Blown Off Course

by David Donachie

  ‘So my testimony, and that of my friends, would carry no weight?’

  ‘I think you do not know a court of law very well, Mr Pearce, so you do not understand what a good defending counsel can achieve. You openly admit that two of your companions in misfortune are under threat for their past misdeeds, which leaves you with your Irishman, who may be, as you said earlier, one of the most upstanding fellows you have ever met in your life, but it will be easily established that he is partisan in your case, while you will be asking a jury to take his word against that of a senior naval officer that …’ Lucknor paused then to glance at the notes John Pearce had given him, ‘… the act was deliberate, not, as he stated at his court martial, an error brought on by an inexperienced midshipman mistaking the nature of where they had landed.’

  ‘Which is a blatant lie,’ Pearce barked. ‘Something you do not seem to wish to accept.’

  Lucknor held up a hand and smiled, not in the least put out by his client’s tone. ‘Mr Pearce, I am on your side, but it is necessary that, in the execution of my duty to you, I am obliged to point out the problems as well as anything we can use to advantage. We are, after all, talking of seeking a conviction which can only be brought about if the commission of the alleged offence is beyond reasonable doubt, reached by a jury who will have more in common with your Captain Barclay than a lower-deck witness, and that is a high standard to meet, one which brings with it a very serious sanction. A conviction for perjury can send a man to the gallows.’

  ‘I wondered if you believed me.’

  ‘That is not an unusual reaction.’ A hand swept through his mass of curls, making what was already unkempt even more so. ‘I do not doubt for a second your assertion that the court martial of which you speak was a travesty and I do not doubt that lies were told, but to get your Ralph Barclay before a judge will not be easy, for as soon as your motion to do so becomes public the Admiralty will move heaven and earth to have it dismissed. You are challenging not only one of their officers, but as they will see it the whole area of press gang conduct, as well as the verdict of, to their eyes, a properly constituted court martial. You allege deliberate corruption on the part of one of their senior admirals, and, if not collusion, then a blind eye turned by Lord Hood to a tainted result. In short, you are proposing to put, in a time of war, the whole structure of national defence on trial. I fear you have not understood the magnitude of the task you have undertaken.’

  ‘Are you saying it is your opinion that my case is doomed?’

  ‘Most assuredly not, but what is required is an unimpeachable witness and …’ Lucknor looked at Pearce’s submission again, ‘perhaps, one more who, you suggest, will wilt under any sort of examination.’

  ‘Toby Burns has the backbone of a worm.’

  ‘You can only be sure he will do so if you have another witness, in this case I suggest the midshipman who was actually with Captain Barclay on the night in question.’

  ‘Richard Farmiloe.’

  ‘You say here he is a decent and upright young fellow, this underlined by the fact that he was sent away with you to the Bay of Biscay; in short, Captain Barclay would not have been able to persuade him to lie.’

  ‘And Lieutenant Digby, what of him?’

  ‘He was aboard HMS Brilliant when she was berthed at Sheerness, was he not? It was he who commanded the ship in which you were diverted to La Rochelle, but he was not present at the actual illegal impressments.’

  ‘Is he of any use?’

  ‘If he would swear that Toby Burns was aboard HMS Brilliant on the night in question, he will be of vital interest to a court, for he can establish without peradventure the boy is lying, and that is the only question to put to him, of necessity in writing.’

  ‘Everyone you have mentioned is at present serving in the Mediterranean.’

  There was a thought then that he might be going there himself soon, that was until he reminded himself he had heard nothing from Downing Street for days: it was not to be relied upon.

  ‘And’ Lucknor added, ‘you do not have the power to command they come home to make the case, only a judge can order that.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘We write some letters, Mr Pearce, carefully worded ones to both get from Farmiloe and Digby the truth of various assertions. With the former, we just need him to confirm that he was with Captain Barclay while Burns was not. If Digby supports that by saying the lad was on board the frigate, then we have a strong argument to confound any attempt by the Admiralty to apply for the case to be thrown out as specious. We can then demand that the people in question be returned to England for a proper trial and that Captain Barclay be held pending that.’

