An Ensuing Evil and Others

by Peter Tremayne

  “Get on with it, Mr. Hart.”

  Midshipman Hart swallowed nervously. “Well, sir, Lieutenant Jardine was not killed by French shot nor collateral damage from its fall.”

  The midshipman turned to the doctor. He was smiling as if amused by something.

  “Lieutenant Jardine sustained his fatal injuries having been struck by that gun when in recoil.” He indicated the cannon being lashed back to its bulkhead moorings.

  Roscarrock stared at him for a moment. “I see,” he said slowly. “Are you telling me that when number six gun was fired, it recoiled into Jardine and killed him? That Jardine was standing too near the gun when it was fired?”

  Smithers actually chuckled. “Precisely so, Captain. Precisely so.”

  Roscarrock knew there was no love lost between the surgeon and the late third lieutenant. He decided to ignore the man’s humor.

  “If he was so close behind the gun when it recoiled, then it would seem that this was an accident but that the fault lay with him. We will give his family the benefit of hearing he died in action and not by an accident that could have been avoided.”

  Midshipman Hart cleared his throat. “It was not exactly an accident, sir,” he ventured.

  Roscarrock turned quickly to him with a frown. “What’s that you say?” he snapped.

  Midshipman Hart blanched at his captain’s disapproving tone but stood his ground. “I do not think this was an accident, sir.”

  There was a moments silence.

  “Then, pray, sir, how else do you explain it?” Roscarrock allowed a little sarcasm to enter into his voice. “Jardine is standing behind the gun; when it is fired, the gun recoils and slams into him, causing injuries from which he dies. Do I have the right of it, Surgeon Smithers?” he demanded of the doctor without turning to him.

  “You do, sir; you do, indeed,” echoed the smiling surgeon.

  “Then we are agreed so far. Now, Mr. Hart, if, as you claim, this was no accident, are you saying that Lieutenant Jardine deliberately stood in a position where he, as gunnery officer, knew the gun would recoil on him?”

  “No, sir, I do not.”

  “Then what are you saying,” Roscarrock demanded harshly, “for I am at a loss to understand your argument?”

  “I am saying that murder may have been committed, sir.”

  There was an awkward silence.

  The young midshipman stood defiantly under the close scrutiny of his captain.

  When Roscarrock spoke, his voice was quiet. “Murder, Mr. Hart? Murder? That is a most serious accusation.”

  Midshipman Hart raised his jaw defensively. “I have considered the implications of my accusation, sir.”

  “Then, perhaps, you would be good enough to take me through the facts which would lead me to follow your line of thinking.”

  Hart was eager now to demonstrate his arguments. “I have accepted that Lieutenant Jardine was an experienced gunnery officer. His station in any battle was to stand amidships behind guns number six on both port and starboard, a position where he could command the broadsides on both sides of the ship. His usual position was center ship, where no gun could recoil back if properly secured.”

  Roscarrock said nothing. All this was common knowledge that was shared by even the young powder monkeys aboard. The boys who carried powder and shot to the cannon learned immediately they came aboard to avoid accidents such as getting caught in gun recoil.

  Hart paused, and when his captain made no further comment, he went on quickly. “Each cannon is secured to its position by stay ropes which allow for recoil but control the extent of the recoil. Therefore, a gun can only jump back a yard or so at most.”

  Roscarrock was still silent.

  “In the case of number-six gun-” Hart turned to where members of the crew had now finished lashing the gun back into its position. “-the gun recoiled back across the deck and struck Lieutenant Jardine without being halted by the stay ropes.”

  Roscarrock’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you telling me that the gun was not secured?”

  “That is correct, sir. It was not secured. I believe that this was a deliberate act and no accident.”

  “Deliberate? It could have been caused by a frayed stay rope which had not been picked up during an inspection.”

  Midshipman Hart shook his head vehemently. “Two main ropes secure the gun. Both ropes would have had to be frayed and have snapped asunder at precisely the same moment. A frayed rope breaking on one side would not cause a straight recoil. The gun would have swung at an angle on its side as the stay rope on the other side would have pulled it to a halt there.”

