Read Blown Off Course Online

Authors: David Donachie

Blown Off Course (18 page)

Failure was a possibility in any such venture, but success would lay to rest any worries he had about taking on Ralph Barclay, and then there was the other consideration: Emily Barclay, a woman he was now sure he was in love with. If he had put that subject to the back of his mind this morning it was one that had pressed on him the night before and would come back to haunt him again. There was no way he could seek to live with her, and that he was set on doing, while she was taking money from her estranged husband.

That such a course would be rocky in the extreme would be eased by money, so many things were in life and not just for him. For his friends, they could earn enough to buy their way out of trouble – Rufus paying off his apprentice bond, Charlie doling out a heavy fine to cover his misdemeanours while retaining enough to set himself up, Michael able to go back to Ireland and put to rights his family’s debt-wracked farm.

‘If the risk is too great I would understand, John,’ Winston said, his face anxious, for Pearce had been thinking for a long time – hardly surprising since this one stroke could solve so many dilemmas and, beyond that, open up many prospects for the future in terms of what he could and could not do to make a living.

‘Where is the vessel berthed?’

It was Winston’s turn to take time to respond. ‘That I would keep to myself until I was sure a fellow was committed.’

‘And what would it take to convince you that I could be?’

‘You know, I am not sure.’ Seeing Pearce react, and not well, he was quick to continue. ‘I have thought on this so long I am almost made fearful by your willingness to so readily consider it. All the while that vessel sits in …’ he paused, ‘wherever it is, I am out of pocket to the tune of the cost of purchase, and a tied-up vessel earns nothing. While such a thing has not stopped me doing business it has constrained me, and I will not deny to you that a solution would allow me to speculate more in what is a booming market.’

‘Have you put this proposal to anyone else?’ Pearce asked, aware that it was a question he should have posed much earlier.

Winston emitted a hollow laugh. ‘I have never got further than a mention that what I want might be illegal, most people being the type to shy away at the word and me of a mind to back away from eagerness for fear of being cheated.’

‘Am I not to be feared for the very same reason?’

‘You are singular in many ways, John: first, by that naval coat you so despise and the means by which you won it …’

‘I have told you, it was as much accident as design.’

Winston beamed. ‘Then there is your modesty.’

‘There must be more.’

‘There is – perhaps because having been a victim of the law, you respect it less. Yet you are a casualty of legal stupidity, not some repentant felon, and I go
back to the words I spoke to you in the Pelican about the shortage of suitable men to command ships in any sort of trade. There is no surfeit of people available to undertake such a task as that I have outlined, quite apart from anyone disposed to do so, and even fewer in whom I repose any measure of confidence.’

‘Do I need to explain to you why I might be the right man, in the right place at the right time?’

‘No, but I must have care even with that, eagerness being no substitute for clear thinking. But in your favour you are without employment if you do not wish to be a king’s officer, you are badly in need of funds and, I think, John, you are not averse to risk.’

‘Do you have the vessel’s manifest?’

Winston’s eyes narrowed, but he was too sharp to fall for a request, which, of necessity, would carry the ship’s name. ‘I have a list of the cargo.’

‘Can I see it?’

‘To ascertain the value, no doubt?’ Pearce nodded. ‘I have it in my office.’

‘Then, if you are finished your breakfast, my friend, I suggest we repair to that place this instant.’

‘You move with too much boldness.’

‘Time and tide, Arthur, though that begs one question. How quickly could I be got to where this ship is?’

‘If I told you that, I might as well just admit where she lays, and when you say “I”, you mean “we”.’

‘You would be coming too?’

‘How else will you know which ship is the one I own and how it is to be landed?’

‘By giving me her name, perhaps, as well as the rest of the plan?’

Winston looked him straight in the eye. ‘Which would repose in you a degree of trust bordering on foolishness.’

While Pearce was frustrated by the answer, he could see the reason for Winston’s caution: given every bit of information about his vessel, a man he had only met once before might be tempted to act alone and cheat him out of everything, yet he wished to show him he could arrive at certain deductions.

