The devils own luck, p.23
The Devil's Own Luck, page 23
“The spirit room?” he asked.
“According to the ‘bullock’ I talked to, no one got any orders to guard the spirit room,” said Pender.
“Is this man reliable?”
“Can’t be sure. The only way to be sure is to question the lot of them.”
“It’s enough to sustain a complaint.”
“Poor Mr Craddock. He gets it all.” The slightly anxious look Pender flashed at Harry was a silent plea to seek another course. When it was discovered that the spirit room had been left unguarded, despite Carter’s express instructions, Craddock would carry the blame. It was part of the unenviable task of being first lieutenant, in that you took responsibility for everything. Put plainly, you took all the blame for the inability of others, while the captain took any credit for your efficiency.
“Can’t be helped, Pender. Those men would have slung James overboard. Can you find out who got them into such a state?”
“Even if they’ll talk to me, they wouldn’t let on, me being a new boy. And then they would be wanting to know why I was asking. What do I tell them?”
“A bribe?” asked Harry.
“Might work. But a threat would be better.” Pender had a gleam in his eye, and his smile had returned. He looked like a man who had just had a good idea.
“Go on.”
“Well. If’n I start asking questions, they are goin’ to see me as some kind of spy. But if I was to say that I’m havin’ the devil’s own job in stoppin’ you havin’ them all lined up on deck so’s you can identify the suspects, that might open them up a little, especially that Smithy character. ‘Cause if you was to go ahead and do that, then they might be for the high jump. The best they could hope for is a floggin’ round the fleet.”
“And they might tell you to avoid blame?”
“That’s it. If they are afraid, they will blame anyone to save their own skin. So we might be able to come at the name of whoever started it.”
“Should I make a complaint?”
“No. But you should behave as if you can’t wait to do so.”
“It might be an idea to demand an interview with the captain.”
A knock at the door. Pender opened it, and Crevitt stepped in.
“Mr Ludlow.” The parson looked at Pender.
“Carry on, Pender,” said Harry.
Pender grabbed the end of the canvas bath, and bade Crevitt, still in the doorway, to stand aside. You could not say it was deliberate, but the way Pender jerked the bath as he passed the preacher, causing the water to shift out all over the bottom of his breeches, soaking his stockings and his shoes, gave an air of insincerity to his apologetic protest.
“Shall I fetch a towel, sir?” asked Pender, his face concerned.
“No need,” said Crevitt, showing Christian forbearance. “It is not a novelty to be wet at sea.”
“God knows that’s right, sir,” said Pender, in such a way that no one could be sure that the “God knows” was an affirmation of faith, or a curse. Harry had to turn his back to avoid Crevitt seeing his face. Pender pulled the bath out from the doorway, and Crevitt, with a squelching sound that added to Harry’s suppressed mirth, came into the cabin. Fighting to control his face muscles, Harry turned to hear what the parson had to say.
“I come from the captain, Mr Ludlow.” He clasped his hands before him.
Harry merely raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“He wishes me to convey to you, that he is grateful for your efforts over the last twenty-four hours, on behalf of this ship and your country.” Crevitt was nodding slightly as he spoke, as if he was trying to convince himself of the correctness of his words. “He is of course far too preoccupied to convey these thoughts to you himself.”
“Please inform the captain that no thanks are required,” said Harry coldly. The absence of a personal thank you was very telling. Crevitt frowned.
“He also asked me to ensure that you had every comfort, and to see if there is anything that you require that is in his power to grant.”
“That seems like a superfluous statement. Mr Craddock has made me very comfortable, and what I require has already been laid before him.”
The frown deepened. “He did stress that it must be in his power to grant it.”
“Fine. I would wish for my brother to be housed in more comfortable quarters.”
“Thank you, Mr Ludlow. I will convey that wish to the captain.” Harry realized that Crevitt was a little embarrassed, realizing that Carter should have offered more, and that Harry could certainly have asked for more.
