On the Lee Shore, page 11
‘Ah, Chapman,’ he said. ‘What refreshment do we have that would be suitable to offer a lady?’
‘We have rum, gin, wine or coffee, sir,’ replied the steward.
‘Hmm, is that all?’ mused Sutton. ‘We had best make it coffee, then. Anything resembling cake to serve with it?’
‘I could tap the weevils from some ship’s biscuit and cover one side with molasses, sir?’
‘Ah, I think maybe not,’ concluded his captain. ‘Just the coffee then, please.’
Chapman disappeared and shortly afterwards there was a knock at the cabin door.
‘Come in,’ called Sutton, sitting back down behind the desk so that he could rise politely to his feet. ‘Miss Browning, what a wholly unexpected pleas... ’ His greeting tailed away as he saw the beautiful face of his guest, radiant with joy as it came through the door, crumple at the sight of him.
‘Oh, Mr Sutton,’ she said. ‘I thought... that is to say... I was really….’
‘Miss Browning!’ he cried, taking both her hands and leading her to a chair. ‘How foolish of me! You were expecting to see Alex. Oh, what an intolerable disappointment I must be for you.’ Lydia looked at Sutton’s anxious face and laughed aloud in spite of her tears.
‘I am so very sorry, Mr Sutton,’ she said. ‘How rude you must think me. Today has been very emotional, but I shall regain my composure presently. I am of course delighted to see you again. Are you well?’
‘Very well, I thank you,’ he replied, passing across his handkerchief. ‘Beneath your current confusion you seem to be in good health, too,’ he added. This made Lydia smile again, and she wiped away the last of her tears.
‘I am fine, thank you, Mr Sutton,’ she said. ‘I have arrived in England this very day from India. My uncle succumbed to cholera in Bengal and my aunt and I decided to return home.’
‘I am sorry to hear that,’ said the commander of the Rush. ‘I had wondered at your wearing a black dress. My sincere condolences to you and Lady Ashton. I know how close you were to your uncle.’ Chapman came in with the coffee at that moment, and placed it on the desk.
‘Would you care for some coffee?’ he asked. ‘Or perhaps something stronger, after the shock of my not being Alexander?’
‘A cup of coffee would be most welcome, Mr Sutton,’ smiled Lydia. ‘As would be some intelligence of your friend. The last letter I had from Alex he was the commander of the Rush, and was blockading St Lucia. That is why, when I saw this ship as we came into Portsmouth, I had hoped to find him onboard.’
‘Oh my, so much has happened since then, Miss Browning,’ he said. ‘I hardly know where to begin. Shortly after the time that letter would have been written, we played our part in the capture of St Lucia from the French. We had barely defeated them when the Rush was involved in an action with a Spanish seventy-four, together with our old ship the Agrius. Alex was quite the hero of the hour, and earned his promotion to post captain as a result. I was promoted to command the Rush in his place, and he was sent home to convalesce.’
‘To convalesce?’ cried Lydia, spilling a little of her coffee into the saucer. ‘What is the matter with him?’ Into her mind came the image of Tom the pot man, stumping along the wharf beside her.
‘Calm yourself, Miss Browning,’ said Sutton, resting his hand on hers. ‘He is quite restored. He took a bullet in the shoulder, and was very bad for a while, but has since recovered. In fact he is but recently returned to active service. He has command of a very fine thirty-six gun frigate called Titan, and is now serving as part of Sir Edward Pellew’s Inshore Squadron off Brest, or at least that is where he should be. I am afraid it is hard to say with any degree of certainty in these strange times. If his people have succumbed to this wretched mutiny, God knows where he may be. I had heard that the disorder had spread to Plymouth and was affecting ships there, too.’
‘I so long to see him again, Mr Sutton,’ she said. ‘How can I best do that?’
‘The Titan will have to come back to Plymouth at some stage, if only to resupply,’ said Sutton. ‘You might write to him there, or at sea if mail is still being delivered to ships on station. Oh, or you could try to contact him through Betsey, his sister. She should know where he is. I know how deeply he regards you, Miss Browning. I am quite sure he will come and find you the moment he knows that you are back home.’
