words confirmed Harry’s worst fears. �
��Did I hear you refer to Beechey?’

  Colpoys pulled himself erect. ‘You did, sir. The finest painter of a likeness in the land, to my mind. Knows where the sun’s coming from for a start. I sat for him in ’95 and I say that he caught me to the life.’

  ‘Really,’ said James, his lips twitching ever so slightly. ‘He’s repetitious to my mind. I always thought he concentrated on sailors since with all that braid around no one ever bothered to look at the sitter’s face. Still, if the prize money doesn’t run to Singleton Copley, one must take what one gets.’

  Colpoys screwed up his face for a sharp reply, then suddenly grinned, exposing a fine set of wooden teeth, as he turned to Harry. ‘He’s a skinny addition to the Ludlow tree, but the tongue is provenance enough.’

  ‘Is that an apology, Harry?’ asked James.

  ‘Never, sir,’ boomed Colpoys, in a voice that made those on the edge of the room look towards him. Everyone closer, having heard his earlier remarks, was studiously looking away. His next outburst was clearly designed to take in both sets of customers.

  ‘Admirals never apologise, even to other flag officers. Didn’t your pa teach you that! I came for port, Ludlow, and I’ve little time to spare.’

  ‘Of course, Admiral.’ The servant obviously knew Colpoys, as well as his tastes. He was at Harry’s elbow with two pints before he could turn round. Colpoys filled his goblet as soon as the man put it on the table, then swallowed the entire contents in one gulp, smacking his lips loudly when finished.

  ‘Damn it, I needed that. Sharing a table with admirals and the like is worse than a mid’s berth.’ The goblet was full again before he finished speaking and emptied twice more before Griffiths returned.

  ‘Barge is by the Sally Port steps, Uncle.’

  ‘Good,’ replied Colpoys, pulling himself to his feet. He looked at both brothers. ‘Would you care to join me, gentlemen?’

  ‘To what purpose?’ asked James.

  The admiral’s voice dropped again, since he clearly had no intention of sharing the information with the room. ‘To witness the end of this damned nonsense.’

  ‘The mutiny?’

  ‘What else? I intend to go aboard my flagship, put a question to the crew. And, gentlemen, I also intend to be firm. What transpired at St Helen’s this morning will not happen at Spithead.’

  ‘Is that wise, Uncle?’ whispered Griffiths.

  The bushy eyebrows gathered like darkening clouds, as Colpoys’s eyes swung round on to his nephew. Harry was almost sure he saw Ned Griffiths quake.

  ‘We have orders to go to sea, reissued by their Lordships this very morning. The wind favours us. I intend to show Bridport that a little firmness will see us a fleet again. I also have another order in my pocket which is a direct command from the Admiralty to tighten up discipline, see that the marines’ arms and ammunition are in good order and ready for use, and at the first sign of mutiny to use the most vigorous means to suppress it, as well as to bring the ringleader to a well-deserved punishment. And that, Captain, as you well know, is almost word for word.’

  ‘Sir,’ Griffiths replied, not daring to look his uncle in the eye, ‘I had that order too. It came to every captain in the fleet. We all were given to understand that Lord Bridport intended to ignore it.’

  ‘What he intends and what I do may not coincide.’

  ‘I for one would be happy to accompany you, Admiral,’ said Harry.

  ‘You will forgive me,’ added James, throwing his brother a despairing look. ‘After months at sea, I am content to take my pleasure by staying on land. And I lack Harry’s predilection for involvement in anything that smacks of trouble.’

  ‘So be it,’ replied Colpoys. He filled his goblet again, then drained it. ‘Let’s be off.’

  ‘May I have one minute, sir?’ asked Harry.

  ‘One minute, Ludlow, and not a second more. This is the navy, not some damned letter of marque. If you’re not at the Sally Port steps in sixty seconds behind me, I’ll set off without you.’

  Harry turned to James as Colpoys swept out of the room.

  ‘Could you write to Arthur and Cantwell’s Bank, to tell them we are back home. Cantwell will need to be told to expect the balance of our specie as well as those bonds. And it would likewise do little harm to inform Arthur we’ve been lucky.’

  James’s face creased with displeasure as Harry mentioned his brother-in-law, Arthur, Lord Drumdryan. Though the enmity that once marked their relationship had diminished, the younger Ludlow could still not bring himself to like his sister’s noble Scottish husband.

  Harry was heading for the door when he spoke again. ‘Write to Anne if you must, but just let them know we have safely returned and that we’ve enjoyed some success.’

