They edged into the long, straight canal now, the bowsprit pointing right out to sea and dissecting the two forts, both of which had the tide now lapping against their walls. That incoming sea would slow them down, which was the critical point. Pearce could only guess how long Peg Leg would take to alert his employer and also what that man would do to react. If there was a beacon within Gravelines that could be lit to alert the forts, it was something of which he was unaware and could do nothing about – yet another unknown.
Winston came back on deck and it was clear by his smile he was satisfied. ‘I cannot fault him for his care, John, he has kept the ’tween decks dry and properly aired. No doubt the cook’s fire has helped.’
‘That we will have to extinguish for now.’
‘The copper has a sack of peas coming to the boil.’
‘Michael,’ Pearce called, ‘get below and douse that fire, but have a look to see what we have in the way of stores of food.’
‘Will we need any?’ Winston enquired.
‘That fellow who has come to the edge of that jetty?’ Pearce said, ignoring the question and pointing forward to a small wooden landing stage poking out from the southern fort. Winston turned to observe a white-uniformed fellow, a soldier and by the braid on his hat, an officer, standing overlooking the canal with a red flag in his hand. ‘Do you think he is there for a purpose?’
The flag, which had been idle in his hands, was now lowered. To Pearce it was like a signal to heave-to, an indication to say he required to check their papers. Winston was on his way to the foredeck as he replied, obeying a shouted suggestion he pull his muffler up again while Pearce, as precaution, steered to get as close to the end of the jetty as was safe, calling for the poling to ease off so that they could pass by at a snail’s pace.
He eased the pistol out of his waistband and held it hidden by his thigh. ‘Be ready to get them going again, and hard.’
Winston was leaning over the bulwark, and what followed was a silent exchange, a wave as the flag dipped even more, and Winston calling something out that carried away on the breeze, this before he stretched out a hand to shake that of the man on the landing stage. As soon as contact was broken the red flag was dropped behind the parapet, to be immediately replaced by a blue equivalent, which was aimed and waved downstream, an indication to proceed, which had Charlie and Rufus poling again.
At the same time Michael came back on deck to report that there were a pair of food barrels, probably pork and beef, as well as a sack of peas, also the usual things carried by a sailing ship, but not much, given the holds were packed full of cargo, the conclusion of that exchange coinciding with the ship’s wheel coming abreast of the flag waver, who lifted off his braid-edged hat in salute, Pearce replying with a touch to his forehead. In short order they were beyond the forts and into the tidal flow, so the poles were abandoned and the three Pelicans, now barefoot, were sent aloft to let go of the foremast mainsail. It took time, and the canvas flapped loose until they could get back on deck and loop the sheet lines on to the cleats.
‘What was that all about?’ Pearce shouted to Winston as the bows lifted on the incoming waves, forcing the man to grab a handhold and, grimacing, to put his other mitt to his stomach.
‘He was demanding evidence we had paid our port dues, John. You will not have seen it, but in that handshake I slipped him a few guineas. At least the propensity to take a bribe has not changed since the French abandoned the place.’
That was praiseworthy, but there was no time to say it as his friends, having been ordered to lash off the single sail, were now busy on the bowsprit, freeing the rolled-up canvas preparatory to hauling that aloft also, and more would be necessary, since against an incoming tide the ship was making little headway. Pearce called to Winston again, made sure his belly was stable – that acknowledged with a wan smile – and got him aft to hold the wheel, admonishing him to hold the head steady, this while he kicked off his own shoes and went to the aid of his fellow Pelicans.
What followed was a period of hard toil on the yards, shrouds and the deck, it being doubtful that without the strength of Michael O’Hagan they would have got aloft all Pearce knew they needed – the whole interspersed with endless instructions to Winston so that he could make slight adjustments to their heading. There was shallow water to either side of their keel and if the vessel was taken aback and the head let fall they could end up running aground on unknown sandbanks.