*****
‘There he is,’ hissed Sexton to the others. ‘That interfering black bastard.’ The group of men were crouched down out of sight behind the main mast where the huge column of oak passed through the lower deck on its way to the keel.
‘Are you sure about this, Dick?’ asked Morris Page. ‘He’s a dangerous looking brute, and the other one is bloody massive.’
‘Which is why we need them out of the way,’ said Sexton. ‘No need for you to worry. It will be me, Shane and the lads as will be running the risk here, Morris. You just have to slip away and get the Grunters.’
‘Why don’t we just stick the feckers ourselves?’ muttered Shane Kenny. ‘Toss their bodies over the side an’ all. It would be a lot easier.’
‘Because it is very doubtful the crew will rise with us if they think we’ve been killing fellow shipmates ourselves,’ explained Sexton. ‘This way is much tidier. Let the Grunters sign their own death warrant. Now you boys get into position, and I will lead them down into the trap.’
Kenny and his fellow Irishmen slipped down the main ladder way and disappeared into the gloom of the orlop deck under their feet. Sexton gave them a few minutes to get settled, and then left Page in hiding. He strode along the lower deck towards where Sedgwick and Evans stood deep in conversation.
‘Out of my way, you fucking ape,’ he spat towards the coxswain, as he barged past the two men.
‘Hey! Don’t you talk to my mate like that,’ shouted Evans towards the retreating back. Sexton held up an abusive finger as he clumped down the ladder way towards the hold. Evans started to follow but Sedgwick held him back.
‘It’s alright, Sam,’ he replied. ‘I have been called much worse than that. I am more interested in what our friend is about down on the orlop deck. He will up to no good, you can be certain of that. Come on, let’s follow him.’
As the two sailors made their way towards the hatch, Morris Page emerged from hiding. He smiled as he watched the head of Evans disappear from sight, then composed his face into one of distress and hurried away in the direction of the quarterdeck.
Down in the gloom of the orlop deck the two sailors searched for Sexton. Sedgwick had to stoop beneath the low beams, while poor Evans was almost bent double. They had passed the dank cable tier where Rosso had read Sexton’s note, and ahead of them stretched a corridor with locked doors on either side.
‘Where has he bleeding gone, then,’ whispered Evans. He pointed towards the corridor. ‘Down there is only the sail room and the boatswain’s store. Doubt if we will find him there.’
‘Would you be looking for me, lads?’ came a voice from off to one side. Sedgwick turned towards it just in time to receive a crashing blow to the side of his head. He reeled into Evans, knocking him off balance. The moment the two men were down they were set on from all sides. A flurry of kicks from out of the dark winded Sedgwick as he tried to get back up.
‘Get to a bulkhead,’ yelled Evans. He crawled forward through the rain of blows, dragging Sedgwick with him until he felt the solid timber of a store room wall rising up in front of him. He pulled himself upright and turned around, placing his back against the bulkhead. Reaching down he hauled his friend up and pushed him into place next to him. A shadowy figure loomed up close by him. He threw a crunching left hook towards the shape and felt the man’s head rock back as he collapsed into the other assailants. In the short interval of breathing space won by this blow, both men whipped out their clasp knives, and at the sight of their faint glitter in the gloom, their attackers backed away.
‘Nobody move!’ said a commanding voice. Evans and Sedgwick froze as Lieutenant Morton opened the shutters on his lantern and the dark space was suddenly light. Behind him stood a group of men, including Page.
‘Thank God for that, sir,’ bleated Sexton. ‘Those two were up to no good down here, and when I challenged them they attacked me. Look!’ He held up his arm. A long shallow cut ran across the mass of tattoos.
‘Me too, sir,’ whined one of the Irish seaman, holding out his left hand, which also dripped blood from another cut.
‘Why, you lying fuckers,’ roared Evans, stepping forwards. His former assailants all cowered away from him in fear.
‘I said nobody move, Evans,’ ordered Morton.
‘Sir, if I can explain what happened here... ’ began Sedgwick.
‘What explanation can you possibly offer?’ interrupted the lieutenant. ‘Knives drawn? Fellow shipmates injured? I have always thought it a mistake to promote your kind into positions of authority. Your savage instincts always come to the surface in time. It is in your nature.’
