Hanging Matter

by David Donachie

  James watched his brother in the pale morning light. If Harry disliked the expression James had captured in that early portrait, he would have hated to see himself now, for he was glaring at the dark swirling water below the bows like a demon intent on mischief. Harry closed his eyes as he heard the keel hit the bar. The way on the ship slowed, the ropes to the tow becoming taut. Ahead James could see the men, red faced as they nearly pulled themselves upright by the pressure on the oars. The Dragon was nearly dead in the water, but suddenly the bows dipped.

  “She floats, the old barky floats!”

  James turned to see old Tite, his watery blue eyes ablaze with pleasure. Harry didn’t have time to be pleased at the words, or angry that the old sod was still aboard. He was too busy calling in his boats, telling one of them to fetch that anchor before it was stolen by one of the Sandwich watermen. He turned back to look down the deck, his face still set in that devilish cast, not sparing James in the general glare.

  “Now let’s get the deck tidied up, otherwise we’ll be the laughing-stock of the English Channel.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  THE CROSSING, with the wind in the north, took some twenty hours, for the Dragon lived up to what was expected of her, wallowing along at a snail’s pace, yards braced round and pumps clanking. The crew worked hard to improve matters even as they sailed her and by the time they made the crossing the ship was a little less temperamental. Once in sight of the shore, Harry put his helm down, steering south with the wind nearly dead astern. Sailing easy, he had the crew fed and sent them to sleep by turns.

  It was with a tremendous sense of déjà vu that Harry sat off the French coast. The night sky was almost identical to the last time he’d approached this place, with clear patches interspersed on occasions with cloud, which plunged the whole scene into Stygian blackness. There was less moon, but the mass of stars helped when the sky cleared. With more of a sea running in the confined waters, the Dragon rolled alarmingly as she lost steerage way. Harry hauled his wind as soon as he spotted the array of ships’ topmasts against the skyline. If Temple’s information was correct, it had to be Trench. The rendezvous was exactly right as well as the timing. The Sussex man never loaded at night. Working on an industrial scale, he waited for first light to transfer his goods aboard. That had given Bertles his opportunity. It would now do the same for Harry Ludlow.

  There were no cliffs around here for him to hide against. The coastline of this part of France was low and marshy, ideal smuggling country. Not that the locals who supplied Trench had much to fear from authority. Few in France, these days, could afford to buy the goods they were trading. Their worthless Revolutionary assignats, printed by the million, barely purchased enough to feed them. Besides that, anything that brought in English gold, which helped to pay for the Revolutionary war, was more than welcome. Those in authority actively participated in the trade, even, it was rumoured, some of the regicides themselves.

  He had towed his boats in towards the coast, so they were already over the side. No noise disturbed the quiet night as Harry led his Medusas over the side. Not wholly trusting their new captain, the Deal contingent showed no jealousy at being excluded. They were content to leave the dangerous tasks to others. Muffled oars took them silently in towards the long sandy beach, the line of which was illuminated by the strip of white water lapping the shore. All the orders had been given aboard, so those detailed to guard the boats took up their station without a word. The others followed Harry inland.

  They’d laid fascines to make a path over the dunes and across the sandy beach, so finding the barn where Trench’s contraband was stored presented no great chore. It was even less difficult to get inside, since those left to guard the hoard, in the presence of all that drink, had not mustered the power to resist temptation, and lay back on the great bolts of silk, snoring loudly. Harry had them taken and secured anyway, treating them with a roughness that they scarcely warranted. But it was all grist to his mill. He wanted Trench angry. In that state he was all the more likely to commit errors when he set off in pursuit of the Dragon.

  The barn was near a hundred feet long, with contraband piled all the way to the rafters. Every known commodity was catered for, from spirits to perfumes. But mostly it was French wine, brandy casks bearing the marks of both Cognac and Armagnac, high-quality Holland gin, and great bolts of plain and printed silk. But there were spices too, and trading goods that had come in from all over the globe, the private ventures of ships’ captains, excisable goods sold to the smugglers who operated small boats in mid-Channel then brought their cargoes here to be taken to England in larger vessels.