In time, their combined efforts saw enough canvas aloft. There was now enough way on the Hemoine to show a wake, so Pearce retook the wheel and, now that he thought them out in deep water, he began to adjust the rudder and the sails to find the best point of sailing commensurate with the course he needed to follow, this as the last of the sunlight faded in the east, leaving a long orange-to-blue line along the horizon. Above, stars were beginning to show, as well as the crescent of a moon, which left the man on the wheel feeling very satisfied indeed – things had gone well.
‘Astern, John-boy,’ called Michael and in a tone that had Pearce spinning round.
Emerging from the mouth of the canal was a crowded, low-sided lugger, its great blood-red lanteen sail aloft, taut and lit by flaming torches in the hands of the men on deck. Grabbing the telescope in the rack by the binnacle, from the light they threw out Pearce could see the pointing arms all aimed in his direction.
‘Pursuit?’ demanded Winston, his voice strained on a face now devoid of blood: he was feeling badly the motion of the ship.
‘It would be foolish to suspect otherwise, Arthur.’
‘Can we outrun it?’
‘As yet I do not know.’
His original intention had been to leave the sail plan as it was – they had way and time had not been of the essence, but, if that was a band of Flemish traders come to the aid of their confrère, that was no longer the case: it would be best to seek an increase in speed. He had two choices, but in such light airs, and given his course and the direction of the wind, he had to favour the spanker over dropping the course on the mainmast, for that larger sail would only take away wind from the forward canvas.
With sharp commands he had his friends on the lines to loosen the boom, so that it could be shifted to larboard. Raising such an amount of canvas was a doubly hard task with so few hands to work it, but eventually they got it up, lashed off and drawing, the increase in speed evidenced by the heel of the deck and the increase in white water running down the side.
‘I think they have gained on us, John,’ Winston said, his voice again unsteady, having kept an eye on what was, they were now in no doubt, a chase.
‘Let us see what effect our spanker has.’
‘Will we not need more?’
‘If we do, it will have to wait till daylight. I cannot send my friends aloft in the dark, they are too few.’
Both looked astern, to what was now no more than a red distant glow of numerous lanterns: someone had seen the folly of flaring torches so close to wood, tarred rope and dry canvas and had them extinguished.
‘If these fellows catch us, I doubt they will be gentle.’
‘If they catch us,’ Pearce snapped, ‘they will find out what the opposite of gentle means. Now, search the ship and see what weapons you can find.’ Pearce sighed then as a staggering Winston went below. ‘What I would not give for a long nine, a barrel of powder and a garland of iron shot.’
That would have seen them off in no time, while in his heart Pearce knew his chances of outrunning a fore-and-aft-rigged vessel, given the minimal strength of the wind, were limited in a lumbering and fully loaded square-rigger. The Bilander had not been designed for speed; indeed, with its shallow draught it was not a creature for deep water either, and if the swell was slight, it, as well as the current, was playing on the lack of depth in the keel, this obvious by the way it kept seeking to fall off the course he needed to hold to.
Against that it was unlikely the lugger had any cannon either, so he was safe from that hazard, wh
ich would mean his masts and canvas would remain intact, and as long as that prevailed he could damn them to a continued pursuit of such length they might just desist, for if they were gaining, it was not swift. To board him from that much lower deck and get on the Hemoine’s while she was under way would be damned difficult, so the only thing he had to fear was to be becalmed, an almost unheard of event in these waters.
At first light he would get more canvas set, topsails and maybe even an upper topsail on the foremast, though he did recall being told more than once that more sail did not always translate into more speed. For all he had got them out to sea, he was aware again of a lack of that deep knowledge which came from a lifetime of naval service. That would hamper him in making decisions, especially given he had no time for experimentation.
Winston came back up from below. ‘There are a dozen cutlasses down in a rack but nothing else I could see.’
‘No muskets?’
‘No.’
