The Scent of Corruption (The Fighting Sail Series Book 7) (7 page)

There was a murmur of understanding from those about him, and Lewis wondered if they knew of his other reasons for avoiding the ringleaders. Anyone smart enough to place themselves in a position of authority was likely to dodge an impressment order with ease. Some may even be lawyers or magistrates themselves: it was not unknown for men of all manner of business to indulge in such a lucrative venture. He had documentation that entitled him to seize able men; even taking free traders was perhaps stretching the point, although any overstepping of authority might also be excused. Men caught smuggling were frequently sent for five years' service with the Royal Navy on conviction. It was conceivable that
Prometheus
' commission would be shorter so, in effect, Lewis was doing them a favour. But a well set up individual, be he doctor, lawyer or even a tavern keeper, might not see it in quite the same light. And, given access to a court of law, they could bring charges against Lewis or the captain for false imprisonment.

No, it was better to go for the ordinary workers; the common hands who would be of more use, cause less trouble and probably be a good deal more skilled into the bargain. He would whisk them back to the ship, where any protest could be received in private and relative safety. There were two dockyard carts standing by, and the horses were reasonably fresh: with luck, all should be over within the hour, and they would be well on their way back to
Prometheus
.

“Two more walkers,” Clement whispered, and Lewis raised himself up to look once more. That would make eighteen, by his calculation. He had little room for more on the wagons; some of his men might have to run alongside as it was.

“Very well, form up, and check your equipment.”

They rose slowly, flexing stiff limbs, and some began to shake out their sand filled coshes with professional swagger, slapping them against horny hands and grinning to each other in anticipation. Lewis was far happier for his men to carry such weapons; to his mind they were infinitely preferable to the belaying pins favoured by many. Handled properly, the business should be orderly enough but if it came to a fight, seamen were inclined to use force without consideration. A heavy blow from a cosh might well cause unconsciousness, but the same stroke delivered with the solidity of what amounted to a heavy club could easily kill.

Each man was also equipped with a cutlass, while some carried pistols. These were unlikely to be used: even if drawn, it would amount to an admission of defeat or, at least, unforeseen resistance. Those seized usually went easily enough at first, and could be trussed up and removed relatively quickly. In time they might try to escape, and it was not unknown for friends to learn of their impressment, and attempt to free them. That meant the journey back would probably be the most dangerous part of the procedure. The three miles they had to travel gave ample time for accomplices to be raised and an attack organised. Then it may well come to cold steel or even firearms.

“If all are ready, we shall begin.” Lewis spoke softly, well aware that it was not customary to phrase an order in such a way, although press gang work was somewhat apart from the usual shipboard discipline. In the next few minutes every man would be looking after the other but, unlike a regular action, they must exercise control. There was no enemy here; instead it was hoped that whoever they seized would someday become a friend.

They walked silently out of the yard and across the darkened street. Without a direct order, Jenkins, Todd and Harrison broke off and made to secure the rear, while Sanderson and Jeffrey stayed behind with the carts, and stood ready in the lee of the stables. All had carried out similar raids on previous occasions and most actually enjoyed the exercise. But every one of them was also well practised and, as Lewis strode forward boldly and rapped on the heavy wooden door, he was quietly confident. There was the customary silence from within, then a small crack appeared and a cautious eye peeped out.

It took no more than one kick from a well aimed boot to throw the door back in the man's face. Lewis stood to one side, allowing his men to stream past, then followed, almost casually, in their wake. Inside it was the usual scene: upturned tables, a rush of bodies, the tinkle of broken glass and, all too often some woman drawing attention to herself by screaming, crying or defending a favoured man: occasionally all three. Lewis watched with the eyes of one who had seen it all before. He was unable to approve or condemn; his job was simply to make sure everything reached its logical conclusion, and with as little trouble as possible.

* * *

C
aptain Banks read the message one more time while waiting for Caulfield to join him in the great cabin. It was a nonsense, of course; their deployment had already been changed once, which explained why Sarah was so many miles away in Southsea when
Prometheus
lay at anchor in Tor Bay. And now this – it was late in the evening, and he was not in the mood for such tomfoolery. The thump of a musket butt drew his attention from the paper as his sentry announced the first lieutenant's arrival.