“Please convey to the captain that I have no wish to risk being snubbed again.”
The clasped hands came up, his index fingers together on his bent chin. “I think I would rather say that you have been commendably modest in your requests.”
“I presume, Mr Crevitt, that you have accurately delivered the message that Captain Carter gave you. I would be obliged if you could carry out precisely the same service for me.”
“As you wish, Mr Ludlow,” he said sadly. “I had hoped for a more charitable response.”
“What?” snapped Harry, his eyes flashing angrily
“Not from you, Mr Ludlow. Not from you.” Crevitt put one hand to his head, and the other out to steady himself. Harry had last seen him hard at work, in the cockpit, tending the wounded. That task would not have ended with the ship safely anchored. “Now if you will forgive me, I have to prepare for the burials.”
“How many?” asked Harry quietly.
“There will be forty-four when we get under way. There are at least ten more whom Mr Outhwaite assures me will be over the side before the day is out. Others are in a bad way. They are in God’s hands. A terrible bill, Mr Ludlow.”
And an unnecessary one, thought Harry, recalling the options that had been open to Carter. “I am just about to go on deck,” he said, opening the door. Crevitt, whose mind had wandered, jerked himself back to reality.
“Of course. Forgive me. I was thinking of those poor men. Boys, some of them. It is a harsh service in wartime, the Navy. But God is on our side, I am sure.”
Perhaps it was because he was tired, but he sounded anything but sure.
Harry made his way on to the quarterdeck. Carter was there, for once dressed in a short jacket instead of his uniform coat. He turned away as Harry came on deck, not wishing to catch the eye of the man who had undoubtedly saved his life. Harry strode past him, ignoring him completely. Craddock was standing on the gangway, supervising the installation of a stay to support the jury foretopmast.
“Mr Craddock,” said Harry formally.
“Mr Ludlow.” Craddock was smiling. He had quite missed Harry’s tone.
“I wish to formally request an interview with Captain Carter.” The smile disappeared. “I wish to lodge a complaint.”
“Is it a repeat of one that you have lodged already, Mr Lud-low?”
“No, sir, it is not. But it is a serious one. Enough to warrant the captain’s full attention. And I presume that you too will have an interest in what amounts to mutinous behaviour.”
The only sounds were the ship’s sounds. Apart from that, you could have heard a pin drop.
Harry paced the empty gundeck for well over an hour. He was back in the wardroom when the command was issued for the ship’s company to assemble by divisions. The officers hurried into their cabins to don uniform coats, before running out and yelling the orders that would assemble their men. Harry thought it a curious thing to do under the circumstances, and at the time of day. Surely they would leave the burials till they were out at sea? He was even more surprised when Prentice came into the wardroom to request his presence on the quarterdeck.
Harry put on his coat and followed him. All the officers were assembled at the head of their divisions. Craddock stood beside Carter in silence. Carter whispered something to him before turning away. He came over to Harry, his face worried. He did not look at Harry as he spoke.
“Mr Ludlow. The captain has been apprised of some of the events of last night, things that should have been reported earlier than this.”
“Never mind the preamble, Mr Craddock,” snapped Carter without looking in their direction. “Proceed with the business at hand.”
“Some of the hands broke into the spirit room last night.” Harry kept his gaze steady.
“They overcame the guard that was posted there to stop that very thing. They then proceeded to free your brother from the cable tier. It has been represented to the captain that they may have done so hoping that he would lead them in their aim of taking over the ship.”
It was so absurd that Harry actually laughed. Craddock finally looked at him, his face anxious. “Mutiny is no laughing matter, Mr Ludlow.”
“There was no mutiny, Mr Craddock. Just as there was no guard on the spirit room. The sailors you mention had been told that all their troubles stemmed from the presence on board of a murderer. They were encouraged to believe that my brother was a Jonah and that the way to ensure their survival was to chuck him overboard. They were in the act of doing this when I stopped them.”
