by John Wilcox
‘Oh, I would not wish to stop your training, Captain,’ said Josh, eyeing the curved blade that shone in the afternoon sun. ‘I just wondered if your men who saved me from the sea were here today so that I could thank them personally.’
‘Ah, alas no. You’ve missed them once more. They are patrolling again. Pity. But come in, anyway. Can you handle a sword, Weyland?’
‘Well, I once had a lesson from a marine captain in Canton, who said he would make a man of me, but I fear I wasn’t much of a swordsman.’
‘Here, now. Try your hand with me. Hawkins, hand your weapon over to Mr Weyland.’
Josh blew out his cheeks. ‘Oh no, sir. I am just not mobile enough to match you, what with my leg in splints and all …’
‘Ah we won’t go at it that hard, Josh. Let me try and teach you how to handle a naval cutlass. As a sailor you ought to know. Now, stand over there and wedge your back into the wall so that you don’t overbalance and I will show you some of the basic moves and the responses to them.’ He smiled, teeth flashing white against his dark features. ‘You never know these days when you might need to display that kind of skill. Here, come now. Take the cutlass. Go about your duties, Hawkins.’
Reluctantly, Josh accepted the weapon and lurched across to the wall, where he laid down his crutch and braced himself against the stonework behind him. He took a deep breath. Was this some form of trial of strength he was being put to, or was Cunningham genuinely about to impart some knowledge?
‘Now,’ said the captain. ‘The first thing to remember about the cutlass is that it has a point as well as an edge.’ He held up the blade and fingered its end. ‘Because this thing is heavy and is curved, first-time users want to swing it so,’ he brought it down in a fearsome diagonal slash, a few inches from Josh’s nose. Josh steeled himself not to flinch.
‘So much time and effort is wasted that way. The thing to do is to thrust with it, so.’ He immediately bent his knee in classic fencing style and thrust forward incredibly quickly, so that the point of the blade hit the brickwork behind Josh’s ear with a crunch as the brick splintered.
Josh gulped.
‘So, two basic attacking moves. Now I will show you how to counter them. Stay with your back to the wall, but lift your blade to bring it down on my shoulder, as though you are going to split me in two. Go on, man, swing it down at me.’ He lowered his own weapon and thrust his head forward provocatively.
Josh did as he was told, half fearing he would cause some terrible injury for Cunningham was close to him. But before he could bring down the blade, the captain’s point was at his throat.
‘See?’ said his tutor. ‘When the blade is lifted in that crude fashion, it gives you time – if you use the point – to take advantage of the opening provided and thrust forward. Now you try it. Thrust as I swing my sword backwards for the downward lunge. Go on. You won’t hurt me, I promise you that.’
Half-heartedly, Josh did as he was told and, indeed, he was quick enough to beat the downward swing of his opponent and he could have caused serious injury had not Cunningham moved his head aside at the last moment.
‘Good,’ cried the captain. ‘That was good. Now let’s try it again.’
And so this strange gavotte danced by the two men – one fixed against the wall and with the bottom of his splints on his injured leg now thrust into the gravel at his feet to give him some sort of stability, the other moving backwards and forwards with the grace of a bullfighter, the hook on his left hand held incongruously high behind him – continued for several minutes.
Cunningham showed Josh how to deflect the thrust of his sword by using his own weapon to slide down the attacker’s blade and, with a last minute twist of the wrist, deflect it away. Because of his immobility, Josh could not assume the classic posture of the duellist, as demonstrated by the Preventer, but the quickness of his eye and the strength of his forearm did much to compensate and, after ten minutes, he was almost holding his own against a man who, it became clear, was an expert swordsman.
‘My word, Weyland.’ Cunningham lowered his sword and then brought the hilt up to his chin in salute. ‘You’ve done well. You could become a good swordsman if you kept at it. I salute you!’
Josh wiped the sweat from his forehead, threw the cutlass to the ground and picked up his crutch. ‘Well, thank you for the lesson … er … Jack. But I think I will leave the fighting to you chaps. It’s a mite too dangerous for me.’