  ‘And Burns?’

  ‘He must be asked for the truth, and if he is tempted to lie once more, he may, and I shall make this plain in a roundabout fashion, be digging a grave for himself deeper than the one he is already in. Perjury is as much a capital offence for him as it is for his uncle. If he tells the truth, your case is made without the need for any other witness. Damn me, sir, he could bring down this Hotham fellow, to boot. Would that not be a coup!’

  Lucknor paused then and looked directly at John Pearce. ‘Now, sir, there is the matter of my fees for the work described, and I must enquire of you how you are going to fund what will happen if we succeed in getting your case to court.’

  ‘Perhaps if you could give me some indication of costs?’ Pearce asked.

  It was a chastened client who left the lawyer’s office, a man wondering if he wanted either Farmiloe or Toby Burns to be brought back to England, for if they did return he would need a king’s ransom to make use of their presence.

  When it came to travelling overland Michael O’Hagan was much better equipped to cope: he had not only done it previously, but he was country bred, having been raised on an Irish farm, albeit one wracked by debt and too many children. Having walked from there, crossing both his own island and much of England in search of work, while needing many times to sleep under the stars, he knew what to keep an eye out for in terms of where north lay as a constant: the russet colour of tree bark, the leafing on trees, which tended to the south and the sun, even on a path, where the cold side would be muddier. There was also the matter of shelter and getting fed, which depended on the skill to snare and cook small creatures like birds and rabbits, but also to spot where there might be a chance of some labour in exchange for a meal.

  He also knew they must find some kind of watercourse to follow: to have something to drink was essential, and common wells were used by too many people, while around such streams wildlife and vegetation were abundant, cover was easy to find, for there were always bushes and trees, which in turn meant wood for a fire as well as a modicum of shelter should rain threaten. What he found first was hardly more than a brook, with little in the way of flow, but it served to provide the means to assuage their thirst and allow them to shave, each man taking it in turn to employ their guard razors to scrape off the beginnings of another’s beard, eased with the lye soap they had dunned out of Fury’s purser, though in the case of Rufus that tended towards fluff – something he had been much ribbed about aboard ship, where a clean chin and upper lip was an absolute requirement of the service.

  ‘It never does to appear like a beggar when you’re looking for a bit of work or wishing to avoid the eye of a watchman.’

  ‘Careful with that blade,’ Rufus replied, as Michael worked on his neck.

  ‘Be better plucking that than wasting a well-stropped edge,’ joked Charlie.

  ‘Where do we go from here, Michael?’ Rufus asked, his chin still in the air.

  ‘As long as the sun comes up to our right hand we are on the true path. Brooks lead to bigger streams and rivers, rivers is where towns are …’

  ‘And the law,’ Charlie insisted.

  ‘So we skirt round them.’

  ‘How far did that master say we had to travel?’

  ‘Some sixty-plus miles to London, land miles, but we wi
ll need to work a longer route to stay away from trouble and most of all, if we can, bridges. Do you not recall our shipmates saying to stay away from them?’

  How to avoid being taken up when on the run was a constant topic below decks and there were those who boasted they could travel from one end of the country to the other without risk, but they always insisted bridges were the most dangerous places, for too many were locations that could not be crossed without paying a toll, which meant queues to get through and folk watching out for miscreants, as well as just plain nosy bastards.

  ‘As I said before, we go by church spires as much as we can, for there will be a walking right of way twixt two, used by all. Spot one on the horizon and that is a hamlet, two or more is a town, one that seeks to touch the sky is a city and those we avoid like the Black Death. Lacking those, we use the signs of which I have told you. We will seek to stay off roads and keep to fields and not travel too far from the rise of the sun till it starts to dip, for as soon as it does we must look for shelter, wood and set snares in the hope of adding to our food.’

  ‘We’re bound to come across folk,’ Rufus opined, rubbing his new-shaved cheek.

  ‘Sure, we give them a cheerful top of the mornin’, for to be sullen or to avoid their eye will make them wonder.’

