by Ron Pearse
Then as the smoke cleared everybody's eyes are riveted to the pistol. The man holding it shouted: "It's your moneybags we want, sirrahs. Deliver your purses and you won't get hurt. Into Harry's sack!” Harry is a man armed with a cutlass in one hand and holds a gray hemp sack who goes to each of the long tables to collect their valuables.
Maynwaring, busy with the fallen Danvers, ignored him and Harry shouted to the gunman: "Dick, show him the other barrel." In answer, Dick yelled: "There's a ball up there and there'll be one in your head if you don't cough up."
Harry called over for good measure: "He's a crack shot, as the Frenchies found out to their cost. Get your purses out, sirrahs, or, so help me God, I'll blow your brains out."
Belle Danvers had come round and Maynwaring helped her into a seat. Dick yelled at her: "You did well, mistwess. How about a wepeat performance." Evidently the villain had been one of the audience, but nobody laughed at his rendition.
Harry's eyes darted all around the room watching for any untoward movement. He was clearly nervous as the pistol shook in his right hand and once he steadied it with his left. His stare focussed on Godolphin's table set apart from the rest and as his accomplice, finished collecting from the two long tables, he yelled:
"Over there Dick, where I'm pointing," and Dick duly went over to be greeted by Spencer with reproof: "Is this the way to serve your country sir? Shouldn't you be lifting French purses?"
"Shut up, damn your eyes. Put your purse in the sack. Quick about it!"
Dick followed Harry's words with: “That's it, shut your cakehole or I'll blast you to kingdom come. Look in his waistcoat, Harry." This last order to rummage Godolphin's pockets from which Harry took a sheet of paper who threw it away yelling:
"Specie, damn you, specie. None of your bits of paper. Your purse, sir, or I'll cut your heart out." Godolphin complies grimly.
Dick called out: "The last table Harry, and hurry. Then we can scram."
Harry walked over gingerly, warily and something about the man sitting there at the table provokes the pistol toting Dick to come closer. He eyes his military looking coat with suspicion and for a moment both hesitate. Dick shouted:
"Where's your purse sirrah?"
The military looking man sits with his hands below the table. Dick stays at a distance covering the whole room as Harry approached with his sack and shouted: "Did you hear me, sirrah. Your purse, or your life."
The man still did not move and Harry shouted:
"Give it to him, Dick!" But Dick has to come closer as he knows the inaccuracy of pistols, and if he shoots, it must hit, so he approaches the table though conscious he is vulnerable takes a quick look around.
At that moment the man with the military coat lifts the table and using it as a shield advances on Dick, who fired. The ball glances off the table, and the man throws the table at Dick, who is now disarmed.
The military man draws his own cutlass. Harry shouts in vain:
"Reload Dick, damn you!" But the call is in vain because someone kicks the pistol away while several clients leap at him.
The military man yelled to Harry: "Now sirrah! It's you and me. A fair fight." He lunges towards Harry who retreats straight into the arms of Spencer who pinions his arms. Harry, unable to defend himself screams:
"Don't, don't, sir. Look, I'm unarmed."
The military man shouts: "That didn't seem to worry you till now." But though still wary, he makes no move to attack. Harry shouted at him:
"Who are you, sir? Your face looks familiar."
"Blackadder, sir. Colonel Blackadder, at your service."
Taking advantage of the momentary shock at this news Harry twisted himself out of Spencer's grasp and flashing his cutlass in slashing strokes soon had a space around him. As he cut the air in swathes, bits of wood flew off chairs as bystanders retreated. Blackadder was the only one who approached him yelling out his challenge:
"You want a fencing lesson, sir!"
Harry had his back against a window. His companion had been immobilised and could offer no help. Blackadder approached with his own weapon at the lunge position and ready for anything. He neared Harry and the bystanders let out a gasp as he barked:
"A fencing lesson, sir, which will be your last. First, we shall remove this insignia off your coat." With a deft stroke Blackadder cut off a shoulder flap, saying: "From the uniform you have disgraced."