  The admiral’s barge lay at the foot of the wooden steps, the crew smart in blue pea-jackets and white duck trousers. If they were mutineers they didn’t give any indication. They showed no hint of indiscipline as they sat, looking rigidly forward, oars raised in a neat regimented line. The coxswain was just pushing off as Harry leapt aboard, finding himself a seat in the crowded thwarts. Colpoys had several passengers, all officers, two of them, with whom he was in earnest, whispered conversation, wearing the bright red coats of marines. Ned Griffiths looked miserable, like a man who’d rather be anywhere than aboard the barge.

  Once the bows were swung out the oars hit the water with regatta-like precision. The men began to haul, and soon they were shooting away from the steps and out into the Portsmouth Channel. Shallow of draft, they turned to cross the Spit Sand as soon as they’d cleared the fort, passing the sailors’ hospital at Haslar on their starboard quarter. That was another deduction made from the common seaman’s wage, a contribution to the running of the infirmary, as well as the hospital at Greenwich, the first to provide care if they were wounded or sick, the second a place to reside when they retired.

  The four ships-of-the-line, well to the seaward side of Admiral Parker’s flagship, still lay at anchor, the rest of the fleet just visible at their St Helen’s anchorage. Harry, turning his attention from the approaching line-of-battle ships, began to study the barge crew. These men, who rowed the admiral wherever he wanted to go, had to be the steadiest men on the ship. There could be no drunkards or idiots with loose tongues, since any act that brought attention to themselves reflected on the man for whom they laboured. The very idea that such sailors might refuse their duty, under any circumstances, seemed absurd.

  Yet with an eye seasoned by so many years at sea Harry could detect something in their bearing that hinted at discontent. Called to put his finger on its exact seat, he would have been hard put to oblige. Perhaps it was the sheer blankness of the expressions, the utter lack of any response to an enquiring stare. It certainly had nothing to do with their rhythm or efficiency in the matter of rowing. Ever since the coxswain had settled on the required pace, they had hauled as a unit, in smooth, distance-eating ease.

  London, as they approached, towered over them, a 98-gun three-decker, swinging at single anchor on her buoy. Marines stood by the entry port, as did the watch officer, waiting for their captain and admiral to arrive. The ship was like the barge. It looked normal. So much so that Harry considered fanciful the brooding sense of danger that began to creep over him. Swinging round in a smooth arc, the barge glided alongside. Pipes blew and marine muskets clashed to attention as they came aboard, in a ceremony that Harry Ludlow had not witnessed so closely since he was a midshipman.

  Colpoys stood amidships on the maindeck for a moment, looking forward at the rows of mess tables that lay between the housed guns. Each table was occupied by the men of its mess, a group which worked, ate, and slept in close proximity. With a crew of 600 seamen, plus 150 marines and idlers, that meant a lot of tables. Not everyone was on this deck, of course. But a good many hardbitten seamen and new-pressed landsmen were mixed together. A scene he had witnessed a thousand times, it took several seconds before Harry realised what was missing. Noise. There was no b
uzz of conversation. They might not be looking at the newly arrived party, but as soon as they’d come through the entry port, all chatter had ceased, and an eerie silence had descended.

  ‘My cabin, Captain Griffiths, if you please. I should be obliged if you would assemble all officers in five minutes.’

  ‘Sir,’ the captain replied, before turning to his first lieutenant, standing right next to him, and repeating the order.

  ‘Would I be permitted to wander, Ned?’

  Griffiths replied with a distracted nod. Clearly he was unhappy. The assurance that should attend any captain aboard his own vessel, that air of calm and knowing authority, was quite absent. Harry reckoned that serving Colpoys couldn’t be easy. Some admirals were sensible enough to never interfere in the running of the ship, but Colpoys didn’t look the type. Being his blood relative would make life doubly difficult, since any hint of disagreement risked a family as well as a professional bond.

  Harry made his way towards the companionway, his progress discreetly marked by hundreds of curious eyes. The silence was oppressive only if the person feeling it had witnessed the norm, which was a cacophony of noise that any crowd of boisterous individuals would create. The ’tween decks felt oppressive and threatening rather than spacious. On the upper deck knots of men stood around, wrapped up against the chill north-west breeze, all in earnest discussion, with many an eye glancing south towards their compatriots anchored off St Helen’s.

  Free to walk where he desired, Harry headed for the quarterdeck. This open space abaft the mainmast was the sole preserve of officers and those they appointed to run the ship. On that clear platform he could look aloft without tripping over some piece of equipment. Not that there was any untidiness. Every fall was flemished and coiled to perfection. Each ball that lay in the garlands by the huge guns was rust-free and freshly blackened. The deck itself was as spotless as any he’d ever seen. London was, in all respects bar one, shipshape. But that exception was suspicion, so prevalent it seemed to well up from the very planking.