Admonition

by Chris Throsby

  And so it was that about a month after Joseph had last been in the Inn he walked in again. I wasn’t surprised to see him but pretended I was.

  “Good evening, Joseph. Twice in a month, keep this up and I’ll be calling you one of my regulars. What can I get you, a drop of gin?”

  I thought I knew why Joseph had called and it definitely wasn’t for gin. From what I’d heard, he’d not only been hung–over for two days, but his headache had been made a lot worse by his wife who didn’t let up for a full week. Her mood hadn’t been improved when a few days later she was woken in the dead of night by two complete strangers delivering contraband salt.

  So I wasn’t surprised by Joseph’s reply.

  “No! No gin, just give me a small beer, will you Jabez?”

  He looked around furtively, why I don’t know because, apart from the two of us, the bar was completely empty.

  To encourage him, I said,

  “So is there something else then, another reason why you’re here again?”

  In an urgent whisper, he replied,

  “Do you remember how you helped me out last month?”

  “With the salt you mean?”

  Nearly spilling his beer and with panic in his voice, he breathed,

  “Shsh! Someone might hear us.”

  Even though I knew we were on our own, I found myself looking all around; his nervousness was contagious.

  “Joseph, believe me, we’re completely alone and we’ll hear if anyone approaches. Now, what is it you wanted to say?”

  Still in a whisper, he said,

  “Well, that salt you arranged for me has made all the difference, see. I’ve been able to drop my prices and still make good quality bread and most of my customers have come back to me. They’re not buying as much as they used to, because they’re earning less and everything else is more expensive, but at least they’re buying enough to keep me in business.”

  “That’s good to hear. Another beer?” I also had a living to earn.

  “Well, just another small one.”

  “A small one it is then Joseph and while I pour it, you can tell me why you’re really here.”

  I gave him what I hoped was an encouraging smile and he took courage and launched in.

  “It’s just that I’ve almost run out of salt and if I don’t get some more, I’ll have to pay regular prices for it, then I’ll have to put my prices up as well. If I do that, I’ll lose my customers again and no matter what I do, I’ll never get them back a third time.”

  He seemed close to panic, so to ease his fears I said,

  “Joseph, if you want some more salt, just say. I’m sure it can be arranged. Didn’t the men tell you that when they delivered the last lot?”

  Sheepishly, he admitted that they had and said he should ask me.

  “Well, there you are then. Just leave it with me.” I passed him his beer and told him,

  “Expect a knock in the next few days.”

  But Joseph wasn’t the only one who was about to receive a late-night visitor.

  Saturday night was a busy one. It was just a few days after my conversation with Joseph and the bar was full. Just like old times, most of my locals were in and my takings were good. But in addition, sitting at or crowded around one of my tables, were eight men I’d never seen before. I kept a close eye on them when they first came in, but they were no trouble. They kept themselves to themselves, got a little rowdy as the night grew old, but any disquiet they may have caused me was more than compensated for by the quantity of ale they swallowed. Paying as they ordered, it was clear money was not a problem for them.

  As my regulars began to realise these strangers were only here for ale and each other’s company, they started to relax and the strangers’ high-spirited mood became contagious. I’m sure some of my locals had aching heads when, the next morning, they tried to explain to disgruntled wives where all their money had gone.

  Anyway, when I finally called time at about one o’clock, I was concerned that this might be the point our newcomers would cause trouble, so I positioned myself within easy reach of my billyclub and watched them very closely. But I needn’t have worried, because after all my regulars left in good humour; loud but happy enough, the strangers drank up together, got up together and quietly left all together, a manner I found somehow disquieting. Only one delayed his departure, a tall, thin man, he wore a black greatcoat and looked not only to be the eldest, but something in his manner, told me he was also their leader.

  Speaking in a husky-edged whisper, he said.

  “You won’t need your billyclub Jabez. You won’t be getting any trouble from us. But you can expect another visit from me.”