‘A Flemish trader, French goods, it cannot be as far off as the Baltic, more likely we are talking of the Flanders shore. It matters not: in time you will tell me that, just as you will show me the list, inform me of the minimum number of hands needed to sail her and you must, in all conscience tell me where the cargo can be safely landed, for I assume that in your deliberations that has already been decided upon.’

‘I am beginning to wonder if your mind is not too sharp.’ There was no joy in that, so Pearce stood up. ‘I see you are eager.’

It was odd that Arthur Winston seemed put out, as if he was being pushed to do something against his will, which had Pearce reasoning that a notion in contemplation is a very comfortable place to be, while one in the act of execution can be quite the opposite. Winston had thought on this for a long time and very likely, quite often, had worked through various scenarios in his imagination, all of which would, naturally, end in success. Action brought on the possibility of failure,
perhaps the permanent loss of both vessel and cargo, and that was less pleasant.

‘More so than you know, my friend, so shall we go back to your place of business and see, first, if what you propose is possible?’

It took time for Winston to rise, but with a contemplative face he did so eventually. As they covered the short distance back to his chambers, Pearce talked as he walked, well aware that he was only telling Winston what he knew already, but his aim to convince him that his instincts were right.

‘I am in need of funds to a level near impossible to achieve and that takes no account of time. There is no method I can think of, other than that which you have proposed, which will provide what I need either in the level or the speed.’

‘Would it offend you if I said I feel it is being rushed and in such a way that makes me nervous?’

‘I apologise, Arthur. Put it down to my nature, for I am a fellow who, having seen an objective, cannot abide anything other than an attempt to immediately achieve it.’ Those words made Pearce smile, for the only thing that came to mind as he said them was his single-minded pursuit of the opposite sex. ‘I am at your mercy in the article of time, but I am satisfied you know that I will not be dilatory once we have come to an agreement.’

Back in Winston’s chambers, it was confirmed by his neighbour that he had indeed had another visitor, also that the fellow was eager for a meeting and would call back at the same time on the morrow. Then they went
into his room; the door being firmly closed, the list was produced and what he could see only served to increase Pearce’s desire to be quick about the act. Given the amount of cargo, he guessed she would be light in displacement so it would need few hands to sail her if, as he suspected, it had to be a straight trip across the North Sea and one he would not undertake if the weather looked to be inclement. More important, what Winston had said about the value was true – the game was definitely worth the candle!

There were bound to be risks, but that was a state in which he had lived all his life; even just being with his father, boy and man, had occasioned such a thing many times, and his naval service, while it may have been reluctant, had been full of hazards, all of which he had overcome. Still, it had to be weighed and that he did, with the concomitant knowledge that there would be many unknowns – there always had to be and it was how they were dealt with that counted. The first of those was obvious, so finally it came to the crunch and he demanded to be told the port in which she lay at present, as well as the landfall he would be required to make on the English shore. It took half a minute of silent contemplation to get a reply: Winston was like a woman choosing a dress, or even worse, a hat, but finally he did answer.

‘My ship is tied up in Gravelines, having been brought down by canal from St Omer. It will, of course, need a fair wind, but a north-easterly is fairly common in the North Sea and she can be brought in to St Margaret’s Bay just north of Dover, where I
have a cousin who farms nearby, hard by the village of Martin. He has assured me he can provide the bodies necessary to unload the cargo, which will, of course, occasion some payment. The notion was to agree some signal beacons on shore, certain lights at the masthead and have him watch for my arrival, he having been previously informed by coded letter that matters are in train.’

‘And your vessel is of a type fit for the crossing?’

‘It is one she has made many times before to the Port of London.’

‘What happens to the cargo then, Arthur?’ Again there was that seeming reluctance to answer, that hesitation, as though to divulge information was to weaken his hand. ‘Since this would be in the nature of a partnership, I think knowing that would be necessary.’

