Element of chance, p.13
Element of Chance, page 13
Pender, right at the front of the crowded assembly, couldn’t reply. But he tried to kick Garmond discreetly by lifting his heel.
‘Strikes me,’ Garmond continued in his nasal voice, ‘that the Frenchies might have the right of it. Happen it’s time we did something about the men that lord it over us. Ever ask yourself, Pender, why someone like you has to bow the knee to a pup like Callander? Your blood’s the same, and you’ve got a better brain …’
Pender heard the man gasp, as his heel got him on the shin at the second attempt. But Garmond refused to be quiet. ‘All I ask is that we talk, man to man. ’Cause you and I have it in us to ease the lot of every poor sod aboard …’
Garmond obviously had his eye on Toner. As the captain’s eyes swung round to look at the two defaulters, the voice behind Pender’s ear fell silent.
‘Step forward, defaulters,’ said Dunlop, his voice thick and his eyes puffed with lack of sleep.
Pender and Flowers did as they were ordered. Toner looked them up and down, his black eyebrows twitching and the evergrinding teeth gnashing away.
‘Mr Callander, do you wish to plead for your men?’
The young midshipman’s response earned him a hard look from Dunlop.
‘I do, sir.’
‘Then proceed, Mr Callander.’
‘I would plead, sir, that the men are new to the ship and its ways, let alone the discipline of the Royal Navy. No doubt, on a privateering ship, gambling is permitted …’
Callander stopped, not because he’d run out of words, but because of the black look in his captain’s eyes. The boy realised then that the more he pleaded for Pender and Flowers the greater his commander’s anger would be. That would increase the level of punishment Toner would inflict. All the lines he’d so carefully rehearsed were worse than useless. Indeed, they were positively dangerous. Yet he was committed to saying something, so he decided on a complete change of tack. The words, delivered in his clear, Highland accent, didn’t emerge smoothly. He stumbled over every sentence, and kept his head down lest by a stare, or a blush, he might increase his captain’s anger.
‘Yet they knew enough to avoid a public place … so they are aware that they were committing an offence … against the articles that were read to them when they came aboard.’
His tongue seemed stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he didn’t have the saliva to wet his parched lips. ‘Perhaps they thought the officers slack, sir … Perhaps, hearing the revelry emanating from the gunroom, they felt immune from discovery.’
He heard Dunlop grunt at that point, but the premier couldn’t interrupt. Somehow, the thought that he’d upset the first lieutenant, who’d taken the lead in beating him over the gun, made the rest of his impromptu speech easier to deliver.
‘Imagine, sir, the shock when their felony was uncovered. I think they realise now that they are commanded by most diligent officers; that they cannot transgress without certain punishment; that they have partly taken on board the lesson; and that you, sir, in a spirit of magnanimity, should punish them accordingly. For you have their souls in your charge as well as their bodies. I request, for their own salvation, that you make an example of them, sir. And in doing so you take the opportunity to demonstrate to the newer members of the crew the depths of your benevolence, as well as the unbending standards that you exemplify.’
The last words had come more easily, and so delivered with a flourish, brought forth a murmur from the crew, standing behind the two silent offenders. The less able brains were incensed, thinking that they’d heard a young gentleman, previously deemed kindly, demand the lash when he should have being seeking leniency. But those few who had the power of thought, saw that the youngster had boxed his commander in. Many of those present had served under hard captains, a few had even met tyrants like Toner in their life at sea. What all these commanders had in common was one thing. Regardless of how they were perceived by others, they all saw themselves as fair, upright men, imposing proper discipline, to maintain clear standards.
Pender had listened harder than most. He knew that young Callander had changed tack, realizing that a plea for leniency was wasted on Toner. The boy had appealed, just in time, to the one part of his captain’s nature that might produce the result he desired. Pender had never envisaged that he might get off without a flogging. He, at least, was grateful to the young Scotsman, whose aim had been to diminish the sentence, on a ship where fifty lashes was a common punishment for a minor misdemeanour.
