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Authors: Bruce Alexander

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BOOK: Watery Grave
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“Could you, by the light of that single candle, see his features clearly?”

“I could, sir, for when he bent over Toby to do his nasty act, the light from the candle showed his face clear.”

“So you then saw him well enough to identify him now?”

“Oh yes, sir, indeed I can.”

“Is that man here in the room now?”

“He is, sir. He is sittin’ right there.”

And turning, Emma Black pointed directly at Captain James Hartsell.

“Thank you, Miss Black, that will be all.”

“Thank you, sir.”

With that, she curtseyed, after her fashion, and returned to her chair.

“Prisoners, come forward again,” Mr. iMarsden called out.

And forward they came, Boone quite willingly, and Hartsell somewhat reluctantly though not forced; they were accompanied by Mr. Bailey and Mr. Perkins. Sir John was most solemn in mien and demeanor as he waited upon them and then addressed them once again.

“Captain Hartsell and Midshipman Boone,” said he, “as you have heard, there is more than sufficient testimony to bind you over for trial in felony court. Have you now ani:hing to say? Mr. Boone?”

“Just what I said before. I only done what he told me.”

Hartsell turned and gave Boone a withering, contemptuous look. Yet Boone was not withered; he returned a defiant look of his own.

Sir John, who was quite naturally oblivious of this unspoken exchange, simply inclined his head in the direction of Captain Hartsell and asked if he now had anything to say.

“I have nothing to say,” responded the captain, “for the reason that I do not recognize you or the authorit3. of your court over me.”

“We have already discussed that. You are obviously not averse to repeating yourself. I, however, am. The governor and warders of New-gate jail will now have authorit)’ over you until the time of your trial — and, no doubt, for a short time afterward. You may argue your position with them, if you like. Do not expect them to be sympathetic to it.

“Midshipman Boone, since you seem to feel yourself a victim of the captain and apparently w4sh to end your association with him, I shall help you make a first step in that direction by sending you to the Fleet Prison, rather than Newgate. It is principally a prison for debtors, and they may treat a lad of your years more gently than would the hardened criminals who make up the better part of Newgate’s population.”

“Oh, thank you, sir, thank you,” wailed Boone.

“Don’t mention it,” said Sir John, in an expression of generosity somewhat tinged with irony.” Now, Mr. Bailey and Mr. Perkins, you will accompany Captain Hartsell to Newgate forthwith. Mr. Cowley and Mr. Proctor will see Midshipman Boone to the Fleet and return Isaac Tenker there, as well — but not until a bit later, for I have matters to discuss further with the midshipman. The rest of you may now go with my thanks. Mr. Marsden will provide you with a shilling each for your return to your lodgings in a hackney carriage. Yet please remember that you will be called upon to testify when the date of the trial is set at Old Bailey.”

By the time Sir John Fielding had done with Midshipman Albert Boone he not only had from him an agreement to testify against his captain, which he gladly gave in exchange for Sir John’s promise to recommend transportation for him, rather than hanging; he had also secured his signature on two copies of a document written out by Mr. Marsden in which he freely admitted that he had given perjured testimony in the trial by court-martial of Lieutenant William Landon.

The trip to the Fleet Prison in Mr. Bilbo’s coach-and-four was quite uneventful, save for Constable Cowley’s frequent yawns, which put me in fear that he might doze off and the two prisoners might take it in mind to scarper; since he was armed and I was not, there was little I could have done to prevent them. Yet Mr. Cowley, in spite of the fact that he had spent the night patrolling the streets of Westminster, managed to keep awake the length of the drive. And in truth, neither Old Isaac nor Boone showed any inclination toward bold action. The seaman grumbled sullenly on and on that he would now be held as a material witness after his chums had been let go; while the midshipman said ne’er a word, so plunged into gloom was he by the contemplation of his future.

The transfer of the prisoners to the warders at the gate of the Fleet was managed without incident. As instructed, I told them that Sir John had specified that Boone be kept separate from the other prisoners from the H.M.S. Ac)ventiire; and I was assured that his wish would be respected. There was left naught for Mr. Cowley and me then but to be returned in great style to Number 4 Bow Street. He had to be shaken there from a deep slumber, for he had given in to sleep the moment he had reentered the coach and settled again upon its soft cushions. But upon our arrival he came awake and staggered down. We called our thanks to the driver and footman. Constable Cowley parted from me there to labor back on wobbly legs to his lodgings nearby.

