Jack Frake (15 page)

The only other English merchantman Skelly did business with was the
Sparrowhawk
, a converted third-rate frigate bought by its owners from the Navy ten years ago. Its captain and part-owner, John Ramshaw, knew Skelly from the years when he had been a legitimate merchant. The company for which Ramshaw captained the
Sparrowhawk
had no knowledge of his continued relationship with the outlaw. Like the captain of the
Ariadne
, he bought and sold contraband on his own account, dealing with other reputable smugglers but chiefly with Skelly. When a cargo was too large for the galleys or Skelly’s sloop, Ramshaw or Cheney would accept payment for it at clandestine meetings such as tonight’s, then deposit the cargo in a warehouse in St. Peter Port, Guernsey, for Skelly to pick up later. Guernsey and Jersey in the Channel, and the Isle of Man in the Irish Sea, were paradoxically exempt from all customs and excise levies, even though they were part of the King’s dominion. Skelly rendezvoused with each of the merchantmen about three times a year.

No Skelly “run” had ever been routed or foiled by the Revenue. That was because Skelly always knew where the Revenue officers were on the date and at the time of a rendezvous with a merchantman or a landing from his own vessel. And to ensure that Pannell and his men came nowhere near a rendezvous or a landing, he would decoy them with false information. His men would spread a rumor in the taverns and inns in the port towns that a merchantman or a sloop was to anchor, say, near Tallant, when in fact it would anchor near Fennock, ten miles down the coast. To lend credibility to the rumor, he would have some of his men leave evidence of a landing at Tallant: discarded clothing, a coil of rope, a lost horseshoe, a partly doused beach campfire, a forgotten spout lantern, an empty tea or coffee chest, foot and hoofprints in the sand, and so on. Pannell and his
men would come to Tallant and conclude that they had only just missed the rendezvous. The ruse worked; no other “contraband company” in the region went to such lengths to outwit the Revenue men.

Skelly’s sloop,
The Hasty Hart
, was anchored in Styles, a little fishing village a mile west of Gwynnford, its ownership registered under another man’s name. It was fitted out with nets, a dory, and all the other paraphernalia of the fishing trade, though none of it had ever been used since being purchased from a Dutch smuggler. Skelly had planned to use the sloop tonight to meet the
Ariadne
, but the village was unexpectedly visited by a pair of Revenue officers and a posse of dragoons, and it would have been foolhardy to set sail under their noses. Part of the gang was dispersed to the small fishing villages and towns along the coast to provide “entertainment” for any other Revenue men they found, or simply to keep a close watch on them. And part of it waited on shore with carts, pack-horses and ponies.

The blue ribbons on Skelly’s map marked the secret locations of galleys owned by Skelly or ones he could rent from sympathetic owners. The green ribbons were the locations of wagons, carts and horses he could use to transport contraband from the coast. Skelly was often gone for weeks at a time with his pilot and crew on
The Hasty Hart
on journeys to Guernsey, to the Isle of Man, to ports in France and Holland. Always he would return with the hold full of tea, coffee, tobacco, brandy, wines, silks, lace, salt, and other taxable commodities. Skelly had exacted a promise from the merchants he dealt with that they would not sell any contraband he supplied them with at current, duty-inclusive prices, but to sell them
sans
all duties. This dictum contradicted the practice of most smugglers, who took advantage of the duty-inclusive prices in order to increase their profit margins. Skelly, committed to the removal of all taxes, could see no justice in that, and accepted only a mark-up for his profit. The other gangs resented Skelly’s policy, but could do little to fight it. Skelly sent men out to towns to spot-check merchants to ensure that his policy was being followed. It was a unique situation even among the “contraband companies.”

“Larboard oars up! Starboard oars ease up to come alongside!”

Jack Frake suddenly heard the creak of the schooner behind him and footsteps on a deck. He could not turn around now, for he was intent on emulating the man in front of him and correctly maneuvering his oar. The wind diminished and the water became calmer as the galley came alee of the
Ariadne
. Then he felt the prow bump into the ship’s side. He and the men on his side worked their oars to push the galley against the hull of the schooner.

Skelly rose from the chest, looked up and doffed his hat. “Welcome home, Mr. Cheney!”