  “What are you saying, then?”

  Midshipman Hart turned to the gun and picked up a couple of rope’s ends. “These are the ropes that attached the gun to the bulkhead to limit its recoil.” He held them out for Roscarrock’s inspection. “If you will observe, sir, you will see that both ropes were cut almost through by a sharp implement, a knife, to the point where the force of pressure from the first recoil would have snapped the remaining strands.”

  Roscarrock examined the rope ends in silence before handing them back to the young midshipman. “Very well, Mr. Hart. Suppose we accept that someone did this in order to kill Lieutenant Jardine; we must then assume that whoever did it knew that in a battle Jardine would be standing behind that gun. His battle station was well known. But how would they been so sure as to the moment the gun was to be fired? They would have had to sever the ropes only when they were certain of an engagement, for tackle is inspected every three days on this ship.”

  Midshipman Hart inclined his head thoughtfully. “You are quite right, sir.”

  “Exactly so. You will agree that to achieve this purpose, the severing of the ropes had to be done just before we engaged the French. In those seconds during the very call to battle stations. There would surely have been witnesses to the deed.”

  “Lieutenant Jardine was not popular with the men, sir.” It was Surgeon Smithers who made the deadpan comment.

  There was no argument in that.

  Roscarrock turned as if irritated to find Smithers still there, grinning broadly. “Very well, Doctor. I am sure that you have other duties to fulfill. I would ask you not to comment to any other person about this matter until we have cleared it up.”

  Thus dismissed, the surgeon left to attend to those injured who needed his skills.

  Roscarrock turned back to the young man. “Accepting the stay ropes on the cannon were tampered with in the way you suggest and for the purpose of causing the death of Lieutenant Jardine, and leaving aside the opportunity of that action, the surgeon is right-Lieutenant Jardine was not a popular officer on this ship. Any member of the crew could have done this. Even one of your fellow midshipmen.”

  Hart raised his eyebrows in protest.

  “Yes,” went on Roscarrock, before he could speak. “I know all about the punishments that Lieutenant Jardine handed out.”

  One of the spiteful punishments that Jardine liked to order was having the master-of-arms inflict floggings on midshipmen who fell foul of his temper. They were made to “kiss the gunners daughter”: that was, they were stretched over the barrel of a cannon and beaten with a birch stick. “The gunners daughter” was naval slang for a cannon.

  Roscarrock modulated his tone to speak in a friendly, reasonable fashion. “Look, Hart, most of the ship’s company will not shed a tear when Jardine”-he gestured to the body under the tarpaulin-”is tipped over the side. One-fifth of the ship’s company are pressed men. Jardine was commander of the press-gang at Chatham. There’s vengeance in their minds. And, as for the rest…” Roscarrock shrugged. “Better to forget the reason why; his family will rest more comfortably knowing that he died doing his duty.”

  Midshipman Hart stood his ground. A look of stubbornness seemed to fill the features of the young midshipman. “Sir, my father is a parson, and I was raised to believe in truth and justice. I cannot agree to such a subterfuge. If a m
an has been murdered, then his killer must be found.”

  Roscarrock sighed wearily. “If you must, pursue this matter, Mr. Hart. I see no purpose in it when there are a dozen other dead and dying to be accounted for in this engagement and probably more of us will die before we reach our home port again.”

  “I would like to pursue my inquiry, sir,” the young man insisted stubbornly.

  “Who is the gun captain of number six, portside?” Roscarrock demanded ominously after a short pause. “Pass the word for him. Perhaps we can settle the matter now.”

  The gun captain was a muscular seaman in his late thirties. He stood nervously before them.

  “How do you explain this, Evans?” demanded Roscarrock, a hand encompassing the gun and the body.

  Evans shrugged slightly. “Ain’t got no explanation, sir,” he muttered. “The stay ropes jest snapped, and the cannon went straight back into the lieutenant. Broke the rammer’s foot as it jolted over it.”

  The rammer was the man who stood by ready to ram wad and shot into the barrel.

  “Did anyone notice that the stay ropes were frayed before you put your match to the gun?”