Pearce, looking astern and calculating the distances, pointlessly cursed himself for not taking time to buy more powder and shot for his pistols, useless as such self-castigation was; but well-employed cutlasses, added to their greater deck height, could do great service. He ran through in his mind what would come should they get alongside, for they would have to – he would not heave-to. First they would try to take his wind, that then pressing their scantlings on to his, followed by those brave enough jumping up to grab on to his bulwark, at which point they would be at the mercy of him and his friends.
They were not likely to be fighters in the true sense, though he would not guess at the depth of their anger or commitment to the purpose. Unless they had the means to keep them away from their own side, the Pelicans would wreak havoc on those scrabbling fingers. Did they have those means? Only time would tell, as it would demonstrate the level of their determination – more unknowns. They could, of course, lower that jolly boat and abandon both ship and cargo, but Pearce saw that as a very last resort, given it would mean abandoning any chance of profit.
‘Arthur, you best lay-down and get some sleep, for whatever happens we have a busy daytime at sunrise.’
That was an injunction he also gave to the others, as well as reassuring words that, from what he could observe, they should be safe overnight, and they went below, leaving him alone on the deck, with only the light for the binnacle for company, illuminating enough for him to see his watch and so call out upon the others in turn to hold the wheel for a spell. It was truly dark now, the half-moon reflecting off the black waters, the ship moving before the wind, so the whistle through the rigging was slight. Looking up at the star-filled sky, providing more glow than the moon, he calculated the odds once more.
If they pursued him all the way to the English shore it would be tricky, yet that depended on what they had in the way of weaponry, and it was doubtful if a boatload of suddenly gathered Flemish traders would run to much in that line. If they did, he would have no choice but to run the ship ashore and hope that, with aid being signalled for, there would be enough bodies to discourage a landing. Eventually he grew tired of speculation: that his mind wandered was hardly surprising, where it wandered to even less so.
It was Michael O’Hagan on the wheel when the first grey light tinged the eastern horizon, the unpleasant sight of that big red sail not a shock in itself, only in its proximity: they were no more than two cable lengths astern. As the sun rose on what was likely to be another clear day the lugger came into focus, as did the people on her deck and Michael, craning to look, was taken by what he saw. To get the telescope open and focused while keeping the wheel steady was difficult, but the excess time meant there was much more daylight available to show him the lugger’s low maindeck, and even then it took him time to realise what he was looking at. He yelled out for John Pearce to wake up and as soon as he appeared, bleary-eyed and curious, with Charlie and Rufus on his heels, he handed him the magnifier.
‘Have a look at the men on that deck.’ As soon as he did so, Michael said, ‘Do you recall the tavern we entered?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I have to tell you, John-boy, if you have not already smoked it, those buggers back there look uncommonly like the folks we saw drinking and singing, and you know as well as I do they is not Flemish, but English.’
Arthur Winston’s strained voice came from behind the quartet. ‘I think I had better explain.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘I found out that my agent had sold my cargo to another Englishman, but I had no idea to whom.’
‘Well I have to tell you, Arthur, it looks like it was a gang of right hard bargains.’ The question he posed then was obvious, even if Pearce thought he already knew the answer. ‘Did you know he had sold it before you engaged me?’
Winston’s nod was slow and full of meek regret – hardly surprising given the look he was getting was one that could kill – while he still appeared a bit green around the gills. ‘I must confess that I did.’
‘How?’
‘He sent the letter with a British officer going on leave, though he, of course, had no idea what it contained.’ The next words were delivered in a garbled fashion such was the speed of his speech. ‘I thought it to be a set of projectors trying to make their way on my misfortune, businessmen like me, who would do what we are now trying to do.’
‘Were about to do,’ Charlie growled.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It be simple – we take to the jolly boat and give them behind us this barky and the cargo.’
‘We could not get away from them in a jolly boat,’ Pearce said, ‘they would overhaul us in no time.’