“Hallo, Mr. Skelly!” answered a voice from the deck. “Come aboard!”

Jack Frake turned in time to see a rope ladder drop from the main deck.

“Secure your oars!” shouted the tiller man. All oars turned in their pins to rest on the seats. The tiller man and the prow man threw ropes up to men waiting at two open ports on the
Ariadne
. Some of the oarsmen took out flasks of rum and drank to slake their thirst; others began packing pipes. Jack Frake, the ordeal over, loosened the scarf on his face, pivoted on his seat and lay down. He looked up and saw the furled sails on the masts that towered above him, and the pennants above them curling steadily in the wind.

A dark figure blocked his view. “I want a clerk, Mr. Frake,” said Skelly. “You will accompany me to take notes of the cargo we leave with.” He proffered a teakwood box that held paper and writing instruments.

His bones and muscles said no, but Jack planted his feet on the boards, stood up, and took the box. “Yes, sir.” He followed the man up the rope ladder.

Once they had climbed the ladder to the deck, Skelly shook hands with Captain Cheney. “Fair crossing, I trust,” said Skelly.

“Fair and quiet enough,” said Cheney. “Nary a French sail on the horizon the entire voyage.”

“The French have been too busy on the Continent,” said Skelly. He briefly apprised Cheney of the events since November, when they had last rendezvoused. Charles Edward Stuart had landed in Scotland in July of last year and had won a succession of battles there. “They say that Cumberland the Uncouth is still searching for Wee Charlie, who we think was a fairer match for him than was Saxe.” Skelly chuckled. “A few of my men lost bets on my namesake when the King called his son home after Fontenoy last year.”

The captain laughed. “Fancy that! Wee Charlie gone to ground! He’s routed, though?”

“Completely. He got as far as Derby before Cumberland ran him through at Culloden last month.” Skelly scoffed. “If you ask my opinion, this landing of his — again courtesy of the French — was just a French ruse to get our troops out of this Succession war. They never expected Charlie to win, only to make enough fuss to panic the King. And panicked he was, as was the whole country.”

“Sly French,” said Cheney, “and I’ll credit you the notion. Well, I suppose you’ve heard that Louisbourg, in Nova Scotia, has fallen to the Navy and an army of northern colonials?”

Skelly grinned. “Ramshaw brought me that old bit of news last June.” The two men exchanged a few more comments. Then Cheney asked, “Where’s your sloop?”

“Still in Styles. Some Revenue men rode in about an hour before we did. We’d have been hard put to explain a need to fish at this time of night, in this weather. So, we’ll do it the hard way. We can safely dally here for a while. The coast is nasty enough tonight and no Revenue men will want to venture out.”

“Well, come down to my cabin, have some coffee to warm your innards, and we’ll trade more news! I’ve got tobacco for you — excellent Oronoco — and American nails, if you want them.” He glanced down at Jack Frake. “New man, or a son you’ve sired and raised while I’ve been away these six months?”

“New man,” chuckled Skelly, “Jack Frake. This is his first outing. Recruited him in Gwynnford after he routed a press-gang.”

“Impressive work!” said Cheney. He held out his hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Frake.” Jack Frake shook the captain’s hand. “Could have used you in New York. Gangs there snagged three of my crew a day before we weighed anchor.” Cheney turned to speak to Skelly again. “We picked up some Jamaica sugar, too, if you’ve a mind to look at it.”

“Yes, I might.” Skelly put a hand on Cheney’s shoulder. “A word of warning, my friend,” he said. “There’s a new smuggling act. It’s a felony now to ‘assemble’ for purposes of running goods — as we do now — and of course you know your fine vessel here can be seized for hovering.”

Cheney grinned with irony. “I know. But they’d have a deuced time breaking this beauty into three parts!”

“They’re even thinking of fining districts whose juries don’t convict known smugglers,” said Skelly with a bitter sigh. “And then the ‘fair-traders’ among the merchants and shopkeepers have apparently bent the ears of the Customs Board. There’s talk of reducing the tea duty to a shilling per pound. That will return that end of the business to the ‘fair-traders’ and knock the wind out of not a few gangs.”

Cheney whistled in amazement. “Your colleagues on Romney Marsh will be killing each other just to make tuppence on a pound,” he remarked.

