The Devil's Own Luck, page 15
Howarth stepped forward, raising and swinging a short club as he did so. James cowered down and it caught him on the back, causing him to cry out in pain.
“And then I’ll see you flogged, you bastard, when I be finished with ye.” The club was raised again. James, realizing he stood no chance crouching down, lunged forward, grabbing his assailant round the knees. He waited for the second blow on his back that was sure to follow. Howarth, his club raised to deliver it, gave a sudden gasp. James stood up, meaning to grab his throat, but Howarth’s body arched as he did so, seeming to gain several inches in height. His eyes were wide open, bulging out of his head. He started to fall forward. Harry stood behind him, a wild look in his eye and his short sword lost in the man’s back.
“Grab him,” he hissed impatiently. James reached up to stop the body thudding on to the deck.
“Lower him gently,” said Harry. “Keep him face down. And leave that sword, or there’ll be blood all over the place.”
They lowered Howarth on to the deck. James looked at his brother’s face. “Well, Harry. We are both for the high jump now.”
“There was no choice, James.” Harry’s voice was quite calm. “He was out to kill you, I think. If not today, then before we reached port.”
“What do we do now?”
“Get rid of the body, James. Had you been at sea for any time, brother, you would know that it is not uncommon for a bully to go overboard in the night.”
“Then why has someone not done for this one before?”
“Because he wasn’t stupid. A bully picks his victims carefully. But I think he picked you because he was told to. Can you help me get him upright?”
Pender came running along the gangway. He stopped when he saw Howarth’s body.
“Christ Almighty. We have to scarper, Mr Ludlow. Something’s up, I don’t know what, but the marines are out with orders to search the ship. Supposed to be planning a surprise for someone, but I saw them being raised from their hammocks, quiet like. Anyway they are now getting set to block off the companionways.”
“We can’t leave him here,” said James.
“We’ll have to,” said Harry. “It’ll be all hands on deck once they have shut off the lower parts of the ship. Then anyone missing is up to no good.”
Harry said no more, heading for the stairs back to the gundeck. He had just started to climb when he stopped suddenly. The light at the head of the steps was increasing as someone approached with a lantern. The sound of footsteps clacking on the deck left him in no doubt who the light belonged to. On board ship, only officers and marines in uniform wore shoes.
He signalled for Pender and James to head back the way they came. James, now in the lead, quite naturally took cover between the bales again. Pender followed him. Harry ran on past with a whispered “Come on.” They emerged and followed him.
“Thank God one of us is a sailor,” he said, grinning at his companions. And thank God this is a French-built ship, he thought, praying that in some refit the Magnanime’s old suction pump had not been replaced. They were doomed if it had.
“We have got to get up on to the gundeck before they finish posting sentries. Now it’s going to be pitch dark, as well as dirty and quite possibly wet. And if it works, we are going to emerge smack in the middle of the gundeck. Let’s hope that it’ll be so dark up there that no one will notice. Till then, stay with a crowd and keep away from any lights.”
“What about you?” asked Pender.
“I’ve got to get out of that gunport without being seen.” He gave his brother a quick explanation. “A tall order, Harry.”
“One step at a time, James. Besides, I can stay hidden if I wish. I can only hope that whatever they are looking for, it’s not me.”
Harry, holding his breath, turned and pulled open a hatch to the pump shaft. He breathed out with relief as he saw that it was still the old suction type, a hollow chamber with a canvas hose, now hanging limp, running down the centre.
“There’s a ladder just to the side. Let’s hope they haven’t posted anyone to guard the hatch by the cistern. You two go first. Go past the next hatch.”
“How will we know we’ve passed it in the dark?”
“Keep going till I call you to stop. I’ll go through first. If I am spotted, stay where you are until all hands are called!”
Harry thought that it was a faint hope that anyone looking into the shaft after catching him would only look down instead of up, but he said nothing about that. Caught, he would be in trouble, for sure. But James and Pender would find themselves rigged to a grating. Then he suddenly realized that he had completely forgotten about Howarth. They would all hang!
James and Pender were through now. Harry followed pulling the hatch to behind him. That would be discovered probably, but by then they hoped to be in the clear.
Harry counted the rungs as he climbed, hoping that his memory would extend to a recollection of the right number. He had not climbed this pump-shaft ladder since he was a boy, making mischief that too often ended in a beating.
The smell from the bilges was strong in this confined space. He could hear a scurrying sound as the rats escaped from this intruder. In the dark he felt for the hatch cover, fighting a slight sense of panic as his search for the wooden latch failed to locate it. A rat nipped his outstretched hand as it felt around the planking. He swiped at it, cursing. Above him he could hear James and Pender breathing heavily. Even in the dark, he shut his eyes to increase his concentration. Putting both hands on the damp rung, and trying desperately to calculate the distance from the ladder to the latch, he reached out. Surely this was where the latch would be if he had got the number of rungs right. He touched the side, running his hand up and down the wood of the shaft.
