by Derek Gunn
Butler’s inimitable vision had seen them survive many seemingly hopeless situations, but Fowler had heard the rumours among the other ship’s officers that this very uniqueness had grated against many of Butler’s superiors. His reputation as a hotshot or a wild card was working against him. Fowler knew, however, that the HMS Swift and her whole crew owed their lives to their captain and his strange ways and that each and every one of them would follow him to Hell if he asked.
It was a pity, Fowler mused, that the good captain could not see that.
The small gig made good time as the six crewmen pulled on the sun-whitened oars and cut a steady pace through the agitated water. They may have left the storm behind them but its violence still reached them, even in this sheltered harbour and the undertow seemed to pull at them with every stroke. The sun beat mercilessly down on them and the spirited wind that they had enjoyed on the deck of the HMS Swift was sadly missing in the sheltered harbour. Butler forced himself to remain still as the other passengers fidgeted with their collars or wiped sweat from their faces. As captain it was incumbent on him to set an example, even if he yearned to rip his collar open and throw himself into the water to cool down.
He turned his head towards the shore and brought his hand up to shield the sun but the light danced over the undulating water casting hundreds of reflections off its uneven surface and blinded him regardless. He sighed and settled back to examine his shore party.
Captain Jonathon Purcell sat rigid in the stern. His red jacket and white cross-belts were immaculate, in fact his silver buttons were shined to such a degree that they challenged the sun with their brightness. However, Butler knew from experience that anyone assuming that the small man was merely a dandy who had purchased his commission would be mistaken. Purcell was an excellent officer, popular with his men and quick to react in an emergency. It was strange that a full captain would command such a small detachment of marines and Butler wondered who the marine officer had crossed in his past to be consigned to such a small command. Still, he mused, the good captain did not seem to resent his current position in the slightest and strove to perform at his best at all times. It was a pity, Butler thought as he looked over at the heavyset man beside him, that others in his small detachment of marines did not take their lead from such a fine example.
Sergeant Casey lay slumped against the side of the boat and scanned the other marines constantly. He was a bully. Butler had hinted at this a number of times to Purcell but knew that the captain’s hands were tied. Casey was the highest ranking officer after Purcell and, short of outright mutiny; Purcell could do little to change that fact. In any event, Casey was far too clever to be anything but a paragon of virtue in his superior’s presence.
He beat the men but was always careful to keep his beatings hidden. It was known that he intimidated and stole from the men also but neither Purcell, nor Butler himself, had been able to prove anything thus far. Until they caught him red-handed they would have to suffer his presence.
As well as the unfortunate Mister Hackett, Butler had decided to bring his second Lieutenant, Joshua Winfield. The officer sat beside him now and encouraged the rowers as they pulled on the oars. Winfield was a good officer, a far cry from the scared Midshipman who had joined him just a year ago but, at sixteen, he still had a lot to learn for such a senior grade. His advancement had been temporary when the previous second Lieutenant had died in a skirmish with a Spanish ‘Ship of the Line’ but he had shown that he was well capable of filling the role and Butler had decided to make it permanent a few months later. Butler sighed. How the world changes, he thought, we may soon be at war with the French and this time the Spanish are our allies.
He shook himself from his thoughts when he heard the oars being pulled from their locks as the launch floated gently to the pier. He waited as one of the crew jumped onto the wooden structure to secure the gig and then rose to greet the welcoming party.
Except there wasn’t one.
Butler shielded his eyes and looked along the pier but it was completely empty. He could see the beach and the huts beyond the small loading area but they appeared empty also.
‘Captain,’ he whispered but the dull click of flintlocks being pulled back informed him that the marine had already instructed his men to ready their weapons. ‘Johnson,’ Butler looked to the crewman who had tied up the gig, ‘stay with the boat and keep your pistol loaded.’ Without waiting for a reply he began to move down the pier towards the village.
Captain Purcell moved to Butler’s side and they both stepped onto the sand together. The other marines moved out to flank the two officers and the rest of the crew, more used to the intense, close fighting when boarding another ship, stayed behind their officers to protect the rear.
‘It seems the reports may have been warranted after all,’ Purcell observed as they passed the first of the huts and moved towards a central cooking area. There were utensils and plates strewn around the ground. A fire glowed weakly in a large hearth but it would soon die out with only embers left to feed it. Except for the constant roar of the tide as it rolled onto shore behind them the island was quiet.
Too quiet
‘Peters,’ Butler jumped as he heard Purcell call to the marine beside him, ‘throw some wood on that fire and see if you can get it going again.’ He turned to Butler and shrugged, ‘you never know, we might need it later.’ Butler nodded and moved towards the path that led to the Governor’s house.
The village itself had obviously evolved with the growing number of inhabitants but they had managed to incorporate the expansion in concert with its surroundings. Where a tree infringed on the expanding buildings it was accommodated and made part of the structure, its canopy of leaves used to provide further shelter for a storeroom or nursery. The Governor’s house, however, was a different matter. The path sloped upwards and the ragged plants and trees that lined its borders had been severely hacked away to provide the desired width with no consideration for form or balance.