Skelly nodded. “So, my advice to you is not to conclude any trades in
that quarter… ”

Jack Frake was only half conscious of the conversation. He was too fascinated with the masts and the complex rigging and the size of the ship. There were cannon on the deck, and nearby, a hoist over the open hold. The moon came out then, and through the ropes of the larboard shrouds he saw a long, uneven silvery band that stretched from east to west. It was the first time he had seen England from the sea.

He wandered away from Skelly and Cheney and stood alone for a time next to one of the cannon, looking at the coastline as the moon and rolling clouds played with his sight of it. With the finger of his eye he traced the length of the band, and remembered a map he had seen a long time ago. The pain and exhaustion in his body seemed to evaporate from him then, and his body and mind felt weightless. An emotion galvanized his consciousness, and on impulse, in answer to something he had once seen from a distance and now had reached, he tore off his hat to hold it high in the air in salute to the glowing triumvirate of himself, the coastline and the memory, and shouted “Huzza!”

Cheney and Skelly glanced over at the boy standing by the shrouds, peering into the windy darkness. “Is he addled,” asked the captain cautiously, “or have you been working him too hard?”

Skelly smiled. “No,” he answered in a quiet, speculative tone which was friendly but did not invite further questions. “What you see is a boy on the eve of becoming a man.”

That night each galley made two trips between the
Ariadne
and the men waiting on shore. The carts and pack-horses carried four hogsheads of tobacco, two casks of salt, a quantity of paper and nails, and miscellaneous other goods Skelly had selected from Cheney’s hold. Eight hours later the contraband was stored in the caves and some of the men left to return the carts and horses that were rented from local farmers. Jack Frake had a tankard of lamb’s wool — a concoction of ale, nutmeg, and pulped roasted apples — with his meal, and fell asleep at the long table in the dining hall. His share of the value of that night’s run was four guineas, six shillings and eight pence. With some of his earnings, he was able to purchase himself new breeches, shoes, a new coat, a new hat, and extra candles with which to read at night. Redmagne had loaned him a copy of Defoe’s
Robinson Crusoe
.

“Y
OUR INFORMATION WAS TARDY
, M
R
. L
EITH
.”

“It were late comin’ to my ears, Mr. Pannell.”

It was late May. Henoch Pannell sat in a corner table in the Sea Siren with Isham Leith, mugs of ale sitting in front of them, bought by Pannell, but barely touched. No one could hear their conversation, for the inn was abuzz with the latest news from the Continent. It was rumored that the Young Pretender was still in hiding, plotting yet another uprising, and that Marshall Saxe would defeat the Austrians before the end of the year. Seamen from a merchant schooner, the
Ariadne
, waiting for their vessel to unload some cargo, fueled the noise with their own news from the colonies. French and Indians were raiding the frontier settlements in New York and the Ohio Valley in an attempt to force out the English settlers.

Pannell studied Leith, and the man squirmed under the scrutiny. Pannell did not like Leith. But then he did not like any of the informers who came to him. Most of them were motivated by greed, not conscience. This man, however, was consumed by fear, or by a greediness for his own life, which was the same thing to Pannell. Leith, he already knew, owned an inn at Trelowe, and had recently acquired a license to open another on the outskirts of the town to cater to travelers using the road between Trelowe and Falmouth. He and his brother were busy converting the cottage formerly owned by Cephas Frake into a serviceable public place, adding living space
that would share the single fireplace. But the inn at Trelowe did not look so prosperous to Pannell that he believed the man could really afford the changes he was making. This observation piqued the Commissioner’s interest in Leith.

Henoch Pannell made Leith’s acquaintance six months ago when he stopped in Trelowe for a bite to eat. He did this deliberately, because he wanted to assess the man. The information he was able to gather from the inhabitants of this region about Skelly’s — or any other smuggler’s — doings and movements was worse than useless; it was deceitful. Of course, he knew that most of the plain people here defended the smugglers, for they were either their customers, or their livelihood, and so would lie about their knowledge, or deny any. Even though Leith was most likely one of the liars, the man still might be unscrupulous enough to give information. There was, after all, the matter of Parson Parmley. He could be made to give information, and he did. It had been an easy thing to accomplish, once the notion came to him.