CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“I CANNOT open my purse further, sir,” said Temple, observing Harry’s patent disappointment. He put his hands to the lapels of his long black coat, taking on, with the pinched look on his face, the appearance of a lawyer pleading in court.
The men rowing the bumboat stared straight ahead, ignoring their passengers’ conversation. Instead, they concentrated on the third man, wondering where he’d got those two livid black eyes. Pender, had they asked him, couldn’t have told them. He’d been convinced that Flowers hadn’t laid a hand on him. As far as the crew were concerned, they helped, giving everyone still berthed in the barn an excuse to gently rib him. Pender knew from long experience, that people didn’t do that unless they esteemed you in some way. And it had also reassured Flowers, and dampened his desire for revenge, when he observed that he’d done some damage. The atmosphere, by the time Harry returned, was well on the way to being everything his servant had hoped. Tite had been advised to shove it when he moaned about him, and told, in no uncertain terms, that his so-called wound was a scratch and he’d be better off getting back to the kitchens, where he belonged.
As they climbed aboard and stood over the open hatchways the smell of rotting timber rose to greet them. The rigging was as bad as the filthy deck. Untidy, with loose ropes everywhere and blocks that looked as though they hadn’t been greased since Creation. Temple was correct. Harry was disappointed. He had not anticipated anything special. But Temple had managed to find a vessel that looked at first sight unfit to cross a river, never mind the English Channel. It was a ship of the same size as the Planet, a Dutch trading flute, broad-beamed and slow by the very nature of its build and previous function.
“You would have been hard put to open your purse less, Mr Temple. This kind of ship can be had for the coins that slip through your floorboards.”
“It will do for the task we have in mind.”
“We?” said Harry, regarding the smuggler with a raised eyebrow.
Temple adopted a lofty tone, like man whose dignity brooked no argument. “I cannot allow you to set out on this adventure on your own, sir. If my interests are threatened, they can only be properly safeguarded by my presence.”
“That was not the arrangement, Mr Temple,” replied Harry coldly. “We distinctly agreed that Trench was mine.”
“You may have him, sir, to skin alive if you wish.”
Appraised of Temple’s conversation with Pender, Harry didn’t need to enquire as to what interest Temple had in mind. Had he anticipated such an outcome he would have bought a ship himself. But it was too late for that now. He had to get his crew aboard, get the ship into some form of order, and get to sea, or he would miss Trench.
“Follow me, Pender,” said Harry, making for the hatchway.
“Where are you going, Mr Ludlow?” demanded Temple, who was not pleased to be left alone on the deck.
“I’m going to inspect the ship, sir, something I suggest you might have done before you paid for it.” The smuggler opened his mouth to protest, but Harry cut him off. “I cannot believe you bought this, Mr Temple, especially since you intend to accompany us. You put all our lives at risk, including your own.”
Temple went pale, for he was a man unused to ships of this type, more at home in a small lugger, or one of the large, fast cutters with twelve oarsmen that could make the journey to France in three hours on a calm night.
“You judge her unsound, sir?” he said to Harry’s disappearing head.
Harry bobbed back up again, maliciously indulging himself with a spot of exaggeration.
“She is somewhat more than unsound, sir. If you feel we are keeping you waiting too long, Mr Temple, I would advise against stamping your foot with impatience.”
He went back down the hatchway again. The timbers on the maindeck were merely damp. It was when you went below, especially to the spaces under the holds, that mattered. The bilge was foul even by normal standards and the cross-bracings that could be seen above the damp ballast all had mould on them. Harry poked his finger into one of the main supports, dismayed by the way it went in to the rotten wood without effort, almost up to his knuckle.
“That’s bad, Captain,” said Pender. “Even I know that. Trench’ll have us over, no bother, in this tub.”
“We can withstand Trench, Pender. But if it comes on to a blow, then this thing could be a death trap. Mind, it may not be as bad as it looks. It’s impossible to tell the true state of her timbers without shifting the ballast.”
“How will the men take to berthing aboard this?”
