Game of Bones

by David Donachie

  ‘Do you know the position of the fleet?’

  ‘Naturally,’ Rykert replied, as he poured two glasses. ‘Amethyst is one of the patrolling frigates responsible for warning Bridport of any French activity.’

  ‘Then we shall agree to a trade. I will tell you how I came to have such an unusual top hamper, if you tell me where I can find Queen Charlotte.’

  Rykert put the stopper back in the decanter and stood still, his back to his visitor. Harry had no doubt what he was thinking: given what had happened at Spithead, and the subsequent events at the Nore, why that particular ship? It underlined to Harry once more just how clever Rykert was, and how careful with his words he would need to be.

  ‘I take it Admiral Bridport’s course and speed are not secret.’

  ‘No,’ the naval officer replied, a troubled look in his eye as he returned to sit at his desk, ‘but then neither are they common knowledge.’

  Harry picked up Parker’s letter. ‘It does say in here that I’m to be rendered every assistance.’

  Rykert suddenly looked up, his frown clearing. ‘And you shall be, Ludlow. Just as long as you are as open with me as I am prepared to be with you.’

  ‘Let me tell you about the trouble I had getting my ship back.’

  Rykert smiled. ‘I am happy to listen, just as long as you don’t depart without telling me the rest.’

  As Harry explained what had happened with Tressoir, his mind was working on another level. His host was not going to give him the position and course of the fleet unless it was explained to him why it was required. Very likely, Rykert had heard how Harry had become involved in matters aboard London, and the way he had financed that lavish funeral. That provided no more than a trace of a suspicious connection. But to a man who prided himself on his razor-sharp mind that was enough to latch on to.

  ‘Damn me, I never heard the like,’ Rykert said, interrupting the conclusion of Harry’s tale as he went to refill the glasses. ‘And if I didn’t know you, I’d say you was making it up.’

  ‘My luck was at its very best. As good as Nelson’s must have been at St Vincent.’

  ‘And then some more, Ludlow. From the sound of it you had all the angels in your corner.’

  Harry took the glass off him and continued. ‘Tressoir didn’t follow us out to sea, and though Lothian scraped the bottom on one occasion we got her out into deep water on the flood. Then it was beg, borrow, and steal in the article of rigging, which is why Bucephalas looks so odd, and no end of trouble parcelling out enough of a crew to man three ships.’

  ‘And where are the others now?’

  ‘Lothian, as my prize, is heading for Portsmouth, with a pleasant surprise for Sir Peter, then to join Good Intent which should be on course for the Downs.’

  ‘You’ll have made a tidy sum, then,’ his eyes alight, proving that even he, with all his brains, was as excited by prize money as any other sailor.

  ‘I need it, Rykert. My London bank went belly-up while I was away in the Caribbean. The proceeds from the Lothian will do no more than clear my debts.’

  ‘Sad to hear it, Ludlow,’ Rykert replied, with very little sincerity. ‘So! Now we come to the business of the fleet?’

  ‘I need to speak with Admiral Bridport.’

  ‘Might I ask why?’

  ‘I won’t pretend to you—’

  Rykert interrupted him, ‘That would be unwise.’

  ‘—since I’ll never get off this ship if I don’t.’

  ‘Hardly ‘never,’ but it could take some time.’

  ‘What do you think are the chances of another mutiny?’

  That stumped him. He didn’t want to say yes, but in all conscience, he couldn’t say no. Harry took the advantage to continue.

  ‘I have something to say to Admiral Bridport that might help him avoid it.’

  ‘And what would that be?’

  ‘At the moment it is nothing more than speculation. I was recently at the Nore, and I had a run in with the leader of the delegates, a fellow called Parker, funnily enough.’

  ‘You do get about, Ludlow, don’t you?’

  Harry, with as much ostentation as he could muster, picked up Sir Peter Parker’s instructions. ‘You will appreciate that what I have to tell Admiral Bridport is confidential.’