A slow nod led to another delayed answer; it was like drawing teeth. ‘I would sell it before it is landed, at an affordable discount, a method I have recently learnt that has supported the smuggling trade for centuries and one which removes the risk of interception by others.’

Now it was John Pearce’s turn to hesitate: everything he was being told, payments for landing and discounts from pre-sale indicated a substantial drop in value. ‘So, the final tally would be?’

‘Speculative until the trades are complete,’ Winston murmured, ‘but surely enough to satisfy us both and, I would suggest, it is better to know what the profit would be prior to landing than take the risk of transporting the goods ourselves.’

Such a proposal made sense: it would mean hiring wagons and men to drive them, as well as carrying contraband through Kent, a county where the Excise was likely to be active. Yet having settled on a potential figure in his mind, and a high one, it was slightly galling the way it was being trimmed. Still, there was no point in pursuing that: the rewards would still be substantial and his task was to get it across the Channel.

‘What of the Excise at the point of landing?’

‘Thin on the ground and not zealous, I am informed,’ Winston replied, before adding, ‘If it is too risky for you, John …’

‘Tell me about Gravelines.’

‘Right on the Flanders coast, a dozen miles south of Dunkirk.’

Winston then produced a map of the Low Countries to explain that the estuary town was one through which he had traded for years. Once a Spanish possession, then French, it was at the sea end of a canal that joined the River Aa from St Omer, hence the ease with which goods could be shipped from the French interior and the type of ship which, without being precise, he said was equally at home on a canal as at sea.

‘The townsfolk speak Flemish, but Gravelines has been a fortified French garrison town since the time of Louis the Fourteenth, though the walls are not manned by Jacobins at present. They are still locked up in Dunkirk, to where they fled when the Duke of York moved to besiege the place.’

‘And failed to take it?’

‘But he is still in the field leading the Allied forces, Dutch and Austrian as well as his own regiments, hence the reluctance of the French to sally forth and try to reoccupy places like Gravelines.’

‘You know this?’

‘I do, just as I know what was demanded of me as payment for the release of my property.’

‘You went there?’

‘As soon as I heard the Duke of York had invested Dunkirk and that the French had abandoned their other possessions in the Low Countries.’

‘So who is guarding it now?’

‘In the town, no one, but there are a pair of older forts guarding a narrow channel leading out to sea, which may now have some kind of occupying force to deter the French from raiding. But the type of vessel you will be taking out is much used in costal trade and so should arouse no suspicion.’

What Pearce was being told had to be filtered through what he already knew: the armies under the Duke of York were now reported to be nearer to Brussels and well away from the coast, so that meant Gravelines was in the possession of Britain or her Dutch allies. If it was so, then getting a ship out should be easy, so much so that he wondered at the need to use him, which would have become his next question if he had not stopped himself: profit lay in that employment. Yet he got an answer anyway – it was as if Winston had read his mind.

‘I can guess what you are thinking, John, but I doubt my fellow will give up easily and in a zone of conflict
the means to force the matter legally do not exist.’

‘The duke may beat the French.’

That got a terse response. ‘He has shown damn little ability to do so up till now, and if he loses to them what is an awkward task now will become ten times harder. In fact, I could lose everything.’

‘Do you know if your fellow is fully manning the ship?’

‘He will have an anchor watch, no more, I suspect.’

‘You do not know?’

The reply showed a trace of temper. ‘Not for certain, but why spend money on a crew when the scoundrel has no intention of letting her set sail unless I pay him a fortune?’

Tempted to ask how much that fortune was, Pearce decided against it: the man was upset enough. ‘How do we get to Gravelines?’

‘There is a packet still sailing regularly from Ramsgate to Flushing.’

Pearce looked at the map and declined that as a route. Flushing was too far away from Gravelines and on the wrong side of Dunkirk, which might make the journey risky and besides, being on a public boat with the Pelicans carried its own hazards.

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