The building itself was a mix between stone and wood and the intimidating structure was far too large for one person. In fact, Butler mused as he walked up the slope; it was large enough to house most of his crew. Where did he get all that stone? Butler thought idly. A high wooden fence surrounded the entire house with guard towers at each corner. It was, Butler thought, more like something one would expect to see in a large, bustling port.
He heard a slight chuckle beside him and he turned his head towards the marine captain and arched his eyebrow questioningly.
‘I was just thinking about something my mother used to say,’ Purcell quickly composed his face.
‘Well, you can’t leave it like that,’ Butler softened his face enough to encourage the captain to continue.
‘Oh, it was just something about there being little point in being ignorant if one did not let others know. I thought it fitting in this case.’ The sudden chorus of giggles behind him testified that the rest of the party were in similar minds.
Butler turned back to the path and only then did he allow a smile to crease his face. He was worried, though. Ignorant or not, there was something wrong here. The deserted village could be explained easily enough, there could be a wedding or a funeral or some such ritual taking place further inland. But there were no guards in the towers and he knew that Sir John had a detachment of twelve marines.
It was bad enough to leave a ship’s captain without a welcoming party but to require him to make his way to the house unescorted was an insult that would not be ignored by the Admiralty when they learned of the slur in his report. While Butler personally didn’t care one way or the other, he would have to report the occurrence in the ship’s log. Sir John was far too politically astute to risk the Admirals in London reading such a report. He may be well-connected but an insult to one of His Majesty’s officers was an insult to His Majesty himself and would be seen in a very dim light.
The gates were locked. Butler leaned backwards and looked towards their
pointed pinnacle but couldn’t see any handholds they could use to scale the sheer face. The heat was unbearable, especially after their climb up such a steep gradient and Butler’s temper was fraying rapidly.
‘Captain,’ he snapped and then forced himself to soften his tone as he turned to the marine. ‘Send some men around the compound, there might be another route that will afford us a more accessible point of entry.’ Purcell nodded and turned to organise a detachment. ‘Oh, Captain,’ Butler continued as he studied the gates again, ‘be so kind as to fire a volley into the air. Just in case they are all merely asleep.’
The crack of the muskets shattered the silence and seemed strangely loud, almost as if there were actually indoors.
‘Hear that?’ Butler turned to the marine captain.
‘I don’t hear anything, sir,’ the soldier replied in confusion.
‘Exactly! A shot like that should have sent hundreds of birds screaming into the air. There’s definitely something afoot.’
Just then they heard a loud clunk from behind the gate and the left door swung silently inwards.
‘… or maybe they were all just asleep after all,’ Butler shrugged and strode purposely through the gate without waiting for someone to appear. His only concession to caution being a firm grip on his sword.
‘My apologies, sir,’ the man’s thick Cornish accent slurred the last word and pronounced it more as ‘zur’. Butler snapped his head to regard the man who had opened the gate and started in surprise.
The wretched figure was hunched over the lock as if it was the only thing holding him upright. The man was beyond pale; his lips were almost blue against the sheet-white pallor of his skin. In fact, the only colour on the man’s face at all was a dusting of clay on his left cheek. His hair hung limply to his shoulders and Butler could see further clumps of clay matted along one side. His clothes were filthy and dishevelled and Butler almost recoiled from the stench that emanated from the man.
‘Where is everybody?’ Butler snapped as he continued walking towards the residence, assuming the man would follow. He had been about to question the man’s appearance and demand an explanation for their poor treatment but the man looked as if he were about to collapse at any moment and the sun was far too hot to stand around and argue.
‘My master sends his regrets, sir,’ the wretched figure followed as best he could but Butler was forced to slow his pace or leave the man behind. ‘It’s the storm you see, sir. There was a terrible blow last night and one of the villages on the other side of the island suffered somethin’ awful.’ The man wheezed as he struggled to keep up. Butler motioned for Captain Purcell to follow him and was pleased to see the captain organise his men into guard details before he followed him into the house. Hackett and Winfield took up their positions at the rear after ordering their charges to help the marine sergeant.
Butler almost sighed with relief as he stepped into the porch with its cool shade and turned to watch the wretched figure follow. ‘There were a number of children lost and homes were destroyed so the Governor ordered everyone to help.’
‘Well,’ Butler nodded as he considered the information. Maybe he had been a little too harsh in his estimation of the Governor after all; it was generous indeed for him to help personally in such a tragedy. ‘I will send some of my men immediately. Where is this village?’
‘No!’ the man blurted quickly and then stammered as he continued. ‘What I mean, sir, is that they will be on their way back by now. They’ve been gone all day. The Governor insisted that I look after you and serve refreshments until his return. He should be back presently. If you would follow me, please, I will bring water and food to your men as soon as I have you good gentlemen settled.’
Butler shrugged and motioned for the others to follow him. He turned back to the man but he was already half-way down the corridor. Butler frowned, all evidence of the man’s stoop and exhaustion were gone and the man walked confidently ahead of him, as if the shade had given him a new lease of life.