“It's not the Channel Fleet,” Banks said, by way of greeting, handing the order to Caulfield who was in shirtsleeves and appeared as if he may already have been abed. The first lieutenant looked uneasily at his captain as he took it.

“Came by a messenger from the port admiral not five minutes past,” Banks said incredulously. “And after we were told it would definitely not be the Med.”

When
Prometheus
was released from the dockyard, barely three weeks ago, she had indeed been destined to join the Mediterranean Fleet. Sarah had taken a house close to Portsmouth, to be on hand during the rare occasions when the ship might return to England, and all aboard were looking forward to spending the next year or so on the magical inland sea. Then, with almost unseemly haste,
Prometheus
had been switched to service with the Channel Fleet. It had not been a popular move, and the knowledge that the entire commission would probably be spent on blockade duty, either polishing the enemy coast with the inshore squadron, or sailing aimlessly back and forth as part of the main force, had not been appreciated by officers or crew. They had made for their new home within two days, limping along the south coast, desperately undermanned, to finally set their hooks in the mud off Tor Bay, the base for what were colloquially known as the Channel Gropers. And now – now it seemed the original plan was to stand, and once more
Prometheus
was Mediterranean bound.

“Under Admiral Nelson,” Caulfield commented, with a modicum of respect as he handed the paper back.

“Indeed,” Banks agreed. “It will be an honour I am certain, and he will doubtless do every bit as good a job as my Lord Cornwallis. But why the change?” he questioned. “We have already lost time and continuity in switching berths, and are drastically undermanned in consequence. Yet now the Admiralty wish us to sail almost forthwith!”

“We are more than seventy short,” Caulfield replied automatically. “And all should be trained hands, were we to have the choice.”

“Benson should be back on the morrow,” Banks remarked. “And Lewis is out at present – with luck he may bring back a smuggler or two.”

“But that will not make up the deficiency,” Caulfield replied softly.

“Well, there is nothing for it: I shall have to petition the Admiralty. They cannot expect me to recruit efficiently if my ship is constantly switched and no time allowed for the process. Why, it says here we must be ready to join an India convoy from Thursday – that gives us less than two days, when we were expecting ten. Most of the repairs needed will hardly be completed by then and that is not accounting for our lack of hands.”

Caulfield said nothing. He was probably more acutely aware of the problems than his captain; as executive officer, the fabric and manning of the ship was directly under his control. Positions for first lieutenants were by no means plentiful and, if he failed to present a workable command, he would not find another, and neither could he expect to make that all important step to Commander. However, the fact that he was potentially worse off than his captain hardly eased the situation, and he doubted he had ever seen Banks quite so angry.

“But of course, I cannot,” the senior man sighed after a moment. “They would merely laugh, and say the fault to be mine, then ask if the ship were above my mark.”

“We may run into a homebound convoy,” Caulfield suggested. “Or even be able to recruit at Gib. There are always those released from the hospital, and they often hold men from foundered vessels, to say nothing of exchanged prisoners.”

“There shall be precious few of the latter this deep into the war,” Banks replied glumly, although Caulfield's remark had consoled him to some extent. The tiny outpost to the mouth of the Mediterranean was certainly a potential source of hands, and both men had pleasant memories of the place.

“It will be good to see a bit of sun, though,” Caulfield continued. “After our time in St Helena, and the winter we have just endured, I must say I could use a tanning.”

Banks snorted to himself, and regarded the piece of paper once more. Serving in the Med. also meant far fewer chances of home leave. At least with the Channel Fleet he may have expected to see Sarah every year or so. But Caulfield was right, it would be a more pleasurable place to serve, and with that spitfire Nelson in command, action was far more likely. He just had to solve the current problem of manpower.

