A Close Run Thing

by David Donachie

  ‘The servant?’

  ‘Gone,’ Oliphant hissed. ‘As I assume is the girl by now.’

  ‘Did the servant say anything more about a boat?’

  ‘He repeated that efforts are being made to find one, but when I asked him how long that might take all I got was a shrug.’

  ‘We just have to trust them,’ Pearce insisted. Even in the gloom he could pick up Oliphant’s misgivings. ‘They’ve stood by us till now, have they not? They could have easily used that tunnel and left us to our fate.’

  Eyes now adjusted to the gloom, he was examining his surroundings – not that it took long, for they did not amount to much. There was barely enough room for both men and only one cot, with a grubby blanket. In one corner sat a tiny, much-scarred table, which looked as if it had been used for gutting fish. Under it sat a small barrel, which probably would serve as the only place to sit. To the side of the entrance there was a charcoal brazier on which the owner could, if he wished, cook his catch.

  ‘Food?’ he asked, as that pointed to a need.

  ‘Will be brought, and water.’ Oliphant paused before adding. ‘And there are rods outside with which we can fish.’ There was a lengthy pause before he added, ‘We’re not in a safe place Pearce.’

  ‘Which hardly needs to be said.’

  ‘I don’t mean this hut.’

  ‘Even if I agree with you, I cannot think how we are to go about improving it.’

  ‘So you’re content to rely entirely on the old man?’

  ‘Content no, but certain we must.’

  ‘I disagree.’

  ‘Something you’re prone to,’ was the acerbic response.

  ‘I hope, as do you, they will find the means to meet our needs, but what if they struggle? I grant you they’ve been clever and, I’m as sure as I can be, their identity is unknown to whoever was clattering on that door. But who are they and how many do they constitute? Is it one old man and a girl, or a large and active conspiracy? What if we are in the hands of the only people in the whole of this part of the world who can aid us?’

  The silence that greeted the point encouraged Oliphant to continue. ‘I’ve told you I’m never happy to be dependent on others. I would go as far as to say I’m only alive now because I have had a care to avoid being so.’

  The response was larded with irony. ‘Do I sense a proposition?’

  ‘On the way to this hovel, the servant and I moved with little difficulty, down and across the canal, this at a time when the local forces were supposedly on the lookout.’

  ‘People whom we last heard hammering and demanding entry and they will still be occupied. It will require the door to be broken down and they’ll find nothing. In time they’ll surely discover the tunnel entrance, but that has been blocked so will lead them nowhere.’

  Oliphant acknowledged the point; preoccupied, those doing the chasing might still be looking for them in the wrong place. He then moved onto another point, namely that such a situation would not last.

  ‘I have no idea which route you took, but it revealed to me a large number of boats lining the canal. If what you told me on the way here is true, some must be crewed by our fellow countrymen and the intention was to get us away just after the turn of the high tide?’

  The plan, obviously, had been to put them aboard a smuggler: who else would be sailing out of Gravelines on course for England? An immediate set of questions then arose: which one had agreed to the plan, how could they locate them and was there time to find out?

  ‘It was said plain such a course was no longer safe.’ That engendered another possibility. Were they now seeking a replacement, and if not, could they find one without help? ‘If we can, we could perhaps offer them money.’

  Pearce pulled out the small purse and threw it to Oliphant. ‘Unless you have means of which I’m unaware, that’s all we possess.’

  ‘A tempting sum could be offered …’

  ‘From where?’

  Oliphant barked at him in reply, given Pearce was being obtuse. ‘Henry Dundas, the man who sent us on this damned errand.’

  ‘You repose more faith in him than I do.’

  ‘Would you accept it is worth the attempt?’

  ‘Only if we have no other recourse. But we are not yet so desperate. Let’s wait and see what our friends can arrange.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  Between these two men, with time to kill – and they had been gifted with ample before now – normal conversation tended to be stilted. Quite often there was none at all, mainly because Oliphant was secretive to a high degree. Anything regarding his background or prior actions, just like his true name, were never to be openly discussed. Pearce had no inclination to air his own concerns, past exploits or discuss his previous life. This left only that which had occurred between, as well as to them, since they first met. Naturally, much of that had been covered on their journey. There was not much more to say.