I entered at Number 4 to find the place all topsy-turvy. Papers werescattered about ahead. I saw Constable Fuller’s keys upon the floor. I heard a hubbub of shouting back and forth in unfamiliar voices. Had I better sense, I should have turned round at that moment and made my way out softly at the door where I had come in. But driven on quite irresistibly by curiosity, I went cautiously forward.

Just as I was approaching the empty strong room and reconsidering my decision, a marine stepped out from whence I least expected him and leveled his musket at me. There was a bayonet Fixed at the end of the thing.

“Corporal,” he yelled, T got one here.”

Indeed he had. I stood rooted, more fearful of the bayonet than the musket to which it was fixed. I doubted he would shoot me, but he might stumble and stab me by mistake. He looked a clumsy fellow.

From out of Mr. Marsden’s alcove came the corporal, followed by another marine who, like the fellow who held me at bay, hauled with him a musket with a bayonet affixed. They shuffled over through a great litter of paper which had been emptied onto the floor from Mr. Marsden’s desk and storage boxes. The corporal scrutinized me and turned away in disappointment.

“He ain’t nothin’ but a boy, ” said he.” Put him over with the other one and tell the lieutenant.”

Thus I was marched over to Mr. Marsden’s alcove where I joined Mr. Fuller, who, with a forlorn expression upon his face, greeted me in a voice that suited his face. There was a guard for us both.

“Hullo, Jer’my. I could do nothin’. They come runnin’ in here with bayonets fixed before I could grab a pistol and challenge them.”

“No one could blame you, ” said I.” They surprised me, as well.” Not quite true, but it seemed the decent thing to say.

“I feel quite disgraced.”

“For no reason. But how many of them are there?”

“Five or six —six, counting the corporal —and a Navy lieutenant in charge. They thought to find Sir John here with his court in session, but I told them, I did, that he went off to a court-martial. That made the lieutenant quite furious, it did. He kept shouting at me, ‘Where is Sir John then? And where is Captain Hartsell?’ Jeremy, who is Captain Hartsell?”

I heard and recognized the lieutenant some moments before I saw him. He came thundering at us in that sergeant major’s voice of his which could be heard from some distance away. Lieutenant Byner did indeed sound angry.

“I believe I know that boy,” he bellowed.” Take me to him.”

And then he confronted me, hands on hips. He stamped his foot once, presumably to gain my attention, which of course he had already.

“Yes, it is you, isn’t it?”

That struck me as a singularly unanswerable question, yet I tried my best: “Yes sir, it is.”

“I have some questions (or you.”

“Well, I shall try my best to answer them.”

“First of all, why are there no papers in Sir John’s chambers? No records —and no memoranda on present inquiries. By God, there must be memoranda. In the Navy, we keep memoranda on everything!”

“Sir John keeps no memoranda, sir, no records of any sort.”

“No diary?”

“None, sir.”

“No records? I found every drawer in his desk quite empty. How do his investigations proceed?”

“He keeps it all in his head, sir. I should think it would be obvious why you found no papers.”

“Oh? How so?”

“He cannot read.”

“Cannot read? And he a magistrate?”

“No, sir, he cannot read because he is blind.”

“Oh.” The lieutenant put hand to chin and thought upon that for a moment or two.” Strange,” said he, “but one never thinks of him quite so.”

“Will that be all, sir?” I moved as if to go.

“By no means! Where is Captain Hartsell?”

“Why, I suppose he might be aboard his ship.” And of course he might not be. Actually, it seemed a very slim possibility, considering what Sir John had said and that the captain had left Mr. Bilbo’s in the company of two armed constables.

“He was seen to leave under duress in a coach. We believe that Sir John Fielding was in that coach, and that he has abducted him to hold him prisoner on some technical charge.”

“Oh, well, there I might be able to help you, Lieutenant Byner. Sir John left before the verdict was handed down.”

“I know. I saw him leave with you —then you returned.”

“Yes sir, he asked me to report the verdict to him when he returned.”

“Returned from where, damn you, boy.”

“From the Lord Chief Justice, sir. He said that the Lord Chief Justice was sending his coach for him, and that he would wait there at the entrance for it.”

“You mean to say that was the coach of the Lord Chief Justice into which the captain was forced?”