‘Well done, anyway. Now come into my cabin and let’s have a brandy and soda.’
‘Thank you, sir, but it’s a little too early for me. But I would welcome a cup of your tea.’
‘Very well.’ The captain led the way inside and bellowed. ‘Brown. Tea for two and brandy and soda for me. Quickly now.’
Once inside the room – it was always ‘my cabin’ to the captain – Josh looked around him again with interest. ‘Do tell me, Jack,’ he asked. ‘Why do you have so many copies of the Lloyd’s Register on your shelves? I notice that Doctor Acland has as many, if not more. What is your interest?’
‘Well, I can’t answer for the doctor, but mine is a professional interest. I like to know as much as I can about the comings and goings up the Channel and I tend to keep the back copies for reference.’
‘Smuggling?’
‘Aye. You can never know too much about shipping movements in this game. The more you know about legitimate movements of our ships, the more you can be aware of strange vessels that poke in and out of our coves and tiny harbours on this coast. Here, take your tea.’
Josh frowned. He decided not to press the point. He sipped his tea gratefully and decided to try another tack.
‘The two chaps who rescued me. I seem to always miss them, so I would be grateful if you could give me their names so that I could write a brief note of thanks to them. It’s a bit difficult for me to keep climbing this damned hill to the barracks, but Emma can deliver the notes for me.’
For a moment the captain frowned. Was there uncertainty now in his expression? Then he recovered. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘They were Tom … er … Gardner and George Smith. If Emma brings me the notes I will see that the fellows get them. Mind you,’ he smiled, ‘I’m not sure that they can read. We don’t require literacy as a qualification for becoming a Preventer, you know.’
Ah, the names! Josh smiled to himself. Obviously a fabrication. But what a strange man was the captain! He certainly seemed to have some kind of affection for Josh. The schooling in swordsmanship seemed a genuine attempt to help the injured man have some kind of defence if attacked. But why, oh why, should he be attacked? What kind of community was it that he had blundered into? He drained his cup and staggered to his feet.
‘Thank you, Captain, for the lesson and the tea. I must be going. It takes me a month of Sundays to get up and down these hills and I shall catch a scolding from Ro—Emma if I am late.’
‘Of course. I will see you out.’ At the door in the high walls he held out his hand. ‘Call in anytime, Josh. But do be careful.’ His face was now deadly serious. ‘You are so vulnerable walking alone with a crutch on this terrain.’
Josh nodded slowly. Another warning! ‘Oh, I will, Jack. Yes, I will. I must buy me a cutlass.’ He grinned but the grin was not returned and the great door was slammed behind him.
If at the back of his mind he was concerned about a possible attack, he thought nothing of danger as he took a brief constitutional before supper on the following day with dusk approaching under dark clouds. He was standing in the semi-darkness on the little plateau just outside the hamlet looking out to sea when something made him look behind.
Two men were approaching. They were heavily wrapped, although the approaching darkness was not bringing a particular drop in temperature. Their heavy topcoats made it difficult to see, from their garments, what sort of men they were, but they had hats pulled well over their eyes and scarves covering the lower part of their faces. Ominously, they carried heavy sticks and they walked towards
him with a sense of purpose.
Josh looked around him quickly. There was no one else in sight. This was a time when the people of the Hartland street gossiped on their doorsteps but the road was deserted. He lifted his gaze to the high clifftop and there he was, the solitary horseman. Well, whoever he was, friend or foe, he was too far away to intervene. Josh’s eyes fastened on to a flat slab of rock that rose vertically from the cliff face and stood out from the gorse growing around it. At least it would protect his back. Reaching far forwards with his crutch he hopped and skipped towards it until he was able to flatten his back against it, rather as he had the day before when facing Cunningham – except that, this time, he had no cutlass.
What he did have, however, was the sailor’s knife that hung from his belt under his jacket. The two men had stopped, perhaps ten paces away from him, while they eyed him up and down.
‘What do you want?’ asked Josh. ‘I have no money with me.’
