‘That don’t mean it ain’t true, though.’
‘No . . . perhaps it don’t . . . but I do not see, neither, why Mappin has done most of the things he has done, in quite the way that he has, sir. It is—’
Over him: ‘Good God, James, we may never know everything to an exactitude. That is always so with men like Mappin. And it is why, in this instance certainly, we cannot leave things to Mappin alone. His mind is a maze. It is a tangle of concealment, trumpery and dark make-believe, and will likely lead, therefore, to a confusion of action. I do not care for all this talk of “negotiation”, and houses watched in the dark, and waiting, and so forth. Mr den Norske must be found and seized, and his plans seized. He must be brought to Expedient by force, and took to England a prisoner, right quick.’
‘Take this man in a foreign city, and carry him bound and gagged into the ship? Kidnap him? When he ain’t an enemy of England, nor of America neither?’
‘Pish pish, James. In course he is an enemy, if he has designed a gun that could be turned on Englishmen in the coming war. Far better that we should make the gun ourselves, and turn it on the French, hey?’
‘Well, yes, I expect so . . . but ain’t that what Mr Mappin is trying to achieve, sir? By more circumspect means?’
‘Damnation to circumspect. Has Mappin found den Norske? Nay, he has not. Has he got the design of the gun in his hand? Nay, he has not. Will Mr Holbourne have it in his hand, if we do not act? He will, by God.’
‘Very good, sir. Erm . . . how do you propose to act?’
‘We will create a diversion, James. A diversion on a grand scale.’
*
Rennie studied the list before him on the table, and ran the undipped quill of his new pen down the numbered items. Murmuring:
‘Two dozen large rockets, red. Two dozen bombs. Six small fire-rafts. Six buckets of oakum and tar. One dozen smoke-balls. Red cartridge for two blank broadsides of guns. Hm. Hm.’ Shaking his head. ‘Two dozen smoke-balls.’
He dipped the quill in ink, altered that item, drew a line under the last, and initialled the list. A scattering of chalk powder from the pouncebox. A sniff, and he looked up at the waiting gunner, and handed him the list.
‘Well well, Mr Storey, can you do it?’
Glancing at the list: ‘Oh, I can do it, sir. Only it will take me all of four-and-twenty hours.’
‘Very good. Then everything will be in readiness by tomorrow nightfall, without fail. Yes?’
‘Is that an whole day and night, sir?’ As he spoke eight bells sounded on the fo’c’sle. ‘Midnight, sir. Asking your pardon, but that don’t give me—’
‘It gives you no time to lose, Mr Storey, just so.’ Over him, and a quick little grimace and a nod.
The gunner saw that he was dismissed, suppressed a shrug, put the list away in his coat, and left the great cabin. Rennie stood up, paced to the stern-gallery window, paced back, and:
‘Sentry!’
The Marine sentry on duty attended him. ‘Sir?’
‘Pass the word that I will like to see all officers here in my cabin, in . . .’ His pocket watch. ‘. . . five minutes.’
‘Five minutes from now, sir? Tonight?’
‘With my compliments.’
‘Ay-ay, sir.’ Making his back straight, and departing.
‘Cutton!’
No response.
‘Colley Cutton, wake up, you idle wretch! I required you to remain on duty until I wanted you, tonight! Rouse y’self right quick, and attend me!’
His bleary steward, hair on end and shirt crumpled, emerged from the coach.
‘I fell asleep, sir, askin’ your pardon. I has been so attentive to Dulcie and her brood, sir, that I was—’
‘Bottle of Madeira, and decant it.’ Curtly. ‘And bring glasses.’
‘Now, sir?’ Peering at him.
‘Ay, now! Christ’s blood, must I repeat every instruction I give in the ship?’
‘As you wish.’
*
The stern lights of moored ships rode in reflection on the oily blackness of the harbour. Two brigs lay moored alongside the wharf immediately to the north, separated by a gap of perhaps half a cable from the wharf which Expedient’s boat now approached.