“You would agree, Mr Ludlow, that to break into the spirit room, given the dire straits that the ship was in, is a very serious offence?” asked Carter, turning to face him.
“Since I am not a naval officer, I do not feel competent to judge.”
“No one is asking you to judge, Mr Ludlow. Merely to witness. How many hands would you say were involved in this affray?”
“About a dozen,” said Harry, deliberately dropping the actual number.
“Then be so kind as to look over the crew and identify them.”
How had this come about? It was only a couple of hours since he and Pender had talked about this. Yet here he was on deck with the entire ship’s company. And where was Pender?
“I would be delighted to do so,” said Harry enthusiastically. He felt, rather than saw, the entire crew stiffen. “But in the light, I’m not sure that I could, with certainty, identify anyone. It was very dim.”
“Look, Mr Ludlow, if you please!” said Carter.
“I’ll do my best.” Harry stepped forward. The men were lined up on the gangways and in the forecastle in untidy ranks. The marines, in their bright red coats, were lined up with their muskets on the poop, rigid and smart, in stark contrast to the sailors.
He walked slowly down the starboard gangway, carefully looking at each face. They all stared back at him without blinking. He passed Smithy on the forecastle, and he thought he recognized another one of the men who had been with him in the same mess. Come to think of it, the drunks had all probably been from the one section.
He continued down the larboard gangway, occasionally stopping and pretending to look closely at some seaman, before coming back to the quarterdeck.
“I fear I was correct in my earlier observation, Mr Craddock. I cannot be sure. The light was poor.”
Craddock turned to report to Carter.
“What a confusing situation we have, Mr Ludlow.” He had his back to Harry again. “I am told that some hands released your brother for the purpose of taking over the ship. You tell me an entirely different tale, yet you are unable to identify the culprits. Which am I to believe?”
“I could see no purpose in freeing my brother to take over the ship. My brother is an artist, not a sailor.”
“Quite,” said Carter. “That thought had occurred to me.” The captain turned and looked at him. Seeing the smile on his face, Harry realized that he had just walked into a trap. “And you cannot identify the people you claim to have fought last night. Do you see how it looks, Mr Ludlow? For, as you say, your brother is no sailor. But you are.”
“This is preposterous,” said Harry.
“I agree,” said Carter, the cold smile still there. “So we cannot have people wandering around the ship, stirring up the hands, and frightening people with tales of how you intend to exact revenge. Bring forward the prisoner.”
Two bos’n’s mates came up the stairwell. They had Pender between them, holding his arms pinned to his side. His face showed the signs of a fierce struggle.
“Mr Turnbull?” snapped Carter.
“Sir. It has been brought to my notice that this man was heard indulging in behaviour prejudicial to good order and discipline.”
“You hear that, Mr Ludlow?”
“I hear it.”
“Do you have anything to say?” It was not clear if this remark was addressed to Pender or Harry. Neither spoke.
“Nothing. Do you wish to plead for him, Mr Ludlow?”
“I most certainly do,” said Harry. He had to stick to the proper form. “This man is most attentive to his duty, and if he has done any wrong, it will have been at my behest. It follows that all blame is attached to me personally. He is therefore someone I would most heartily plead to be excused punishment.”
Carter walked over to Harry. He stood so close, and spoke so low, that no one else could hear.
“I asked you to mind yourself. To stay in your cabin and leave things alone. But you would not abide my request. You carry on with your games. I will not have my ship used so. And I know you. The thought of someone else suffering in your place will cause you more grief than if I were to flog you myself.”
“Let him off, Carter. If for no other reason than I saved your life last night.” The man didn’t even blink.
“I have spent the whole morning asking myself what I would have done if the positions had been reversed.” Carter turned and walked back to the centre of the deck. “Bos’n, rig the grating. Ten of the cat. All hands aft to witness punishment.”
