Devil to Pay (15 page)

“Welcome aboard, Captain! I hoped to see you here while we were both in port. I hear that the
Rose
needs a new topsail yard and a new port lid for the starboard bow-chaser. Allow me to stand you the toddy you failed to finish when last we met—nay, sir, I insist! George—one of my usual for the captain here, and pour it while we watch. No short measure for the revenue service!”

The pot-man obeyed orders and Delancey could see that nothing was added. He thanked Sam and proposed a toast to the king. “God bless him!” said Carter, raising his glass without reluctance. “I should like you to meet some friends of mine—Mr Henry Stevens, Mr Will Grubb and—come over here, Dan—Mr Daniel Palmer.” Dan emerged unsteadily from a corner of the room and said he was proud to make the captain's acquaintance. He looked puzzled, however, and said finally, “Haven't we met before?” “Very likely,” said Delancey. “Were you ever a preventive man?” This question produced a roar of laughter. No one else recognised Delancey and the party was resumed, with a certain restraint.

“You hurt my feelings, Captain,” said Sam, “when you wouldn't touch the toddy I offered you.”

“I didn't know you then, Captain.”

“I'll lay you didn't. We are up to all sorts of tricks in this game but I wouldn't play that one.”

“Why not?”

“Why, because I have to meet you again. Here we are at Cowes. Next week it may be St Peter Port or Lyme Regis. How would it be if I couldn't look you in the eye?”

“So we play fair?”

“Why shouldn't we? We know the rules and there need be no hard feelings—not even when someone shifts a few lanterns.”

“Fair it shall be; and it's for me to call the next round. George! Same again. But there's a question I'd like to ask. You drank the king's health just now. Would you have drunk the health of Robespierre? I mean, while he was alive?”

“Robespierre? No, not I. My trade depends upon the French, mind you—that can't be gainsaid. There's no fetching brandy from anywhere else but France. So I know the French coast from here to the Spanish border and have friends in every port—all in the way of business, mind you. But it's our fleet I'm backing against theirs. I want to see the

Frenchies beat! What's more, I've fought against them and would do so again.”

“Were you ever in the navy, then?”

“Not me! But I'll tell you a story—one these other men have never heard. I once came upon a revenue cutter in action with two French privateers. Off Jersey it was, back in ‘82. Well, the cutter was in bad shape and would soon have had to strike her colours. Seeing that, I sailed in with the old
Falcon
—that was the craft I commanded then— and beat off the Frenchies. They sailed back to St Malo with their tails between their legs and glad I was to see them go. Well, that was long ago, before the revolution—but I'd do the same today. I don't like to see our enemies getting the best of it.”

The evening went well after that and Carter eventually proposed that they should go on to the Pig and Whistle. Delancey drew the line at this but walked with Sam in that direction. The rest of the gang stayed where they were for the time being and Delancey, having said goodnight, doubled back to the Rose and Crown. The place was noisier now and some old man-of-war's man was singing a song of which Delancey could distinguish the words:

Smiling grog is the sailor's sheet anchor,

His compass, his cable, his log.

Though dangers around him

Unite to confound him

He braves them and tips off his grog.

Tis grog, only grog is his rudder,

His compass, his cable, his log.

The sailor's sheet anchor is grog.

There was loud laughter following this (perhaps the singer had fallen off the table) but the last verse was sung by everybody.

What though his girl who often swore

To know no other charms

He finds when he returns ashore

Clasp'd in a rival's arms?

What's to be done? He vents a curse

And seeks a kinder she,

Dances, gets groggy, clears his purse

And goes again to sea.

Delancey entered the tap-room unnoticed and stood near the door. The singer, as he had guessed, was a man-of-war's man; not a prime seaman, he guessed, but a character in his own right who could hold the attention of the room. All eyes were fixed on the singer and Delancey was able to observe without being seen. Harry and Will and Dan were in a group round a table with two others known to Delancey by sight, but they had been joined by one more—yes, by Mike Williams of the
Rose!
There was no mistaking the man and no question that he was a friend of the others. He was sitting next to Dan and resumed conversation with him as soon as the song ended and the applause died away. There was undoubtedly something furtive about his manner. There was no reason, of course, why he should not be there. He had leave to go ashore, like the rest of his watch, and there was no law to forbid his frequenting that particular ale-house. There was no reason why he should not talk to Dan—after all, they were related. But there was something odd about the meeting for all that and “furtive” was the only word to describe it. Delancey went out again, closing the door quietly, and was sure that no one had even looked in his direction. He walked back to the quayside, hailed the
Rose
where she lay at anchor and was rowed out to her. All was in good order aboard and there was a man on duty as anchor watch. Delancey went below where he found Torrin reading a news-sheet.

“There's been rough weather down at Plymouth, sir. The
Falcon
revenue cutter was all but wrecked on the west mud but Fraser got her off and she's now in dock.”

“Is that all the day's news?”

“There's little else.”

“Tell me then, did Mr Ryder issue any positive order to the crew about avoiding the Rose and Crown?”

“No, sir. He let it be known that it was a place to avoid and they all took the hint. They mostly go to the Worsley Arms where the landlord is an old preventive man.”

“Very right too. Has the new topsail yard arrived?”

“It's on the deck, sir. We'll sway it up in the morning.”

“I'll turn in then. Goodnight.”

The
Rose
had her full complement next day but some men of the starboard watch were something the worse for wear, Williams especially so. Delancey spoke to him sharply and asked where he had been the night before.

“At the Worsley Arms, sir.”

“Nowhere else?”

“Oh no, sir, I was with my mates.”

“Try to keep sober next time.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Delancey was now virtually certain that Williams was in the smugglers' pay, but what information had he to give them?