Callander had dropped his head again, so that the blush caused by his own eloquence was hidden. But finally the boy lifted his eyes to look at Toner. The captain’s countenance was still hard, the teeth still as they’d been before. But there was something behind the eyes, almost a softening, that raised Pender’s hopes. It was almost as if, by speaking so, the midshipman, who was after all a fellow countryman, had caused Toner to doubt the rightness of his actions.
‘Eloquently put, Mr Callander. I have mind to hearken to what you say.’
‘If I may be allowed a word, sir,’ said Dunlop.
‘Later,’ snapped Toner.
His premier flushed at this, but it was his own fault that he had suffered a public rebuke. He’d spoken too late to influence matters. The captain could hardly contend that he’d listen to Callander, then allow his second-in-command to interfere, and probably press for the maximum punishment. Once Dunlop had done so, he’d be obliged to agree. And his reasons for heeding Callander were complex, too tangled to even attempt a public explanation.
It was nothing to do with the connection between them, though it would doubtless be perceived as such. The boy’s presence aboard was a way of repaying a favour to Callander’s uncle, an Edinburgh moneylender who’d advanced him credit in the past. Toner saw an opportunity for a little popularity here, and though not normally a man to court such an ephemeral thing, he was not so insensitive a soul that he despised the notion of being liked. Then there was the pleasure to be derived from doing the unexpected. Circumstances, added to his own inclinations, had imposed the need to flog freely, hardly surprising given the crew that the Admiralty had saddled him with. But the hands were still divided into the Endymions who’d come aboard at Portsmouth and the Bucephalases. A proper flogging would only drive them together, possibly making an already sullen complement dangerous. Far better to favour the newcomers, and cause resentment amongst the original crew members.
He looked at Pender and Flowers, with what he supposed was a smile. To them, with his lips stretched and those teeth grinding against each other still, it had the appearance of a man preparing to deliver a death sentence.
‘I’m no’ a cruel man,’ he said, ‘who flogs his hands for mere pleasure.’
There was hardly a look on that deck that didn’t shift at those words, not daring to be observed in eye contact with one another, lest they be seen to be shocked at such a blatant falsehood.
‘And a good captain should hearken to his officers, however young. But he should also seek to guide them, since their souls are as dear to him as those of the crew. There are times when a harsh benevolence is unfitting. I must also demonstrate that I can see the sense of leniency. I will impose a punishment of a mere twenty lashes per man. Boatswain, rig the grating. Mr Callander, seize them up.’
Garmond had time for just one more opinion, before the two men were hauled forward by the marines.
‘He’s got a silver tongue, that lad. Last man to be caught dicing was treated to a hundred. Died before we cleared the Needles.’
Pender, prey to enough anxiety as it was, felt the blood drain out of his face. He’d heard about the man who’d died, everyone had. But no one had told him that the charge was gambling. If Garmond knew that, and had guessed what Pender was about last night, why had he so readily given him the dice?
‘Sir,’ said Dunlop, quickly. ‘I most humbly submit that these men are insolent, and that an example be made of them.’
Toner had a permanently angry face, so fixing the degree of his passions was confined to the eyes. These now flashed dangerously at his premier, causing Dunlop to pull himself very erect.
‘Might I remind you, sir, that I command here. And if we are to discuss examples, Mr Dunlop, then you, by your actions, would ensure that we have a crew that is even more dissolute than any I’ve served with.’
‘Sir,’ stammered Dunlop.
‘I have allowed you licence, sir, in your drinking and your revels. But remember that I berth above the gunroom the next time you choose to lift a bottle.’
Dunlop pulled himself upright. His eyes had gone blank in the face of this reprimand. Only the involuntary twitching of his cratered nose testified to his discomfort.
‘Carry on,’ he croaked.
Men rushed to lay the canvas that would protect the planks of the hallowed deck. The grating was lashed to the shrouds, angled so that the cat could sear across the naked victim’s back, tearing the skin as it rose. Pender, hauled forward first, felt the ropes bite into his wrists. He took the leather strap in his mouth and bit hard. It was a small mercy to be spared eighty lashes, except that a dose like that could kill. But the nine-tailed whip, with knots along the length of each strand, would, at twenty blows, still rip his skin to shreds.
