The Devil to Pay (John Pearce series)

by David Donachie

  Pearce had to be careful for he, in command, would have just put up his helm, sailed back to the fleet and damned Hotham to do his worst. But he was not Henry Digby.

  ‘I think it is long on risk but I also think it forms a basis in which to proceed.’

  ‘Then I request that you take the cutter and look at what we might face.’

  ‘Readily, let me have that map and I will study it for a place to come ashore.’

  ‘I will see a mast stepped into the cutter.’

  ‘No, Henry, this is better as oar work.’

  ‘It will be a damned long haul, I intend that they should not see our topsails. I assume will have a tower of sorts and the certainly have battlements on that fortress.’

  ‘“Damned” Henry? I am not sure if I have ever heard you employ the word.’

  If Pearce needed proof that his captain was feeling more sanguine about things it came now in his response. ‘I have been exposed once too often to you and your ways, John.’

  ‘That aside, Henry, you can get in close in darkness and shorten our journey, then get back out to sea before first light. Mr Dorling will work that out in a trice. If we can get ashore ahead of dawn then we might be able to camouflage the cutter and stay for the whole day.’

  ‘Sound thinking. What about rejoining?’

  ‘That too must be in darkness, but with Flirt far enough inshore to show a light that we can pick up, yet one that will not be seen from the shore by a sentinel.’

  ‘You think he has those?’

  ‘I would not be willing to wager on the lack of them. Somehow I have this Mehmet fellow down as a cautious cove.’

  It was not just a simple matter of distances. There was the sea state, which was benign now but may not remain so. Then there were currents that would affect progress, either aiding or slowing a rowing cutter, which was not a boat built for speed. Pearce was obliged to disappoint Mr Grey who was keen to participate along with his marines.

  ‘We are not going to do battle, if anything we are set to avoid it.’

  ‘Then I must do no more than register my protest.’

  ‘Noted, Mr Grey.’

  Next Pearce had to select those he was taking with him, Michael O’Hagan being the first on his list which meant the other Pelicans had to be included to avoid pique. Tilley would cox the cutter and out of the crew he knew so well it was easy to pick men he was sure would obey any order he gave without question and also be sharp-minded in themselves.

  He had one of the brig’s swivel guns fitted in the bows and loaded, with a cover over the muzzle to keep out water, which if it added weight also added firepower, it being a weapon designed to discharge grapeshot. Every man would be armed with knives and cutlasses, while muskets would be wrapped in tarred canvas to keep them dry and laid in the bottom of the boat.

  Half a barrel of powder came from Sam Kempshall along with sacks of lead balls. Ash from under Bellam’s coppers would serve to darken faces white enough to reflect overhead light, while a packet of biscuit and some small beer would be taken along as sustenance.

  The man in charge was equipped with his pistols, his sword and a sketchbook with which to make quick drawings of what he observed, these to be studied prior to any attempt to enter the gulf under a truce flag and he had a small telescope to aid him survey the anchorage. On setting off they would row hard to close the distance then more carefully to avoid creating the kind of phosphorescence that could be picked up by moon and starlight.

  That the sky was a mixture of cloud and clear had to be accepted; to seek to row ashore in stygian darkness was to risk too much, though Pearce had a compass. They needed some light to pick out a spot at which to land and also to avoid any underwater obstacles that might lurk on their course. Most of that would come from the stars given the moon was waxing and no more than a thin strip hanging to the north-west.

  ‘I wish you Godspeed, John and know that, even if it does not meet with your approval, I will pray for you.’

  ‘Do not doubt that I am grateful.’

  ‘There is nothing we have missed?’

  Pearce laughed. ‘Only the ability to see into the mind of man like Hotham.’

  ‘Even having seen his sinning ways, I still cannot do that,’ Digby said in a sad tone, before calling out to let fly the sheets and bring the brig up into the slight breeze.

