Devil to Pay (29 page)

“Promise not to attempt anything against us—retaking the lugger or the likes of that.”

“Well, what if I did?”

“You and Mr Evans could come on deck, one at a time.”

“Why do you want me on deck?”

“You could warn us if we were running into danger. Whatever the risks, you have to share them.”

“That's true. I'll give my parole for the day ending at sunset and I expect Mr Evans will do the same. In return for being allowed on deck I will see that the lugger is fairly on course for Guernsey. How will that do?”

Agreement was reached on these lines and both Sam and the Frenchman took a sight at midday, fixing their latitude and course. Below again with Evans, Sam described the rough outline of a plan:

“There is no real unity in Nicolle's crew. He and the youngster, Bennett, are strict Wesleyans, detesting gambling and drink but eager to make money. The other Guernseymen are ordinary smugglers, good seamen but liking their pleasure. The two Frenchmen are intent on returning to France and we three mean to do our duty. The numbers in these four groups are two, four, two and three. If I can win over the Frenchmen we shall be five against six. If I could win over the Wesleyans as well, we should have seven against four.”

Sam Carter's divisive plan began with the two Frenchmen. He expressed his sympathy with the senior, Lieutenant Jean Berthier, on being so near France and yet a prisoner. It soon appeared that Berthier's frustration was the greater in that he had just been promoted. His appointment to the
Argonaute
represented his first real chance to distinguish himself. Had he done well in that ship he would have been promoted again. Here he was a prisoner before the corvette had done anything more than drive a British privateer ashore. He was not to blame—what could he have done?—but he had failed to avoid capture. It would always be remembered against him. To be captured in battle was honourable but to be taken prisoner by some mere smuggling craft must leave him discredited for ever. The other officer, young Etienne Bignon, midshipman, was less downcast but he did not look forward to being a prisoner of war in Britain. For one thing, his chances of being exchanged would be remote. When he gained his freedom again, moreover, it would be to find all his contemporaries promoted over his head and some others as well who had been junior to him. Sam Carter expressed his sympathy and then said:

“What if we took this lugger and sailed her into Cadiz? You would be able to join your ship and with all the credit of the capture. Your admiral would release me and my friends for having aided you. We should be five against six. Given a measure of surprise, we could do it! Which do you choose—an English prison or the Legion of Honour?” Having made this suggestion, Sam walked away so as not to appear too friendly with the Frenchmen and presently went below.

It was Evans who next had a word with Nicolle. “Did you ever hear of Thomas Johnson?”

“The famous Hampshire smuggler who escaped from New Prison in the Borough?”

“That's the man. He served once as pilot to the Channel Fleet and was thanked for his services. For the next year or two the revenue officers looked the other way, allowing him to make a fortune.”

“What of it? He lost his money with gambling and drink and was in the Fleet Prison for debt when I last heard of him.”

“A more careful and religious man would have kept what he made. Now, if you'd held to your bargain, the revenue officers would have been blind to your doings and you would have ended as a man of wealth, likely as not. You missed your chance, my friend.”

“But I was only cook, Mr Evans, and in no way to do business on my own.”

“You could have had your own craft with Sam Carter's help and the revenue officers never have so much as noticed her name. What a grand opportunity you have thrown away!”

“An opportunity to see inside a Spanish prison!”

“A chance to preach in a chapel of your own building. You can never do that when the story comes out of how you left Captain Delancey to die among the Spaniards. Think again, Nicolle. You can still save yourself!”

It was then the turn of Tom Yates, the boatswain. It was his task to converse with Luke Bennett and ask him what a good Wesleyan was doing with these sinners from the St Peter Port waterside.

“You have taken a serious step, Luke, taking part in a mutiny. Where will it end? What begins as mutiny will end in piracy. And where does piracy lead? It leads to the gallows, Luke! Think what a shock that will be to your mother. Think what your family and neighbours will have to say about that! Think what the good book says about the wages of sin! You were in the way to be saved and now you are on the way to damnation. Repent while there is still time!”

“What do you mean, Mr Yates—what must I do?”

“You must help me to throw the liquor overboard. These wicked men, Domaille and Blondel and Vaudin, will commit any crime when drunk. From drinking and gambling it is but a step to piracy, from piracy but a step to the gallows. You know where the spirits are kept?”

