A Sea of Troubles

by David Donachie

  Seeing they were being eyed by and pointed to by the locals and not with kind expressions, Jahleel ordered a swift about turn before they were a third of the way to the jetty, seeking by his expression to imply that somehow they had taken a wrong route and ended up not where they intended to be. They made their way back to the point at which the road divided and took the turning back towards Lyndhurst, Jahleel calling a halt when they came to a wooded copse about half a mile distant, there to get out of sight and to formulate a new plan of action.

  The Tolland gang thus missed an unescorted John Pearce coming ashore to seek a way of transporting his ‘guests’ out of the area and on to meet the northbound coach at Lyndhurst, not that he was given much more in the way of satisfaction. Buckler’s Hard was a place truly at the end of the line – there was no bridge across the river and little beyond it to attract outsiders not connected to the work being carried on or shooting the local wildfowl in the marshlands and forest that extended to the seashore.

  The only visitors to the place tended to be naval surveyors or people in some way connected with the acquisition of the ships being built and they made straight for the home of the master builder, which stood some way outside the village on a higher elevation. Anyone else would be a carter delivering those things needed to build the hulls that were not available from the surrounding countryside, and there was a ramshackle inn in which they could stay, a place that also served as an alehouse for the workers who lived and worked on the hard.

  Though amply provided with horseflesh and carts, these needed to move the heavier objects such as shaped timbers and forged metalwork from the workshops to the slipways, there was nothing of a more comfortable nature to be had, certainly no covered coaches, and not even a shay for hire. The only conveyance Pearce was offered was an open-topped cart normally used to carry bales of oakum and looking as if it had seen much better days; two of the wheels appeared set to come adrift as soon as they hit a deep mud patch or, when it was dry, the kind of ruts he had been obliged to negotiate on first coming here.

  That he declined for the very simple reason that such a humble conveyance would further serve to upset the Comte de Puisaye – and probably Amélie Labordière as well – so it came down to a quartet of the local New Forest ponies, which, if they were animals of no great height, would suffice. He also bespoke a carthorse and panniers to carry the luggage of the ongoing travellers, the whole, including harness and saddles, rented at what Pearce reckoned to be an exorbitant price and that took no account of the deposit the fellow required to ensure his property was returned in prime condition.

  Having made his bargain, the stablekeeper, perhaps because he observed how piqued was this client at the cost, became much more sociable, extolling the virtues of his ponies, they being sturdy beasts and very suited to the area in which they lived regardless of season. Bred wild they were captured to either be trained or culled in order that the numbers remained sustainable, the best breeding stock kept and the rest sold on for work in tunnelling and mining where their size and strength was valuable.

  ‘I was a’telling the very same thing to that friend of yours.’

  ‘Friend?’

  ‘Aye, the fellow who came by a few days back asking for you.’

  Pearce had never subscribed to the theory that humans had hackles that could rise at a sign of danger, but the way the hair at the base of his neck behaved felt remarkably like that of a dog.

  ‘Looking for me?’

  ‘You is Lieutenant Pearce?’ That acknowledged the man continued. ‘He was asking when you would be making your berth in the river agin, not that I or any other could say fer certain.’

  ‘Did he give a name?’

  That had the stablekeeper sucking his teeth and looking perplexed. ‘Don’t recall he did, sir.’

  Working hard to control his voice, Pearce said, ‘Then you’d best tell me what he looked like.’

  ‘A lone, fresh scar on his left cheek, Michael, and when I asked about on the hard he was not alone, and from the description of the two together …’

  ‘Mother of God, how did they know where to find you?’

  ‘A question I have been gnawing on since the man mentioned that scar.’

  ‘Not much chance of the two of them being alone?’

  Pearce did not respond immediately, he was wondering if discovery of him included knowledge of the whereabouts of Emily; if it did there was not much he could do about it, the only positive thought being that at least she had not booked into the King’s Head under the Barclay name, which should protect her.

  ‘None. Eight of them we faced in London and we would have to reckon the same here.’

  ‘Any notion of where they are now?’

  Pearce shook his head then sat upright and slowly looked around the anchorage, a place surrounded by ample woodland – there was a dense oak forest to the west on a slightly higher elevation – and his brow cleared somewhat. He was thinking that there had been no sign of any danger while he was renting those ponies, which led to an obvious conclusion: the Tollands were not in the village. If they had been, and with him alone, what he was doing now would be idle speculation for he would already be in their hands – all it needed was a pistol in the ribs and a demand he do as he was told.

  How, then, did they intend to proceed in taking him for he had no doubt that was their aim? If not in the village it could only be on the road that led to both Lyndhurst and, by a detour, the quickest route to Lymington. But to do that they would need a clear sight of his departure, a point he made to the man sitting with him.

  ‘And if they have the ship under observation they will know when we depart.’

  ‘But not how many?’

  ‘The addition of Puisaye and Amélie will not aid us, Michael, quite the reverse.’

  ‘I was thinking the presence of others might give them pause.’

