Fletcher's Glorious 1st of June

by John Drake

  As Sammy hesitated, there came a roar of flame from the sitting room on the ground floor and a shocking blast of hot air shot up the stair-well. You could feel all the hairs on that side of your body crisping at their ends.

  “Jacob!” says Sammy. “Do something smartish, mate, or we’re all done. We can’t stand here talking!” But every avenue was blocked. I dared not advance on Lady Sarah, not with her knife already drawing blood from Kate’s throat. Sammy dared not fire for fear of hitting the wrong one, and Sarah Coignwood herself most certainly wasn’t coming down those stairs past me.

  “Let me pass,” she spat, like a cornered alley-cat, “or I’ll slit your little friend from ear to ear.”

  “No!” says I. “Let her go, and I’ll let you go.”

  “I’m not that stupid!” she snapped. “D’you think I’d trust a whore’s bastard like you?”

  “I’m not asking for trust,” says I bargaining for my life, and

  Kate’s life too. I always did think I was good at that, didn’t I?

  Well now was the time to show it. “I’m asking you to come to terms,” says I.

  “Jacob,” says Sammy, urgently, “there’s no time, the bloody stairs are going … look!” And down below there was a stampeding of men to get out of the house. The carpets were smouldering, flame was pouring out of the sitting room, and the paint on the staircase was bubbling and cracking in the intense heat. The whole stair-well glowed red like the mouth of hell.

  “Listen to me, you bitch!” says I.

  “Run for it, Toby lad,” says Sammy.

  “Get out of my way,” screams Lady Sarah.

  “This ain’t your fight, Toby,” says Sammy.

  “We can come to terms!” says I.

  “What terms?” says she.

  “What about you, Sammy?” says Toby.

  “Run, you silly bugger!”

  “Give me Kate and I’ll let you pass … ff

  “Good luck, Sammy!” says Toby and sped away.

  “You’ll kill me once I let her go.”

  “No,” says I, “you can call off the Law. You can stop them, trying me for killing Dixon. I need you alive and free for that. I promise to let you go if you give Kate to me.”

  “No! No! No!” she screamed in hysterical rage, with her temper in full flood. “Get out of my way! I’ll count to three … One!”

  “Wait!” says I, casting about for anything to say, to make some advantage. “We’ve got all your men outside. I’ll kill the lot of ‘em …”

  “Kill them!” she cried. “Two!” and Kate shuddered as the knife deepened its first cut over the pulsing artery.

  “We’ve got your lover!” says I. “Slime! If you hurt Kate I’ll wring his neck!”

  “Him?” she screamed. “That common little man? He’s served his purpose! He’s nothing to me!” Her face twisted in contempt and fury. “Three!” says she and tensed her arm for the sweeping cut as a pistol went off thunderously close by.

  *

  The heat from the blazing sitting room woke Sam Slym despite his injuries. The blast of hot air cut through the stupor and roused some protective instinct. Slym’s jaw was broken, his head was thick from the battering of fists and boots, a couple of ribs had been stamped in, and one knee was agony to walk with. But he dragged himself to his feet, leaning against the wall to steady himself, only to be knocked spinning by fleeing men, desperate to escape before the house came in on them. He coughed in the smoke, half blinded with tears, and stumbled forward with the herd, as best he could, one hand against the wall.

  He was nearly at the door when he heard voices yelling from upstairs, over the roaring of the flames. One of them was hers — Sarah Coignwood’s. Slym turned at once and fought his way to the staircase. Toby Bone, fleeing at Sammy’s command, rushed past Slym and out of the front door with the two hardly noticing one another. Slym craned his neck to see what was happening upstairs, and he groaned and he damned, and knew he could not run.

  Immediately, he cast about for a weapon and by blind chance found his own pistol with the second barrel still unfired. He tried to cock it but found the thumb of his right hand was dislocated and pointed back up his forearm at a sickening angle and it made him impossibly clumsy. As best he could, Slym stuck the pistol in a pocket and, taking the thumb deliberately in his left hand, he jerked it sharply back into place. The pain would have floored most men, and even Slym screwed up his eyes and wept tears that were not of the smoke’s making, but he drew out the pistol again, cocked it methodically and went up the stairs as fast as he could go.