  ‘Some will wonder, whatever,’ said Charlie. ‘There are folks whose nose is never still.’

  ‘You can spot trouble, Michael, can you?’

  ‘As much as he can cause it, Rufus.’

  Michael looked at Charlie as he said that, wondering if he was referring to what had happened with those crimps, but the man was smiling, so perhaps it was the memory of what Michael had been like when full of drink in the Pelican. Better still, it could be just a jest, for if they had rubbed up against each other in the past, Michael’s sticking with them had tempered the way Charlie seemed to behave towards him.

  ‘You’re a town boy, Rufus, and Charlie, well he’s London, where there are any number of folk looking to make their way by dobbing their fellows as a way to feed themselves. Country folk are less inclined to think ill of a man just for being on the same path and, as often as not, the farm owners will trade a meal for labour at a time of sowing and planting, though harvest is best, so we might find we has a chance to work to eat, as I have done many times in my life.’

  ‘And those folk will say, “Where have you come from?”,’ said Charlie, ‘so we need a story to tell.’

  ‘Can you talk like an Irishman, Charlie?’

  ‘Why would I want to do that?’

  Michael hooted his reply. ‘Christ in heaven, Charlie, no one ever asks a Paddy what he is doing in this country of yours, they just think we have come to make our way.’

  ‘To steal our work, more like.’

  ‘Which,’ Michael grinned, ‘would never have caused you any harm, given you’ve never done an honest day’s toil in your life.’

  Charlie cupped his hands in the brook and pulled out some water, replying with very evident pride as he sucked at it. ‘I will drink to that, Michael.’

  ‘So where now?’

  ‘Through these trees, Rufus, to the meadow beyond, which being left fallow, will not be tended till the time comes to cut for hay. We will keep to this water and hope we come across a blind farmer with three lovely, lustful daughters and flagons of cider in his cellar.’

  Rufus looked excited by that, until even in his slow mind the unlikelihood of such luck was obvious.

  ‘Cost apart, Heinrich, it will take for ever, if my man Lucknor has the right of it, even if I were to carry them myself. A month or more to get a letter to the Med and as much to get one back again, that is if they trouble to reply.’

  ‘If you do get sent out you can take a deposition.’

  ‘But are they going to tell me what I want to hear?’

  ‘You think they might not?’ the surgeon asked.

  ‘Farmiloe and Digby might look to their careers before they look to my needs, and I doubt that little shit Burns will respond to a letter at all.’

  ‘As would you, if things were reversed.’

  ‘True, but that little bugger will run a mile just at the sight of me.’

  ‘How did you find this Lucknor fellow?’

  ‘Davidson put me on to him.’

  ‘I seem to recall you mentioning something about eggs and baskets?’ Lutyens said.

  ‘I had little choice when your man refused to represent me.’

  ‘He had good grounds and he did send me round a note of explanation.’

  ‘I encountered Emily Barclay on his doorstep, so I don’t need one! Mr Studdert clearly feels he cannot act for both her and I, even if what you tell me is true and our cases are in no way related.’

  ‘It does not put me in a happy position either, John.’

  ‘For which I cannot be blamed, brother.’

  ‘Emily confides in me.’

  ‘She is “Emily” to you?’

  Lutyens responded with a grim smile. ‘When you have worked together to cut the limbs of a screaming man it brings you close.’

  ‘I had dinner with her last night.’ That surprised Lutyens, a fact very evident in his wide-eyed expression. ‘The meeting was at her request, but it did not go as well as I had hoped.’

  The reply was a touch sour and very sarcastic. ‘I cannot begin to guess what you hoped for, John.’

  ‘Don’t be so pious, brother, I am a man and she is a fine-looking woman. But I’m sure you can take a stab at what she was after. She came to ask me to drop any action against her husband. Can you guess why?’

  ‘Easily, since she had told me she intends that he should support her. Ruin him, destroy his career and she will be damaged too, by being left without support.’