  They moved as much of it as they could; not to the shore, because that was too far and they were too few to make an impact. But the sandy dunes of the coastline presented ample places to make it look as though they had been at work for hours. If Trench came to look, before he spotted the Dragon, he would believe her to be well laden with his property, making a chase certain.

  The whole area was devoid of human habitation, more a home to birds. Harry’s crew moved about without the need for great caution, helping to crystallize certain thoughts that their captain had been harbouring for days. However much Temple demurred, Bertles had been rumbled because he’d been expected. It was betrayal, allied to the greed of a man who fed at this forbidden trough once too often. Harry’s presence would, as far as he knew, come as a complete surprise. But he didn’t entirely trust Temple. He could not afford that anything should go wrong. He would get one clear shot at confronting Trench. After that, should he fail, all the advantage would lie with his enemy.

  So he had to make it look like he was a serious thief, just in case the smuggler came ashore early. His true intention was to wait until first light, to allow Trench’s men and his own to see what appeared to be the last boats, well laden, putting off from the shore. At all costs he must entice the smuggler to pursue him into deep water. Harry, showing only a third of his available men, and keeping his guns well hidden, would let Trench board. Then, having raked the deck with grape, he would attack those still upright with half his crew, the Deal contingent, while the Medusas boarded Trench’s ship and took care of the men the smuggler had left behind.

  Back on the beach, with the boats loaded to the gunwales with stolen goods, they waited, ready to shove off at a moment’s notice. Harry could see by the light of the great stern-lantern that some of Trench’s men from the ship closest to the beach were getting ready to come ashore. Against the reflected starlight the silhouette of the first boat pulled off, followed by several others. The men waded ashore and started inland. Harry tried to count their footsteps to the barn, tried to calculate the point at which the first shout of alarm would split the dawn air.

  This was the critical moment. He did not want to be attacked whilst stationary and close to the shore. Nor did he want too many of Trench’s own boats in the water, threatening to cut him off from the Dragon. He also had no idea if Trench had a gang of French tubmen available to load his cargo. Those tubmen would make short work of his men if they were trapped on shore. Worse than that, if they were brought aboard Trench’s ship to take part in the fight they could nullify his slim numerical advantage.

  The first faint shout came as the earliest hint of daylight tinged the eastern sky. Softly, he ordered his men to cast off. The shouting increased in volume as Trench’s men came running back towards the shore. Once his boat was under way, and out of the surf that lapped against the shore, he took out his pistol, aimed it carelessly at the beach, and fired.

  “Shout, lads, and some of you make it sound like you’re Frenchmen.”

  The cacophany of sound that erupted around him fixed the attention of those on Trench’s deck who had frozen at the crack of the pistol shot. Men came running on to the beach, waving their arms to alert the ships’ crews. All hell broke loose as the shouting across the still water matched that in the Dragon’s boats. The first ball from a musket slapped into the sea some ten feet
away. Harry shouted for his men to pull harder, glad to see that, with exquisite timing, Pender had slipped the anchor on the Dragon, and was setting sail to make good their escape.

  Sails were also coming out of Trench’s ship, as his men ran up the rigging to release the bunts that held the canvas to the yards. Harry and his boats came alongside the Dragon, throwing their barrels and bolts to waiting hands on the deck. They came scrambling aboard themselves with frantic haste. It was not entirely play acting, for the amount of musket fire from Trench’s men, coming from all three ships, made the low boats distinctly perilous. Harry was on his quarterdeck in a trice, taking over the wheel from Pender, and giving the commands to set more sail. He also ordered the Medusas below, where they would remain hidden from Trench’s gaze, ready to take to the boats through the sternlights and board the enemy on his unprotected side. The Dragon picked up speed, though scarcely enough to satisfy Harry. James had a glass on Trench’s ship and as the light increased he called to his brother to come and have a look.