Lieutenant James Hayter, dressed in his working rig, ran lightly up the stone steps and looked along this wider, deserted wharf. They had come ashore at the northern end, out of the glow of the single lamp halfway down. A moment of lapping calm as he stood there. A waft of cool wind across the open water. He felt it on his face, and sniffed in a long breath. Glanced down the steps, saw that the boat’s painter was being secured to the iron ring, and gave a low whistle. His party of men came up the steps, and followed James across the open space into the deep shadows by the wall of the dockside building.
Keeping his voice low, James: ‘Huff . . . Thomas . . . Hill . . . Enderby . . . Cole . . . Lacey . . . ?’
Each man answered in turn.
‘Remember, keep your pistols and knives concealed, lads. We are merely members of the gaping crowd that will come flocking here when the fun commences.’
‘May we smoke, sir?’ Clinton Huff, the coxswain.
‘Nay, better not. We must keep ourselves wholly concealed until the moment comes. There may be a watchman about, and even a whiff of tobacco could give us away.’
‘How long must we wait, sir?’
‘Another glass. Here, pass this among you.’ And he gave his flask to the coxswain.
‘Thankee, sir.’
‘One pull per man. And from this moment we will keep silent.’
‘Ay-ay, sir.’
And the waiting began.
Almost exactly thirty minutes later a series of flashes lit the harbour to the east. Utter quiet, then the tremendous sounds of the explosions over the water.
THUD-THUD-THUD-B-BOOM
‘Wait!’ James, urgent and low, holding out a restraining hand as one of his men began to move out of the shadows. ‘We must wait until a throng begins to assemble. We must not be associated in any way with what is happening on the water.’
Further great flickering flashes, lighting the harbour surface, the moored ships, and the wharves.
THUMP-THUD THUD-THUD-BOOM
And now Expedient’s masts and rigging could be seen outlined against roiling fire, and the bulk of her hull was wreathed in dense smoke.
Soaring trails of sparks, and red brilliance broke across the sky, and fell in radiant balls of light.
CRACK CRACK CRACK
Fire now shivered and roared all round the ship, sending up clouds of spark-bright smoke, until the whole ship was enveloped in thick fiery fog, with only the tops of the masts clear above.
A crowd had now begun to gather, streaming down to the wharf from the town. James permitted his men, one at a time, to drift out of the shadows and join the townspeople. James retied the blue kerchief on his head, pushed a clay pipe into the corner of his mouth, and emerged from the shadows himself. He had dusted his face with charcoal before coming ashore, and was confident that he was unrecognisable as Lieutenant James Hayter, RN.
‘How can we be certain that den Norske will come to that particular wharf, sir?’ James had asked Rennie when they first discussed the plan in detail.
‘Because it is the wharf nearest to the ship. The other wharves are cluttered with casks and so forth, and there is not much room for a crowd to gather, anyway. He will come to our wharf, James, I am in no doubt.’
‘But how can we be sure he will venture out at all? If he has remained hid so long, why would he break cover? To gape at a fire?’
‘A great fire is entertainment, James. It provokes both horror and fascination in equal measure, and is thus irresistible. After close confinement will not den Norske welcome just such a public occasion, safe and unremarked in the press of people – part of life again? And when he sees it is the visiting English frigate that burns, will not he rejoice? “That difficulty has been removed, in least!” Hey?�
��
Now James casually joined his men. Gasps and cries from the crowd as another rocket soared on the night sky, and burst in dazzling red stars over the whole wide harbour. Expedient, apparently burning fierce, could plainly be seen a little to the east of the other ships. The rocket was followed by a series of orange flashes through the thick smoke, and:
BOOM BANG BANG B-BOOM BOOM THUD BOOM
The air itself seemed to shudder. More gasps. And a voice in the crowd:
‘Them’s her guns exploding! That means she is burning terrible bad!’
‘An attempt must be made to save those poor sailors!’ Another voice.
‘You cannot get near to a ship afire. She may blow up any time now.’