  Pearce was last into the cutter, now manned by eight rowers and ten more tars, enough it was felt to take on any unexpected enemies and check them so they could make an escape, a fact which did not escape the glowers of the marine lieutenant.

  The other worry was a pursuit by something under sail, but Pearce reasoned any such vessel had to be inside the bay and would need to get out through the narrows before they could mount a chase. If they did that was when he would employ the swivel gun.

  The time came to switch the oarsmen and also to slow their rate and weight of stroke, for anything too heavy threw up high spouts of displaced seawater. When the sky clouded over enough to hide the stars, leaving him with the tin strip of luminosity at the edge of the clouds, he called for the oars to be shipped; the shoreline was low lying and relatively short on vegetation and he wanted to see where he would touch bottom for it needed to be sandy not rocky.

  The first hint of light began to tinge the eastern clouds right in front of Pearce; they had cut it very fine and still he could not see a line where wavelets were coming ashore so it was time to abjure caution; nothing could be worse than to be out at sea in daylight.

  ‘Haul away, lads, let’s get our feet on dry land. Michael man that swivel and if you hear a sound let fly at it.’

  The speed picked up and at last Pearce saw that for which he was searching and it was close, for he could hear the tell-tale lapping of water on sand, thankfully not the hiss of rocks or pebbles. It seemed no time at all until the bottom touched at which point every man jack leapt out of the cutter to first lighten it then to haul it further inshore where the swivel gun was lifted off its temporary mounting.

  Getting up the beach was hard going even if it was a shallow rise and soon they and their craft were in some low bushes, where they could find concealment. There they stayed while the light in the sky slowly increased until it became full daylight. Now Pearce could see about him and reckon on his luck for in easy sight lay the rear of a fortified bastion which, covering the narrows, had to have cannon.

  A slight change of direction might have had then run ashore beneath the guns. Somehow he would have to find out the number of cannon and their weight of shot for that was the route of entry and exit for Flirt. Also was it only one side fortified, or both?

  Raising his head he looked into the gulf, surprised to see four pairs of high masts, two close and two further off. Extra elevation was risky but had to be tried and that showed him two deep-hulled merchant vessels bearing the scars of a fight and even if he had never before called eyes on them he knew them to be those that had sailed in company with the Lady Massingham.

  What made him so certain was the sight of the two other vessels riding at anchor on the far side of the anchorage, a pair of brigantines with lines too familiar to cheer his mood even at a distance. Michael had joined him and he was looking with the same sense of astonishment.

  ‘I think we now know who that fellow we came across escaped from, Michael, just as we know now and for certain that Mehmet Pasha’s true game is piracy.’

  ‘Can’t see proper John-boy, but what is that hanging from the yards of them merchantmen?’

  Pearce swung his small telescope to where Michael was pointing and what he observed brought from him a gasp of breath. ‘They’re bodies, Michael. I reckon them two of the men of those captures, one for each, and they have been hung.’

  ‘Holy Christ,’ Michael swore, before crossing himself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  For John Pearce the day was spent crawling through undergrowth, which covered the narrow spit of land that formed the southern arc of the bay, to get
to points were he could get sight of those things he needed to record, in this accompanied by Rufus Dommet who had the slimmest frame and the least weight of the Pelicans. There was no need to say that Michael O’Hagan was left in charge of the others; no one would argue with him. If he found a convenient spot he would rest his back against a thick bush and, alternating the use of his telescope with a piece of charcoal, sketch away.

  By midday he had a drawing of the far from formidable fortress and the buildings that surrounded it, many too close to aid in defence, quite the reverse, which implied it was no longer expected to withstand an assault and had become a place of administration: probably had any cannon stripped out. Not far off from the walls, across an open square, lay a small harbour, containing mostly small inshore fishing boats though there was one bigger vessel that looked like a barge.