  Evans shook his head vehemently. “The Frenchie was upon us and firing, sir. We just loaded with shot and waited for the order to fire.”

  “Please, sir…,” Midshipman Hart intervened, indicating that he wished to ask a question.

  Roscarrock nodded his assent.

  “Where were you when we beat to quarters, Evans?”

  The gun captain shifted his weight from one foot to another. “We were already on our way up from the lower deck. We’d heard the first cry that a Frenchie had been sighted, and so we came running for the gun deck, knowing a fight was in the offing. While we were running up, we heard the drum start beating to quarters.”

  “And when did Lieutenant Jardine arrive?”

  “Why, he was already at his station and cursing us for our slowness, though ‘twas unfair, as we were one of the first guns ready and run out, begging your pardon, sir. However, I do swear he was on the gun deck before we sighted the Frenchie.”

  “You are sure about that? There was no time for anyone else to be on the gun deck at your gun between the sighting of the Frenchman and the arrival of Lieutenant Jardine?”

  “The master’s mate was with him, sir.”

  “Pass the word for the masters mate,” called Roscarrock to a passing seaman. Then he turned back to the gun captain. “What happened then?”

  “There came the command from yourself, sir.” Evans glanced nervously at Roscarrock. “Lieutenant Jardine relayed your order to fire when our guns began to bear. The Frenchje got in a first shot that smashed number-two gun and killed the crew ‘fore they had time to fire. Then we fired and… well, you know what happened.”

  Roscarrock dismissed the man with a wave of his hand just as the master’s mate arrived. “Were you on the gun deck before we beat to quarters?”

  The grizzled veteran frowned at his captain. “That I was. I accompanied Lieutenant Jardine, who wanted to inspect the readiness of the gun deck. We were here a full ten minutes before we beat to quarters. Then I went directly to my station, leaving the lieutenant here.”

  “That is all,” dismissed Roscarrock, turning to the midshipman. “Well, Mr. Hart, your theory seems to be flawed. If Lieutenant Jardine was already on the gun deck when we sighted the Frenchman, how could anyone have cut the stay ropes with the intent to kill him before the gun crews came into action?”

  Midshipman Hart was evidently trying to fathom this out. His face brightened. “Unless the stay ropes were cut beforehand.”

  Roscarrock chuckled cynically. “Are you telling me that whoever cut them was foresighted? A fortune-teller? That he cut the ropes with the premonition that we would shortly be in action and Jardine would be standing in that position? Why, we might have gone this entire voyage without firing a shot in anger-”

  “That’s it! cried the young man excitedly. “Not in anger, not firing a shot in anger…”

  Roscarrock regarded him with perplexity. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t you recall last night, sir? You called all officers to your cabin and said that there would be a gunnery drill some time this morning to check our efficiency. That explains why Lieutenant Jardine was already on the gun deck before we sighted the Frenchman. He was ensuring his guns were in readiness.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “All the officers knew that gunnery drill would take place. And every officer was told to ensure no crew member knew this so that it was to be a good measure of their efficiency. Even Surgeon Smithers was at the officers’ call when you announced the drill.”

  “Are you now saying that one of my officers is responsible for Jardine’s death? That knowing the gunnery drill was ordered and also knowing where Jardine’s station was, they cut through the stay ropes and waited for the drill?”

  “I am saying that one of the officers on this ship is responsible for his murder, sir. Only the officers knew of the impending gunnery drill and had time to tamper with the ropes.”

  Roscarrock pursed his lips. “I think that your argument is rather far-fetched. But”-he raised a hand to interrupt the midshipman’s protest-”I’ll not gainsay your wish to make further inquiries. Remember that you are making serious charges, Mr. Hart. I will not record our conversations in the log until you come to me with evidence. Now, I am afraid that I have other pressing matters to attend to.”

  Returning to the quarterdeck, Roscarrock found his first lieutenant, Gervaise, issuing orders to the ship’s carpenter.