  ‘And what if it does not? Do you recall the words of the older brother when we overheard them talking, that he would have his money or my skin in place of it? That same fate could stretch to anyone who is with me if I’m caught, you included, and I would remind you, we on this ship are the only folk who know of our French pair. Think what it’s like out there – miles of deep forest, most of which never feels the feet of man, and ask yourself what our combined fate could be?’

  Both men fell silent for a moment as that thought struck home: they could just disappear.

  ‘What about seeking a parley, John-boy and telling them the truth of the matter, that you was robbed as much as were they?’

  ‘They would scarce believe that, given I still cannot credit what I fell for myself.’

  No one likes to be reminded that they have been a fool, as had he, and it was near as uncomfortable now as it had been when he first realised just how easily he had fallen for the deception. A sharp fellow who called himself Arthur Winston – not his real name – had dangled before him what looked like a chance to make a great deal of money from the recovery of a contraband cargo, made up of items becoming more expensive by the day as the war failed to progress: bolts of silk and lace, barrels of brandy, fine French wines, perfumes, all the commodities so beloved by those with money to buy.

  How much had his own stupidity contributed to his being drawn in to the scheme, how much had it been the prospect of being able to offer comfort to Emily Barclay without the need of anything from her husband rich with prize money? It mattered not; he had recruited his Pelicans then sailed to the Flanders port of Gravelines, seeking to recover ‘Winston’s’ ship and cargo, one for which he claimed to have already put up the money, to free it from a local who had refused to release it without a second massive payment. And he had succeeded, the only trouble being that it had never been ‘Winston’s’ ship or his cargo; it had been the property of the Tollands, professional smugglers who very likely now sat athwart his route out of Buckler’s Hard, and if he had scant real acquaintance with them it had been enough to show they were murderous. They were also
serious and clearly had connections – had they not pursued him first to Dover, then to London and now, amazingly, to here?

  Still convinced that he had carried off a legitimate coup regarding the contraband, Pearce had sailed their ship into St Margaret’s Bay just north of Dover and beached it, so that too had been forfeit to the excise. It might be their legal property, but only a fool would reclaim a vessel just taken in the act of smuggling. The cargo? That had disappeared with John Pearce watching and helpless, immobilised by an injured foot, this as the bay filled with men come to make the arrests for which they had been tipped; at least he had been able to get Michael, Rufus and Charlie Taverner away along the tidal shore that led to Deal before they arrived to arrest him.

  It was in the nature of things that the two friends reprised the whole affair in detail, being in search of a solution, an exchange that took place at the very prow of the ship and it was one designed not to be overheard because Pearce had made it plain to the rest of the crew that he wanted some private space to talk to his friend-cum-servant. He should have known better; if you could not keep a secret on a ship of the line – it was held as an absolute truth that Jack tar could hear a whisper through six inches of planking – the chances of doing so in a cramped armed cutter were zero. A ship’s crew were always agog to know what was being planned; captains made decisions regarding their future, including matters of life and death, without so much as a by your leave and since they cared for it more than any officer it was as well to know what fate awaited them over the metaphorical horizon.

  Not that all were privy to what was being discussed; the bosun, known to all as Birdy, slight of frame if well muscled, had slipped into the space below the prow under the bow chaser gun port, open on a warm day to let in to the ’tween deck air enough to dry out the timbers. Birdy learnt enough to make out that if nothing had been said that the crew should be concerned about, what he had overheard meant a threat to their temporary commander and soon, once he had extracted himself from his eavesdropping, that was disseminated.

  It would be stretching things to say that the crew of HMS Larcher loved John Pearce – few of the lower deck loved any officer and the armed cutter had as well a small number of endemic malcontents who hated him just for his coat. But in the main they had come to esteem him, given the contrast with the real ship’s captain, a well-named tyrant. Unlike Rackham, Pearce was honest and fair-minded, given to smiling instead of scowling, polite when called upon to be so instead of in a state of constant ire at slights and failures real or imagined.

  He had also shown real flair in a fight, as well as trust in the crew to perform to their best and had said how pleased he was when they did. Sailing through that armada of merchant ships without alerting them or their escorts had been skilful and much appreciated; if he had failed, the best his crew could have hoped for was a French dungeon, with a watery grave a real possibility. Given that their opinion of him stood as it did, one of their number was elected to speak for them all.

  ‘A word, if you please, Captain?’

  Half sat on the prow bulkhead and deep in conversation with Michael, Pearce had not noticed the approach, which had been made by a master who in such a small vessel, like the rest of the crew, worked barefoot.

  ‘Mr Dorling.’

  Looking up into the man’s face, round and clean-skinned, he sensed that Dorling was worried, for his normally smooth forehead was slightly furrowed, while the eyes, small for the size of his head, were narrowed. A fellow who always appeared to Pearce as serious – hardly surprising given his responsibilities at such a young age – his temporary commander felt that underneath lay a personality much more inclined to humour than misery; in another life and at another time Dorling would have been a companion of sharp wit and scant respect.