  He held the pistol in front of him, ready to fire, for he feared they’d see him every second. But the smoke and noise of the fire hid him, and anyway they were engrossed in their own drama. Just before the run of the last flight, where they were all standing, the landing ran off into a little side passage where Slym could hide and peer round the corner to see without being seen.

  Fletcher’s broad back was six feet away. The little white-haired sailor was beside him with a pistol aimed up the stairs. Away at the top of the stairs, Sarah had the girl Booth by the throat, with a knife under her chin. Mrs Collins was sat on the floor with her head in her hands. They still hadn’t seen him and Fletcher was begging for the girl’s life.

  Slym raised his pistol and aimed at the back of Fletcher’s head, just underneath the white-ribboned hat. The weapon was small, but it had rifled barrels and sights. Normally, in Slym’s hands it was dead accurate. He took up the first pressure on the trigger, but the smoke stung his eyes so he couldn’t see. He dashed the tears away, and tried again. Sarah was screaming something at the top of her voice. Aiming up the stairs at a steep angle, Slym found that Sarah’s face, half hidden behind Kate Booth’s, was directly in line with Fletcher. Indeed, the trembling of his injured hand shook the pistol from side to side, so first Fletcher, then Sarah and then the girl came into its sights. Slym pressed his arm hard against the wall to keep a steady aim.

  Fletcher yelled at Sarah.

  “We’ve got all your men outside,” he said, an obvious lie. “I’ll kill the lot of them …”

  Slym held his breath and squinted over the sights but the pain in his thumb was so bad that he couldn’t keep his hand still. “Kill them!” cried Sarah …”Two!”

  Slym concentrated hard and brought Fletcher’s head large into his sights. He began to squeeze the trigger again.

  “We’ve got your lover!” cried Fletcher. “Slime!” and Slym jumped to hear himself so named, and the pistol wandered off target. He groaned with effort and faces swam before him.

  “Him?” screamed Sarah. “That common little man? He’s served his purpose! He’s nothing to me!”

  Slym cried aloud in pain, and achieved his personal redemption by aiming squarely between Sarah Coignwood’s eyes and deliberately squeezing the trigger.

  *

  In the same instant, a number of things happened. Kate kicked hard backwards at Sarah Coignwood.

  Sarah tried to cut Kate’s throat, missed her footing and fell forward, as Slym, who was supposed to be her poodle, put a bullet into her. She dropped like a stone, Sammy spun round and shot Slym and I leapt up the stairs to catch Kate who’d stumbled and was about to fall. She was so bloody angry she even tried to fight me off at first. Meanwhile, the pug-ugly old troll of a servant woke up and tried to snatch Kate from out of my arms, but I caught her a good one with my fist and sent her back on her fat arse beside her mistress.

  “Come on, Jacob!” says Sammy and started down the stairs, but in that instant the entire woodwork of the first and second flights, that had been nicely baking away these past five minutes, went up in flame. It was an inferno and there was no going back that way.

  “In here!” says I, darting into the little attic room, now bright lit by the flames from the stair-well. I could see a window and thought to escape that way. Sammy grabbed a chair and put it under the window. He smashed a catch with his pistol butt and threw open the window. He was
out in a second and leaning back in to help me with Kate, who was unsteady on her feet after her long imprisonment.

  “Hand her up, lad!” says he and I tried to pass her to him, but something jerked at her leg and held her back.

  “The chain!” she cried. “Get me free!” She was secured by an anklet and a long chain ending in a big ring-bolt driven into one of the rafters.

  I set Kate on the bed as I took a turn of the chain around my body and threw my weight on it. It was no good. The links were as thick as a man’s finger. But I tried and tried again till my muscles cracked.

  “You’ll never break that!” says Sammy dropping beside me.

  “The key!” says Kate. “The old woman’s got it!” As I heaved at the chain, Sammy darted towards the woman where she sat with her arms round Lady Sarah’s body. But the bitch had been listening, for she held up a key for us to see … and then deliberately threw it down the blazing stairs!