“Oh, yes, sir. But they are kept locked and Mr Nicolle has the key.”

“He lets you have it, though, when the rum is to be issued?”

“Yes, sir. I lock it and bring the key back to him.”

“Today you forget to lock it. I'll see to it that the men are saved from this terrible temptation to sin. With the drink over the side we shall all be the safer.”

“I do believe you're right, Mr Yates. I'll do it! But don't let anyone know that I did it on purpose.”

Given the opportunity, however, the boatswain did not throw the rum overboard. Instead, he took six bottles of it and, keeping two in reserve, gave a bottle secretly to Blondel and Domaille, to Le Page and Vaudin. By the early evening they were all more or less drunk and inclined to quarrel over the fifth bottle which he had told them to share. Bennett, who had left the locker open, was told that Le Page had found it unlocked before Yates could act. He was shocked to see what a state his messmates were in and was now all the more inclined to turn against them. Vaudin spoke insolently to Nicolle, who felt that his authority was waning. He saw to it that Carter, Evans and Yates were locked in their cabin but this was the last effective order he was able to give. Luke Bennett unlocked the cabin after dark, bringing with him the two Frenchmen. After a short whispered discussion they all armed themselves with belaying pins or capstan bars. Nicolle was quickly overpowered on deck, where he was trying to keep the vessel on course. The drunken helmsman, Le Page, needed no more than a tap on the head and Blondel, on the forecastle, was as easily dealt with. Domaille and Vaudin were below in a drunken stupor and were left in their hammocks to sleep it off. In five minutes the lugger was recaptured and another ten minutes saw her course altered and her passage southward resumed. She was bound once more for Cadiz.

By the following day the lugger's proper routine had been re-established. The drunkards of the previous evening found themselves, to their surprise, being driven to work by the boatswain's rope-end. Nicolle was a prisoner at first but professed to have learnt his lesson. He could never have retained any sort of discipline over the godless men who had at first accepted his leadership. He was allowed to return to his galley and told that, if he behaved himself, bygones would be bygones. That afternoon Sam Carter addressed the whole crew, appealing to their good sense but assuring them that any further trouble from them would lead to dreadful consequences.

“Do your duty as good seamen and I will forget about the events of the last few days. So will Mr Evans, and so will Mr Yates. When some of you mutinied the idea was put in your heads by a ringleader, not Henri Nicolle but another man. I know which of you it was. To him I say, ‘Mend your ways or you'll end dangling from the yard-arm.'“ (He was looking straight at Michel Vaudin). “To the others who were misguided by him, I say this: how would you like to serve in a man-of-war? And how would you like such a service after the ship's first lieutenant has been told that you are mutinous rascals in need of discipline? That could easily be your fate and you would feel in the end that you would rather be in hell. But how was it that you came to mutiny? How did sensible men come to listen to the advice of a useless lubber, the worst seaman among you? I think you were misled because you thought we were running into danger on the Spanish coast. You thought we should all end as prisoners in France. Well, I don't deny that there
was
some chance of that. But I have made an agreement now with these two French officers and gentlemen, our former prisoners but now our shipmates. We shall make our run southward with French colours hoisted over British, a prize to the French Navy. That will save us from the French or Spanish. Should we meet the British fleet, as may seem more likely, we shall have British colours and I have only to explain what our mission is. We were never in less danger than we are on this voyage and never more certain of bringing our cargo safe to port. Do your duty, men, and you'll soon be in St Peter Port, celebrating the end of a successful run.”