Then he produced his knife. It was a sizable weapon, the blade perhaps seven or eight inches long, and it shone in the faded light. ‘But I do have this and I know how to use it. Come along, then,’ he cried, presenting the tip of the blade towards them. ‘Come and have your throats cut.’
For the first time the two betrayed some uncertainty, then the taller of the two sprang forward, his stick raised high above his head. Immediately, Josh braced himself against the wall and pushed his crutch forwards, so that the tip caught the man squarely in the midriff, winding him. Quickly, Josh swung the crutch around and hit the other assailant across the cheekbone, causing him to cry out.
They both hung back and Josh realised that this would be the moment of truth. He could not defend himself against the two of them if they attacked at the same time. The crutch was no longer of much use to him so he threw it aside, twisted the bottom end of his splints into the turf to gain stability, transferred the knife from left to right hand and waited.
They did attack together, the taller one catching him a severe blow across the left shoulder, forcing him to cry out. But his stick struck the rock behind Josh’s head, breaking it off, and causing the man to unbalance. It gave Josh just enough time to slash the tip of his knife into his forearm, causing him to squeal in pain. Josh twisted the man around and hurled him against his companion who seemed uncertain how to tackle this cripple with a knife. Josh struck again with his blade cutting deeply across the cheek of the first attacker who fell to the ground, blood spurting from his fingers as he clutched at the wound.
The second assailant hesitated and then sprang forward, his cudgel lifted on high. Before he could bring it down, however, Josh thrust forward, in approved Cunningham fencing style, his left hand balancing himself against the stone slab behind him. The man averted his head just in time to avoid having the knife penetrate his cheek. Then he pulled away, cursing.
It was enough. The second man pulled the first to his feet and pushed him away. He cried something indecipherable, grabbed him by the collar and led him towards the path, looking behind him at Josh with startled eyes, as though fearing that he would pursue them.
His breast heaving, Josh shouted after them, ‘Tell whoever sent you that anyone who attacks me from now on will die. I can kill if I have to.’ He looked up to the top of the cliff but darkness had descended and he could not tell if the horseman remained there.
‘Josh, Josh, what has happened?’ Rowena was racing up the hill towards him, her hair flowing behind her. ‘Oh my God! Are you hurt?’
She saw the blood on the turf, let out a shriek and threw her arms around him and clutched him so tightly that Josh, without his crutch, nearly fell to the ground. Roughly, he pushed her away, anxious to regain his breath.
‘Now, now, Rowena. Don’t make a fuss. I’ve just had a crack across the shoulder, that’s all. But my pride has certainly been dented.’
‘Who? What? What happened? Tell me.’
He bent and retrieved his crutch. ‘I was standing, admiring the sunset, when these thugs attacked me. I told them I had no money but they came on. I think they were determined to give me a good beating.’
‘The swines! Did you glimpse their faces?’
‘No, and I probably wouldn’t recognise them if I did see them. One thing is clear, though. There will be a man somewhere near with two very nasty cuts on his arm and face and another with a bruised cheek. I don’t suppose they will come to your father for treatment, but if they do you must let me know. I have a score to settle.’
‘But Josh, why would they attack you?’
He sighed. ‘I suppose I am asking too many questions. Rowena, it seems that this is a village with much to hide. Come on. Help me down the hill; I could do with a taste of your father’s brandy – for medicinal purposes only, of course.’
Together they made their way down the hill towards the house, on whose doorstep the doctor had now appeared.
‘What’s this?’ he shouted. ‘You’ve been hurt. Come inside and let me look at that shoulder. What on earth is happening around here now? Come in, come in. Whatever next!’
‘Doctor,’ said Josh, ‘would you happen to have a glass of brandy I could taste? I feel in need of some restoration.’
‘Of course, of course, my dear fellow. Emma go on and open the dressing box. Quickly now.’
CHAPTER SIX
Once inside, while Rowena fussed with dressings, iodine and bandages, the doctor went to his desk and from a wide-bottomed ship’s decanter poured a glass of amber-coloured liquid, then, as an afterthought, another, which he held aloft.