  “Christ!” says Sammy, aiming a savage kick at the malevolent old cow and dashing back to Kate. “See if we can get the bloody thing off her foot!” says he.

  Gasping with effort, I let go the chain for an instant and knelt with Sammy to see if we could get the anklet off Kate’s foot. Out in the stairway the flames roared louder. Sammy cursed horribly. It was no good. The thick band was clamped tight over Kate’s slender ankle. There was blood there already from our pulling at it.

  Sammy looked at the fire and looked at me.

  “Jacob, lad,” says he, “we ain’t got long and she’ll die for sure if we leave her ...” He produced a seaman’s knife and looked at Kate. She stared at the knife, wide-eyed, then nodded at me, screwed her eyes shut and clutched at my arm for support.

  “No!” I cried and threw the heavy chain round my body once more. I took it in both hands, got as close to the ring-bolt as I could, and threw myself down so I could brace both feet against the timber and heave with all my heart, soul, mind and strength. I screamed with the effort of it and hauled till the chains bit through my skin. I pulled and pulled and pulled, mad with the terrible thing we’d have to do if I couldn’t break the chain. And then, suddenly, I was skidding backwards as the ring-bolt tore out bodily from its seating, like a stubborn cork out of a bottle.

  But I was up at once and the three of us were scrambling out through the attic window. Kate still needed a lot of help, what with the state of her and having to trail twenty feet of chain.

  We clambered over the roof to the next house, but that was ablaze too, and we had to go on to the next. And then we had to break our way in, for the people were gone: fled from the riot and fire, leaving their house to be ransacked and every door broke open and left swinging in the wind.

  As we stepped out, at last, into the street the mob was roaring off towards Greenwich in a procession with what looked like a bed carried aloft at the head. The street reeked of flame and three houses were cracking and blazing merrily. We were filthy and tattered, with eyes red with smoke. And Kate was too weak to walk. But that was no problem at all. I carried her in my arms like a child. And do you know, she didn’t even thank me!

  “Come on, lad,” says Sammy. “Toby and the lads’ll be waiting for us with the boats. Let’s get down to the river.”

  38

  OUTRAGEOUS DISTURBANCES IN GREENWICH AND WHITEHALL.

  The scale and outrageous character of the disturbances of the night of 9th July, must bring again into question the means whereby the metropolis is defended against the forces of anarchy and dissent. Once again the unopposed and impertinent fury of the mob has been permitted to take its unholy pleasures even with the persons of noblemen.

  (From The Times of 11th July 1794.)

  *

  In the face of all precedent, the English and the Irish reached a compromise. The English took the right-hand side of Admiral Williams’s bed and the Irish took the left. Blind drunk, triumphant, and with the moral satisfaction of good fellows who’d done a tremendous night’s work, they bore their hero through the streets of London, breaking windows all the way and sending the Watchmen about their business with eyes blacked and lanterns smashed.

  In his uniform, with his sword by his side, and confused by the swaying motion and the raucous noise, the old Admiral’s mind finally slipped its moorings and he fancied himself once more in command of a King’s ship. In his mind’s eye he took his squadron down upon the enemy in the sweltering heat off Barbados, reliving the battle which had won him a peerage.

  “Steady, Mister Raine!” says he, to a long-dead quartermaster. “You’ll lay this ship alongside of Admiral Torres de La Cruz’s or I’ll see the backbone of you at the gratings tomorrow!”

  But the sick body could not stand the shock of this adventure and halfway up St James’s Street (even as his ship trembled to the thunder of her guns and stern-faced he gazed across at the Spanish Admiral who at once raised his hat with the courtly manners of the Dons) he sank back to breathe no more.

  The learned doctors of a later age would have recognised the massive infarction, consequent upon left ventricular hypertrophy and congestive heart failure. But they would have missed a more important point.

  “Look, boys!” said one of the pall-bearers. “The old bugger’s dead.”

  “Ah, but he died happy!” said another.