The mutiny had wasted time but Sam Carter decided that it was still possible to make the rendezvous. Further to encourage him, moreover, the wind was veering from west to north-west, making for a faster passage as it freshened. It rose next day to half a gale and the lugger foamed through the Atlantic rollers, the wind singing through her rigging and the spray coming over the deck as she pitched. With the Frenchman standing his watch and the crew now in a chastened mood, Sam was able to take some rest and make some plans for the future. It was evident that the later stages of the voyage would require finesse. Difficulties were going to arise from the lack of a Spaniard on board— for the lack indeed of anyone with a knowledge of Spanish. His own knowledge of that tongue was rudimentary, a smattering picked up in foreign parts. He could never pass as a Spaniard. Who then was to land at Léon? Sam had also a problem concerning the French officers. He had told them that he would sail to Cadiz and rely on the Spanish to release the lugger. He had told the crew that he was going to keep a rendezvous at Léon, just south of Cadiz; which was the truth. What, however, was he to do with the Frenchmen? After using them to suppress the mutiny he could not fairly treat them merely as prisoners of war. How was he to put them ashore and where? What, finally, was his reaction to be if Delancey failed to keep the rendezvous? Dare he linger on the coast for another week? And would the crew mutiny again if he did? His best plan would be to complete his cargo at Léon, making himself known there as a smuggler and local benefactor. What, however, would he give them in exchange for their local wine, whatever it was? They would probably be glad to obtain coffee, sugar, tobacco and rum but of these commodities he had no appreciable quantities to spare. He had spoken boldly to the crew about his mission being understood by any British man-of-war he might encounter but he was really none too certain about it. An admiral might believe his story but would the commander of a sloop or cutter? Might he not find himself under arrest?

There were few vessels in sight off the coast of Portugal and the
Dove
was in the latitude of Lisbon before she fell in with a French privateer brig. Sam Carter decided that escape would not be easy and that to speak with her might be useful. When they were within hail Lieutenant Berthier used the speaking trumpet to announce his own identity and explain that the
Dove
was a prize on her way to Toulon. The privateer was the
Espérance,
it appeared, Captain Duval, out of La Rochelle and cruising on the Portuguese coast where she had so far taken nothing. Berthier went over to the
Espérance
in the gig and came back with the news that Admiral Mann was no longer off Cadiz and that there were signs of the Spanish fleet putting to sea. Some of Langara's ships had their yards crossed, or so Duval had been told, and a few had moved nearer the harbour mouth.

After this polite exchange the two vessels parted company again, the
Esperance
for her home port and the
Dove
heading for Cadiz. Next day at sunrise another sail was sighted and this turned out to be a British frigate on her way to Gibraltar. She was the
Penelope
(36), Captain Moss, and Sam Carter thought at first that his worst fears were justified. A dour and jaundiced sort of man, Moss looked on him and the lugger with deep suspicion and showed little inclination to believe the story of Delancey's mission. He finally decided to put a prize crew aboard the
Dove
—six men under a master's mate. When the run southward was resumed, the lugger was very much in custody but Sam was philosophic about it. He felt sure that a flag officer would be more inclined to believe him.

On September 10th the
Penelope,
with
Dove
in company, sighted a detachment of the Mediterranean fleet. The day was sunny but with drifting clouds which threw their shadows on the green expanse of broken water. There was a stiff breeze and a touch of cold in the air, a foreshadowing of winter on its way. The squadron was cruising near Gibraltar under easy sail, five sail of the line and two or three smaller vessels, filling much of the seascape with their sunlit sails. The formation was exactly kept and the total effect, compounded of power, discipline and beauty, was breathtaking and memorable. A signal from the flagship, repeated by ships that were nearer, ordered the
Penelope
to take station on the
Goliath's
beam. Moss carried out this order, with
Dove
in his wake, and was then ordered to send a boat. After Moss had reported, the next signal summoned to the flagship the master of the
Dove.
As he was rowed over, Sam Carter was awestruck by the mere size of the
Goliath
(98) which loomed enormous over him. He had seen the Channel Fleet often enough but he had never been aboard a three-decker. He felt overwhelmed, dwarfed and nervous, barely able to return a sentry's salute. At the entry port he was met by a lieutenant who led him aft to the admiral's quarters, outside which he was kept waiting for ten minutes. Finally the lieutenant ushered him into the admiral's day cabin where a group of officers were apparently in conference. Sam realized that Rear-Admiral Griffin must be the distinguished-looking man with gold braid on his coat, who sat at his desk in the middle of the group. He had just signed some document which his secretary was replacing by another. A young officer was at his other elbow, flanked by a midshipman. There were two other officers present, talking quietly to each other. After a minute or two the lieutenant who was his guide had a word with the flag lieutenant, who murmured something to the rear-admiral. A moment afterwards that officer had risen and was looking straight at his visitor. Sam made his best bow, which was acknowledged, and came forward towards the admiral's desk.