Harry was petrified by now as he realised he was at the mercy of a master swordsman. Defiantly he yelled:
"You'll have to kill me, sir. I'll not be taken alive. What have I got to expect? A flogging of fifteen hundred lashes. I'm as good as dead."
So saying he swiped the air jumping to his left into free space, shouting: "Why didna you stay in Scotland, where you belong."
Blackadder, cooly removing a button from Harry's coat with a deft twist of his cutlass, riposted: "Because you Sassenachs insist we Scots join you. You cannot fight your own battles - on your own."
Spencer shot a quick glance at Godolphin on hearing the colonel's retort. Union with Scotland was just two years old.
Harry insisted: "Not me. I always gave Highlanders a wide berth."
Blackadder slashed twice and two cuts across Harry's coat made it clear, it was only a matter of time and Harry tried to parry his opponent's cutlass with strong movements, breathing hard. He hits at the colonel's cutlass and then the colonel tiring of the play, forces Harry's cutlass back, slides the blade along its length, gives a deft flick and the exhausted villain's cutlass flies into the air, landing on the wooden floor, hilt uppermost, the upright blade waving gently to and fro.
"I'll give you a chance to surrender, sir. Raise your arms and you live. Or take the cutlass and die."
Suddenly living seemed the preferred option and Harry slowly raised his arms. Spencer was at the colonel's side shouting: "Well done, colonel," and Blackadder twisted towards the speaker until he heard a bystander shout:
"Look out, colonel!"
Harry had treacherously seized his weapon and lunged at Blackadder but the old campaigner was still on guard and parried the blow. Choosing his spot, he runs Harry through the throat. The cutlass blade appears from the back of Harry's neck. In an instant he withdraws to escape the fountain of blood as Harry crashed to the floor to lay there momentarily writhing before the body is still.
A bystander shouts: "Was that necessary, sir. See, Mistress Belle has fainted again. And none of us are feeling very well."
Blackadder says, truculently: "And who may you be?"
"Tonson, colonel. At your service. I'm the proprietor of the Kit-Cat Club. Who's to pay for these splintered tables and chairs?"
"Why do you allow such riff-raff in, Mr Tonson? Methought it were for Whigs, for Parliamentarians."
Tonson said: "Military men are honorary members, sir, just like yourself."
Blackadder suddenly cast around him, asking: "Where is the other scoundrel?" To Spencer who was helping to bind the man's wrists, he said:
"Good work, sir." He holds out his hand saying: "Blackadder, colonel of the Scottish Highlanders Brigade."
"Spencer, colonel, your servant," said the other as Godolphin approached offering his hand: "Godolphin, Colonel Blackadder. Your servant, sir."
Blackadder now went over to the prone figure of Dick tied to a bench and stood over him, barking: "Your accomplice is dead sir, and you will be if you do not answer my questions." He turned to Tonson: "Send for a constable, sir. I beg you."
As Tonson gave orders to a serving man, Blackadder stood over the prisoner still looking threatening which provoked Maynwaring to protest:
"He's a prisoner, sir, as you can see. You would not harm an unarmed man!"
"And who may you be, sir?" said the colonel somewhat taken aback.
Maynwaring answered with his name adding: "The member of parliament for Preston, sir."
Blackadder made the usual civilities before saying: "The man's a deserter, sir." Turning to address the man said:
"Just you wait till the military have finished with you sirrah. You'll wish you had never been born."
Dick found his voice and complained: "You heard what Harry, my mate said, fifteen hundred lashes. I've seen flesh in strips gentlemen after five hundred."
Maynwaring shouted: "Barbaric. No wonder the army need to take men from prisons to boost their numbers. With such barbarity, is it any wonder? Anyway, colonel, how do you know he is a deserter? Is he in your brigade?"
"Had he been, sir," addressing Maynwaring, "he would not desert." Then ordered Dick: "Show us your right cheek, man! See that D. Tattooed with saddlers needles and gunpowder rubbed in to the punctures."
Mainwaring bent close to the man. Straightening he said to Spencer and Godolphin: "You can see why the D was hidden, my lords." He turned to Blackadder: "What are those blue scabs, colonel?" who answered:
"Flash burns, from gunpowder. This man's been in action. What campaigns, bombardier?" To Maynwaring: "Let him sit up, sir."