It was a pain he’d suffered before, so what was coming was made worse by the memory. That induced a sudden feeling of terror that he fought to suppress. He tried hard to focus on something good, like his children. Their faces filled his mind, smiling and happy, so different from the way he’d found them on his last run ashore, undernourished and in rags, the victim of their mother’s love of gin. Pender had buried her. He’d saved the children, though, from their life in that Portsmouth hovel, just as he’d saved himself from a life of crime. Now they were safe and happy at Harry Ludlow’s house in Kent, well fed and cared for.
The picture of his two girls and the boy, playing in the grounds or at their lessons, of his eldest perhaps writing him another letter in her crabbed young hand, dissolved at the first blow. All the strands of his mind were torn towards the searing heat that starting in his naked back seemed to spread through his whole being. The stinging sensation that preceded the pain had no time to disperse before he was struck again.
Blow landed on top of blow, each one a clearly audible crack. He could hear, faintly, his tormentor counting off the numbers. Three … Four … Five. Spittle dribbled over the leather strap and ran down his chin. It wasn’t a stinging sensation now. It was agony, made worse by the certain knowledge that his skin was broken, and that each blow was now opening up a previous cut. For all that he suffered at this grating, Pender knew that worse was to follow. When they ceased this, and threw the bucket of salt water over his lacerated back, the real torture of a constant pain would begin.
He fought to keep from collapse, determined to deny Toner and his officers that pleasure. Thirteen … Fourteen … Fifteen. Pender felt his knees begin to go and hauled hard on the rough ropes that bound his wrist, so as to remain standing. His world and his mental vision shrank to that small expanse of ragged flesh. He had no memories now, happy or painful. No other thoughts penetrated his world. They were overborne by the sequence of seemingly continuous sounds. There was the swish that preceded each blow of the lash. The squelch as the ropes sunk into torn and bloody flesh. His laboured breathing as he exhaled, then the high pitch as he sucked in another deep lungful in anticipation, just as the last numbers were reeled off.
‘Eighteen … Nineteen … Twenty.’
‘Punishment completed, sir,’ said Dunlop, stiffly.
‘Very well. Cut him down and seize the other man up,’ Toner replied.
The salt water hit his back like a hammer, immediately stinging the open wounds. The hands that held him were very necessary, since his knees would not. The surgeon’s voice was faint. ‘Permission to take the man below, sir.’
‘Denied,’ said Toner, without emotion. ‘Hold his head up so that he can see. By looking at the other fellow’s back he will understand what we have done to his own. Perhaps it will keep him from transgressing again.’
The two men held him upright. An unseen hand gripped his hair and pulled his head back. But Pender shut his eyes. The last thing he wanted to look at was Flowers’s back. He heard the same sounds coming from both the boatswain’s mate and the victim, but this time they were distant, as though belonging to another world. It was a measure of Pender’s distress at his feelings of failure that in order to cut them out he tried to concentrate on his own pain. But the image of Harry Ludlow swam before his eyes, a vision that made him pray that his captain would rescue them from this ship before Toner, and his methods, killed one of the men from the Bucephalas.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE ROUTINE aboard Bucephalas was the same every morning. Having raced on through the night, Harry shortened sail and took in his topgallants before first light. He was in the crosstrees with his telescope as the first rays of the sun shot over the edge of the eastern sea, scanning the western horizon for a hint of a sail. All he saw, dawn after dawn, was an empty ocean, with no sign of Endymion or any other ship. Back on deck, he would order his sails reset. Bucephalas took maximum benefit from the steady trades, racing along with the sea spray breaking over the bows and flying up in the air, only to be blown away to leeward. Once or twice they espied the odd merchant ship, possibly an enemy or a neutral, but more likely British. Harry didn’t even bother to investigate, his sole purpose being to raise the wake of Toner’s frigate and sit just below the horizon until they reached Antigua.