  Oliphant spoke eventually, ending a long silence ‘I still think we should plan to escape unaided, as a precaution.’

  ‘Why?’

  Pearce asked this wearily, given the same point, in various forms, had been briefly alluded to more than once. Sat on the barrel, the folded cloak easing the discomfort, he was no more content than his companion, but less inclined to say so on the grounds that speculation was useless. Oliphant was not to be put off.

  ‘I fear I must repeat that when getting a boat was mentioned, it was not put forward with even approaching certainty. The same with the servant who fetched me here. A blank look and a shrug is all I got when I enquired, and that does nothing to provide reassurance.’

  ‘He’s a servant. It requires to be arranged, but by his master, not him.’

  ‘A boat, the old man said, not a ship. What do they mean by a boat?’

  ‘He said boarding in the port would be too risky now. I would guess they mean a rowing boat to carry us from the beach to a waiting ship.’

  ‘And how long will that take, when we are at imminent risk of discovery?’

  ‘Whatever time is required,’ was the reply of a man clearly becoming exasperated.

  ‘Time we might not have. Those pursuing us will start searching the town when they find the house empty. Since we’re not there to be found, how long before the search extends to the country around?’

  ‘A bridge to be crossed when the need arises.’

  Oliphant looked him up and down. ‘Not dressed in that garb. It would help, either way, to get you some more suitable clothing.’

  The small purse was alluded to once more. ‘There’s barely enough in here to buy a loaf of bread.’

  Silence descended once more, each man lost within their own thoughts, but it was clear Oliphant was chafing at the inactivity. He clearly craved to be doing something, anything, other than sitting waiting for the efforts of possible unseen rescuers, not aided by his obvious anxiety they might never arrive. When he spoke again his voice was more cheerful.

  ‘It occurs we’re better found than you know, Pearce. Those silver buckles on your shoes will fetch a pretty penny. Even your breeches and coat can be sold.’

  ‘Sold?’

  ‘A change of clothing is something I’ve been obliged to find in the past, and in a hurry.’

  ‘I’m tempted to ask why.’

  ‘While I will say, if you cannot guess, you’re a fool. Clothing identifies you: it’s not a face that betrays a man to a stranger, but the colour and cut of his garments as described. Need I refer to what you’re wearing?’

  Pearce was left with no choice but to shake his head. He had no doubt that, undisturbed this morning, and in executing whatever plan had been put in place, he would have been obliged to discard or cover up his uniform. If they were to be taken off by a smuggler, and he could not see it being carried out any other way, the sight of a naval officer was not one to comfort men intent on cheating the Revenue.

  ‘I reckon it a good notion to purchase garments similar to mine, and I’d expect, s
elling what you possess, to have funds left over.’

  ‘You’re surely not proposing to go back into Gravelines?’

  The reply was full of irony. ‘Unless you can find a market outside.’

  ‘You do not apprehend that being dangerous?’

  ‘Of course it’s dangerous. But you stepping out as you’re now dressed, and without that cloak you’re sitting on, would be fatal.’

  ‘Our friends are aware of the problem.’

  ‘Once more you are content to rely on them. Believe me, it’s never wise.’

  ‘While wandering around a town where we’re being looked for is?’

  ‘Sitting here doing nothing I cannot abide. So let me try to affect something, which will be necessary anyway, especially if we suddenly find soldiers approaching this hut and we have to flee.’

  ‘And what do I do?’

  ‘Wait, what else can you do?’

  Sat on the low cot, wrapped in the boat cloak, John Pearce felt absurdly vulnerable. Oliphant was right; if the local soldiery did not find them in a search of the town, anything bordering the sea presented an obvious place to look, and he had a morbid fear it might happen soon. The thought of being captured was not a pleasant one in any case, but to be taken in nothing but your small clothes seemed to add extra humiliation.