‘A nice notion, Charlie,’ Michael added, ‘if they be of a saintly nature. But having seen them closer than you, I take leave to doubt it. You recall those fellows who got us over in that galley? Well, those on our tail are of the same stripe.’
‘I smelt smugglers on that Deal beach,’ Charlie spat.
‘And so did I,’ Michael replied.
‘If they are that,’ Pearce added, grimly, ‘they will be bloody-minded and might not just take repossession of the boat—’
‘Repossession!’ The word brought colour to Winston’s cheeks as well as force to his voice. ‘This boat is mine.’
‘I was about to say, Arthur, that they could then just toss us into the sea, which is the common act of pirates.’
‘You’re mad.’
‘No, it is they who are mad and by their lights they have every right to be. Let us say it’s a possibility and not one I wish to test.’
‘We got to get goin’, then,’ Rufus insisted, to both agreement and surprise. ‘And outrun them.’
‘Well said, young fellow,’ Winston cried.
Pearce’s reply was grim, as he looked around the cold grey sea for any sight of another sail. ‘We might not be able to, and there seems no one with sight of us to prevent them doing as they please.’
‘So, John-boy, if we cannot do that, sure, we has to fight them off, for if I have no notion of where we are, I know that we are not close to shore and they are not far off our stern.’
His friends looked at him for enlightenment, but they looked in vain. There had been no casting of a log, no notation of the course and no writing both those pieces of very necessary information on the slate by the binnacle. If Pearce knew they were roughly somewhere in the North Sea, he had no idea precisely where and none of the skill required to make any more than an educated guess. Yet, not being about to admit his own failure to do what he should, he pulled out his watch and flicked it open.
‘Then we need to find a log and cast it, so we can get some idea of our speed.’
‘Damned slow,’ Charlie replied, ‘an’ even I know that.’
‘We cleared the Flanders shore about eight of the clock on my Hunter, so we have been at sea for just under nine hours. If our rate of sailing has varied it will not be by much.’
‘Will that tell us what we need to know?’ Rufus a
sked.
‘Not exactly, but close is better than ignorance and it will allow us to decide how to act. There has to be a log and line somewhere, so go and find it.’ He looked hard at Winston. ‘Can I have a word?’
‘Happen we might want to hear what he has to say.’
‘Charlie,’ Pearce replied wearily, indicating to Michael to take back the wheel, ‘you will hear every word, for I will tell you verbatim.’
‘Come on, Charlie,’ Rufus insisted, ‘let’s get to it.’
Charlie was slow to move, but he did so eventually, the words he posed to Rufus just loud enough to be heard. ‘What does “verbaithem” mean?’
‘Search me, mate.’
‘How do we stop them, John-boy?’
‘Depends on what arms they have, Michael. I thought they were just a bunch of irate Flemish traders, but if they are not that …’
‘How could I be so foolish?’ Winston wailed. ‘We might all suffer for my stupidity.’
‘No we will not,’ Pearce snapped. ‘We are going to get to where we are supposed to be and the only question that matters is are we going to be alone when we do so?’
‘I don’t see how—’
Pearce cut right across Winston then. ‘You don’t have to see, Arthur … I do!’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You have a great deal to be sorry about. Now, that explanation, if you please.’
Winston, who had shrunk visibly when barked at, no doubt also through his fearful imaginings and disturbed constitution, seemed to gather himself then. ‘I do not want you to think that I approached you in anything other than a spirit of honesty, John. That day, when I first met you in the Pelican, was the happenstance it appeared to be.’
‘That matters not, get to the point where it ceased to be honest.’
‘The letter I spoke of came that same day, I got it upon my return to my bureau and damned unpleasant reading it made.’ Seeing the impatient look on John Pearce’s face, he continued hurriedly. ‘I tried to engage some seamen to undertake the recovery, I told you that, but they all declined, not from the notion of regaining the ship, you understand, but more from the illegality of getting my property ashore and sold. I was driven to making increasingly generous offers, none of which were accepted. Then you came to see me.’
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