‘Ay, they must save themselves, poor devils, if they can.’
James smiled to himself, and began moving slowly through the press of people, looking for Olaf Christian den Norske. There were groups of men from the taverns, some of them boisterous. There were families, including children, who had heard the explosions and come hurrying down to the harbour. Several hundred people had already crowded on to the wharf. James slowly shouldered his way from one end of the wharf to the other, but the man he sought was not there.
On the harbour two or three boats from other ships had bravely gone across to aid the burning frigate, but had been driven back by the intensity of the fire.
An immense eruption of flames and shivering sparks from the far side of Expedient.
‘Those are Mr Storey’s fire-rafts.’ James, to himself.
He began to move back along the wharf toward the southern end, pretending to watch the conflagration, but in truth watching the crowd. He was near to the end of the wharf when he saw a hatless figure wrapped in a dark cloak, standing next to a family group, a solid, prosperous-looking man and his wife, and their two small children. It was as if the figure had attached himself to this group, like a bachelor uncle, but clearly the man and his wife were quite unaware of him as they pointed at the burning ship, and talked animatedly to their children. The figure beside them was equally fascinated by the spectacle, but was silent.
James jerked his head at the nearest of his men, and moved a little closer to the end of the wharf. The fire on the harbour flared up a moment in a quivering tower of flame and sparks. The figure turned nervously to look about him, James saw his face quite clear, and recognised – Olaf Christian den Norske.
James fell back from the press of people at the front of the wharf, and moved into the deep shadow of the building, where his crew presently joined him.
‘Olaf Christian den Norske is the man standing with that family at the southern end.’ James, pointing. ‘On no account will any one of us approach him. We will wait until our burning ship has by design drifted away down the harbour, and the crowd has begun to disperse, and then we will follow him. His lodgings cannot be far – if he came on foot.’
An hour passed. The burning ship drifted away down the harbour to the south-east, the fire diminishing. At length the ship was lost from view in a great pall of smoke, and the crowd began to break up. Children, brought from their beds by indulgent parents, were carried – some asleep – away from the wharf. The men from the taverns were now subdued. Excitement and wonder and dread had been dissipated by the gradual diminution of the drama, and by the lateness of the hour, and soon the wharf was nearly deserted. Olaf Christian den Norske followed the family of four away from the wharf, separated from them and cut away up a narrow street with the spire of a church at the top. James and his crew discreetly followed. Their quarry turned left, continued past a second church, then turned right up another narrow street, and went in at the side of a double-fronted brick house halfway along. There was a single lamp at the far end of the street, but the rest of it was dark, and there were no lights in any of the windows.
‘You all saw the house he entered?’ James, whispering.
‘Ay, sir.’
‘Ay, we did.’
‘Very well. We shall wait here at the corner five minutes, to allow him to be comfortable within, and then we will go in there and take him.’
They waited, and presently James gave the signal to move up the street. They went in single file, keeping to one side, careful to tread light on the cobbles. When they reached the house they saw there was a narrow space between it and the next house – and that there was an iron gate. The gate was locked.
‘Christ Jesu . . .’ James, under his breath.
‘Should we break it open, sir?’ Clinton Huff, whispering.
‘Nay, the noise would wake the whole street.’
‘Should we go in at the front, then, sir? Break down the door, like, and—’
‘Nay, nay, that would be even worse. He must be took, but very quiet. We must be stealthy, d’y’hear me, now?’ Glancing at each man.
‘Ay, sir.’
‘Ay, sir.’
‘There will be an alley behind, I am nearly certain, where we will discover the rear entrance to the house.’
Leaving Cole and Thomas behind to watch the front of the house, they returned to the corner of the street, cut left, and found the alley. Dark and narrow, windowless brick walls, the smell of drains. James led the way, counting the number of properties, until they came to the right house. There was another gate. James seized the ring handle, twisted it, and found it was locked.
‘God’s love, what have we done to deserve this?’