  Giving me a grim smile, he gave the bar a concluding rat-tat and, without another word, left to join the others. He left me greatly unnerved; certainly I had questions for him, such as how had he seen the billyclub? And how did he know my name? But what unnerved me the most was the way, at the end of the night and without a word, the whole group had moved in unison. I’d only once seen men move with such accord and that was a group of acrobats I’d seen at the Knutsford fair; but whatever these men were, they weren’t acrobats. No, something else drew them together and it was wondering what that might be which left me uncertain.

  But then I shrugged and said to myself,

  “Jabez, you’re becoming a fanciful old fool. Of course he knew your name. Your locals call you by it all the time and, after all, you’ve been here over twenty years; there’s no mystery there.”

  I finished clearing the bar and as I went, thought some more about this man and what he’d said. I realised that the Billyclub was probably just a lucky guess. He must have seen me glancing under the bar and put two and two together. I told myself,

  “You need to remember that the billyclub is the favoured weapon of all publicans in these parts. No, stop your worrying, go to bed and just be grateful that you’ve had the best night’s takings since Christmas.”

  Reassuring myself it was nothing more than a sensible precaution, I grabbed the billyclub, bolted and locked the door, took most of the night’s takings from the till and placed them in a money bag. Having extinguished all but one of the candles, which I took to light my way, I headed for bed. But before getting in, I lifted a small mat that lay in front of my bed, removed a loose floorboard specially cut for the purpose and put the money bag under the floor, pushing it completely out of sight. After replacing the floorboard and the mat, I blew out the candle and, billyclub in hand, finally got into bed. Sleep wasn’t a long time coming after my long and busy night, but as I drifted off, my last thought was of those men who had moved together like well drilled soldiers, yet something told me they had nothing at all to do with the army.

  Pulled from sleep by a familiar rat-tat at the back door, I was halfway down the stairs before I was awake enough to realise I’d forgotten my candle. I could have gone back for it, but my eyes had adjusted sufficiently to what was a familiar path for it to prove unnecessary. So having negotiated my way along the corridor that led to the back exit, billyclub at the ready, I unlocked and cautiously opened the door.

  Peering into the dark, I could see nothing. Softly cursing, I was about to shut the door when the darkness spoke.

  “Hello Jabez.”

  Grasping the billyclub more firmly and speaking with all the authority I could muster, I said,

  “Whoever you are, show yourself.”

  Movement by the well indicated where the voice came from.

  “I said you didn’t need your club Jabez.”

  As he spoke again, I recognised the voice of the stranger who had spoken to me earlier that evening. He stepped forward out of the shadows and, though I still kept it in a firm grip, I lowered my club.

  “Let’s step inside. I think it’s best for both of us if we’re not seen.”

  He spoke with the assurance of one who was used to being obeyed. He appeared to be alone and to pose no threat, so I moved back from the doorwa
y to let him in.

  Shutting the door behind him, he said,

  “Can’t be too careful. Usually those Excise men are too idle to be around at this time, but things are a little different at the moment.”

  It may have been almost as dark in the hall as it was outside, but for me a light was beginning to dawn.

  “Let’s go through to the bar,” he said. “I’ll introduce myself and explain why I’m here.”

  “Let me go first,” I thought it best I showed the path. “I’ll light a candle when we reach the bar.”

  When I thought about it, I was sure he was very used to finding his way in the dark. Nevertheless, a gesture with his hand told me I had his permission to proceed.

  When we reached the bar, I lit a candle, made sure no light could escape the window blind and then we sat at a table furthest from the window; I noticed he made sure he sat in the shadows.

  My offer of a drink was declined.

  “Thank you, but I never drink when I’m working.”

  There seemed little value in mentioning the copious amount consumed by him and his friends earlier in the evening. He then introduced himself, although I already had a good idea of who he was.

  “My name’s Sam Baker. By day you’ll find me working the pans at Nantwich. But nights I have a different trade.”

  I looked straight at him and said,

  “You smuggle salt, you and the rest of your gang.”

