Hanging Matter

by David Donachie

  “Let fly the sheets,” yelled Harry, as soon as he saw the sails flap. He spun the wheel to bring the Dragon’s head round, pointing his bows right across those of Trench. The smuggler had to spin his own wheel to avoid a collision, and his guns, clearly with untrained crews, went off uselessly, their shot landing harmlessly in the sea. All his careful preparations were thrown into confusion. He had to order armed men, waiting to board the Dragon, away from the side of his ship to tend to his own flapping sails. The gun crews, in total disarray, left their cannon for the same purpose.

  Harry spun the wheel again, using what little way was left on his ship to put her on a parallel course. The gap between the two vessels closed rapidly. His own sailors, freed from all other duties, rushed to the side, yelling at the enemy. Trench’s men, much more numerous, with Quested the most vocal, eschewed gunnery and responded in kind. Pikes and swords jabbed across the gap as the two ships ground together. Harry looked aloft. A few of Trench’s topmen were up there, casting the ropes that would lash the two ships together.

  The roar from the enemy deck increased in volume as they started to climb on to the Dragon’s side. Harry looked beyond them, disappointed to see that Trench, their captain, was content to watch the action from the safety of his own quarterdeck. He cursed, for he was the man he wanted. Yet he could not leave his own deck to follow the Medusas who were at this very moment lowering themselves unseen into the boats. Harry pulled out his sword and fixed his eye on Cephas Quested. If he couldn’t have Trench, then Temple’s batman would do just as well.

  The level of sound had risen. Yet even above the noise Harry could hear the man he’d left aloft, shouting down to tell him that the ship he’d spotted earlier was coming up fast, with everything set. It was an armed cutter, the Nimble, with a dozen 12-pounders, six of which were run out on the larboard side, ready to rake both ships if that should prove necessary. At the news Harry turned his attention away from the forthcoming fight. He could see the revenue cutter’s sails from the deck now. Had he left himself enough time?

  Quested helped, seemingly eager to prove himself braver than the others, acting as if he was the captain and not Trench, who stayed by the wheel. He was the first to leap on to the Dragon’s deck, his booming voice raised for the others to follow. They did so readily, for Harry’s men fell back slightly, leaving them space. Swords clashed and pikes jabbed, with the batman waving a huge nail-studded cudgel. This alone seemed to be enough to drive the Dragons back. They retreated towards Harry, still by the wheel.

  Trench must have seen something. His girlish voice screamed across the water as Tite whipped the covers off his guns. But Quested was too busy trying to kill Harry’s men to respond. As soon as they’d cleared the waist of the ship, the Dragons, who had given a good appearance of contesting every inch of the deck, melted away before them. The clear space before him allowed Quested to lift his eyes, allowed him to see the danger they were all in.

  “Now, Tite!” yelled Harry.

  There is a gap in the firing of a gun, a moment between the point when the slow-match is put to the touch-hole and the flaring powder ignites the charge. Tite, being poorly sighted, added another half second as he fumbled around. For most of the bemused boarders, it wasn’t enough. But Quested had time to throw himself to the deck, so that the bags of shingle, bursting from the cannon’s mouth, flew over his head. It decimated the rest, and the Dragons, rushing forward as the guns went off, were amongst them in a flash, with Harry at their head, slashing right and left as he tried to fight his way towards Quested.

  He barely saw Pender flash across his eyeline. He had leapt up into the rigging, grabbed a loose rope which hung down from the maincourse, and launched himself at Quested. His feet were out in straight line before him. As the batman struggled back on to his feet, Pender’s boots took him right on the side of the head. Harry was close enough to see the ear burst open, close enough to see the look of shock fade to unconsciousness as Pender, letting go of his rope, landed on the falling body.

  Both men disappeared into the mêlée. Harry was halfway towards Pender, ready to cover his back, when the fight went right past him. His servant was crouched over Quested, a marline-spike raised, with the clear intention of smashing the batman’s brains out. Harry grabbed him just in time, then recoiled quickly as Pender, his eyes full of hate, turned to attack him. The look faded as quickly as the aimed blow. Harry hauled him to his feet and threw an arm round his shoulder, partly in affection, but mostly to show him the result of their action.