  “Not now, James,” snapped Harry, busy giving vital orders to his crew.

  James did not respond to Harry’s sharp tone. His voice was calm as he replied. “I think what I have to show you will interest you, Harry. It might even cause you to alter your plans.”

  He pushed the telescope into his brother’s hand. Harry raised it, twirling the frontpiece to adjust the focus, automatically looking to the prow to see if the enemy was moving. Trench had also slipped his anchor, though as yet he had no way on the ship. But they were not far apart. In ten minutes, when the sun came up, each deck would be clearly visible. But now, in the grey, pre-dawn light, the telescope was necessary. He raised it from water level. It threw Trench’s quarterdeck into sharp focus. It also threw up the round, scarred face of Cephas Quested, leaning over the rail, his finger pointing directly at Harry Ludlow.

  “What in God’s name is he doing there?”

  “A good question, Harry, since Temple told Pender that the man was still upstairs in his tavern, yet to recover from the blow he’d administered.”

  Harry spun round, pacing up and down quickly. What did this development portend? Behind him James called to Pender, handing him the telescope. His servant’s single coarse expletive only served to underline the shock of seeing Temple’s right-hand man on Trench’s ship.

  “I didn’t believe the bastard I knew he was lyin’.”

  “Why have they allowed us such licence?” said James, indicating the stolen goods that littered the deck. “Quested must have known we were going to show up here.”

  “No,” snapped Harry. “If they’d wanted to trap us, they’d have taken us at anchor, certainly when I was ashore. And they would never let us raid their store of contraband.”

  “But it must be a trap, Harry.”

  Harry looked right through his brother. “Yes, James, a trap. Set by Temple. But for whom?”

  “All of us, your honour,” said Pender. “I think Temple hopes we’ll cancel each other out.”

  Harry shook his head violently. “If that’s his aim, he’s taking a hell of a chance. If I fight Trench, one of us has to survive. And Quested on Trench’s deck means that …”

  Harry paused, shaking his head violently again. Then he grabbed the telescope from Pender’s hand and made for the rigging. James looked at Pender, hoping for enlightenment, only to see that he was equally mystified by this behaviour. Harry raced up to the cap, then carried on up to the crosstrees. Once he settled himself securely, he took out the telescope and swept the horizon. The clear night had given way to a dawn of low grey cloud, but there was a strip of clear sky to the east between land and cloud, which the sun edged into. He waited while it rose, lifting itself to light an increasing horizon.

  The sail on the horizon was only a speck of white and it disappeared almost as soon as he spotted it. If anything served to increase his suspicion, it was that act. No innocent merchant ship would take in its upper sails at dawn, for the very simple reason that they would not be set during the night. Only someone who wished to remain unobserved would do such a thing. But they’d been too slow, for Harry had spotted them. There was only one problem. He didn’t have the faintest idea who “they” were!

  He turned to look at Trench’s ship. No need for a telescope now. The bright red sun was behind them, high enough to throw everything in sharp relief, like one of those Dutch paintings James was so fond of. He could see Trench supervising the issuing of arms to his men, and the red flash of metal every time one of the smugglers swung a blade or a pike.

  He called to one of his sailors to come aloft, gave him the telescope and the position of his sighting, and bade him keep his eyes peeled. Then he slid down a backstay to the deck, still littered with the contraband that had been so hastily slung aboard. James and Pender watched him closely. He’d stopped to look at this cargo, his face creased in concentration.

  “I want that stuff over the side,” he snapped. “The barrels will sink on their own, but the silk will float if it’s not weighted.”

  Pender gave the orders. Though the men obeyed, some of the Deal crew were clearly reluctant, since the silk alone was worth a mint of money. Harry glared at them, and for the first time they saw the black face, the reverse of the good-humoured coin, that those who sailed with him before knew so well.

  “I want it over the bows, so that Trench cannot see it go. And if any of you are tempted to hide a barrel or two, let me tell you that there is a revenue cutter just below the horizon, which is just waiting to come aboard and clap us all in irons.”