  The notoriety of the Nantwich Gang and their leader, Sam Baker, was spread throughout Cheshire and beyond. But although their identity was well known by the authorities, nothing had ever been proven against them and any possible witnesses to their work were too afraid to come forward, even if they wanted to. It had always been my intention to avoid any involvement with the Gang if at all possible.

  It was as though Sam could read my mind, although I imagine he was just a good reader of men.

  "Look, I know you’re going to tell me you don’t want anything to do with us and our work, that our reputation goes before us and you don’t want any trouble. But, you see, I have a problem and I think you may hold the solution.

  The Excise has brought in a new Supervisor and they’ve doubled the wage for the job. I’ve talked to him and he’s made it clear he knows what we’re doing and he intends to make his reputation by catching me. He’s learnt he can’t trust the night watchmen. They’re all in my pay and can be relied on to be somewhere else when I need them to be. Besides, they all live around here and they’ve all got families who they wouldn’t want to come to any harm, if you understand me."

  I understood him alright and wondered vaguely what he’d have in store for me if I didn’t do whatever it was he wanted. After all, as far as I knew I had no family still living. Torch the Boar, perhaps? Whatever it was, I knew it wouldn’t end well for me.

  He continued.

  "He’s hired two men from outside the County to work for him. Pays them out of his own salary I hear, promised them a bounty if they catch any of us with salt and a larger one if the ‘someone’ they catch is me.

  Now we don’t have any problem getting the salt out of the sheds and safely storing it locally. Our problem is moving it on to our customers. This man and his sidekicks work nights and although they can’t cover every route at any one time, our luck must run out at some point.

  So that’s where we need your help. You want to help us, don’t you Jabez? I hear you’ve started providing your own supplies, undercutting our prices."

  There was no menace in his voice, just that hoarse whisper, but he still scared me; maybe it was because I wasn’t at all sure whether he’d asked me a question or issued a command.

  I wanted to explain that Joseph was an exception and I’d only helped him because he was desperate. I certainly didn’t want anything to do with undercutting Sam’s prices, but he didn’t wait for a reply.

  "I need people unconnected with us or the pans to work relays out to my customers. Covering short distances reduces the risk you see.

  I want you to work the first of a run to my biggest customer in Liverpool. I have a cousin who runs a small farm by Foulk Stapleford, that’s about three miles from Chester, and I need you to take the salt to him."

  I was bewildered. How did he expect me to transport large quantities of salt without being seen?

  His answer was simple.

  “Jabez, you’ve got two working donkeys. If one of them spends the night delivering a load of salt, then no one’s going to notice if the next day there’s only one out in your field because the other one’s resting in your stable.”

  Of course, he made no mention of when I’d get some rest.

  "Two of my men, two of those you saw tonight, will come here for a drink. They won’t stay long and they won’t talk too much, but you can take it as a signal to expect a delivery that night at about this time. You’ll need to store the salt until the next night when you’ll take it to my cousin; he’ll be expecting you. When they come for a drink, the men will leave a map showing my cousin’s farm; remember, you must memorise and then destroy it.

  So are we clear? We wouldn’t want there to be any misunderstanding, would we?"

  No, everything was clear I told him. I didn’t tell him what was clearest of all – that he was giving me no choice.

  “Right, I’ll be away,” he said. “You can expect my men in the next week.”

  With that, he got up and made for the corridor. I hurried after him with the candle. When he reached the door and before opening it, he turned to me and said again,

  “We’re not going to have any problems here, are we Jabez?”

  That was the third time he’d asked me a question that sounded more like a command. I shook my head and muttered that of course there wouldn’t be any problems.

  With one hand on the latch, he paused and added coldly,

  “Because we wouldn’t want anything to happen to the Boar, would we?”

  Despite the danger, I was getting annoyed because that was the fourth question he’d asked me that sounded like so much more. So I said,

  “If you don’t think you can trust me, why ask me?”

  “Oh, I know I can trust you, I just wanted to make sure you remembered why.”