  They conferred boozily and decided to take the corpse to the Admiralty Building in Whitehall, to present it to the proper authorities. However, when they arrived, swollen to nearly five hundred souls with pie-men, whores, gin-sellers and urchins, their motives were misinterpreted. A company of Marines turned out to the urgent rattle of a drum, and levelled their muskets in defence of the Sacred Halls of their Masters. And so, Admiral Williams of Barbados was dumped safely out of range, in the middle of Horse Guards Parade. A sad end for a Naval Officer.

  39

  Extraordinary expenses 9th-10th July 1794

  To Passage for 3 in The Lady Jane outward bound of Shadwell basin — £30

  To discretion of Shipmaster and Crew — £20

  To ditto Dockyard Officials — £10

  To ditto Excise — £30

  To ditto Navy Convoy Officials — £30

  TOTAL — £120

  (Extract from Personal Account books of Mr Toby Bone, esq., Waterman and Warehouseman of Wapping, London.)

  *

  In the small hours of the morning of 10th July 1794, Toby Bone was alone in his office over the river. Tired as he was, he was casting up his accounts. Experience had taught him that the task must not be neglected but must be done now, with the memory fresh. After all, the goods concerned were already on their way to further destinations. The work had to be done at once or things would be lost track of.

  “Debit,” he wrote: “To hire of participatory agents: 347 head at 2/6d per head — say £44. To gin for same, 350 bottles at 1/- per bottle — say £18. To hire of boatmen to stay sober: 12 head at 1 guinea per head — say £13. Total £75.”

  “Credit,” he wrote: “Item: 1 pair candlesticks, silver 39 ounces, Hallmark 1756 by John Cafe of London — say £12 cash. Item: Clock, 8-day, striking and repeating the hour, verge escapement, ebony case with brass handle, by Francis Dorell of London (glass broken) — say £20 cash.”

  And so the list went on. It was long and authoritative. It revealed the discrimination of a connoisseur and the precision of a clerk. Jacob Fletcher would have approved right heartily. At the end of the list came a most gratifying total.

  Toby sat back in his chair and sighed, wondering when next he’d see his brother. After some thought and with considerable reluctance he drew a line under his accounts and added a list of extraordinary expenses.

  It was painful to see it in black and white. That was why Toby had hesitated. It knocked back his profits to a sizeable amount. But this was a family matter, after all, and there would have been no point in any of it if he hadn’t got Sammy and his young friend, and his young friend’s lady, safe out of England for a while.

  And of course,
Toby could never have taken money from Sammy. And what with young Fletcher being such a pal of Sammy’s, why, he couldn’t take from him neither. Still, Toby was well ahead on the night and he was fond of his elder brother.

  He put away his papers, made all secure, blew out the candles and went to bed.

  40

  With contrary winds we were nearly three months in The Lady Jane. Sammy, who could never be idle, insisted on working, despite being a paying passenger. Mr Cloud, the Master, was only too happy to oblige him once he learned what sort of a seaman Sammy was, but he insisted on rating Sammy as Third Mate. That flummoxed him at first, since he’d never had official rank over men, not in all his years at sea, and he said he didn’t want it. But it was that or nothing and he made the best of it.

  Kate got better from the harm she’d taken at the hands of that vile woman and she soon lost the thin, grey look that she’d had when we found her. And she was able to cut a bit of a dash, since Pen Bone had given her some of her daughters’ clothes which, what with their Pa being a well-heeled man, were of the best. Kate set these off a treat. She always turned out on deck looking like a lady and the crew all fell in love with her, and went out of their way to do things for her — rigging hammocks in the nicest places for the shade and the breeze, and so on.

  I suppose this was not surprising really, since she was the only woman aboard, but she was such a neat, pretty little thing, and so nicely turned out in her hats and gowns, that she’d have stood out among a thousand. God knows what Lady Jane’s people would have thought if they’d learned what Katie had done on her last voyage, though.

  I suppose I fell in love with her too. No doubt of that. How could I not, all things considered? And when the sun began to shine, she smiled a bit and took to me. At least she did well enough for us to pick up where we’d left off aboard Phiandra. We let it be known we were married, for decency’s sake aboard ship, but she’d not let the Captain marry us in reality, however many times I asked.