‘What shall we do, sir?’ Clinton Huff.
‘We must climb over the gate.’ James seized the ring handle again, inadvertently twisted it the opposite way – and the gate swung open.
Hill was deployed as lookout in the alley, and a moment after James, Huff, Enderby and Lacey were at the narrow rear door of the house. James wished to have a party inside large enough to overpower their man quickly and easily, but not so large as to trip over themselves in the confines of the house.
The rear door proved to be locked, but a small window to one side was not. The four men squeezed through it, and found themselves in total darkness. The lingering smell of cloves told them they were in the kitchen.
‘Should we risk a light, sir?’ Clinton Huff, whispering.
‘No!’ James, also whispering. ‘We will move deeper inside the house, and search it room by room.’
‘Without no light, sir?’
‘We are all used to moving about below deck at night, without lights. Keep close.’
An inner door led to a steep, narrow stair, lit by the faint glow of a lamp somewhere above.
James and his men crept up the stair, James in the lead. The top of the stair gave on to a short passage and a small entrance hallway, the front door beyond. James stepped cautiously into the passage, and stood still. He noted the central main staircase. Doors on the left and right gave on to the lower rooms of the house. A single lamp burned on the wall in the entrance, the flame turned very low. All was quiet.
Over his shoulder James whispered: ‘We will search the lower rooms first. Should we disturb anyone, do not hesitate to subdue them at once. A hand over the mouth, and a sharp blow to the skull with your pistol butt.’
‘Even if it’s a woman, sir?’ Huff, moving to his side.
‘Certainly. A single scream could destroy our purpose.’ With a ruthlessness that surprised him even as the words came out of his mouth.
‘Ay-ay, sir.’
‘And remember, we must not only take den Norske, but also find his strongbox.’
‘What is in the box, sir?’
‘Something of great value to England. And now we must keep silence.’
Moving quickly and quietly James led the way to the door on the left.
The downstairs rooms were all empty. There was no furniture, the floorboards were bare, the windows shuttered. In most of the rooms there was the sour odour of damp.
James led them back to the hallway, put a finger to his lips, and pointed up the central staircase, which rose between elegantly turned balusters. They went up in sing
le file, stepping softly on the wide treads.
It took them a mere five minutes to discover that the upper rooms were also empty. When they had reassembled on the wide landing, James allowed Huff to light the small dark-lantern he had brought with him.
‘Can we have come into the wrong damned house . . . ?’ James, half to himself.
‘Where does that lead, sir?’ Huff, whispering and pointing to a door on the left. ‘We never seen it when we first come up.’
Through the door a long dark side passage led to the rear of the house. Their shadows strode enormous on the walls in the subdued glimmer of the lamp. At the far end was a very narrow, steep stairway leading up to an attic door, tight under the slope of the roof. Beneath the door, a sliver of light.
‘So that is where he is hid, by God.’ Whispered.
They stood staring up at the narrow door. James touched the coxswain on the shoulder.
‘Huff, you come with me.’ To Enderby and Lacey: ‘You two remain here. Should we fail to come down with our prisoner two minutes after we break down that door, you will come up and assist us.’
‘Two minutes – ay-ay, sir.’ Enderby.
James led the way up the ladder, using the thin stair-rail like a mast shroud. Huff went up immediately behind, carrying the lantern. At the top James braced himself on the rail, raised his right foot, and kicked the door off its hinges.
Olaf Christian den Norske was seated on his narrow campaign bed in his shirtsleeves, studying documents by the light of a single candle. A canvas partition had been erected, separating his living area from the rest of the attic. The canvas billowed with the force of James’s entry, and den Norske leapt to his feet with a cry, and grabbed for a pistol that lay on a stool by the bed.
‘No! Do not!’ James, presenting his own pistol at den Norske’s head. Huff moved forward from behind James, snatched up den Norske’s weapon, and tucked it into his waistband.
‘Good God . . . you are Lieutenant Hayter.’ Den Norske, staring at James.
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