‘This is an 1805 French cognac,’ he said, holding the glass up to the light. ‘Distilled in the year of Trafalgar, although I can’t say how it got here during the French wars. I think you will find it to your liking. Now, see if you can divest yourself of that coat, sit down and take a sip. Then tell me what happened.’
The brandy took Josh’s breath away but he could tell that it had a maturity and depth of taste that he had never experienced before. He winced and took another sip.
‘My word, Doctor,’ he spluttered. ‘Where did you get that? It is delicious.’
The doctor had the grace to look a little embarrassed. ‘Yes, well,’ he muttered, ‘good cognac is an indulgence of mine.’
‘It certainly is, Father.’ Rowena was frowning down at him. ‘As a man of medicine you drink too much of it.’
‘Umph! As a man of medicine, I have great respect for its remedial qualities. Now, keep still, young man, and let me look at that shoulder.’
He ran his finger along Josh’s exposed clavicle, dabbed away with iodine where the skin had been broken and then directed Rowena as she fixed a dressing and bandage to the shoulder – not the easiest part of the anatomy to which to apply a dressing.
‘Good. Nothing is broken. Now, tell me what happened. I want to know everything.’ The doctor spoke with a degree of emphasis that almost bordered on vehemence.
Josh told his story. At the end Rowena jumped in.
‘Father, he was so brave. There were two of them and he was alone and he couldn’t move properly but he fought them off. And all he had was a knife.’
Acland grunted. ‘Well, he certainly knew how to use it. I doubt if I shall be seeing these ruffians in my surgery asking for treatment, but I shall put the word out. Now, Weyland, why on earth should they attack you? We don’t have footpads in this village.’
Josh frowned. ‘I really don’t know, sir. I have done no one here any harm at all. I have … perhaps … well I have been asking people about the wreck of my ship and about that light I saw …’
‘You saw no light, young man.’
‘I am afraid, Doctor, that I must insist. I know what I saw and I saw the evidence. It seems to be that people here have something to hide and they do not like a stranger prying into these events. It’s all to do with wrecking, I suppose.’
The room fell silent. Then the doctor rose and refilled the two glasses from the brandy decanter.
‘Father, may
I … ?’ began Rowena.
‘You may not. Go and get yourself a glass of lemonade.’
Rowena stamped out of the room. The silence continued until broken by the doctor. ‘Weyland,’ he began.
‘Sir?’
The doctor levelled a stern gaze at him from under corrugated brows. ‘Can I trust you with my daughter, eh? Can I?’
‘What? Trust me? Of course, sir. I am engaged to be married to a clergyman’s daughter in Kent. I have come home to marry her and will do so as soon as I can travel.’
‘Ah. I see. That is good news. Yes, indeed. Well we shall get you away as soon as we can. In the meantime …’ He let the word hang in the air.
‘In the meantime, sir?’
‘Yes. Now listen. I think you must have disturbed people in this little hamlet; there seems no doubt about that. I think it would be wise if you stayed away from here for, say a couple of nights, at least.’
‘I see. Where would I go?’
‘I think Bude. Emma must go with you to take care of you …’
‘Oh, I think I can take care of myself now, sir.’
‘Yes. You probably can. But I don’t want you gallivanting about on those crutches. One slip could undo all my good work. Now, if you give me your word of honour that you will treat Emma with respect, I suggest that she should come with you. You have expressed an interest in the tinners, I understand. Well, there are no mines near here but they very much exist further down the coast. I suggest you go with Emma in the donkey cart. There is an excellent inn at Bude where you can stay for a couple of nights. I know the proprietor there and you can use that as your base.’
The doctor looked over his shoulder to ensure that Rowena was not near. ‘Now, I have your word that you will respect my daughter as an inexperienced young woman and I am prepared to trust you. But, Emma …’
He let the word hang again. ‘Weyland, you must have noticed that she is a … what shall I say … strong-willed young woman. I love her with all my heart but I do worry about her and the romantic notions that she carries …’