This damned sun, Butler mused; it’s enough to drain you. He continued on down the corridor after the strange figure, his boots echoing like rifle shots around him.
‘What do you make of it, Captain?’ Butler asked Purcell as soon as the figure disappeared in search of refreshments.
‘Damned odd fellow. Looks like he’s been sleeping in the dirt,’ Purcell said as Butler crossed to the window and looked out towards his ship. ‘But the storm was certainly strong enough to cause damage to such huts.’
‘Yes, it was,’ Butler agreed. ‘It is strange, though, that there is no such damage in evidence in the village below us. Keep your eyes open. I am not entirely satisfied with our strange host.’
The door opened again and the dishevelled figure returned with a tray containing a decanter of wine and some dry biscuits. ‘Sorry, sir, but the cook never had time to cook today, what with the damage and all. I’m sure he’ll make up for it when he gets back.’ The man smiled and showed a row of blackened teeth. He set down the tray and retreated back to the door. ‘The master should return by late afternoon and if you need anything just pull on this cord here,’ he indicated a lavishly decorated cord by the door. ‘In the meantime I’ll send some refreshments out to your men.’ Without waiting for a reply the man bowed and closed the door behind him.
‘Ah, wine,’ Purcell crossed to the tray and lifted the decanter and a glass. ‘God, I have such a thirst. Can I pour you a glass, sir?’
Butler nodded absently and turned his attention back out to the inlet as Purcell poured four generous measures. It was after two in the afternoon and dusk came early this far south so they would only have to wait about two hours or so.
‘Well, Gentlemen,’ Purcell addressed the others as he raised his glass.
‘To the King!’ he snapped his head back and drained the glass in one long swallow before Hackett had even raised his own.
‘Mister Hackett,’ the young man almost dropped his glass as Captain Butler called to him and he spilt an amount onto the carpet as he struggled to set his glass down and approach his superior with all due haste. Behind him Captain Purcell had already poured himself and Mister Winfield a second glass and he left them to their discussions on the wine’s merits.
‘S…sir,’ Hackett stammered as he drew level with his superior.
‘Do you recall the pier we docked at?’ Butler asked as he strained to get a better view of the port. The house was completely surrounded by the wooden security wall but, as it had been built on a slope, it still had a good view of the inlet beyond. However, the walls blocked any view of the village itself.
‘Yes, sir,’ Hackett answered uncertainly.
‘I want you to go down to Johnson and ensure everything is fine. I am sure he would appreciate some water and a handful of those biscuits also.’
Hackett nodded and went to approach the door. ‘Mister Hackett,’ Butler called after him, ‘I would prefer if you were unobserved for this venture. Do you think you could squeeze through here and make your way unseen?’ Butler indicated the small window and raised an eyebrow quizzically.
Hackett was confused by the request but he had heard the crew tell many tales of the Captain’s eccentricities and had yet to hear one where he had been proved wrong. He shrugged. ‘I’ll do my best, sir.’
‘Good lad.’
Butler watched the young man ease through the narrow window and then crossed to the others, now on their third glass and completely oblivious to their missing colleague or the Captain’s strange request. Butler looked dubiously at the wine. His throat was parched and he ached to drink but he just couldn’t shake a feeling of unease. If he was wrong he could laugh about it later over dinner, but for now he contented himself to munch on a dry biscuit instead.
Chapter 3
Lieutenant Peter Fowler paced the deck with mounting unease. Beneath him, the ship moved restlessly in the current as if it sensed his mood. The relentless heat of the afternoon had abated some time ago and h
e could feel the weather change by the minute as the storm they had left behind began to catch up on them. Above, clouds roiled across the sky like oil on water and already a stiff wind began to blow from the South and cut through him as he looked again to shore.
The light was fading fast and, while he did not expect the captain back at this stage, he was worried that the shore was still so deserted. He hadn’t seen a soul all day, except for Johnson who had been left to guard the gig, but even he had moved to the shelter of a nearby hut to escape the day’s heat. He thought it strange that no-one had relieved the poor crewman but then maybe he had missed it.
It just wasn’t normal for a village to be so deserted; he thought for the thousandth time and stopped his pacing to check the shore again before the dark completely enveloped it. ‘What is going on over there?’ he muttered as he continued his pacing.
Captain Purcell was the first to collapse but Lieutenant Winfield was only a few seconds behind him. One minute they were laughing and extolling the virtues of the wine when Purcell suddenly slumped forward, mid-sentence, and fell to the ground. Butler knelt at his side and felt for a pulse and was relieved to feel a steady throb. He had been right to feel uneasy; the wine had been drugged.
Outside the sun was finally setting and the heat of the day was rapidly dissipating. Already a cold breeze snapped at the curtains and sucked the heat from the room. The light was growing dimmer in the twilight and Butler was about to search for something to light a gas lamp on a nearby table when he heard a click at the door and threw himself onto a chair and slumped back as if asleep.