  Most of Trench’s men were cowering in the scuppers now, their arms up to protect themselves from the blows being rained on their heads. Just then the Medusas burst over the unprotected side of Trench’s ship. The smuggler, with few men to protect him, didn’t behave well. Harry would have expected him to stand and fight, at least to ensure that if he was taken it was by force. But Trench threw away his weapon at the first hint of danger, then fell to his knees, hands raised in supplication, his high-pitched voice pleading that his life should be spared.

  The boom of the guns took everyone’s attention. Harry yelled at his men to make all secure before rushing to the far rail. The Nimble, which had swung round broadside-on to the two ships, fired off another salvo. It whizzed through the Dragon’s rigging, holing the sails and smashing one of the yards. But it wasn’t that which made Harry mad. It was the sight of Braine, with Sniff in his arms, standing behind the cutter’s wheel, issuing instructions to the captain.

  Braine looked as though he had no intention of coming aboard. Instead he seemed content to stand off and bombard the defenceless ships. Harry still had his sword in his hand. He ran to the mainmast and slashed at the halyard holding the Dragon’s scrap of a flag. He’d never struck at an enemy in his life. It afforded him little pleasure that he was now forced to do so, and to someone who should have been a friend.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  THE NIMBLE came alongside, sandwiching the Dragon between herself and Trench’s ship. Harry’s Medusas, ignoring the arrival of this unforeseen development, had carried on with their task of securing the captured ship. Those who’d surrendered to the Deal contingent were shepherded back to their own forecastle. Not all of them, for Tite’s cannon had done terrible damage. Men lay everywhere, mostly groaning wounded intermingled with the odd still body, perhaps dead, with the inert bulk of Cephas Quested the most obvious. Trench, who now stood alone on his quarterdeck, had his hands tied behind his back. He’d apparently recovered some of his venom, for he spat at everybody who came near him, his own men as well as Harry’s, mouthing curses at those whom he suspected of letting him down.

  Braine came across in the company of several armed men. He stood for a moment surveying the carnage on the deck, before turning towards Harry, who stood by the mainmast with Pender and James just behind him. Braine made a gesture with his hand and the armed men fanned out behind him, their weapons lowered to cover those of Harry’s crew who lined the opposite rail. One or two of his men raised their weapons in response.

  “Belay that!” cried Harry sharply, indicating that they should adopt a less threatening pose. He wasn’t sure what was afoot here. But one thing was absolutely certain. No good would ever come of an assault on a group of revenue men. Their leader indicated that some of his men should go below, no doubt to search the ship.

  “Well, Mr Ludlow,” said Braine coldly. “You have done us a service by concentrating on your fight. Here we find that we have taken two smugglers for the price of one.”

  “Two smugglers?”

  “You will surely not pretend to be otherwise engaged, sir, despite all your previous protestations of innocence?”

  He stopped as he observed his men return to the deck. One of them gave him a surreptitious shake of the head, and Harry thanked the gods for the instinct that had made him throw Trench’s contraband over the side. It was clear that Braine was annoyed, for all that he sought to disguise it. Harry couldn’t keep the malice out of his voic
e, nor the smile off his face, as he drove home his advantage.

  “Perhaps if you were to search the other ship, Mr Braine, you would have a mite more luck.”

  A single sharp command drove his men into action. They rushed over to Trench’s ship, pushing aside those members of Harry’s crew who’d come to the rail to listen. Harry curtly ordered his Medusas back aboard the Dragon, before turning once more to confront Braine.

  “I should be well satisfied, sir. I will make you a present of Trench and his crew, with a pious if unfounded hope that His Majesty King George will see some of the profit from the cargo. As to myself, and your unwarranted suspicions, I would advise you that half a cake is better than nothing.”

  Braine was having difficulty maintaining his self-control. He walked up close, so that their noses were nearly touching, his voice a soft hiss meant for Harry’s ears alone.

