Devil to Pay (12 page)

They went down to the quayside with Delancey carrying his own overcoat as a parcel and looking for all the world like one of Edgell's men. At the Custom House Wharf Mr Edgell saw Delancey safely into the boat and when Mr Payne appeared, a little late, handed him down into the sternsheets. The boat was pushed off and rowed down the harbour to where the
Rose
rode at single anchor, provisioned for three weeks and ready for sea.

Mr Payne boarded the
Rose
with dignity and was received by the mate, Mr Tom Lane, with the crew paraded on deck. Delancey followed a minute later, leaving his borrowed gear in the boat. He remained modestly in the background while Mr Payne addressed the crew.

“You all know, men, that Mr Ryder has been hurt in an accident and will not be on duty again for some time to come. I have decided, therefore, to appoint a temporary commander. He joins the cutter today and I present him to you: Lieutenant Richard Andros Delancey of the Royal Navy, an officer of great experience, lately commanding the cutter
Royalist.
Strictly obey his orders and this next cruise will bring you success.”

Having no warning of this, the
Rose
's men were taken by surprise and Lane the mate, for one, seemed to be offended. Delancey decided to waste no time. “Hands to the capstan and halliards!” he shouted. “Prepare to make sail.” Ordering Mr Lane to take charge of the deck, he saw Mr Payne over the side and said goodbye to him. As he watched the cable hauled in, the mainsail and jib set, he felt a keen sense of pleasure. The deck was alive under his feet. The wind sang in the rigging. He was at sea again! There was a stiff westerly breeze and it was cold to the point of freezing but he hardly noticed even the spray in his face. He knew all too well that the craft was new to him and that he was liable to hesitate or blunder. If the crew sensed his ignorance they would lack confidence from the outset. “Lay a course for Portsmouth, helmsman,” he said to the man at the wheel. “Come below, Mr Lane, and show me the chart.” In the cabin the mate produced the chart but Delancey hardly looked at it. “Now tell me quickly, Mr Mate, what is our tonnage, our draught, our armament and crew?” The
Rose,
it appeared, measured 154 tons, mounted twelve 4-pounders and two 9-pounders, carried a chest of small arms and was handled by a crew of 22 including the commander, chief mate, second mate and two deputed mariners. “Very well,” said Delancey. “Who is the second mate? John Torrin? And the other two? Netley and Wansbrough? Right. Who is the man with red hair, the one with the squint, the man at the wheel, the man at the lookout?” In a matter of seconds Delancey had bounded on deck again and was giving the helmsman the exact course to clear Gilkicker Point. “Right, Wilkins, steady as she goes. What's that craft Miller—on the starboard bow? Flake down the halliards, Jackson and Field!” He was able to give the impression of knowing every man by name even while asking Mr Torrin for the names of the rest. He set the square mainsail for the run to leeward and then struck it again in approaching Portsmouth. The men were evidently on their mettle, anxious to show a naval officer that they were proper seamen and better than would be found in a frigate. There were certainly fewer of them than would have manned a naval craft of similar tonnage. While not smart in the way that Delancey knew, they did the work quickly and quietly. There was none of that singing which naval officers deplored, the bellowing of the shanty which could be heard aboard the average merchantman. What would they be like in action? He decided to leave that test until tomorrow. For the moment it was enough to enter Portsmouth on the flood, drop anchor and lower a boat. The light was fading as he stepped ashore, followed by Davis, the man who was to serve as his steward. He picked up a longshoreman with a barrow and agreed on a shilling to be paid for his services. Delancey shivered a little in his shoddy greatcoat and walked quickly towards his lodging in Ropewalk Lane.

From his lodging Delancey sent his luggage on board the
Rose
and told the coxswain to return to the Hard at four o'clock. It was his duty, he knew, to call on Mr Ryder.

So much had happened since Delancey was last at the Star and Garter that he was almost surprised to learn that Mr Ryder was still there and unfit to be moved. Delancey was shown to the sick-room without any hesitation or argument. Ryder looked white and far from well but he thanked his visitor for calling and was glad to have news of the
Rose.
He had been told of Delancey's temporary appointment in a letter from Mr Payne. “I am obliged to you, sir, for accepting the command without pay. That fifty pounds a year is now all I have but you will have nothing until you secure a prize. There was little I ever made in that way but I shall pray for your better success. There are smugglers enough at sea. It is merely a question of finding them!”