Harry turned and looked at Pender. “The Medusas will accept whatever I tell them. You will have to swear for the Deal men.”
Pender grinned, then touched the corner of one blackened eye. “Well, Captain, I feel they’ll follow me. Happen it’s time to find out if I’m right.”
“I want some tubs of sulphur down here, right away. The smoke will cover the smell of rot. All the stoves to be lit and kept going full blast as well. We’ll throw off all the hatchways and get a couple of windsails rigged. Who knows, a bit of heat and a touch of fresh air can work wonders.”
“What’s this barky called, by the way?”
Harry laughed. “You’ll never believe this, Pender. It’s called the Dragon.”
“The Dragon,” said Pender, his teeth gleaming. “God strike me, but if St George had come up against a dragon like this he would have been drenched, not singed.”
They went back on deck, to find Temple pacing the windward side like an admiral. He looked at them enquiringly as they emerged, filthy and damp, but Harry declined to respond.
“When will you bring your crew aboard?” he asked.
“What crew?”
Temple gave him a thin-lipped smile. “Come, Mr Ludlow. Do you really think you can have your man recruit over twenty seamen in the town of Deal without it coming to my notice?”
“I wasn’t trying to avoid your notice,” said Harry. But it lacked conviction and he knew it.
“I take it you have no objection to my putting a few of my men aboard. After all, the more we outnumber Trench, the better.”
“I cannot see how that squares with your intention of remaining aloof in this affair. You can hardly deny involvement if you are on the deck of the ship that takes Trench, surrounded by your own men.”
Temple was not a smiler, unless you termed the merest stretch of his bloodless lips by that name. But he smiled now.
“Never fear, Mr Ludlow. If the prospect vexes you, my men can go ashore before we sail. But I cannot leave this vessel unattended. Some villain might steal it.”
“That’s precisely what we’re going to do,” said Harry to the assembled crew.
“It’ll make Deal a bit warm for us, Captain,” said one of the new men. A few of the Medusas growled at him, content, as their commander said, to follow wherever Harry led.
Pender answered the man gently, for it was a reasonable observation. “You won’t be goin’ back to Deal, mate. Captain Ludlow has bespoke a brand-new ship, fresh off the stocks at Blackwall Reach. Once we’ve seen off this Trench character, it will be all aboard for blue water and French gold.”
“My brother has already left for Sandwich with a list of what we need. We’ll take on our stores there. Not much, for we’re not going far. We must, at all costs, get away before anyone can get a message to Temple that we are tied up at Sandwich Quay. I looked at the tides on the Stour and we can be back at sea, at the very latest by tomorrow night, if we put our backs into it. The rest of the work, like the rigging, will have to be done in deeper water.”
Harry looked at the men. Some demonstrated profound scepticism on the venture, that was plain. But none of them made any further moves to protest. He made for the barn door, telling Pender to carry on.
“We need to get started soon,” added Pender, “if we want to be arriving at the anchorage just after dark. So get your dunnage together and put this barn back into a fit state for cat
tle.”
Arthur was coming up the drive as Harry made his way across from the barn to the house. He was dressed for hunting, though still elegant in an immaculate buff coat over dark corduroy breeches. The man carrying his guns had several brace of birds to contend with as well.
“A successful day,” said Harry, pointing to the hanging carcasses.
Arthur glanced over Harry’s shoulder. Two sailors, having lifted the stove between two poles, were heading for the rear of the house. Nothing, at this time of year, could have more clearly underlined that they were all about to depart.
“What about you, Harry, have you had similar good fortune?”
“My hunt is only just beginning.”
Arthur smiled. Harry had avoided giving him any real information about his intentions. Anne had obviously been right about what troubled him. The merest hint of a London house had raised his spirits.
“Then I wish you joy of it. I shall hang these pheasants in anticipation of your speedy return.”
“Thank you.”