  “You’ve seen it?” asked James, quickly.

  Harry looked even angrier, not wanting to have to explain a guess. James could hardly fail to catch the glare, which made him spin round to look back at Trench’s ship, rapidly overhauling the Dragon. The voice from the masthead only added to the tension.

  “I’ve got her, Captain,” the sailor shouted. “Can’t see her deck, but she’s fore-and-aft-rigged.”

  “And well armed,” said Harry to himself. Then he raised his voice so that the Medusas, crouching just below the hatchways, could hear him too.

  “We proceed as before, men. That ship isn’t going to come anywhere near us till we engage Trench. Once we’re locked in battle, they’ll come up hand over fist with their guns run out. We can’t fight them and I, for one, don’t want to.”

  James coughed loudly at the look in Harry’s eye, which gave the lie to that statement. His brother grinned at him to acknowledge the observation, before throwing out his arm to indicate this unexpected threat.

  “What it does mean is that we have to finish with Obidiah Trench before they come up. We are all innocent merchant sailors, going about our business, when we’re attacked by this villain. Don’t anyone so much as breathe a word about contraband, or being ashore in France last night, for if you do, we’ll all end up in Maidstone Gaol.”

  Harry was glaring again, but it was an imposed look. He knew that nothing pleased a sailor more than lying to authority. These men would do it willingly, embellishing the tale with such colourful additions that nothing short of the personal thanks of Farmer George himself would suffice to reward their unselfish valour.

  He called to the Deal contingent, still on deck. “Now ease those braces a touch, then arm yourselves. I want Trench alongside us a mite quicker than we originally intended. I’m hoping he won’t run out his guns, since he doesn’t think we’ve got any. But if he does, get below until I call you back on deck.”

  It was gratifying to see these men, new to his ways, obey so well. No one rushed to ease the ropes that held the yards, bowsed tight to take maximum advantage of the wind. They sauntered, with the majority gathering round those doing the work to ensure that they were unobserved from the enemy deck. And it was nothing sudden either. They eased the ropes inch by inch. The Dragon wasn’t doing much in the way of speed, and she slowed gradually. But it was subtle. Trench would believe he was overhauling them due to his superior seaman
ship.

  Harry half wondered about issuing further orders to avoid killing anyone. He had no desire to be taken up for murder. But he put the thought out of his mind. They wouldn’t carry any weight in the heat of a fight, where a man was intent on his own survival. And it might take some of the spirit out of his crew, which would only make the task harder. Besides, his whole plan hinged on surprise, on the use of the two small cannon on an apparently unarmed ship. He turned round, glad to see that James had made his way to the poop. Tite was there, grinning like a gargoyle. His brass four-pounders, still well covered, were loaded and primed and he’d lowered the tub with the slowmatch into the skylight of the main cabin so that the tell-tale smoke would not give the game away.

  The Medusas would be crowding into that same cabin now, ready to haul in the boats being towed behind. If the Deal men did as they’d been ordered, and retired towards the cabin door before the assault of Trench’s men, then Tite could fire off his guns. They’d been unable to purchase metal grape-shot, so the guns were again loaded with shingle, but this time carefully selected for size. It wasn’t the true answer and it wouldn’t do the same amount of damage. But given the present circumstance, where a dead body could be classed as murder, that was all to the good.

  Trench was close now, with his guns run out, his great bearded face set in an angry glare. He’d set his ship to take Harry’s wind, a manoeuvre that his enemy fully expected. Cephas Quested was yelling insults over the narrowing gap between the ships, leaving no one aboard the Dragon in any doubt of their forthcoming fate. The Deal men, who knew him and his reputation well, ignored him. It was too late to send them below, but they maintained their positions without orders, ready to obey any instructions their new captain issued. Pender stood with them, clearly pleased at the way they behaved. He put an arm on Flowers’s shoulder, giving him a gentle shove of encouragement. The other man, so recently willing to fight him, and even more bruised than his late adversary, opened his swollen lips and grinned in reply.