  He stiffened slightly as the captain approached, and dismissed the craftsman. “There’s still some rigging tackle in a dangerous condition on the mainmast by the crow’s nest. We won’t be able to clear it until we get in port waters. The Frenchie was using some chain shot to try to dismast us. It’s still lodged up there. We’ll have to use the mizzentop lookout position.”

  “Very well. What about the foremast?”

  “The master’s mate is overseeing the jury rig now. It’ll mean a new sail there. We can be under way within half an hour.”

  Roscarrock glanced around at the enshrouding fog. “Unless it’s my imagination, this fog is thinning. Lets hope the Frenchie hasn’t stuck around to find out what has happened to us. We won’t have the speed to outrun him without full sails.”

  Gervaise did not seem unduly worried. “Rambert’s a cautious cove, sir. Remember how his squadron failed to support Admiral de Villeneuve off Cape Finisterre a few years back? It was Rambert then who ran for a fog bank to escape our squadron rather than engage us. I think he’ll keep his ship back and not venture after us.”

  “Let’s hope you are right, Mr. Gervaise.”

  Gervaise hesitated awkwardly. “Sir, what’s this Surgeon Smithers was chortling about Lieutenant Jardine’s death?”

  Roscarrock swung round in annoyance. Damn the loose-mouthed doctor to hell! “What was Smithers saying?” he demanded.

  “Oh, he seemed amused by the fact Jardine killed himself by accident and won’t get the glory of dying in battle. Is it true?”

  “Lieutenant Jardine was killed by a gun recoiling into him, that’s all,” Roscarrock said shortly.

  Gervaise abruptly began to chuckle. “Rless me! It’s really true? Not killed in action? No fame and glory in death for Jardine?”

  Roscarrock’s eyes narrowed. “I am fully aware that you didn’t like Jardine, Mr. Gervaise.”

  Gervaise stopped chuckling, and his mouth suddenly hardened. “Didn’t like him? That is an understatement. I hated him, and if I had been a better man with sword or pistol, like young Unstead, I would have called out the bastard long ago. Ask Smithers, as well. He once tried to foist his attentions on Smithers’s daughter Prudence.” The words were spoken softly, but there was vehemence in them.

  Roscarrock turned away in embarrassment. He pretended to examine the drifting fog again. “Hands on deck for the c
ommittal of the dead to the sea in half an hour. I want to be under way immediately afterwards if this clears.” He made to turn down the companionway but then paused and added, “Make sure we can muster a fighting trim if Johnny Frenchman suddenly appears again.”

  Lieutenant Gervaise raised a hand to his hat.

  In his cabin, Roscarrock sat for a while absently drumming his fingers on his desktop while listening to the faint sounds of shouted orders and answering cry of the hands as they performed their various tasks to return the ship to readiness.

  Little time seemed to pass before there was a sharp tap on the door.

  It was Midshipman Hart. His face wore a satisfied expression. He seemed bursting with news.

  “Come in, Mr. Hart,” Roscarrock invited. “From your expression, I presume that you have solved your mystery?”

  “I believe that I now know the means whereby it can be solved.”

  Roscarrock raised his eyebrows for a moment and then sat back, relaxing as far as his small wooden chair would allow. “So what is your conclusion?”

  “Exactly as I said, sir. Lieutenant Jardine’s death was accomplished with malice aforethought. Knowing the gun drill was going to be held this morning, one of the officers of this ship cut the stay ropes some time during the night so that number-six gun would recoil back and strike the lieutenant. However, before the gun drill was due to take place, a real engagement ensued when we sighted the Frenchman. The result was just the same. The gun killed the lieutenant.”

  “That much you have claimed before. You were going to report to me when you could sustain your hypothesis. Can you do so?”

  Hart smiled broadly. “As you gave me permission to pursue the task, sir, I took the liberty of searching Lieutenant Jardine’s dunnage.”

  “You searched his personal possessions?”

  “I did so, sir. I believe that given what I have found, I can demonstrate the reality of my theory and present a prima facie case against an officer.”

  Roscarrock leaned forward quickly. “How so?”

  “It is well known that Lieutenant Jardine had innumerable affairs, that he was a ladies’ man, a seducer of women.”