The man is allowed to sit on the bench and addresses the colonel. He says proudly: "I was at the siege of Maastricht, colonel, 1673."
Blackadder was quieter as he spoke: "Your name, sir."
"Drake, colonel. Richard Drake, ex-bombardier."
Blackadder threw down his sword, saying: "There's my hand, sir. Colonel Blackadder is proud to shake the hand of a man from the greatest siege in the history of the British Army. But how did it come to this, bombardier?"
"I was at Schellenberg, colonel, Blenheim, Ramillies, Oudenarde - that's where I got these burns. I've been a deserter, a powder monkey. I expected to be killed, but it never happened."
His voice trailed away and everybody was silent. Blackadder addressed the company:
“Here is a soldier of the British Army discharged with nothing. I tell you, gentlemen, there'll be thousands of Drakes before we are done with this war, and for years afterwards. Something must be done."
Nobody answers. The silence is broken by the appearance of a constable.
PART 4: PEACEMAKER
Chapter 19
Robert Harley was in ebullient mood. For some time he had anticipated the summons that had finally come. He knew the reason for the delay, his presence in St James Palace daily making him aware of the activity taking place in the formalized procedure of withdrawing the insignia of office from one minister in order to present them to the one about to be appointed. The queen had dropped hints of the matter and Harley was well aware of the formality involved. Had he not suffered a similar fate following his ill-fated attempt to topple the lord Godolphin two years before?
Yet anxious not to waste time, Harley had instructed his tailors to make a new suit in the finest materials befitting his new position in life. His new coat was soft to the touch in non-military black befitting his role in bringing about peace negotiations. The fashionable pockets were the only difference in style to his old coat being rounded with three buttons, his tailor assuring him it was the latest from Hanover and although the queen was reluctant to contemplate the prospect of George in person yet felt comforted by the thought that the Protestant succession was assured represented by Herr Bothmer who had presented his credentials a short while ago. Tiny though the new pocket fashion differed in style from the previous, its appearance on his coat reflecting the style of Hanover would, he hoped, reflect favourably upon Robert Harley, assiduous for appearance, if not for substance.
Harley had another treat waiting for him and this one was more immediate for waiting below was one of her majesty's carriages and in it, he had been informed, no less a person than the Duke of Somerset who had been charged by the queen to deliver the summons to Harley. It was a device learned from her late father-in-law, Willliam of Orange, whose custom had been to humiliate his courtiers by having them deliver his messages. If they refused they debarred themselves from court. As Harley made his way from his office in the House of Commons down the staircase and along the corridor which led out into the open air of Scotland Yard, he reflected on the moment the year before last when the same duke had brought the queen's council of war to a halt demanding Harley's dismissal. As he strode towards the carriage a flunkey opened the door, placed the steps for him to ascend and he did so to be greeted by the duke whose mouth was set in a forced smile accompanied by a mock cordiality. Silence reigned thereafter inside the coach broken only by the steps being replaced in position, the slam of the door and Somerset’s signal to the driver, to proceed.
Somerset stared ahead yet Harley felt no pity. The duke despised him doubtless in his own mind wondering, as likely as not, if the world had gone mad when personages such as his noble self were used as lackeys to summon baggages such as his fellow passenger. An outsider might have wondered why the duke permitted himself to be humiliated in this way. Why had he not refused to deliver the summons as was his right? The answer, a perfectly credible answer, lay with the distaff side of the Somersets. In short the duchess was liked by Anne and her warmth towards her was mutual. The duchess genuinely appreciated Anne and together the two women enjoyed each other's company. The duke had increasingly become aware that should he leave court, his wife would be obliged to quit and eventually he would lose a lucrative sinecure.