  Rykert had his eyes fixed firmly on the back of the letter, with Harry thinking that he could see the man’s mind working. Would an admiral like Sir Peter Parker give carte blanche to Harry Ludlow? And why had he used that name, common to two admirals and a mutiny delegate, in that knowing way?

  Harry spoke again, pressing home the advantage he’d gained from his host being too clever by half. ‘Naturally, once I have spoken with Bridport, I will be happy to pass on those same notions to you, that is if he has no objections.’

  ‘Do you have charts?’ Rykert asked, standing up abruptly.

  ‘Some.’

  ‘Then I’ll give you a copy of mine.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Just be sure to tell Bridport and Sir Peter how eager I was to expedite your journey.’

  ‘It will be almost the first thing I say.’

  ‘How do you think it will look, Ludlow?’ snapped Bridport, as he paced back and forth, a short silhouette against the long line of casement windows. ‘You come aboard my ship, having arrived amongst the fleet in something that looks like an April Fool’s jest, then immediately ask to see Valentine Joyce.’

  ‘I didn’t have the time to wait until you anchored at Spithead again. The persons I represent bade me chase you here, since they feel the matter to be pressing.’

  ‘They’re worse than that if the latest dispatch is to be believed.’ Harry had to bite his tongue, since to ask what that contained would only weaken his case. But fortunately Bridport seemed only too keen to elaborate. ‘The swine have blockaded London.’

  The admiral didn’t see Harry’s face fall. But it did, with the realization that what had been an errand to cover his back might actually turn out to be important. He’d fully expected that the men at the Nore would have come to their senses by now, and that the mutiny would be over.

  ‘Is it successful?’

  ‘Very. And all for something as stupid as shore leave.’

  ‘Which was denied at Spithead,’ Harry replied, just to make conversation while he ordered his thoughts.

  ‘And rightly so, Ludlow. Can you imagine it, men going home every time their ship berthed?! What kind of navy would that be? We’d never get them back again, and as for a bigger share of prize money, I ask you, where is that to come from if not from the pockets of hard-up senior officers?’

  That was difficult to swallow, since Harry had rarely met an employed admiral who hadn’t made a fortune, including his own father, though that brought back the painful memory that he’d managed to lose everything that same parent had acquired.

  ‘Has there been any violence?’

  ‘Plenty!’ Bridport barked, as he stopped and looked down at his feet. ‘Buckner shut them off from the shore, and any hope of supplies, so they stopped any ships from getting up to the Pool of London. Then there was trouble at Yarmouth. Some fool sent Captain Bligh up there. Imagine sending Breadfruit Bligh to stop a mutiny? He’d already been turfed out of his own ship, the Director, at the Nore. He’d not been in Yarmouth for an hour before five of Duncan’s line-of-battle ships were en route to the Medway.’

  ‘What did Admiral Duncan do?’

  ‘What could he do? The Dutch are holed up in the Texel. He’s gone to try and keep them there with two ships, God help him.’

  ‘What steps are they taking to satisfy the mutineers?’

  ‘There’ll be no satisfying them this time, Ludlow. They’ve partaken of open rebellion, despite what they say about loyalty to the King. Sir Erasmus Gower has a ship-of-the-line at Gravesend, and is preparing to attack downstream.’

  ‘One ship.’

  Bridport wasn’t really listening, lost as he was in his own sorry tale. �
��They fired on Repulse when she sought to come back to her duty. And the thought of that sort of action continuing worries me more than anything.’

  ‘With Duncan off the Texel, you, and the fleet you command, might be called upon to intervene?’

  Bridport sounded very low when he responded to that query, all notion of fiery, warrior rhetoric absent from the reply.

  ‘Will they obey if they are asked, Ludlow? That’s the rub. I have stated categorically that I’m against the very idea. But if I’m ordered to do so, I’ll be obliged to attempt to obey. We cannot leave these people blockading London, and Billy Pitt and Dundas have said so in no uncertain terms.’

  ‘What about Spencer?’

  ‘Just as bellicose. He thinks they rubbed his nose in the ordure at Spithead. He’ll not stand for the same thing again.’