  With that, he gave me another grim smile, unlatched the door, stepped out and in moments, had once again disappeared into the darkness.

  Returning to the bar, I sat at the nearest table. I sat for so long my candle guttered and I made no attempt to re-light it. It was hard to take in all that had happened in just one night, but sitting in the dark I knew one thing for certain. For good or for bad, I was about to become a salt smuggler.

  The following Thursday at nine o’clock, two of Sam’s men walked in. Just as he’d told me to expect, they spoke very little to each other and apart from ordering their drinks, said nothing to me or anyone else. After only a couple of pints, they left, but before leaving one of them slipped me a folded piece of paper which I slid into my trouser pocket. I had no need to examine it. I knew what it was and knew I’d have time to study it closely after the pub shut.

  I also knew that whatever the temptation to do otherwise, it was important I behaved normally because I didn’t know who might be lurking in the darkness watching the inn. If I was to deliver the salt to Foulk Stapleford and return before dawn, the following night would be sleepless. So when I’d cleared the bar, locked and bolted the door and extinguished the candles, I retired, determined to get a good night’s sleep.

  Determined or not, I didn’t sleep at all. All night my ears strained for any sound that might indicate Sam’s men were abroad. But apart from the call of a lone owl seeking a mate, there was only silence.

  Nevertheless, when morning finally dawned, I rose, dressed and headed straight out to the stable. There, in the middle of the floor, were four five-bushel sacks of salt. I stepped inside and quickly shut the door. It was unlikely that anyone would be passing this early but I wasn’t taking any chances – it was a good jo
b I didn’t.

  Both donkeys were restless, anxious to be out. But before I released them, I moved the salt into a corner of the stable and surrounded it with straw bales. Only then did I let the donkeys out and with one last look back, followed them. Hearing a branch to the side of me snap, I turned and saw Tom Rider standing by the well; he was looking straight at me.

  “Mornin’ Jabez. I was just passin’ when I heard a noise in your stable. I thought it must be you attendin’ to your donkeys, but it went on for so long I thought you might have burglars. I was just about to take a look.”

  I laughed – I hoped it didn’t sound strained.

  "Morning to you Tom. No, I was just moving some straw I had delivered yesterday.

  But thank you. It’s good to know you were looking out for me. Come in tonight and I’ll stand you a beer."

  I hoped my offer would assure Tom that nothing unusual had occurred. Thankfully, he seemed to accept what I said and, after saying he might see me later, went on his way. Anxiety meant I never asked him why he was outside the Boar so early.

  The rest of my day was uneventful, as was the evening. My worries that I wouldn’t be able to clear the bar or that one of the donkeys would be needed to get someone home proved unfounded. Tom Rider never appeared which didn’t surprise me because after Bill Bostock’s death, I’d rarely seen him.

  I’d stabled the donkeys at dusk and resolved to wait until one o’clock before setting off. When it was time to leave, I loaded the salt onto one donkey and riding the other, headed out for Foulk Stapleford. I should have liked to wait another hour, so I could be sure of not meeting anybody on my way out, but I knew the return journey would take me at least six hours by the shortest route. In October, leaving the Boar around one should see me return at just about daybreak. I wasn’t sure what I would do in the summer, but between September and April, I was confident I could complete the whole journey in darkness.

  Whilst sleepless the night before, I had noticed the moon was full, providing me with another reason to worry. But fortunately, the following day it rained continuously and although by nightfall the rain had stopped, the sky remained overcast, clouds completely masking the moon and meaning I was able to travel under the cover of darkness. Avoiding the roads was obvious, but I decided even the lanes presented too much of a risk that I might be discovered. So I was lucky that whilst studying the map Sam’s men left me, I realised it would be possible to travel across country, staying close to streams and rivers. I knew Foulk Stapleford was close to the River Gowy and by studying the map, I found a route, starting from the stream that lay behind the Boar, which would take me to the Gowy, just three miles outside Foulk Stapleford.