The duke of Somerset enjoyed status, position and power. Yet they were as naught in Anne's estimation compared to his wife's warmth, charisma and hence, influence and not only at court. The duchess was liked by the servants and tenants on the duke's estates as well as in the royal household. Even so the cachet of the duke's title had won him his place at court and in the government as Master of the Horse though the duke of Marlborough, the captain-general of the Army, ensured the senior duke directed his energies to the procurement of horses intended for the court alone. Nonetheless it was in this capacity that Somerset had won favour from her majesty for she loved horses and horse-racing, and they had shared many happy times at Ascot. Indeed it had been royal patronage that had established this new venue not far from London. It was a venue to which not only the posterity of future monarchs would be grateful, but also the general public as Royal Ascot would become a fashion high-spot, and not just for equine lovers.
This favour conferred upon him by the queen led the duke to believe she desired him to take a more active role in government once she had successfully extricated herself from the power of the Duumvirs (twins), the two men being her captain-general, the duke of Marlborough and the other, her lord high treasurer, the lord Godolphin, whom Somerset despised because of his lower status in nobility.
Yet as the two rode in the queen's carriage towards St James Palace, Somerset entertained the notion that once her majesty had sated her desire for revenge upon the Duumvirs, she would turn to him to fill the post of lord high treasurer. He knew the man sitting opposite him was to fill the post of chancellor of the exchequer while the treasury was placed in commission pending resolution as to who should fill its offices. This moment might smack of humiliation yet the prize thereafter would make it all worthwhile. As the carriage drew up in front of the Doric pillars fronting the main portal, the duke observed Harley take up his hat, wondering. He had no idea that Harley's tricorn hat, the ultra newest fashion, was a comment also on the difference between them. Harley represented new money which was transforming the face of England while landed gentlemen, such as the duke, were being squeezed losing influence, prestige and ultimately, power. The duke longed to know more but his sense of status overwhelmed his curiosity.
The carriage stopped and the duke graciously gestured for Harley to exit first. A supercilious smile played over Harley's mouth as he could not fail to notice the duke's attention directed to aspects of his toilette, and he purposefully balanced his tricorn hat to reveal its black beaver trimmed with gold lace, saying: "Your humble servant is obliged, your grace."
The duke gestured and Harley alighted waiting for the duke to follow suit whereupon both men walked together between the pillars of the wide passage leading to the entrance both delighting in the relative coolne
ss radiated by the stonework compared to the stuffy carriage, though whereas Harley wafted his hat before his face, Somerset haughtily suffered in silence.
Having escorted Harley to the queen's presence chamber handing him over to the chamberlain, he withdrew with a stiff: "Your servant, sir." But even as he left he heard her majesty's voice impatiently calling a page to usher Mr Harley into her presence and he could not stifle a gnawing feeling of envy and hatred as he made his way, grimfaced, towards the exit. On such an occasion, there was only one thing for it but to make his way to a place just off Cadogan Square, where in a grace and favour apartment tucked away in the royal mews sojourned his little lady, Susie. She would help him recover from his humiliation, and with a lighter step, he hurried to the address.
"It be so good to see you, Mr Harley." was the greeting from the queen before Somerset had departed. Anne smiled suffused with warmth on beholding her favourite advisor and Harley returned it with a lilt in his heart. Their eyes met. Hers darted with a gesture at the closing door representing her worries while Harley's dancing pupils reflected undiluted joy. Her first question anticipated sweet revenge upon her erstwhile enemies, as she cried: "Tell me about ye election, Mr Harley."
His reply evoked an even broader smile, almost a grin as he explained: "We gained over a hundred seats, ma'am in the House of Commons so we are assured of a majority in the lower house when it comes to a vote."
While he was speaking, she had pulled the ceiling cord and a servant appeared. It was the one disappointment as he knew his cousin, Mrs Masham, was still absent owing to her confinement for a pregnancy. He heard the queen call out:
"A cordial for my guest, Richards, if you please!" The servant eager to obey complied and then withdrew after delivering the two glasses; Harley respectfully waited until the queen sipped hers before he tasted it. It was warm and their eyes exchanged glances meaning that had Abigail served the cordial, it would have been cool on this warm August day. How she managed it he did not enquire, but as they sipped their drinks, they both sensed the missing presence and Anne nervously said:
