“Down in the boat, everyone,” he called softly, “and no talking.”
The moon appeared from behind the cloud, suddenly bathing the whole sea around them in a bright light. The silhouette of the barque was a good mile off now. If she saw the jolly-boat at all, it didn’t interest her enough to change course. The ship ploughed on, then disappeared as the next cloud obscured the moon.
“Are we allowed an explanation now, Harry?” whispered James.
Harry couldn’t resist baiting him a little now, since the matter had been resolved. He couldn’t catch that ship now, even if he wanted to.
“Is one necessary?”
“It most certainly is!” snapped Wentworth.
“The ship that was after the Planet was engaged in the same trade, I think. In other words, another smuggler. Bertles had cause to be frightened of whoever sails her. I shall show the same caution and avoid contact.”
“This is nonsense, Mr Ludlow,” said Wentworth. “How can you tell anything in the dark? It could well be a British warship. And I repeat, surely we’d be safer aboard that than stuck here in this coracle.”
“If it is a smuggler, it could be another Bertles, Mr Wentworth. Or maybe something even worse. I feel safer where we are.”
The young man was not mollified. “I do feel that we should be consulted as to any future course of action, Ludlow. I, for one, will not meekly submit myself to your instructions.”
“Shall I heave him over the side, Captain?” growled Pender, careful to make sure only Harry heard.
“I am at a loss to know whose instructions we should be under, Mr Wentworth,” said James sharply. “I will have you know that, at sea, I repose nothing but faith in my brother. If I enquired as to the situation, it was for the purpose of information, not to foment dissent.”
“I am not to be ordered about, sir,” snapped the young man. “Nor moved about the ocean at another’s whim.”
Surprisingly, it was Polly Franks who spoke, her voice small and subdued, but all the more effective for being so. “Do be quiet, Mr Wentworth. Or if you must speak, direct your breath on to the sail.”
“Let’s have the mast up again, Pender. Then break out some of that water and biscuit so we can fortify ourselves against the cold.”
“There’s brandy in my chest,” said Franks. “That may serve us better than ship’s water.”
“Splendid,” said Harry. “Let’s have a tot to raise our spirits.”
Both James and Wentworth grunted, but for entirely different reasons.
CHAPTER FIVE
WITH THE STARS to guide him, Harry was certain of his course, knowing that as the clouds came over again he only needed a steady hand on the tiller to maintain his heading. But the sky cleared again, with the moon dipping towards the earth, he couldn’t credit the evidence of his own eyes.
He’d spent enough time at sea looking for other ships to know that even with a rendezvous it was a very chancy business. Yet he was in the presence of both the ships he wished to avoid. The Planet was doing its best, with all sails set, but whoever was chasing Bertles was overhauling him easily.
The two ships were very close together, with the three-master edging down to take the Planet’s wind. Worse than that, they were heading straight for him. Harry cursed loudly, then apologised to Mrs Franks, as he put the boat about, sailing into the wind, well off their course.
He heard the sound of musket fire across the water, but nothing larger. In the main, smugglers relied on speed, superior skill, or guile to outwit any pursuer, rather than heavy armament: Bertles, supposedly a merchantman, had a couple of four-pounders on his deck, but they were so badly cared for that to fire them might endanger his own crew more than his enemy. The crack of the muskets grew louder, and with the space between shots Harry had the impression that it was only one gun replying. He recalled the faces of Bertles’s crew. Not sullen, but not well pleased at the way things had turned out. Perhaps they’d refused to fire off the guns, leaving their captain to do his best with a solitary musket.
The three-master took the wind right out of the Planet’s sails leaving them flapping uselessly, and put his helm down hard. Harry heard the crunch as the two ships collided, then the yells of the boarding party as they leapt aboard. He waited for the sound of battle joined, of metal on metal as sword and pike clashed, of the screams of men excited and wounded. Nothing came across the water except an eerie silence. With a quick glance at the sky, Harry trimmed the sail to bring the jolly-boat round. He put them on a heading that would take him past the stern of both vessels.
“They are between us and our landfall,” he said quickly. “Please maintain silence as we go round them.”
“For God’s sake, why, sir?” said Wentworth. “Surely Captain Bertles’s enemies must be our friends?”
A single scream came across the water, of a man in great pain. The kind of pain that precedes a slow death. The agonized voice rose and fell. Mrs Franks put her hands to her ears to shut out the horrifying sound. All eyes, bar hers, were on the two ships. The huge stern lanterns were now lit, creating a pool of light which clearly showed them lashed together. Harry edged away a fraction more, to stay out of the arc of those bright lights. “I don’t know who our friends are, Mr Wentworth,” said Harry. “You will forgive me if I treat them all as potential enemies until I’m sure.”
If Wentworth had words to say, they were checked by the final scream, a sound more terrifying than those that had gone before, followed by a cheer. Harry saw the blood-stained body rise from the deck, saw the legs kick wildly as the man was hauled up to hang by his neck from the maincourse yard.
Curiosity made Harry edge closer. He had the safety of those stern lanterns, which would illuminate anyone standing by the rail and make it near impossible for anyone aboard the ships to see beyond the circle of golden light into the darkness beyond. No one in the boat said a word. The voices from the deck, faint at first, grew suddenly clear across the calm water. Bertles was speaking desperately, though his words belied the tone.
“I’ll not beg, if’n that’s what you’re after.”
The voice that answered was high, almost girlish, with a singing quality and a rolling accent. But it carried, too, for it was full of amused disbelief. “Who says that begging will do for you? You’re way beyond that, Tobias Bertles. There’s only one fate for a thievin’ git like you.”
“So string me up, like you did to him, an’ get it over with.”
“You could have saved him some pain, Bertles. All I asked was what you did with the other sod I’m after. It was a bad notion sending him off with the passengers. It won’t save the bastard, either. If you’d told me instead, happen I’d have let him that’s hangin’ die quick.”
There was a pause, filled with a low moaning sound which seemed to come from more than one throat. The sound of men sobbing and begging came across the water.
“You see, Bertles, I can be merciful.” That was followed by a a girlish giggle. Then the high voice rose, screaming out as if the man was giving orders in a gale of wind. “Haul away, lads, handsomely now.”
Harry could hear the ropes running through the blocks. The choking sound of hemp closing on a dozen throats was unforgettable. Each line was now tense, straining on its load. Suddenly the victims rose above the sides of the ship, each one arched, struggling to get his feet back on the deck. Bodies jerked as the man on their line gave another heave. Up and up they went, until the rigging was full of writhing sailors, legs flailing as the life was choked out of them, the whole scene overlain with the sound of laughter and cheering from those who strung them up.
“My God!” said James, his voice soft with horrified wonder. “They’re hanging everyone aboard.”
The voice sang out again. “See, Bertles. Now that be mercy, for I could have done it one by one, with each man awaiting, with the last man dying a dozen deaths.” Silence fell as the men aloft expired, their kicking feet eventually stilled, till they swung like decorations on a grisly tree. The
n that high voice came again, soft at first, but rising higher as he pronounced the last man’s fate.
“And now for you, Bertles. I sees you as a traitor as well as a thief. Now in the olden days, when someone did the dirty, they wasn’t as soft as they are now. It was more’n just a hanging they got. Lord, no. They was hung, drawn, and quartered. You know what that means, don’t you? And they weren’t hung by the neck so that the drawin’ and quarterin’ caused no pain. No, Bertles, they was suspended in a frame, and as their vitals was pulled out of their gut they could see it all. I’ve often wondered if they were gone by the time they was chopped. Now I’ve a mind to afford you something special, but I don’t have the frame. So we’ll put aside the hanging part, and just concentrate on the rest.”
The voice changed, going even higher, like a choirboy straining for a top note, as the prospect of what was to come raised the degree of his excitement. Harry was so engrossed in the words that he’d drifted close, into the edge of the light thrown by the stern lanterns. Pender, white faced, touched his arm and Harry pressed on the tiller as he took the strain on the boom. As they drifted away the voice faded, but not before they heard the last words.
“But I’ll not have you spoiling my fun, Bertles. So I’m going to strip your hide off before anything else. Every inch of skin off your useless body. Strip the bastard down.”
“Do you still wish to go aboard, Mr Wentworth?” asked James, sombrely.
The young man didn’t reply. But he shook his head as the first of Bertles’s screams, each one accompanied by a loud cheer, came at them across the intervening sea. They seemed to follow them for an age as they put some distance between their boat and the two ships. Bertles died slowly, his terrible cries echoing across the water, but no man’s heart could endure what he suffered and eventually they ceased.
Harry saw the first flames lick the rigging, which showed him that the barque had fended off the Planet. The fire grew brighter still, and the inert figures swung in the rigging like the victims of a pagan feast. The ship went up like a torch, much faster than it should. Harry cursed and shouted at Pender. They hauled on the mast to get it down, lest the white canvas should be illuminated by the sudden flaring of the fire. The whole sea was lit up for half a mile as the upper sails caught fire. Harry could see the light reflected on the faces in the boat as he struggled with the mast.
“Look away!” he shouted. The flaring sails died, which decreased the illuminated area, though the blazing ship, with the barque close by, was still plain to the eye. Harry watched anxiously as the other ship’s bowsprit swung round. He had no way of knowing if they’d been observed, for they were too far away to hear any shout. But his heart sank as the ship, silhouetted against the burning Planet, ceased to swing. Sails were going up rapidly and the bows were pointed straight at them.
“Get the sail back up, quick,” he shouted to Pender. “James. Get our pistols out of their cases and load them. Major Franks, if you have any weapons in your chest, I suggest we get them out as well.”
“They’re after us?” asked James, ducking under the boom to get at their sea-chests.
“I think so,” said Harry, hauling on the sail to get it taut. “I can’t be sure.”
“Can we outsail them?”
Harry, as he sat on the rim of the boat and leant back, strove to put as much confidence in his answer as he could. “Possibly. It’s too early to tell. Pender, over here alongside me. Let’s get her heeled over. It’ll increase her speed if I can trim the sail round a bit more.”
If James knew he was lying, he kept the information to himself. Harry had little hope that what he said was true. A three-masted vessel, even badly handled and with a bottom covered in weed, would catch a jolly-boat in this wind, for the pressure was much greater on her higher, larger sails. With a fore-and-aft rig he might have a chance if the wind swung right round into the west, but he couldn’t reverse his course to make it so. A square-rigged ship would just put down his helm and head him off. And what if she carried cannon? Even if he could somehow evade her, they’d be too close to those guns to survive.
He looked at the sky, which was beginning to lighten in the east, then back towards the rim of fire on the surface, all that remained of the Planet. Imperceptibly the ship pursuing them took shape. It was impossible to say yet if it was gaining, but he had to work on that assumption. Harry was making a host of calculations, quite naturally, and would have been at a loss to explain himself if called upon to do so. The sight of geese, flying in a line high above his head, made him ease the boom out further; at this time of year, they were heading west, migrating via the marshes of southern England. This lifted him and Pender out of the water and he teased the sail in and out as he sought the proper balance between the force of the wind on the canvas and the effect of that on a boat lacking any kind of keel.
“James, Mr Wentworth, come to this side of the boat,” he shouted.
“Should we throw the luggage overboard?” asked James.
Harry shook his head. Without a keel the weight of their luggage, right in the bottom of the boat, was likely to help rather than hinder them. His mind was clear and unencumbered as he eased their small boat round so it was right before the wind. That would force his pursuer to do the same, nullifying the advantage of most of his sails, since the wind, right aft, could only play upon the rearmost canvas. He’d sailed these waters many times before and by his reckoning, which was as much guesswork as anything scientific, they were on course for the Downs. He had no doubt they were headed west, for the sun popped red-edged above the horizon behind them.
He thought back to the times he sailed off the Goodwins, that great bar of treacherous sand, the graveyard of many a ship, that provided such a large, safe anchorage. The wind in these parts tended to be a prevailing easterly, though there was a chance it would swing round to a land breeze, or drop away altogether at first light.
The gentle swell lifted them at the same moment it raised their pursuer. The bows were full of men, all looking right ahead. If he’d had the slightest doubt they were after the jolly-boat that was laid to rest. His eyes took in the sails. That captain with the singular voice had his main-topgallants aloft, in an attempt to compensate for his lack of foresails. And he was gaining. Not much, but enough. It was a race to see if Harry could make a landfall before they came up on them. As to why they were being pursued, he didn’t know and he didn’t care. Nor was he likely to find out. Whoever was conning that ship had a choice. With cannon he could blow them out of the water. Or he could heave to and take them aboard. There was another choice; to run his bows over them and pitch them into the sea to drown.
The sun disappeared behind the rim of cloud which covered the Channel. That cloud would be over the French coast. But knowing that gave him little idea of his own proximity to the Downs. The thought that really troubled him was if he was further north, heading into the Thames estuary, that great bight of open water would give his pursuer more room to chase him. If that was the case all he could hope for was the sight of another ship, to make their pursuer shear off.
“Harry!”
James’s voice brought him out of his private thoughts. He looked into his brother’s eyes. James kept his voice as low as he could, but in the confined space it was impossible to avoid it being overheard.
“I think it would be better to let us know the truth of our situation.”
All eyes were on him, waiting expectantly. He was tempted to lie again, but he realised they must have registered the size of the ship, compared to how it had seemed at first light.
“If you’re inclined to prayer, any of you, this would be a good time to seek Divine intercession.”
“I know I’m no sailor, Harry,” said James. “But would a change of course help?”
James was asking because he couldn’t stay silent. It was against his nature. “We’re making good speed. With our single sail we’re getting the very best out of the wind that we can, while denying him the use of
most of his canvas. A change of course would slow us down and allow him to increase his speed, that is, unless we have a complete change of wind.”
“We have no sure knowledge that this fellow means us ill,” said Wentworth. “Perhaps if we stopped running away and threw ourselves on his charity.”
The thought was not his alone. Major and Mrs Franks looked as though they might agree. After what he’d heard, that fact astounded him. Harry was tired, from being up all night and from sailing the boat, so perhaps he could have been more gentle. He looked at the pistols in the major’s hands. “I should discharge but one of those, Major. You will need the other ball for your wife.”
“You bastard!”
Harry swung round to look at Pender. Then he realised his servant’s words were directed at their pursuer. Even in the short time that they’d had their conversation he could observe how much they’d gained. He could also see that they were coming round, adjusting their yards and setting sails on the fore- and mizen-masts, trying to gain even more speed, which seemed odd given that they were winning on their quarry already.
Harry saw the first of the huge flock of migrating birds. Thrushes, they were flying as hard as they could towards a shore he couldn’t see. Seagulls flew above them, their gimlet eyes on the weaker birds as they sank towards the surface of the ocean. Many wouldn’t make it, some finally drowning from exhaustion a few feet from the beach. But if they were so low above the water, they had to have covered most of the distance. He eased the boom a trifle and stood up, placing his feet on the rim of the boat to gain height.
“Masts ahead!” he yelled.
James stood too, forcing Harry to jump back down, as his brother’s action had an alarming effect on the balance of the jolly-boat.
“Are they ships? A fleet?”
“No, James,” Harry snapped. “And you will see them just as clearly in a moment if you sit down.”
James did as he was bid, sheepishly aware that in his enthusiasm he’d behaved in a very lubberly way. All eyes were now on the western horizon as the first tip of what looked like thin black sticks rose to pierce the grey sky.
Hanging Matter Page 6