  From every angle those two swinging bodies were in sight, moving on the slight motion of the ship, as were the brigantines that he was wont to think had been built to haunt him. There was more activity on the pirate vessels, the normal duties on a ship at anchor, with practically none at all on those two merchantmen. Where were the crew; ashore in Mehmet’s dungeon or secure below decks and why hang two of them?

  The hardest to observe were the two round stone bastions on either side of the entrance to the gulf with cannon that covered the anchorage, presumably the same weight of shot as those pointing out to sea and covered the narrows. He had to assume a deep water channel running down the centre of those narrows but there was no way of telling if it actually lay to north or south of the middle, which was not a positive. If Digby did enter the gulf, and Pearce would be advising against it, running aground would lead to utter destruction.

  Tired and dusty, Pearce entertained a solution that horrified Rufus. He began to strip down to his smalls, preparatory to swimming out to a point where he could observe both batteries and the muzzles of their inward-facing cannon, to try and guess at their calibre, for it could not be more than that.

  ‘What if they spot your head in the water?’

  ‘We have not seen a soul on this bank, not even a fisherman and those ships are too far off to allow anyone to spot me from the deck.

  ‘And if they have eyes aloft.’

  ‘The only ones I can see,’ Pearce snapped, ‘are dead.’

  Rufus being still unhappy he had to be told that should the alarm be raised, he was to race back to the rest of the crew, hidden with the cutter and get it out to sea. ‘And take these sketches with you.’

  It was necessary to slither down the rough sand to get into the water which, at this time of year, December, was far from warm as he made his way out from the shore to a point where he could observe the shore embrasures of both bastions. He knew he was taking a risk, but those cannon lay at the heart of the defence of Mehmet’s gulf, a place in which he clearly felt secure and with good reason; short of a ship of the line blasting those batteries to pieces, nothing could get in that he did not want to and then there was the getting out. Thankfully there was even less activity around the cannon that on the anchored ships.

  Next he lay on his back to float and fixed his eyes on a point on shore, the flagstaff that bore the Crescent and Star of the Ottoman Empire, aware of movement towards the gulf entrance; there was a current and a noticeable one flowing outwards, no doubt fed by rivers from the surrounding mountains, which would act to slow any vessel seeking entry. That established, he very gently made his way back to the point where Rufus Dommet was waiting. If it was a cool figure who came back to shore it was one covered in sticky sand by the time he rejoined Rufus; he had to slide uphill. Once he was handed his coat he extracted his watch to check the time, not that it was utterly necessary, the state of the light told him it was time to get ready to depart, especially since he had a long crawl back.

  The two had just begun that when a series of screams rent the air, not loud for it was too far off to be that, but echoing. Pearce stopped and trained his telescope on where it came from, one of the French merchantmen. The knot of bodies soon filled his glass, several turbaned men dragging another across the deck, a sailor by his garb, where they put a rope around his neck, before turning to face the fortress.

  A swing of the telescope showed a substantial figure of a man on the battlements and he too had a similar instrument, albeit much larger than that Pearce held and it was fixed on that merchant ship’s deck. Around his large frame were what seemed like some kind of court and examining him Pearce could see his clothing shimmered even in the lack of sunlight, which had him think the garments would be lavish and costly.

  The portly fellow, and he was well larded, lifted his hand and Pearce swung his glass to see the poor soul who had been struggling to get free hauled up off the deck to kick and jerk as the life was squeezed out of him by slow strangulation. Sighting back to the man who had waved it was obvious he was laughing as he turned to address his companions, several of whom bowed.

  ‘Mehmet Pasha, I’ll wager and that’s what Hotham had in mind for me.’

  ‘Poor bastard,’ Rufus said, for if he had not the power of a telescope he had eyes to see the final death throes of the hanged sailor, the last feeble kicks of those legs.

  Pearce was still examining the man who had caused this, probably for mere entertainment and it seemed he had seen his fill, for he turned and walked out of sight, once more with bows to mark his passing. Then, with shudder, he resumed his slow and careful progress.