  “Stay out of these waters, Ludlow, and stay out of my way. More than that, take that smirk off your face or I’ll clap you in irons, regardless, just for the inconvenience it will cause you.”

  Harry kept his voice low too. He had no desire to publicly threaten Braine. But the anger was evident, as well as the fact that he was deadly serious.

  “Try it, Braine, and I’ll throw you and your men into the Channel. You exceed your authority.”

  Trench’s high voice cut through the air, pealing angrily. “Why ain’t you searching his ship, you swabs!”

  No one aboard the Dragon could hear the words the sailor guarding Trench said, but they made him puce. His thick beard trembled as he squealed his response.

  “Don’t you fall for that. He’s as guilty as Cain. He’s a smuggler all right, even if he and his type only steal their goods.”

  “Stow it, Captain,” cried one of his men, “we’re in enough of a trough already.”

  For once Trench’s voice seem low enough to be normal. “You’ll pay with the skin on your back for that remark.”

  The call from the hatchway unlocked their mutual glare. Braine, hearing the call, pushed past Harry and climbed over the rail to inspect some of the contraband they’d begun to fetch up from the hold. Harry quietly ordered some men aloft to cut the lashings that held the yards together. Pender already had others standing by the braces. Tite’s voice, loud and hissing through his gums, made everyone turn.

  “Guns loaded and run out, Captain.”

  Harry turned to face the grinning servant. James stood beside him, equally smug, for they’d trained one of the loaded cannon, unobserved, on to the revenue cutter, and another on Trench. The evidence of what those guns could do was still lying on Harry’s deck. Braine had turned at Tite’s shout, and his face went pale, for the old man was standing with the slowmatch just above the touch-hole, while he was standing right beside Trench, totally unaware that the old servant probably couldn’t even see them.

  “There are at least two more smugglers in the bay due east of here, Mr Braine. I suggest you would be better served attending to them, rather than preventing me from going about my lawful business. I have already observed that you’ve exceeded your authority. I am quite prepared to test the matter in the courts, even if, by some unfortunate accident, you’re not around to witness it.”

  Braine fought to keep control, his craggy purple face shaking with the effort. “You may go, Ludlow, but steer for the Downs. I’m not finished with you yet.”

  Harry had already turned away before he finished speaking. “Get these bodies off my deck.”

  “What I cannot understand, James, is that no matter what I say, no one will believe I’m not engaged in smuggling!”

  “It must be your pure and innocent nature, brother.”

  Harry smiled, but the jest didn’t break his train of thought. “I was sure I’d convinced Braine, but he just accused me again.”

  James looked back over the aftrail, to where Trench’s ship and the Nimble were still wallowing on the swell. “He’s Temple’s man, remember, you said so yourself. If the King of the Smugglers tells him to believe you’re in the same game, he won’t argue.”

  Harry was looking at the same view, wondering why Braine wasn’t going after the other ships. “But why does Trench believe it? I thought he was after us because we witnessed Bertles’s murder. But he doesn’t seem to care about that. And if we’re right about Temple, then he thinks so too.”

  “I should go home and settle down to a life of farming.”

  Nothing could make Harry Ludlow groan more than that remark. It made him want to put the helm down and head for blue water. Instead, he set his course for the Kellet Gut, standing off from the wreck-littered sandbanks until he was sure the tide was high. His course through the anchorage took him past most of Admiral Duncan’s squadron. He felt as though every eye at the side of these warships was eyeing his men, with a view to pressing them into the Fleet.

  Temple, in his Fencibles uniform, complete with feather-trimmed hat, had himself rowed out, having waited anxiously at the Hope and Anchor for news, with men placed on the shore to fetch him as soon as his ship, or the Nimble, was in the offing. His face, as he approached the side of the vessel, was a picture. The Dragon had clearly been in a fight. But with the Ludlow brothers, in the company of their servant, leaning over the side, and none of the other pieces in his chess game in sight, he didn’t know whether to be pleased or furious. He clambered aboard awkwardly, his sabre causing him no end of trouble.