He was enjoying a late breakfast with James, discussing the merits of various marine artists, when the cry of ‘Two sail, dead ahead!’ came through the open skylight. Harry drained his coffee and walked out on to the quarterdeck, glad to observe that his own upper sails were already gone, hopefully making him invisible to the other vessels. He made for the tops as soon as the lookout identified them as warships. As he climbed the ratlines he heard the dull boom of the guns echoing across the water, which caused him to pause. He called down to the deck and ordered the ship cleared for action, observing how swiftly this command was obeyed, before resuming his ascent. Once in the crosstrees and following the direction indicated by the lookout, he quickly fixed the two sail on the western horizon, established that they were on the same course, and heading away from him. The gunfire echoed across the water again, but it was too far away and too bright to observe either the flashes or the direction of the shot. Also with the smoke of the guns being blown forward he had no idea if these two ships were consorts operating together, firing at something he couldn’t see, or enemies engaged in battle. Neither could he tell their nationality. One of them could be Endymion, but the temptation to crack on and investigate was one he must resist. He was in no fit state, with only half his crew on board, to take a chance on their being French, a distinct possibility, this being the time of year, just after the hurricane season, when the enemy chose to despatch warships to the West Indies.
Even if they were British, he should avoid them. After what had happened with Toner he had no intention of exposing more of his men to the risk of impressment. His exemptions, ripped apart by the Scotsman, looked a sorry sight. Certainly they appeared less convincing now than they had before he came aboard. Even with a naval captain less jaundiced than Toner they might not pass muster. Set against that was his need to know the nature of what lay ahead. If it was Endymion and the frigate was engaged in a fight, then so was half the crew. Harry recalled the poor gunnery he’d observed off the French coast and wondered how the frigate would perform against a well-armed enemy. Would Toner have the sense to put the Bucephalases, well trained and competent, on the upper-deck guns? The other thought was equally worrying. If they were enemy ships, then he’d have to give up his habit of cracking on at night to try and catch Toner. If he continued to follow that course he could find himself one fine morning with two frigates close by, with very little prospect of either victory or escape.
He listened carefully to the sound of the guns, sensed that they were fired individually. Also, given the set of sails, with their courses still rigged, he surmised they were firing forward. So bow-chasers aimed at the stern of some other vessel. Then he picked up the first flash of the third sail. He concentrated hard, and slowly it took shape, a smaller ship, its topsails a mere speck on the horizon. The two frigates were gaining on their chase, while he, in turn, was holding his position on them. Which almost certainly indicated that the chase was a merchantman, slower than its pursuers, which would soon be overtaken and forced to strike. Harry looked down to the quarterdeck to see James with his head back, his eyes fixed on his brother. Doubtless he was wondering what lay ahead. That decided him. He too, for his own peace of mind, had to know exactly what dangers he faced. He called out the orders to reset the upper sails and slid down the backstay to the deck.
James was favoured with a brisk explanation while the men ran to their allotted stations. No sooner were his topgallants aloft than one of the frigates came about to investigate, leaving her consort to continue the chase. Being on the larboard tack his flag continued to blow directly away from Bucephalas, making it impossible to tell his nationality. They closed each other rapidly, indicating that the other ship was fairly good on a bowline. The trim of the sails told him nothing. Harry ordered the private signal, which he’d last used when trying to find Lord Bridport, to be hoisted. As soon as it was aloft he trimmed his braces and spun the wheel so that they were readable from the other ship’s deck. The lack of response sowed the first seed of doubt. The second was the other ship’s determination to stay on her present tack, which hid her flags from Harry’s gaze.
‘All hands,’ he said quietly. ‘Stand by to wear.’
The frigate breasted the swell at exactly the same moment as Bucephalas and for the first time Harry could see her hull and figurehead. It was as if the other captain heard his shouted orders to come about. At that precise moment he swung his ship on to the starboard tack and, plain as day, blowing away from the mainmast, Harry spotted the tricolour flag of the French Republic.