* * *

M
ost of Lewis' predictions proved to be right on the mark. The parlour of the tavern had actually contained twenty men and, with the speed and efficiency in which his team performed, all were taken by surprise. A few, who had arrived barely minutes before, put up some semblance of resistance but, when matched against the combined might of trained and eager seamen, it soon fell to naught. And those who had been present for some while were well into their cups, and simply viewed the press gang's arrival with bemused interest. Lewis had no idea what the smugglers were planning for that night but, with a full moon due, it could hardly have been anything too adventurous, not when a good proportion were having difficulty in keeping upright. Once the initial protests were stifled, the captives had been trussed up and herded outside, then heaved aboard the waiting carts.

Now though, as the two wagons and four horses trundled his catch through the darkened streets of Brixham, Lewis' prisoners were becoming slightly more ambitious. All had their wrists firmly tied behind them and the removal of boots and belts meant that any attempt to run would be slowed. As an additional measure, a length of half inch line had been threaded through each pair of manacled arms, looping the groups together in a way that would make escape all but impossible. But they had not been gagged; somehow Lewis could not bring himself to give the order and, on such a quiet night, that might have been a mistake.

Most of his captives were clearly felons, and to his mind deserved not an ounce of clemency. But it was one thing to drag a drunken man from his home and occupation, however illegal, and quite another to stuff his mouth full of oakum, as one seaman had suggested, or simply bind a length of tow between his lips. He might easily choke, and a charge of murder awaited any officer heading a press gang when their actions ended in death.

And so they stayed, secured but vocal, as Lewis stumbled along the narrow street next to the second of the carts, his eyes watching the two banks of houses and small businesses that lined each side. Lamps were appearing in the upper stories as moans and calls from his prisoners brought attention to their plight. A window was forced up several doors ahead, and the contents of what appeared to be a necessary pot tossed out and over the leading cart to a mixture of cries from those hit, and shouts of glee and approval from the rest. Lewis supposed the act might equally have been a comment on the Navy or smugglers, but in either case the local populace clearly knew what was afoot.

The road wound on for less than a hundred yards, then there was a mile of open country before the short spell of forest that spanned the outskirts of the naval dockyard. There, at least, they might find shelter and, once his tiny convoy was free of the small town, Lewis would take a seat up next to one of the drivers. But until then, manoeuvrability of command seemed far more important than comfort, and he was content to stay following the carts on the ground.

More shouts came from the upper rooms of the buildings, but these were simple insults; nothing had been organised and, as the final house was left behind, he began to grow more confident. Reaching up, he hauled himself aboard the second cart just as Chivers, in the driver's position, encouraged the horses on. A seaman helped him aboard, and Lewis clambered past the wriggling bodies of his captives, stepping over the driver's box and seating himself next to the midshipman.

There was a strong moon rising, and the road ahead was hardly dark. They were in rough scrub, with little high vegetation, although Lewis could make out a line of trees that seemed to block their path in the far distance.

“We'll be back at the barky in no time,” Chivers informed him casually. They were off ship and the lad clearly felt in no need of the formalities expected when a warrant officer addressed one of commissioned rank.

“Aye, that's so,” Lewis, whose roots also acknowledged no such distinction, agreed. “But there's a while to go yet, so keep your eyes skinned.”

The midshipman urged the cart onwards. Clement, who drove the leading team, came from farming stock and was setting the strong pace Lewis had directed. It was surely better for the horses to tire nearer their destination than be held back in what was doubtless the more dangerous area. But on other matters Lewis was not quite so certain.

They had taken far more men than he had intended. Twenty was really quite a haul, and there were three who he doubted should really have been included at all. Two, by their apparel, might even be gentlemen, or men of business unlucky enough to have been caught with the rest. But Lewis' instinct said otherwise; for true gentry to have been found in such a low place indicated a degree of wrong doing. They might equally be venturers: men of means who made good money by financing smuggling operations. The third appeared to be a cook; he was certainly dressed in such a fashion, although it was not unknown for some to adopt a hasty disguise if seizure became likely. Consequently there could be problems back at the ship: warrants might be issued, and a few forcibly released, with the possibility of a fine or some other censure for his pains. But, on an open and well lit path, and with a goodly distance to travel, such trouble almost sounded attractive: however hard things might turn out, at least he would be safe, and amongst friends.