“When will you be able to return home?”

“Next week, Mr Winthrop says.”

“I am sure that will speed your recovery. It should be of value to me, in the meanwhile, if you could tell me something about the men I have to command. Tell me about Mr Lane.”

“Bob has served all his time in the Revenue Service. He is a good reliable seaman and has never cost us so much as a broken spar. He knows the law and he can recognize a moonraking craft on even the darkest night. He lacks enterprise, though, and chief mate is as high as he should go.”

“And John Torrin?”

“Not as careful a man as Bob but better in action. He'll command a cutter some day.”

“What is a deputed mariner?”

“A seaman who has been sworn in as a deputy customs officer. There has to be one in each boat and he is usually the coxswain.”

“I see. Are all the men loyal?”

“We should not employ them if their loyalty was in question.”

“Let me put that question in different words. If any one of your crew were to pass information to the smugglers, which man would it be?”

“My dear sir! I should hate to think ill of any seaman under my command. There is no good reason to suspect any one of them.”

“But suppose that intelligence of our plans had actually reached Sam Carter? Suppose that the facts were known and could be proved beyond all shadow of doubt?”

“Really, sir, you face me with a dilemma. . . . With great reluctance—and since you insist—I should first question Michael Williams.”

“The man who has lost a finger? Why?”

“His sister is married to Nick O'Brien and Nick is cousin to Dan Palmer.”

“I see.”

“But please don't misunderstand me. I say nothing against Mike Williams and have heard nothing against him.”

“I am glad to hear it and I hope to be able to say as much.” Delancey looked round the room with a swift glance and asked whether the service at the Inn was good.

“Very good, I thank you,” said Mr Ryder. “And I have had many visitors. Mr Grindall could not have been kinder and I expect his nephew to call at any moment. He has been entered as acting second mate in the
Rapid
cutter based on Southampton. The cutter is at Spit-head and I understand that young Mr Fowler is ashore on some errand for Mr Madden. He will be glad to join us in a glass of wine.”

Delancey explained that his visit had to be brief but he was still explaining this when Fowler arrived. They greeted each other, again with restraint on Fowler's side, and finally left together. Sensing an opportunity, Delancey asked Fowler to convey a message to Mr Madden. Walking down to the Hard, he gave a brief outline of his plans:

“All this,” he concluded, “is in strictest confidence. This is Monday and I am expecting the
Dove
lugger to make a run on either Wednesday or Thursday night. If the
Rapid
will cruise on each of those two nights between the Foreland and the Nab, she will be in position to intercept. She should not be seen from the Isle of Wight in daylight. Prize-money to be shared equally.”

“What if she heads the other way, sir?”

“Then we keep the prize. You can point out to Mr Madden that I am providing the intelligence upon which the plan is based.”

“Very good, sir. I'll tell him. I should think he will agree.”

They walked on in silence for a minute or so and then Fowler said something of what was on his mind.

“It is strange, sir, our meeting again. There are things I should like to forget. I still have nightmares and wake in a sweat, thinking I am back in the
Artemis,
or giving evidence again at the court martial.”

Delancey looked keenly at the young man and asked, rather sharply: “Do you talk in your sleep?”

“How can I tell sir? Nobody has told me that I do.”

“You have a cabin to yourself?”

“A small one, sir.”

“It is certainly better that you should. But it might be better still if you lived ashore, away from scenes which remind you of events better forgotten.”

“How can I, sir? There is only the one trade to which I have been bred.”

“You would be better, then, on board a merchantman.”

“Even in wartime, sir?”

“Listen, young man. You have nightmares about the experiences you had in the
Artemis,
and very distressing they were, I'll allow. But ours is not a profession for the squeamish. If the thought of these past events were to keep me awake I should not be fit to hold a commission. In the navy our trade is war. Is that the trade you ought to pursue? I beg leave to question it. You would be happier in commerce.”

“I
should
be happier ashore—I know that. Thank you for your advice, sir.”