  His companion had departed with his buckles and outer clothing; all he had left were the buttons prised off his coat and a naval scraper no one in this part of the world would choose to be seen in. If Oliphant had seemed sure of what he was about, the owner had been much less confident and became less so as time wore on. Surely those in pursuit would have an eye on the kind of places where such things as clothes were pawned, bought and sold?

  Normally he possessed too active a mind for gloomy contemplation. Pearce was struck with that now, not only gnawing on his present concerns, but reprising how he had come to this wretched state. He cursed himself for allowing that slimy politician, Henry Dundas, to talk him into the mission, only to remind himself it had not been him alone. William Pitt had been equally instrumental in selling the proposition.

  It seemed to be flattery now, the notion he could help to bring about an end to a war going far from well, one which was costing Britannia a fortune. This was not only in its own military expenditures, but also ballooned by subsidies disbursed to its allies, without which they would not, could not, fight the common enemy.

  Being under a cloud at the Admiralty had also been a factor, of course. Pearce had been lucky previously to be in receipt of a command – more than one, in fact. Circumstances and the particular needs of fighting in the Mediterranean had been a major factor. Now he was home, in colder climes, and that applied not just to the weather, which induced a degree of rising resentment. His rank might have come about in a manner his naval peers found questionable, but surely his successful actions, so many of them carrying the risk of death or serious injury, should have moderated the animosity.

  ‘And where in the name of the devil is Oliphant, anyway?’

  He said it out loud, in an attempt to both ease his mood, as well as shift his mind away from such depressing ruminations. Also at the centre of his concerns, and too hard to dismiss, sat Emily Barclay. He needed to prove to her his ability to make his own way in the world, without laying a finger on the money she had inherited from her swine of a husband.

  Pearce could never bring himself to curse the mother of his child, but he had no trouble in damning her insistence on respectability. They could have been happy without the bounds of matrimony and the constraints of her being a recent widow. Society demanded she behave in the prescribed manner and would be scandalised if she did not. This she could not abide. He didn’t give a damn.

  Round and round whirled these thoughts, while being cut off from the only people with whom he might have been able to share them didn’t help. And that only served to raise another concern. Were his friends prospering or, had he, by his manoeuvres, and not for the first time, exposed them to risk? The faces of Michael O’Hagan, Charlie Taverner and Rufus Dommet swam before his eyes, along with the memory of the foul winter night, years past now, in which they had been taken from the Pelican Tavern by a press gang. How much they had shared since – and it might never be any more.

  Sailing on a privateer, maybe they were at sea and in profit, not idle and sitting in harbour. Yet such employment was hazardous to a massive degree. The boats issuing from the small port of Shoreham were not, as he had noted on his first visit, deep-sea vessels, destined for long voyages to open waters. This was a less hazardous pursuit. Far from home, the chance of encountering an enemy warship was minimal, with captures being easier due to the laxity of merchant captains. From what Pearce had observed, the man under whom they were serving, given the size and ordnance on his ship, would be obliged to seek his quarry in the confined waters of the English Channel, occasionally maybe venturing south into the Bay of Biscay.

  These were, of course, waters patrolled by the Royal Navy, an always present Inshore Squadron to watch the port of Brest. But they were also a hunting ground for French sloops, corvettes and even frigates, which took no account of enemy letters of marque. They lived by preying on British trade and some of them were likely to be better armed and manned than their English rivals.

  In conjuring up an image of the trio, he wondered how they would react to his present situation, which lightened his mood and brought forth a grin. There would be some sharp and disparaging comments from O’Hagan; the huge Irishman had never been shy of telling him if he thought he was being a fool. Charlie Taverner would exercise his cutting wit while young Rufus Dommet, less accomplished in the article of jocularity, would probably say something inappropriate or incomprehensible.

  ‘What in the name of the Lord are you grinning at?’