‘But sir... ’ persisted the coxswain.
‘Silence, I say!’ roared Morton. ‘I have heard all I want to from you. Master at arms! Disarm these two and place them in custody. Then take statements from everyone involved and bring them to Mr Taylor. Sexton, Murphy, you had best go and see the surgeon and get those cuts attended to.’
*****
Sexton was careful to maintain the pained expression that would be expected of a man who was fighting to suppress the agony of a nasty looking knife wound while he watched the two sailors being led away. As they disappeared from view it melted into a broad smile of triumph.
‘Well done, boys, that went about as sweet as it could have,’ he said. ‘I thought we was in trouble when that great ox punched you, Shane. I reckoned him to be a bit more tame after the kicking we gave them. He is a tough bastard to still have a shot like that, and no mistake.’
‘I am telling yous, I was nearly out cold,’ said Kenny, working his jaw from side to side. ‘I saw fecking stars when it landed.’
‘It was right lucky old Beaky Morton arrived when he did,’ continued Sexton. ‘You did alright there, Morris. What did you say to make him come?’
‘Oh, Mr Morton, sir, please come quick!’ playacted Page in a high-pitched voice. ‘Two of them new recruits are up to no good in the hold. I think they are planning to break into the spirit room. Some of the loyal hands are trying to stop them, but they have pulled out their knives and attacked them!’ The group all burst out laughing at this.
‘Ah, thank Christ for stupid fecking Grunters,’ chuckled Kenny. ‘So now we have those two out the way, what now?’
‘We act soon, lads,’ said Sexton, throwing his long arms around both men’s shoulders. ‘The rest of the fleet has risen, and we must join them. Now is our time.’
‘Are you sure that the fleet has mutinied, Dick?’ asked Page.
‘Yes, Morris, I know it for certain,’ answered Sexton. ‘Pipe knows it too, I reckon. That is why he stays on station and doesn’t go hunting for the rest of the squadron. The tinder is dry as bone, my friends. All we need now is a spark.’
Chapter 8
Revolting
‘Now are all the places set just right,’ muttered Taylor to himself as he walked around the wardroom and eyed the table with unease. ‘Britton, can you move the captain’s place a little aft, if you please.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ said the wardroom steward, ‘Back aft again, was it?’ He rattled the cutlery down on the table with unnecessary force as he moved the setting three inches to one side.
‘This is what comes of not having your own servants at home, John,’ said Morton in a stage whisper to his neighbour. ‘Let us hope he will not start polishing the silver next.’ Blake smiled at the second lieutenant’s joke.
‘George, do please stop your fretting,’ said Macpherson, shooting a withering glance towards Morton. ‘It will make no difference if the place setting is a wee bit this way or that. Come and take your chair, I pray, and have a glass with me. Britton, some wine for Mr Taylor, if you please. I have known Captain Clay longer than any of you. I can assure you that he is very natural in his manner. He is certainly no stickler on matters of ceremony and precedence, so I am sure that place there will answer well enough for him.’
‘It does still look very ill,’ sighed Taylor as he sat down at last. ‘The wardroom table is just a little too small for our numbers.’
‘It will not be the first time he has had to dine in a confined manner,’ said the marine. ‘Why, the wardroom on the Rush was barely half the size of this one.’
‘So do you know the captain well, Tom?’ asked Morton. ‘What sort of people are his family?’
‘I know a little of them, Edmund, but I cannot say I am closely acquainted with the Clays,’ replied the marine. ‘I know he has a mother and a younger sister, and I believe an uncle who may be employed by the Navy Board. But I think that you may ask him yourself, for if I am not deceived that is him now at the door.’
‘Really, do you think so?’ said Taylor, jumping up. ‘Oh, but the surgeon is not yet here. Why is that damned man never on time! Britton, will you pass the word for Mr Corbett, if you please, and ask him to make haste.’