He knew nothing of importance, so what had he to sell? Delancey realised that he now had the chance to give the local gang (and through them, Sam Carter) such false information as might suit his own plan. What was his plan to be?

Delancey had one more day to spend in Cowes and he used the afternoon to renew his acquaintance with Isaac Hartley. He called at Isaac's shop, where business was still far from brisk, and explained that he had been guilty of an innocent deception. He was the temporary commander of the
Rose
and had needed information about the local gang of moonrakers. The result had been a minor success, the
Dove
losing a cargo, of which part had been found and confiscated.

“I heard about that,” said Isaac, “and I wondered who had given the revenue men the tip. So you were the thief-taker, as you might say, and you made me the informer! Do you understand the danger that now hangs over me? The gang will think that I have gone back on my word and informed against them! I was merely showing Christian kindness to a starving fellow creature, as I thought, and a man who had seen the light. If my Hannah is a widow before the week ends it will be your doing, Mr Delancey—and God forgive you!”

“I must confess, Mr Hartley, that I am not, in your sense, one of the redeemed. I am merely an officer who tries to do his duty; and one of my duties is to protect anyone who has been of service to the Crown—knowingly or even otherwise.”

“But this you
can't
do!” cried Isaac in great agitation. “You can't station a riding officer before my door! Do what you will the gang will murder me!”

“These petty criminals are not as ready as that to risk the gallows. I can assure Sam Carter that you have strictly kept your word. He will believe what I tell him and you will be safe.”

“But is Sam a friend of yours? How can that be?”

“You can sleep soundly at night—after I have spoken to him.”

“And you will?”

“Yes, I'll speak to Sam but I want you to help me first. There are two things I want to know—”

“Look, Mr Delancey, I have given my word. I'll not betray anyone. I'll name nobody. God knows I'm in danger enough as it is. Don't ask more of me!”

“I shan't ask you for a name. What I shall ask you concerns Poole, moreover, not the Isle of Wight. What I want to know, first, is this: have the Dorset smugglers a friend in the Poole Custom House— one of the officers under Mr Rogers? I don't ask his name. All I want to know is whether they have a man there who may help them on occasion.”

“You will ask nothing more of me after this?”

“I shall ask only two questions, of which this is the first. I promise to ask nothing more.”

“I have your word, remember. Well, then the answer is ‘yes'—or at least I think so. I would not say that I know it as a fact but I have been told that there is such a man and have reason to believe that there is.”

“Thank you, Mr Hartley. My other question is this: how often do the Poole smugglers make a run?”

“How should I know? It depends on the weather and the whereabouts of the preventive men. I daresay there are six or eight cargoes a month, most of them into Studland Bay, a favourite place when the tide serves. They prefer a spring tide and a moonless night and some of them won't work on Sundays.”

“Thank you again, Mr Hartley. You can depend upon me keeping my part of the bargain. We had better not meet again—it will be safer for you if we don't.”

Later that day Delancey was rowing out to the
Rose
in the six-oared boat. He told the coxswain to steer close to the
Dove
and, when within hail, told the men to rest on their oars. “Captain Carter!” he hailed. “May I come aboard?” A minute later Sam appeared and hailed back, “Come aboard, Captain.” Within two minutes Delancey was once more on the lugger's deck.

“Surely you are not going to rummage us
again?”
asked Sam.

“No, I just want a word with you in private.”

They walked together as far as the stern, out of earshot of the other men on deck.

“You will know by now that I made some inquiries here before anyone knew that I was to command the
Rose.”

“I heard about that when it was too late.”

“Well, I had some conversation with Isaac Hartley and I have seen him again today.”

“So I hear. Well?”

“I want you to know that he kept his word to his former friends. He would name nobody and I am sure that he never will. Nor do I expect to see him again.”

“I'll take your word for it, and I'll see he comes to no harm. Some day I may ask as much of you.”

“And you won't ask in vain.”

They parted again in friendly fashion and the
Dove
sailed that evening, presumably for Alderney. The
Rose
was to sail next day for Poole and Delancey paced the deck thinking what tactics to pursue. He realized again how little he knew about smuggling and how much there was to know. What would happen if he cruised off Poole until the next run was due? The cargoes would then be landed (or would they?) at Lulworth or Christchurch. But how would they know where he was? Some signal would be made, no doubt, possibly from St Alban's head. There would be some point in the hills behind there from which there was a view seawards and as good a view, in the other direction, of Poole. The place might be found but the discovery would be useless unless the signal code were also discovered. For this an informer would be needed, and what chance was there of one being found? His only hope lay in using the enemy spies he now knew to be on his own side. Through them he might convey the idea that he was going to do one thing when his intention was to do the exact opposite.

And what, money apart, would have been achieved if he actually won the trick, or even the game? The only answer must be that he would have trained himself to meet more complex problems than would usually confront a junior officer. Some day he might have an independent command or another secret mission, with doubtful allies and a changing situation. He might have to weigh the chances, assess the value of conflicting information, guess at the enemy's plan and finally stake his reputation on a single decision. The war against smugglers might be trivial in itself but he could regard it as part of his education. Once more he found himself assuming that he was something better than the average, when all his past history pointed to his being rather worse. Was this assumption ridiculous? Here he was a half-pay lieutenant with no certainty—no likelihood, in fact—of ever being employed again; and he was thinking of tactical situations in which the final decision would lie with him. . . . Absurd! Going below and drawing up a chair to the cabin table, he placed a leather-bound volume before him and under the gently swinging lamp read:

“In the first and golden years of the reign of Nero, that prince, from a desire of popularity, and perhaps from a blind impulse of benevolence, conceived a wish of abolishing the oppression of the customs and excise. The wisest senators applauded his magnanimity: but they diverted him from the execution of a design which would have dissolved the strength and resources of the republic. . . .”