“That is certainly a possibility, sir —even a probability. ‘

Again he stroked his chin.” Hmmm, well, the Lord Chief Justice, is it? I don’t like the sound of that. Perhaps I’d best go back and …”

“The Lord Chief Justice lives in Bloomsbury Square, ” said I, “at Number Seven. You might find Sir John there now. Or perhaps you and your marines might wish to wait for him here?”

“No … uh, no …” He looked about and found his man. “Corporal!” said he in the voice of command.” Assemble your party and make ready to go.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” said the corporal, and gave a smart salute.

There was a good deal of shouting from the corporal as he formed the five into a single file.

“Yes, well,” said Lieutenant Byner to me, “thank you for the information. Very interesting it was, very interesting. Well, carry on. Sorry for the mess.”

To me he gave a vague sort of wave then.

“Corporal! Take them out!”

Commands. And soon the marines were marching tovard the door, muskets on their shoulders, bayonets now removed and tucked away. Even so, I doubted they would get through the door with their muskets so high—yet somehow they managed. Mr. Byner followed them out and shut the door behind him.

I looked at Mr. Fuller. He seemed quite overcome by the experience— not shaken as by fear but rather downcast by shame. He sighed.

“There was little I could do when they come down the hall as they did — nothin’ at all, really.”

“Nothing at all, Mr. Fuller,” I agreed.

“And when they went upstairs, I —”

“Upstairs!”

I had not thought they would dare, yet —

Assuring Mr. Fuller I would be back to help him clean up the litter on the floor, I ran to the stairs and up them. I burst through the door and into the kitchen — and narrowly missed a braining by Annie as she swung a heavy iron skillet at my head.

“Jeremy!” she screamed. “I could’ve hurt you!”

“You could’ve killed me!”

“But I thought you were one of them come back. I fought two off with this well enough, they took my word there was none here but me.”

“I’m sure you did quite well with that. You—”

A great commotion of voices from below interrupted me. Mr. Marsden, usually the calmest of men, was quite beside himself, hooting his indignation at the top of his voice. I heard Sir John’s low rumble and Mr. Fuller’s keening tenor join in.

“Come along, Annie,” said I.” You may as well see what they did downstairs and give your report to Sir John.”

By the time we had descended, Sir John had stilled them all and was listening to Mr. Fuller’s doleful tale. Mr. Marsden wandered about, picking up odd sheets of paper and shaking his head sadly. Sir John bolstered the constable with a few words of commendation; then, with undisguised amusement, he heard Annie tell of her battle in the kitchen, and her he commended, as well. Yet when it came my turn, he seemed to treat me somewhat more severely, reminding me early on that the prudent thing would have been to depart when I heard strange voices. Yet I made no excuses and continued, identifying the leader of the group as Lieutenant Byner (this brought a grunt from Sir John). I then told him that I had told Mr. Byner a lie in hopes of getting rid of him and his party of marines.

“Oh? A lie? What sort of lie?”

“I’m afraid that I led him to believe that the coach in which Captain Hartsell departed belonged to the Lord Chief Justice. He seemed sure you were inside it, as well.”

He considered for a moment. “And how did the lieutenant react to that?”

“It seemed a bit more than he expected, sir.”

“He left right swift. Sir John,” said Mr. Fuller, “him and his marines. The corporal formed them up, and out they marched. They wanted naught to do with the Lord Chief Justice.”

“Well, Jeremy, sometimes —though not often — a lie told in a good cause can do better than the truth. Yours has put me in mind of a plan. Mr. Fuller, those papers you have collected from the floor already, I wish you to throw them back as you found them. You say your keys were there, too? Throw them also on the floor, just as they were. Mr. Marsden, though it may pain you, we shall leave all as it was for a bit, for you and I are off to visit the Lord Chief Justice. He must see this.”

When, in less than an hour, the two returned, they had in tow William Murray, the Earl of Mansfield, Lord Chief Justice of the King’s Bench. That august personage seldom deigned to visit the Bow Street Court, and when he did, it was usually with some complaint to nettle Sir John. Sympathy was quite the last thing one expected from him, yet sympathy he gave in abundance to Mr. Marsden; and to Sir John he gave a pledge that the felony court would in no wise give way to the Navy on this Hartsell matter.

BOOK: Watery Grave
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