‘My apologies, gentlemen, for being a little late,’ said Clay as he ducked under the low frame of the wardroom door. ‘I was visiting some of the hands in the sick bay, and was detained by Mr Corbett here, who was sharing a most interesting theory with me.’ The slight figure of the surgeon bobbed through the door behind his captain and slid along the row of officers’ cabin doors that lined the sides of the wardroom towards his place at the table. There was a considerable scraping of chairs as the officers who had been sitting down rose to their feet.
‘You are most welcome, sir,’ said Taylor as he stepped forward to grip his captain’s hand. ‘Your place is over there.’
‘Thank you, Mr Taylor,’ said Clay, as he squeezed with difficulty past the line of standing officers and their chairs. ‘Perhaps it might be easier if you gentlemen were to resume your places,’ he suggested. ‘I had forgotten how snug a wardroom can be, even on an eighteen-pounder frigate like ours. Ah, here we are at last,’ he exclaimed, as he squeezed into his chair and smiled around him.
‘What was the theory that detained you, sir?’ asked Taylor. ‘A glass of wine for the captain, if you please, Britton.’
‘Thank you,’ said Clay, accepting the drink. ‘It is really Mr Corbett’s theory, so perhaps he should expound on it, but it is certainly interesting. It concerns those two hands that you caught fighting, Mr Morton.’ All eyes looked towards the little surgeon, who blushed in consequence.
‘Eh, you see I was explaining to the captain that I had just finished dressing the knife wounds inflicted on Sexton and Murphy earlier this evening, and that in my opinion they did not look genuine.’
‘Why so?’ asked Morton, bridling a little. ‘Because I can assure you that the altercation that generated them was very much in earnest.’
‘It was the nature of the wounds that seemed wrong,’ explained the surgeon. ‘In my experience a man who uses a knife in anger will stab with it in fury. The wound that such a blow produces is a relatively small but deep puncture in his victim, and it is the depth of its penetration that is so often fatal. The wounds I dressed were impressively bloody at first sight, but when I washed them they proved to be quite superficial.’
‘How might they have been produced?’ asked Taylor.
‘I should say they were closer to what I would expect if a sharp blade had been drawn lightly across the skin,’ said Corbett.
‘Might the wounds not have been inflicted in a glancing fashion?’ persisted the second lieutenant. ‘Evans or Sedgwick may have caught their victims as they sprung back from the fray.’
‘No, I don’t believe that explanation will answer, Mr Morton,’ said the surgeon. ‘Wounds generated in such a tumult as you describe might indeed be shallow, but they would also be rather jagged and irregular,’ said Corbett. ‘These wounds are quite straight. Self inflicted harm is something a naval surgeon must be prepared to detect. They are an obvious device that a seaman might use to avoid an unpleasant or hazardous duty. In my opinion what I treated today were two such wounds.’
‘Did you see the knife blows fall, Mr Morton, or just the aftermath?’ asked Clay.
‘I did not observe the actually blows being struck as such, sir,’ conceded the lieutenant. ‘I arrived just after that moment.’
‘Did either man’s blade appear to be bloody?’ asked Macpherson. ‘Or were their clothes marked by the blood of their victims?
‘In truth, I did not notice one way or the other,’ said Morton, after a pause. ‘I am sure the Master at Arms would have made a record of such particulars. Shall I have him sent for, sir?’
‘Not now, Mr Morton. Let us not turn the fine meal you have invited me to into an inquest,’ said Clay. ‘We can resolve such matters latter. What I will say is that I do have firsthand experience of the character of both Evans and Sedgwick. You gentlemen have direct experience of the mutinous behaviour that Sexton and his associates are capable of. Should it come down to a matter as to whose version of events we should give credence to, I believe it is clear where we must place our trust.’ There was a rumble of assent from the officers around the table. Morton looked as if he was about to say something further, but then thought better of it.
‘Before you joined us tonight, sir,’ said Taylor, wanting to move the conversation on, ‘Mr Morton had asked Mr Macpherson if he knew any particulars concerning your background, which in truth he knows little enough of. If it is not an impertinence, might you tell us a little of your origins... sorry, one moment please. What is it, Britton?’ The steward bent down to whisper into the first lieutenant’s ear. ‘Really? Can it not wait? Oh very well. Mr Haywood, Cook would like a word with you. He is waiting outside. Apparently it is urgent.’