Arthur looked over his other shoulder, and this time he frowned. Harry turned to find Tite standing there. The old servant touched his forelock, but whatever words he wanted to say wouldn’t come. Harry couldn’t know that it was Arthur’s presence which troubled him, for on hearing of the planned expedition he’d set his heart on going, willing to trade disclosure of Arthur’s misdemeanours for a place on the ship. Not that there was much to tell. Still not sure how the land lay, he’d gone down to the Griffin’s Head to drop a hint or two. That had earned him a flea in his ear, as Naomi Smith lashed out at him in a manner she normally reserved for drunken strangers.
“Do you want me, Tite?”
Harry’s question unlocked his jaw, for he’d get no second chance. “I hear you’re planning to take the admiral’s brass four-pounders.”
Harry frowned as well. He had no desire to hold this conversation in front of his brother-in-law, either.
“I am.”
“Saving your presence, Master Harry, I’s looked after those guns since they was first brought here, that bein’ when your father struck his flag.”
“I know that, Tite.”
“Well, I feels that where they go, so should I.”
Harry’s look softened, he could hardly do otherwise looking at the bent old man, wrinkled, frail, and with no teeth. Only the eyes, for all their watery quality and poor range, still had their potency. Tite knew they were going off to fight, and he wanted to be part of it. But Harry couldn’t expose this old man to such a risk. Besides he’d be more of a hindrance than a help.
“Your duties are here, Tite.”
“We will happily spare him from those,” said Arthur coldly. Tite was amazed, for he was so determined to succeed that he’d geared himself to speak out even in front of Arthur. And now this “damned Scotchman” was aiding his cause. For probably the first time ever, he smiled warmly at Lord Drumdryan. It was not returned and he looked back at Harry. “There you are, Captain.”
Harry was in a quandary, undermined by his brother-in-law’s remark. He didn’t want to tell Tite the truth, that he was too old, more likely to get in the way than add anything to the expedition.
“You may supervise the dismounting and loading of the guns on to the cart. You may accompany them to Sandwich. But you will not sail with us, d’you understand?”
Tite had pulled himself upright at the tone of command in Harry’s voice, wondering whether “half a loaf” would suffice. His mind made up, he answered crisply enough, even if it was slurred by his lack of molars. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
“May I enquire as to your destination?” asked Arthur.
“I should have thought that was obvious. Mind, if anyone calls, I would rather you told them we’ve gone to London.”
Arthur half turned, indicating the top of the windmill that stood on the hill that led to Eastry.
“It may interest you to know that there is a man watching the house. He’s a low-looking cove, but bold. He made no attempt at concealment when I passed close.”
“Pender!” shouted Harry.
“He’s chosen that spot well,” Arthur continued. “He can see who comes and goes, and also observe anyone who gets near enough to threaten him. I doubt that your man Pender will get as close to him as I did.”
Pender was already hurrying towards the two men. He was abreast by the time Harry asked why.
“Because he has been set to watch you. He saw me as an innocent, merely someone out hunting. I took the precaution of coming in through the woods, so I doubt he’s even connected me to this house.”
“Are you offering your services, Arthur?”
“Why not? You and James whispering half the night, making your plans. My wife and Mrs Cray baking ship’s biscuit, and now Tite volunteering his services. If the entire family is to go to war, I have no less desire than Tite to be included. I suggest I retrace my steps, taking these birds with me, and make my way past the windmill again.”
“Only a little closer this time?”
There was something of the soldier in Arthur now. His eyes didn’t exactly gleam, but they certainly held an expression that made him look less of a courtier.
“I can then enquire as to what the fellow is about, and since I am armed, I doubt he’ll refuse me an answer. I take it you want him kept alive.”
“Of course,” replied Harry. “And I want him confined until nightfall tomorrow. After that you may release him.”
They made straight for Deal, moving quickly so that they stayed ahead of any news of their whereabouts. Harry led them past Sandown Castle as darkness fell, and on to the beach without pause. The moon was out, in a clear frosty sky, providing ample light. There was no shortage of boats, nor did the men whom they hired enquire about their numbers or the fact that Harry’s men were armed to the teeth. They took the fee and did their job, being as close-mouthed as the rest of the inhabitants of the town.