  Oliphant asked this from the pulled-back tarpaulin. Pearce just shook his head, not wishing to share his thoughts, staring instead at the bundle his companion had under his arm. The look, when the direction was noted, had Oliphant pull a crabbed face.

  ‘This is a godforsaken spot for poverty, Pearce. There’s scarce enough coin for the locals to purchase the means to eat never mind clothe themselves, and poor is the stuff being sold.’

  ‘Yet you obviously managed to trade.’

  ‘Had to be done with a sharp eye out. But the men set to watch for us, if indeed they were that, stood out like Job’s wife. Pillars of salt would have had more subtlety. I have to admit, those from whom I was buying were as alert to their being around. Most of my exchanges were done in deep doorways.’

  ‘If you can forgo the boasting, how did we fare?’

  ‘I,’ Oliphant responded, with great emphasis, ‘have done better than expected.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I refused to trade for those useless paper assignats issued by Paris, hence the length of time I was gone. Got a good exchange in Prussian crowns for your broadcloth coat, lack of buttons notwithstanding. But the buckles were the bonus, even if the rogue who bought them tried to dun me by denying they were true silver. Said the hallmarks could have been forged.’

  ‘They’re Italian.’

  ‘I suggested he weigh them and that stymied the sod, though he haggled for an age. I had to take his price in the end, for it came in Dutch guilders and a half-Louis d’or. Pity, they must have set you back a great deal, but you have to accept I was never going to get the full value.’

  Acknowledging the truth took Pearce back to Brindisi, on the Adriatic, the previous year. He was flush with his share of the spoils from the sale of a couple of fat French merchantmen, sold as prizes to the local British trading fraternity. Since he was trapped in the port, with a seriously wounded captain, he had decided to travel to Naples to see Emily, residing in the home of Sir William and Lady Hamilton.

  The purchase of the buckles, to replace his previous plain pair, had been an attempt to impress her with his new-found prosperity, making the point about self-sufficiency on which he had so recently
been ruminating. All he could recall now was the somewhat cold reception, added to the fact that she hadn’t even noticed the new adornment, while his joy at her being pregnant was not really shared either. He was distracted from this return to a melancholy mood as various items were thrown on to the cot.

  ‘There you are: good flannel breeches and shirt, a leather waistcoat and a cap of liberty, so you will look the honest revolutionary. As to the time gone, I had another errand to fulfil and one, if you had the wit, you would see as necessary. I examined the boats tied up along the canal and tried to make out which were local and which might be owned by our fellow countrymen. I’m set on not sitting around and hoping.’

  ‘Then might I suggest,’ Pearce growled, ‘before the light goes and now I have suitable clothing, we examine our surroundings? Should we have to run, a knowledge of the terrain would be an advantage.’

  Oliphant was reluctant to admit it both right and something he should have thought of, so agreement was slow in coming. With pistols stuck in waistbands they exited, to check there was no sign of any threat from the town, nor was there any evidence of other humanity using the various huts they could see.

  So they set off, over ground often so soft and sandy it tugged at their feet, soon to observe that the surroundings were poor for concealment and they extended a long way. The beach ran for miles to the south and, with the tide out, it was deep. The whole landscape was utterly devoid of cover, bar the obverse side of a dune, or a bit of scrub or seagrass on the top. This might serve to hide in, but not for any time.

  ‘I feel less secure now than I did before we set out,’ Oliphant said, to which Pearce could not take issue. ‘We’re like game birds for anyone with a musket.’

  With the light fading in a clear sky, they made their way back to the hut, with an occasional wistful look out to sea. Their clothing was being tugged at by the kind of breeze on which Pearce could imagine a brisk rate of sailing. Inside it was near Stygian black, with no more than a modicum of approaching twilight coming through the gaps in the driftwood slats. Pearce found and then lit a stub of tallow, achieved by much sparking of flints, which revealed a basket laid under the cot. Opened, they found it contained bread, part of a smoked ham, as well as a flagon of what turned out to be cider.