The grating was lifted forward and lashed to the quarterdeck rail. The two men holding Pender dragged him forward and tied him, arms stretched upwards, to the metal grille. The bos’n stepped forward. He had a red baize bag in his hand. The hands, called upon to witness, shuffled aft, spilling on to the quarterdeck. The shirt was ripped off Pender’s back, exposing the bare flesh, and a piece of leather was pushed into his mouth.
The cat was out of the bag. The bos’n swung the vicious whip several times, as if warming up his stroke. The nine tails swished noisily. Harry had watched this so many times, but still he never got used to it. The bos’n stood square on to Pender’s back, ready to proceed.
“Carry on, bos’n,” said Carter.
The whip cracked across Pender’s back. Angry red weals appeared. The bos’n’s arm came back and he struck again. The skin split where the whip struck the same spot as before. Pender’s eyes were shut tight, his teeth clenched to the leather strap. Again the whip struck. His knees started to give way, but he hauled himself upright. The bos’n grinned as he lashed Pender again. The cry of pain was muffled by the leather, but it was there. His back was now covered in long red streaks. Another stroke and Pender’s knees gave way, leaving him hanging on the ropes holding his arms. The next stroke saw his head drop in despair, and the cry from his throat was clearly audible. Again the whip struck, the bos’n sweating now. Seven. Had Pender passed out? There was no sound.
The last three strokes were delivered in silence. The bos’n stood back, his chest heaving, as he coiled the whip and put it back in the red bag, so coloured to stop the blood showing. Pender’s back was a mess. A sailor stepped forward with a bucket of sea water and threw it over the victim’s back. Then he was cut down. Outhwaite, who had been standing in the background, stepped forward to examine Pender. He felt his heartbeat, nodded to Carter, and ordered the prostrate servant carried below.
Crevitt, who had been standing with his eyes shut, silently praying, opened them again. Harry caught his eye, but Crevitt looked away.
“Mr Ludlow,” said Carter. “I hope you will admonish your man, and tell him to be more careful next time.” He started towards his cabin, then pretended to have an afterthought. “Oh, by the way. I am releasing your brother into Mr Crevitt’s care. At his request. Dismiss the hands, Mr Craddock.”
Harry went below to the sick bay. He found Pender lying awake on his front. His back was covered in a salve that had been applied by Outhwaite. Harry knelt down beside the cot.
“I’m sorry.”
“Weren’t your fault, Mr Ludlow.” Pender raised himself painfully on to his elbows. “It was my fault. Turns out it was one of the marines that had been getting them worked up about your brother. Trouble was the bastard must have heard me talking to Smithy and his mates. Sore heads the lot of them, and sorry for the trouble, if you please. I was coming to see you when they grabbed me. Couldn’t fight them off.” Pender gently let himself down again. “Nothing you said would have stopped them flogging me.”
“Mr Outhwaite.”
“Sir.”
“How long will his back take to heal?”
“He’ll be up and about, but stiff, mind, by tomorrow. He won’t be fit for much for mor’n a week.”
“I want you in my cabin, Pender. Can you arrange that, Mr Outhwaite?”
“Are you saying to stay aft?”
“I am.”
“Don’t see as there are many of the officers will appreciate that.”
“I shall probably kill the first one that says anything.” Quiet spoken he might be, but there was no doubting Harry’s intensity.
“Harry! What happened?” James was standing in the doorway. Crevitt behind him. Harry looked at the parson. Crevitt walked a little way off. Harry pulled James into the sick bay.
“Another warning to me, James. They flogged Pender to warn me to stop asking questions.”
James looked at Pender’s raw back. He blenched slightly and turned away.
“Every turn we take, James, someone is there to cross us, or stand in our way. We are not dealing with one man aboard this ship. We seem to be up against half the crew.”
“Not half,” said Pender, face down.
“A turn of phrase. But since we don’t know how many there are . . .”
“You mean more than one person killed Bentley?”
“No. I think it was one person. But it is a person who has others to do his bidding.” Harry looked away, not wishing James to see his face.