Nothing! Harry went up one rung, closed his eyes again, and did the same thing. Still nothing. One more step, and the same set of movements. No catch. He went down four rungs and shot his hand out in the dark. Like a man opening the door of his own home, his hand hit the latch dead on. He lifted it and slipped out. The shaft and the cistern were surrounded by hammocks, still full of men. There was a faint glow of the lanterns around the gundeck, but he was hidden by the mass of bodies. He called quickly to Pender and James, and they slipped through after him.
“Try to get back to your own hammocks,” he whispered. “If you can’t, stay still till the call ‘all hands.’”
James went one way and Pender the other. Harry thought about following Pender, so as to be ready to slip through the gunport as the men made their way on deck. But then he reasoned that he was better off where he was. Being in the centre meant being in the middle of the group. Less exposed.
The slight creak of the hatch behind him nearly made him jump out of his skin. He scurried away, careering into a hammock as he did so. He stood up to silence the man who, rudely awakened, would be asking what was about. No sound, no movement. Harry’s hand shot into the hammock, and he knew as he felt that the hammock was occupied by a bundle of some kind, probably someone’s dunnage, rather than a human presence.
He moved a bit further on, then stopped to look back. The hatch was open now, and a group of shadowy figures emerged and silently made for the hammocks close to the shaft. Harry counted six of them, each one quickly throwing the bundles over the side of the hammock to swing below it, before climbing in and adopting the position of a sleeping man.
“All hands. Rise and shine,” came the cry. They had been a long time about it. Then he realized that they had probably been looking for Howarth, who, as master-at-arms, had the job of rousing out the men. The cry had men tipping out of their beds quickly. No man would lie still when a captain like Carter had the ship. There were many flogging offences in the Navy, and lying too long in your hammock was one of them.
Harry joined the rush for the gangway that led up to the main deck. He saw as he went that all the lower decks were shut off by marine sentries, fully clothed in their red coats and muskets at the ready.
“What’s afoot, mate,” said a man next to him. “Don’t know, mate,” replied Harry in a gruff voice. “An’ I don’t intend asking.”
Pender was standing by the gunport. He was taking a risk since he should have made for the deck with all haste. Harry was grateful, since Pender pushing it open allowed him to slip through quickly while there were still enough sailors milling along to hide him. If any of them noticed, no one stopped or raised the alarm. Pender shut the gunport as Harry grabbed the rope and swung away from the opening.
The ship had altered course, and the side was like a sheer cliff. He put his bare feet on the planking and began to walk up the side, his hands pulling his body weight up on the line. The trickiest part was getting his casement window open so that he could squeeze through. He took a half turn with one hand on the rope to support himself, and grabbing the frame, he heaved it open. Noise was not a problem since there was an abundance of it on the rapidly filling deck above.
He was stuck. True he had the window slightly open, but he could release neither that nor his hold on the rope. If he did take his hand off the frame, then the casement would slam shut with the force of the wind. Plainly, if he relaxed his grip on the rope, he would end up in the sea. Harry pushed the frame shut slowly. He knew he would just have to wait until the ship changed course again. Then the side would heel over enough to allow him to hold the quarterlight open, without the need to hang on to the rope quite so desperately.
He threw the rope round his back and pulled the end up under his arm, allowing him to lean back slightly and take the strain off the arm he had been using. Thus he waited. Looking over his shoulder he could see the phosphorescence of the ship’s wake. The wind, cooling the sweat on his body, made him feel cold. And from time to time, a larger wave would swallow the stern of the Magnanime, bringing him perilously close to a severe ducking. But he had been over the side in any number of ships, so his present situation caused him no concern. He knew that the real danger was that someone would look over the side and raise the alarm. Barring that he was safe.
Drills and searches could take place as often as they liked. But the ship still had to reach its destination. That was paramount, and regardless of what was causing the present confusion, when the time came the orders were given that brought the ship back on to her southerly course. The wind took the ship and heeled her bulk over, reducing the cliff, once more, to a gently sloping roof. Harry pulled open the window, jammed his knee in to keep it open, and eased himself through. He released the line and coiled it up, hanging it over a carved fleur-de-lis, part of the elaborate decoration that covered the rear of the ship. All the while he was thinking about the events of the night.
Howarth’s death might raise problems, but nothing could be done about that. And there had been no choice. The man had singled out James for regular beatings, and no one was going to either stand in his way, or order him to desist. Indeed, Harry was convinced that Howarth had been given the task of ensuring that his brother didn’t reach Gibraltar. James didn’t understand how his isolation, his lack of lower-deck mates, left him vulnerable to someone like Howarth. Harry had seen it before.
Then his mind turned to the men who had followed him out of the pump shaft. They must have been on a lower deck than him. Thus it had taken them longer to reach the gundeck. What were they about? He smiled as he thought of the shock they might have had, if in climbing the ladder they had put their hands on his feet.
He looked at his filthy face in the mirror. The Magnanime must be a very dry ship, for though he was dirty, it was nothing to what he had been as a lad, when he had used the same route to fool some of his mates or escape from possible punishment.
He’d always emerge from there black from head to foot.