  “The gentleman has an exceeding martial bearing, brother,” said James quietly. “Should we be all atremble?”

  “Well,” he demanded of Harry, as soon as his boot hit the deck. “Were we successful?”

  It was James who replied. “Perhaps, Mr Temple, it would be best if you tell us what to your mind constitutes success?”

  “It may well be that our survival is not in that category,” Harry added.

  Temple glared at James, but he latched on to the important word which Harry had used. “Survival. That must mean you found Trench.”

  “Not only Trench,” said James. “We also found your man, Quested.”

  “Who the devil are you?” demanded Temple, glaring at James. It was impossible to tell if his anger was genuine, or an attempt to avoid the question.

  “James Ludlow, sir.” Temple shrugged, as though the name was meaningless, which made James furious. “I am another one of those people Trench seemed intent on murdering.”

  “Why would Trench want to murder you?”

  “You’ll get your chance to ask him yourself, Mr Temple. Braine is bound to fetch him back to Deal.”

  Temple’s pale face lost what little blood it had. His hand fiddled nervously with the hilt of his sabre. “He’s not dead, then?”

  “Nor is Quested,” said Harry. He didn’t know if that was true, for Pender had hit him hard with his boots, so hard that he’d nearly taken his head off.

  “So, Mr Temple,” asked James, his tone full of languid irony, “you must tell us. Are we successful?”

  There was a long pause, while Temple weighed the odds. Neither brother could tell what he was thinking, but no genius was required for that. He’d sought, by using Braine and the Nimble, to take care of all his perceived enemies. Braine had two of them, but the other one was standing before him, free to come and go as he pleased.

  “I’ll thank you to vacate my ship, gentlemen.” He gestured to Pender and the rest of the crew. “And take these scruffy rapscallions with you.”

  Harry sucked his breath in hard, then released it slowly. James had turned to glance at him, wondering what he would do. Temple was a dangerous man, perhaps too much so to cross. And he knew that his brother could, if required, take the long view. But Harry Ludlow the privateer won out easily over the pragmatist.

  “Pender,” he said softly. “See Mr Temple over the side.”

  The smuggler never got his sword out of its scabbard. The men who lifted him over the rail missed his boat by a mile, and since Temple couldn’t swim, all that was left on the grey sur
face was his feathered hat. His boatmen fished him out, dragged him into the bottom of their wherry by his wide buff belt, and headed for shore lest they suffer the same fate.

  “Mr Magistrate Temple is at this very moment preparing orders for me. I am to arrest you, Mr Ludlow, for smuggling.”

  “I had hoped to welcome you back to our house in more pleasant circumstances, Captain Latham,” said Lady Drumdryan. “And my husband will be mortified to have missed you. He is out visiting tenants.”

  The soldier gave her a small bow, but he also managed to convey how sad this development made him. But his soft brown eyes never left Harry’s face.

  “How long?”

  The speed at Latham’s reply showed that he had worked everything out on the way to Cheyne Court.

  “He will issue the warrants to me as soon as I return. I have told my sergeant to inform him that I’m out hunting, an excuse which is valid till nightfall. I can, legitimately, refuse to march in darkness, just as I can delay my arrival here till at least noon tomorrow, by resting my troops on the way. But you must understand, given orders by the civil power to bring you in, I have no option but to obey. If I do not, they will muster the Fencibles. They, sir, are a crowd of criminal rascals masquerading as soldiers. I would not wish to leave your fate in their hands.”

  “We find we are once more in your debt, Captain Latham,” said James. “It would be good, for once, to see the shoe on the other foot.”

  The entire family murmured their approval at that. The soldier had taken a most serious risk in coming to warn Harry.

  “I am included in this warrant?” asked James.

  “No, but your man Pender is.”

  “What about my crew?”

  Latham turned to Harry. “They are to be put aboard Admiral Duncan’s flagship, for him to spread amongst the fleet as he sees fit, even those who have exemptions.”