  ‘These are Admiral Duncan’s ships, surely—’

  Bridport cut across him. ‘Pitt maintains that the Dutch are a bigger menace at this moment than the French. Which only goes to show that he might be bright in the political line but he’s an ass when it comes to naval strategy.’

  ‘But they’ll fight the enemy if they come.’

  ‘Pitt doesn’t believe they will. Not because of the sailors, but because of the agitators he is sure are in their midst.’

  Harry remained silent, wondering if he should mention his dealings with Pitt. Bridport spun round to face him, the heavily lidded blue eyes boring into his. ‘Would your seeing Joyce do anything to avoid that?’

  ‘It might,’ Harry replied, then seeing the disappointment on Bridport’s face, he hurriedly added, ‘It can do no harm, sir, especially if I see him alone.’

  ‘Wait on deck.’

  Harry paced the planking, just by the quarterdeck rail, the subject of much speculation both before the mast and aft. He’d said nothing to anyone but the admiral, but he knew how quickly news spread. The messenger, Bridport’s flag-lieutenant, coming towards him, raised the level of curiosity even further.

  ‘The person you’ve come to see is in the admiral’s day cabin.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Harry went down the companionway, but instead of making his way straight to the door that led aft to Bridport’s quarters, he dropped down to the entry port, calling to his boat to come alongside. As arranged, Pender and Flowers came aboard, his servant, seemingly in deep conversation with his captain, covering the quick exchange that took place between Flowers and Harry. Then he asked the officer of the watch if his men could be given a drink and some food, before climbing the companionway and making his way towards the marine sentry that guarded the door to the inner sanctum.

  Joyce stood up as he entered, his look half fearful, half curious. ‘I hope you ain’t come to place a rope round my neck?’

  ‘Sit down, Mr Joyce, over here.’

  Harry pointed towards the foot-lockers underneath the casements, well away from all the doors that led off the room. After a quick check to ensure there was no one on the after-gallery that ran round the stern, there for the admiral to take the air in peace, he sat down with him.

  ‘I have no time for lengthy explanation, Mr Joyce. And in truth, pushed, I’d be hard put to justify my being here.’

  ‘Then why come?’

  ‘Have you heard how bad things are at the Nore?’ Joyce thought for a bit, then nodded, clearly aware that Harry Ludlow knew how news like that would fly round a ship. ‘Would you like to advance a reason why that is?’

  ‘No, Captain Ludlow, I would not.’

  ‘I met Richard Parker.’ Joyce was good at controlling himself. Not so much as an eyelash flickered when the name was used. Harry felt then that he understood what a formidable negotiator this man had been. And he also reckoned that the only thing that would work would be complete honesty. Which is why he found himself doing the talking, and not the man he’d come to see. He explained about the different atmosphere, of the impression that not only were the demands greater, but that the men supposedly running things were doing anything but.

  ‘When I was told at Spithead that there were Jacobins behind the mutiny, I was hard pushed to believe it at first, and after the London incident utterly convinced it was untrue. If someone had asked me that question in the Chequers at Sheerness, I wouldn’t have been quite so certain.’

  ‘There are no Jacobins, Captain Ludlow, take my word for it.’

  ‘Then why is it so different?’

  ‘You said yourself they wanted to go one step better than us. It led them too far, that’s all.’

  ‘That doesn’t explain it.’

  ‘Poor leadership, then.’ Harry shook his head slowly, which produced the first slight hint of alarm in Joyce’s countenance. ‘Is my word good enough?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Harry, reaching into the side pocket of his coat, to fetch out what Flowers had slipped in there by the entry port. Pushing what he held on to the cushioned cover of the locker made Joyce look down, but even in that position Harry could see his eyes widen as he lifted his. ‘Especially if you explain to me the significance of these.’

  Joyce stared at the carved set of bones for a full minute without speaking. Harry, likewise, stayed silent, but more because what he’d started out with was a bluff. He had no idea what they meant now, but that they had some importance was obvious by Joyce’s reaction.

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘What will happen if you’re called upon to put down that mutiny?’