They came to the Hard where Delancey's boat was already waiting, perhaps ten minutes before it had to be there. The light was failing even at this hour on that wintry day and Delancey was eager to embark. Saying goodbye to young Fowler, whose boat could be seen approaching, Delancey stepped into the
Rose
's gig and told the men to push off.

“Beg pardon, sir,” said the coxswain, “one of the men has gone to get some pepper for the cook. You have come a little sooner than we expected, sir.”

“You also came in sooner than you were told to do. Who is it that is ashore?”

“Williams, sir.”

“I see. I shall give him five minutes.”

Delancey left the gig and paced up and down on the quayside. He had to decide what to do about this breach of discipline. He was not, at the moment, in the navy. He could not expect the punctual and exact obedience on which he would ordinarily insist. Nor did he know the standards of discipline to which these revenue men were accustomed. He decided to utter no more than a word of warning. Odd, however, that it should be Williams. How easy it was to be too suspicious; how easy to make a fuss about nothing. . . . More than five minutes had passed before there came the sound of hurrying feet. The missing man, still out of breath, found himself face to face with his new skipper, still very much an unknown quantity. He quickly decided to bluff his way out of it.

“Well?” said Delancey, coldly.

“Beg pardon, sir. I was running an errand for the cook. I wasted no time, sir, and ran most of the way back.”

“What was your errand, Williams?”

“To fetch some pepper, sir.”

“And the cook told you to do this?”

“Yessir.”

“Did you do anything else?” “Oh, no, sir.”

“Very well. Into the boat; and don't let this happen again, coxswain. Boat's crew must stay in the boat. Push off, Watson.”

When the gig was alongside the
Rose
Delancey told the boat's crew to remain in the boat. Going on deck, he then sent for the cook and asked him whether he was short of pepper.

“No, sir.”

“You did not send ashore for some?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you send Williams on any other errand?”

“No, sir.”

Delancey then ordered the boat's crew on deck and addressed them. “I don't know what sort of discipline you have had on board this cutter. It may be a new idea to you that you should obey orders. It is certainly a new idea to some of you that you should speak the truth. What I want you to know and remember is that your chance of making prize-money depends upon doing exactly what you are told. I'll not inquire further into Williams' errand ashore. But I'll have no more of it. You have your duty to do and I have mine. Set an anchor watch, Mr Lane. The remainder can turn in. We shall sail before first light.”

Delancey was uncertain, in fact, what punishment (if any) he could inflict. In any case, it was better to make little of Williams' offence. It meant nothing in all likelihood (some tobacco, perhaps, or a girl) but, supposing the worst, it would be better to lull Williams into a false sense of security. There was nothing against him as yet and what information, anyway, had he to sell? He could warn Carter that the
Rose
had a new fire-eating skipper from the navy but that was nothing in itself. What would the average naval lieutenant know about free-trading? Thinking on these lines, Delancey realized, almost with a shock, that he was
not
an average lieutenant. He had begun to expect more of himself than of anyone else. In what way? After a fresh effort he decided that most men would think that a certain amount of effort, whether physical or mental, was “good enough.” The question he was learning to ask was different. “Could anything
more
have been done? Could anything more be done
now?”
Well, what was the answer? It was obvious as soon as the question was asked. Something should be done to put Sam Carter off his guard. How? Why, to tell him that the
Rose
would be off Beachy Head on Thursday and Friday. Make that known in Portsmouth on the day before the
Dove
was to sail from Poole? There was not time enough, and, anyway, the
Dove
must have sailed already for Alderney. . . . Delancey unrolled the chart and began to make calculations on an odd piece of paper, placing the tide-table at his elbow. Then he tore them up, realizing that he had forgotten the central fact that the
Dove
would sail after dark. Beginning again, he guessed that she would reach Alderney on Tuesday in daylight, spend the next day in shipping her cargo, sail at about nightfall on Wednesday and arrive off Sandown Bay on——But that was all too late! Sam was to visit Molly on Thursday or Friday, which meant that he had to unload his cargo near Poole on Wednesday night after calling, earlier at Sandown Bay. This meant sailing from Poole on Sunday (yesterday) rather than today. . . . Any scheme of deception would have to wait until another time. There was nothing to be done now.