The water in the jug was cold, but it helped to remove the worst of the grime. Harry then undressed and crawled into his cot. Things were no better now than they had been an hour ago. But at least there was movement. Something was, at least, happening.
CHAPTER TEN
PENDER entered the cabin bearing a jug full of hot water. He was bright and cheerful, showing no sign of last night’s escapade. Harry, already awake, lay in his cot, his mind turning over again the possibilities for proving his brother’s innocence.
“Mornin’, your honour,” said Pender, standing in the doorway.
“Seemed to be a bit of a commotion last night, Pender. What was all that about?” Harry’s voice fairly boomed out the question. Pender realized that this was for the benefit of the wardroom and held the door open as he replied.
“Terrible doin’s last night, Mr Ludlow. Another killing. Hands are beginning to wonder if we aren’t double cursed since we sunk your ship. Why, there’s even talk of a ‘Jonah’ aboard.” With that he closed the door. Harry suppressed a laugh. The man was marvellous. They could hardly have achieved more if they had rehearsed it.
“That’ll get their tongue’s waggin’, for sure,” said Pender, flashing one of his grins. “Now if you will take to your chair, Mr Ludlow, we will see if my skills extend to shaving a ‘nob.’”
Harry rose as Pender poured some of the hot water into the basin. Quickly he washed away the last of the grime from the previous night, before sitting down in his chair to be shaved.
“Well?”
“Whatever they was about last night went by the board when they discovered Howarth. God knows what they were after, but they were set to search the whole ship.”
“Has that sort of thing happened before?”
“Not since I’ve been aboard. I tackled one of the Marines, but he couldn’t tell me nowt. Seems his Mr Turnbull was as surprised as anyone. But the rumour is that it was Carter’s idea. He was after somethin’, but the Lord knows what.”
“A nice touch as you came in the door,” said Harry, acknowledging the man’s inventiveness. “Might be worth spreading that one around. There’s no telling how far you can get with superstition in a sailor.”
“That might not square with what I’ve been saying forrard.”
“Which is?”
“That it seems a bit dangerous to go around bullyin’ a Lud-low. That perhaps there be those aboard who have served with Master James’s brother, and take serious exception to him being mistreated. That Mr Howarth would have been well to realize this before he got a sword in his back, rather than after.”
“I can see no harm in both.” Harry lay back content, and Pender started to lather his face.
“We was a mite lucky last night, your honour.” His dark-skinned face had a worried look.
“Luck? We’ll need a damn sight more if we are to get anywhere.”
“I take it that you are in no doubt about your brother now?”
Harry was surprised at the question. It caused him to move suddenly. Just as quickly Pender pulled the razor away.
“Please don’t do that, Mr Ludlow. I don’t want my saying this ship is double-cursed to come true.”
“Sorry.” Pender had not been privy to the brothers’ conversation. Again he was showing his good sense, for it was necessary that there be no doubt on that score.
“Quite convinced,” said Harry, and as Pender shaved him he told him of last night’s talk. Yet he did not tell him all he knew or suspected, and he didn’t quite know why. There could be little doubt now that Pender was to be trusted. He hadn’t really told James either, and not just because of a lack of time. For once in his life he was being very cautious, husbanding the facts to himself. But would that serve his purpose?
“One question, Pender. Who slings their hammocks by the pump shaft?”
“Quite a few. Barge Crew for one. They mess by there too.”
“Any others?”
“I’ll look into it.” He applied more lather to Harry’s face, determined not to ask why. But this was one Harry knew he would have to share.
“Someone came up the shaft behind us. I nearly died of fright. I was standing by the hatch just after you left and it started to open. One of the closest hammocks was empty, as well. I can’t be sure, but I think about six men came out of the shaft. It was too dark to see who they were.”
“They must have been right down in the hold,” said Pender.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Pardon my asking, Mr Ludlow, but I don’t see what bearing this has on your brother’s case.”
“Perhaps none. But there are over six hundred and fifty men on this ship. Bentley must have been seen by someone that night. If he was observed then so, possibly, was the killer. And how was the alarm raised and by whom?” And to himself, he wondered what Carter was after, searching the ship. That would be something else to find out. “There are so many questions that it is difficult to know where to start.”
“You need someone in the wardroom on your side, Mr Ludlow. Sure I can tell you some of what’s goin’ on below decks . . .”
“Could one of the crew have killed Bentley?” There was an element of testing Pender’s loyalty in that question, and the way the man paused meant he knew it. Ingrained habit alone would make the man avoid spilling on his mates.
“He was hated enough. But think on this. Someone broke into your chest and stole your knife. When? We don’t know.”
“The banquet?”
“Most likely, but there were lots of other times.” “But not when all of those in authority were otherwise engaged.”
“Always guessing we are talking of one man.” Pender didn’t have to spell out how much that would complicate things with six hundred and fifty suspects. “Which is why you need a friend in the wardroom. ‘Cause I can ask around below decks, cautious like, especially now, with Howarth sewn in canvas. But I can find out nothin’ from the officers. And it is more likely to be one of them than one of the crew.”