  They got the cutter into the water as soon as darkness fell and with just enough light for Pearce to see the pointer on his compass, that allowing him to set a course. Rowing into what seemed an endless nothingness induces a strange feeling of embarking on a journey with no end and given it took several hours before they saw a winking lantern it was not without concern; if they did not meet with HMS Flirt they would be in a bad place.

  Closing fast as the sky began to lighten again, the sails made dun coloured by wind, water and the sun rose high above them and voices called out to bring them to the gangway, where they disembarked to slaps on the back from their mates, Pearce last out, his hand aided by Michael O’Hagan, issued a quick request.

  ‘A bucket, Michael, if you please, over the side and filled. Rufus take care of this sketchbook.’

  ‘Mr Pearce, John, I bid you a happy return and am eager to hear what you have observed.’

  ‘There is scarce enough light to see, sir, but I must tell you my body is covered in sand which renders me unfit for anything.’

  That said and his pistols and sword handed to Charlie Taverner, he began to undress which got many a chuckle from the crew, who fully expected him to do what they had seen the man do before, which was to dive naked into the sea.

  ‘Please feel free to get under way, Henry and when I am clean and in decent clothing I will join you in your cabin.’

  Finally disrobed Pearce allowed O’Hagan to douse him in seawater several times until every trace of sand, which had driven him mad with itching for hours, was removed from his body.

  Grey had been invited to attend on the two sea officers as it was held by Digby that being a Lobster his opinion should be sought on anything that might involve fighting on land: not that there was as yet a plan. What was obvious to the meanest intelligence was the plain fact that if those two redoubts at the entrance remained functional then any thought of doing what Digby had suggested was doomed.

  ‘You only have so many men, Mr Grey, too few to subdue a pair of stout bastions.’

  ‘The trick, captain would be to subdue one and turn the guns on to the other.’

  ‘Simple to say, not easy to accomplish.’

  Grey looked at Pearce as if he had just blasphemed, which reminded him of the odd situation in which he found himself. Normally the man thirsting for action he was trying to dampen the aims of another he knew to be desperate. Digby had to do something; he could not just admit failure and then face the consequences or the man who had sent him, an admiral he could not touch.<
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  ‘You say the batteries are not heavily manned, sir.’

  ‘Not that I could see. They anticipate no threat from the sea that would not be obvious for some time before it could get within range.’

  ‘And there were no torches lit last night.’

  ‘No, for we would not have landed so close is we had seen them.’

  ‘Lax, Mr Pearce, wouldn’t you say?’ Grey replied with a quizzical look.

  ‘Only if the force they are required to deal with is overwhelming. Besides that the cannon are set in embrasures which and I assume most of them point out to sea.’

  ‘Even stout walls will not withstand the blast of a thirty-two pounder at close quarters.’

  ‘The size is only a guess.’

  ‘No matter.’

  ‘Henry, you are proposing to sail into that gulf with those cannon manned, when you do not even know if they will respect your truce flag. Once inside you are going to open fire on Mehmet’s old fort and then seek to get back out again, relying on Mr Grey and his Lobsters to have neutralised the cannon and this when you cannot be sure of a safe channel.’

  Digby was looking at the top of his desk and when he lifted his eyes there was a real sense of doom in them. ‘John, it pains me to say this, but if you want no part of what I must do then I will need to find a way to get you ashore somewhere safe, a place from which you can make your way …’ the pause was long, ‘to Naples.’

  ‘You are so determined on this you will risk destruction.’

  ‘I cannot see another way.’

  ‘There are two well-armed brigantines in the anchorage …’

  ‘Vessels Flirt can fight!’

  ‘One perhaps for you are much better armed, two is another matter and whatever course you adopt might I remind you it is not only your own life you are risking.’

  ‘I had expected more support.’

  ‘I will support you in anything that can be achieved but not an approach that smacks of madness driven by despair. To take this brig into that anchorage is suicide. I also doubt if the crew were told of your aim they would follow you.’