If Temple’s men had any intention to resist, the sheer number of men coming aboard the Dragon soon dissuaded them. The whole ship reeked of sulphur, a distinct improvement on the smell of rot. It was pleasing to see the way that his Medusas, who all knew their place, went right about their duties. Pender’s Deal contingent were less sure of themselves. But they were sailors, so once directed to their various tasks they set to with a will.
There was little to rig in the way of sails, but they didn’t need it. The greatest danger, once they’d unmoored the Dragon, was the sheer quantity of shipping, all firmly anchored head and stern. There was also the force of the current. Deal might provide a safe anchorage, but it also had a very large tidal rise and fall, which in certain circumstances had a riptide quality that could drag a ship’s anchors out of the soft sand below.
They had to manoeuvre their way, with only a sliver of moon, through a veritable cat’s cradle of ropes, with the tide making fast and hurrying them on. There was no end of shouting from other craft as this mad bugger, who didn’t know the time of the clock, was rudely told to sheer off. They removed the paint off one Indiaman, which led the captain of that ship to apoplectic rage. Harry ignored him, refusing to name his vessel when called upon to do so.
The shipping thinned as they cleared the anchorage and opened Pegwell Bay. Harry, grateful for the moonlight, however slight, put up the helm and drifted in slowly towards the deep-water channel of the Stour. He needed the rising tide, as the Dragon, deep-hulled, would navigate this river with difficulty. The long approach to Sandwich, which meandered through thick reed beds and foul marshes, was silted up. Once a thriving port, and the premier naval base of England, the town was now confined to small ships plying the coastal trade.
James, having bespoken them a berth, was waiting on the quayside surrounded by carters’ wagons bearing heaps of naval stores. Miles of cordage, bolts of canvas, some already stitched together as sails, tubs of tar and turpentine, nails, blocks, pulleys, water barrels, pork and beef barrels, hogsheads of biscuit, cheese, b
utter, firkins of beer, and a barrel of rum. Harry had lanterns slung in the rigging and they worked on through the night to get everything loaded. What they were about could not be concealed. It had, indeed, excited a fair amount of attention. The traffic between Deal and Sandwich was constant, and given that Temple had his ear to the ground, the chance of his hearing about the Dragon’s whereabouts was better than fair.
Tite appeared with the ship’s biscuit and the two brass cannon. Harry set the old servant, and the men who’d accompanied him, to fixing breechings forward on the poop. James, with nothing else to do, had hot food fetched from a local inn, with his brother ordering the men to work and eat at the same time. By dawn everything was aboard, but as yet unstowed. The Dragon was much deeper in the water now, and for all that Harry Ludlow liked a tidy deck, he also wanted the option of unloading some stores in the narrow channel. For if the ship stuck there he could bid farewell to any idea of getting away to sea without Temple.
During the hours of darkness he’d spoken to the locals, who knew the channel best. He asked them about the tide and decided, despite the unholy mess on his decks, to try and get the Dragon out on the morning tide, a time when the wind was more likely to be favourable. He could then anchor in the bay and complete the work. Having hired several local boats, and shifted his crane from the main mast to the mizzen, he bade them follow him and cast loose. His own boats, full of sailors, were out ahead, ready to take over the tow from the horses when the animals ran out of hard ground to haul on.
The wind was light enough, though in the twisting channel it was often dead foul. Harry was in the bows, listening to both the leadsman and the water below, his ear cocked for that tell-tale grinding sound of his keel striking sand. The most treacherous part of the river was at the mouth, where the silt, eddying round an old wreck, formed an underwater bar. Harry anchored, trying to gauge the height of the flood, then set all the sail he could, bracing his yards round to catch the wind. He could feel the Dragon straining on the single anchor. He called on his boats to haul the ship’s head round and tow hard, casting off the cable with a float, so that it could be fetched later.
Hanging Matter Page 31