  Given the master did not speak immediately, this allowed Pearce to look beyond him and see that, if they were trying not to look in his direction, the whole crew were somehow attached to this approach, the only disinterested person the Count de Puisaye, who was sitting in a quarterdeck chair plying a makeshift fishing rod; Amélie was in the cabin avoiding the sun, which she was sure would damage her delicate skin.

  ‘It has come to our attention, sir, that you seem in some way troubled. If I were to refer to smugglers I think that would nail the concern.’

  Having looked at Dorling as he spoke these opening words, a sharp shifting of the eyes caught the fact that everyone else on deck, who should have been engaged in the raising of sails for drying, was immobile, which only lasted till they realised he was looking in their direction; the sudden burst of movement was obvious as ropes squealed and canvas flapped.

  ‘Sure you been at the keyhole, have you not?’ growled Michael.

  Pearce leant backwards and glanced at the open gun port, a clear indication that he too had guessed what had occurred. ‘I’m not much given to flogging, but sometimes—’

  If he had hoped to cow Dorling he failed; the voice was firm and quick to interrupt, which was ill disciplined in the extreme and very out of character. ‘I speak out of respect for you, sir.’

  It was O’Hagan who replied, underlining what everyone had believed: whoever the giant Irishman was, and they knew as little of him as their temporary captain, he was no servant. ‘And what is it you have to say?’

  ‘Only this, your honour, that if you has a problem then the men aboard would not feel it beyond their duty to help out. From what we know, numbers seem to be the problem an’, well, we has that to more’n match, I reckon.’

  Pearce had dropped his head before Dorling finished, deeply touched by the sentiment, even if there was still a residue of irritation at the eavesdropping, and the response, when he spoke, went mostly into his chest. ‘I’m not sure that would do, Mr Dorling, using men of the King’s Navy to settle a private dispute.’

  Dorling finally smiled, which wholly improved the look of his features and hinted at the good companion he might be. ‘Don’t see how you can stop us, sir. All you has to do is allow enough of us ashore, which, I would remind you, can only be done on your say so.’

  ‘And how many do you speak for?’

  ‘To a man, your honour, to a man,’ Dorling replied, with real force. He was gilding it, for there were some who maintained it was none of their concern that an officer was in trouble; they could be ignored, there were more than enough willing. ‘Christ, even the ship’s boys are up for it.’

  ‘Even when they have no idea what they face?’

  ‘Can’t be worse than a fleet of Frenchies.’

  ‘It is,’ Pearce replied, with much in the way of passion, ‘or at least close enough to give pause.’

  In the ensuing silence Michael O’Hagan knew that his friend was thinking the thing through, for it was not as simple as either the master or the crew supposed. This was no shore-going barney like you had in a port-side alehouse or gin den, where the worst you would face was a well-aimed fist and maybe being crowned by a chair leg. The Tollands were proper hard bargains and smugglers who carried the weapons they needed to protect themselves and their smuggled goods. They would be armed with swords, at least, and very likely pistols as well and such men were inured to the need to kill when called upon to do so; they could not have survived in their game without it.

  ‘Would you let us talk of this, Mr Dorling?’ Michael asked.

  ‘As you wish, Paddy.’

  That got a frown. ‘I thought it was known that being called Paddy I did not much take to.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Michael grinned. ‘Sure, it is the first time you have erred, Mr Dorling. It’s the second time that ends in a fuss.’

  That had the master looking at O’Hagan’s ham-like fists; he knew what a fuss meant. As he made to leave Pearce added, ‘I would like this conversation to be completely private.’

  ‘I will make sure it is, sir.’

  As he turned and walked away there was a cry from the bulkhead near the wheel, in French, which told them that Puisaye
had caught something. His makeshift rod was bent and a couple of hands had, unbidden, gone to help him, given they saw him as an old crock of a fellow, near to being infirm. One grabbed the line and whipped it up and over the side, to show on the end a wriggling trout.

  It was a mordant Pearce who said, ‘I think I know just how that poor creature feels.’

  ‘We have a good offer, John-boy.’

  ‘Do we, Michael? How can I accept when I have no idea what kind of danger these lads might be exposed to? The Tollands will be well armed and they know how to use their weapons.’

  ‘There are guns aboard the ship.’

  ‘Which could turn Buckler’s Hard into a battlefield.’

  ‘They are not in the village, remember.’

  ‘I wonder if we might be able to bluff them by a mere show of strength.’

  ‘I would be more minded to a real one, for bluff only buys time.’

  ‘Which could possibly be achieved without someone being either seriously wounded or killed. If you want to set hares running with magistrates and the like, that would be a good way to do it without any notion of where it might end. I have been had up for too many things in my time, Michael, I have no notion to be arraigned for murder.’

  ‘There is another way, John-boy: we take to a boat and head for another place to land.’

  Pearce shook his head slowly. ‘Think on how they found us.’

  ‘I can think but I cannot find answer, yet it tells me what has been done once can be done again and since I am by your side I am as much at risk as you. My face is known to them and for all I can tell my name as well. We can run from them now but will that mean running for ever? That is a question to which we have no answer. We have been so very lucky, you and I – even Mrs Barclay – and that must run out sometime.’