  ‘I have thought on this, Heinrich, and it does not add together. Can you see Ralph Barclay volunteering to support a wife who will not share his bed?’ When Lutyens did not reply, Pearce added, ‘I wonder, if she confides in you and she seems to think it a possibility, whether she has intimated what lever she can use to persuade him to do so?’

  Lutyens threw up his hands. ‘I have no idea, John.’

  ‘You could ask her, brother.’

  ‘I will do no such thing. Please remember I am friend to both of you.’

  ‘Then, as a friend to both her and I, would you ask if we could meet again?’ The way John Pearce said those words got him a very sharp look from his friend. ‘I am serious, Heinrich, and you can say to her that the meeting place can be one of her choosing.’

  ‘What reason would I give her?’

  ‘Tell her I very much want to apologise.’

  Looking at the tall brick house he knew so well, Cornelius Gherson wondered what had become of the lady who had resided there: was she still in place, or had her husband, Alderman Denby Carruthers, got rid of her in the same manner he had tried to rid himself of the man who had seduced her? Certainly the old booby was capable, and that brought on a shiver as Gherson recalled the night the toughs employed by the alderman had tipped him half-naked over the parapet of London Bridge into the fast-flowing Thames. If he had not landed right by the boat from HMS Brilliant, he would be dead for sure, just another battered and unidentifiable cadaver found on some downriver sandbank.

  To come here might be seen as foolish, but given Carruthers would think him long dead, and he was here at a time when he suspected the man to be occupied about his business affairs – he was wont to visit Lloyd’s Coffee House each day at this time – Gherson saw the risk as minimal. He had spent the morning at the offices of Ommanny & Druce, where he had happily pored over the accounts for the portfolio of Captain Barclay, before listening to various ventures proposed by the Druce partner of the firm.

  The fellow had quizzed him about how he had come to serve the captain, as much as the clerk had made pointed enquiries about their proposed investments. Such curiosity had not bothered Gherson: he saw it only as an attempt to discover the nature of the man they were dealing with, an
d he had been sharp enough to pick up the very subtle hints that his welfare might be better served by taking the advice of the firm rather than rejecting it – in short, the man was seeking to find out if he was open to act more for them than for Ralph Barclay.

  It had been a pleasant game and one Gherson enjoyed – nothing openly stated, many possibilities delicately hinted at, suggestions advanced only to be partially withdrawn, expressions of hope that a less calculating mind would have easily missed. The replies Gherson had made were suitably evasive without being totally negative. He had also not sought to avoid any enquiries of a more personal nature, seeing them as natural breaks in an interrogation that, too intense, would be obvious. Besides, the story he had told was one well filleted and vague: there was no mention of his previous life in London or of the employers for whom he had worked.

  What was on offer would add to those ambitions he already entertained, and the possibilities for personal gain that might accrue from an acceptance of what Druce had been hinting at could be substantial. That had to be set against both what he had now and that which he hoped to gain in the future. There was no regard for Ralph Barclay in his thinking, the man was merely a means to an end, and if he knew his place on the captain’s list, so did Gherson.

  Barclay’s prospects for employment, with his arm now healed, were excellent – right at this moment he was on his way to Chatham to look over the ship he hoped to command – and there was money to be made as a clerk aboard a third-rate ship of the line. In time, if he survived, Barclay would get a first-rate and one day he might get an active appointment as a flag officer – that was where the real wealth lay when there was a war on!

  Whatever, Barclay was helping him establish his credentials in a service where fortunes lay in wait, and if he prospered, Gherson would remain in his employ. If Barclay faltered or got himself killed, then he had some hope of being so recognised that another post would quickly become available. Ultimately, he wanted to be the senior administrative aide to an active admiral on a profitable station, for he had heard quick enough that such functionaries, whom no admiral could do without, were the ones who really coined it; if a clever mind could purloin a profit from a single ship, what could one extract from a fleet? Perhaps, one day, when he had the means to do so, he would confront Alderman Denby Carruthers and see how he reacted to the notion that, in trying to dispose of him, he had not only failed but paved the way to him making his fortune.