  ‘The men won’t do it, not to their own, regardless of how daft they’ve behaved.’

  ‘And what happens then?’

  ‘The devil to pay and no pitch hot,’ Joyce replied softly.

  Harry matched the gravity of his tone. ‘Which will end in open rebellion, something you’ve fought to avoid since this whole affair started. Even I, much as I sympathise, would be obliged to oppose you.’

  Joyce looked up, his clear, blue eyes fixing on Harry’s.

  ‘When I was aboard the London, after Havergood had been shot and just before you arrived, I heard several people playing these. No one else noticed, certainly not Colpoys or Ned Griffiths, being too taken with the risk to their own lives. In the Chequers, at Sheerness, a whole room of noisy sailors was brought to silence by the rattling of these. I have to tell you, Joyce, that I am here because Billy Pitt engaged me to help his nephew, a young man called Villiers.’

  ‘You’re on their side.’

  ‘No. I’m not on anyone’s side. But if there are Jacobins or French spies at the Nore, I need to know.’

  ‘To what end?’

  ‘Get the bastards out of there so that the men can settle without a bloodbath. That is, if it’s not too late.’

  ‘Just that?’ Joyce asked, the voice as steady as ever, though his jaw was showing some of the strain he was under.

  Harry never knew where the inspiration for his next words came from, he just knew he was right. ‘Richard Parker can’t control them the way you did.’

  Joyce was angry. Harry could see that in his eyes. But he kept his voice level. ‘It would have been better to be open from the first, Captain Ludlow, instead of pretending Richard Parker hadn’t told you.’

  ‘But he didn’t, Joyce, you did.’

  ‘There are no Jacobins, no French agitators.’

  ‘I am happy to be convinced,’ said Harry, slipping the bones back into his pocket.

  Another full minute went by before Joyce spoke again. ‘Everyone wants to see what’s not there. Why can’t they just accept that the men had grievances so bad that they could take no more? How do you think all this got started?’

  ‘With great difficulty,’ Harry replied.

  Joyce’s voice suddenly became full of passion, as the mask of the delegate was dropped to reveal the angry individual underneath. ‘You don’t know the half of it. The fleet weren’t happy, but at least the ship’s muster rolls were made up of true sailors. Then they brought in the quota men, and they had discontent in their
marrow before they ever set foot on a deck. But more’n that, a lot of them were book-learned. I’ve never met Richard Parker, but I know he was once a midshipman, and that before he was taken up on the quota he was an indebted teacher. He was typical of the sort that came aboard our fleet too.’

  ‘Unhappy themselves,’ said Harry, ‘and articulate enough to spread discontent.’

  ‘I don’t know the meaning of that word you just used, but it was just the sort for Parker’s type. Soon the whole lower deck of every ship was in ferment, with the Irish especially well prepared for bloody mutiny, though it wasn’t long before some doing the stirring realised that not every tar that agreed with them to their face did so in his heart. There was many a man prepared to whisper to the officers.’

  ‘So they needed secrecy.’

  ‘Yes. That and a way of identifying themselves.’

  ‘A rattle of bones.’

  ‘Only of a certain rhythm. Once they’d played their beat, they knew it was safe to talk, to exchange the code, even to someone from another ship altogether.’

  ‘But that doesn’t include you, Mr Joyce. You are neither a quota man nor a bloody revolutionary.’

  ‘Do you listen, Captain Ludlow? There are no bloody revolutionaries, and only one or two men who were prepared to spill blood to get their just deserts.’

  ‘Were?’

  ‘You can’t hide much on a ship, as you know. We, the petty officers, picked up a sniff very early of what was going on.’

  ‘And took over the mutiny?’

  Joyce didn’t respond to the question, he just kept on explaining, now looking at the back of his hand resting on the locker. ‘It was easy for us. We could meet without arousing suspicion, get ashore and send off petitions and the like. We said to the hotheads we would aid them, did a bit of background talking to the crew we knew were reliable, then when the time came to vote for delegates made sure it was us who got the task, and not the bone players.’