Sails Across the Sea: A Tim Phillips Novel (War at Sea Book 8) (15 page)

The journey to London on the post coach was hard, long and painful. Arriving at dusk, he hired a cabriolet to take him to his family’s town house. He found his father there on business with the Admiralty. Captain John Phillips, a post captain now well up the captain’s list with his seniority, was on the beach for the moment, by choice. While he had had an exemplary career, word was being bandied about that war with America was imminent. His father had no aversion to war in itself, since he had proved his mettle in many a battle on land and sea. However, on several visits to America in the past, he had made some good friends that he just did not have the desire to fight. Phillips Senior knew well there was blame to be found on both sides, and thought, if the wrangling politicians could just use a little intelligence, war could be averted.

Deeming this unlikely though, he decided to sit this war out unless he was certain he could fight Britain’s natural enemy France, than his friends in the United States.  Phillips Senior owned some merchant shipping he had purchased in America years ago, and now was endeavoring to contract the bottoms to the Admiralty to transport supplies to Wellington’s army in Portugal and Spain.

John assured Timothy he had no problem with his son remaining on duty, fighting the King’s enemies, he just did not wish to fight the Americans himself.

Staying up late, telling each other their news and drinking brandy, the pair stayed up most of the night. Tim stayed in bed the next morning while his father tended to his business at the admiralty. When he returned to the house that afternoon, he related the First Lord was upset that he had not brought Tim in with him. Apparently there was something they wished to discuss with his son.

Grudgingly, Tim Phillips dressed and was driven to Admiralty by the hostler. They travelled in his own chaise that he had left at the house before he had gone to sea the last time. Phillips went into the waiting room and left his name with the porter. It was now in the early afternoon, and the First Lord had left for the day, but the ubiquitous Lord Eckersley was able to see him.

The reason for his presence became apparent. Eckersley said, “Captain Phillips, our Sovereign has brought to the attention of the First Lord of the Admiralty his desire to have you present yourself in his court. Apparently he has become an admirer of some of your recent actions. Now, the First Lord, Charles Yorke, has become aware of certain talk concerning your mission to the Eastern Mediterranean last year. He made clear that while he knows nothing officially of certain events and is adamant he does not wish to know, he feels it best that you do not meet with King George.”

“The First Lord feels the press may unearth certain issues that should not see the light of day. I may say that certain members of your old crew, in their cups, have discussed events that should remain hidden. I have managed to locate some of these people and they have been taken aboard King’s ships destined to undergo long voyages. For now, this talk has been dismissed as idle rumor. If the press investigate closely there is no telling what may come out.”

“My intention, when I have opportunity to do so, is to quietly give you command of a King’s ship when matters have quieted and send you off to sea again. This, I cannot do at the moment. However, King George sometimes has a short attention span. Can you go somewhere that you will not be noticed for a time, while I arrange this?”

Phillips reminded him of his parent’s estate in Essex. Lord Eckersley thought that would be ideal and told him to give his clerk notice of where he could be reached. Phillips wondered about his ship. Eckersley asked if his first officer was capable of commanding her for a brief period until another captain could be assigned. Phillips assured him that was the case, but Hardesty had not taken his boards yet.

Eckersley grumbled something about what another lieutenant more or less meant to the scheme of things, and said he would ensure Hardinger passed the examination.

Commanding him to remain out of trouble and to attract no attention from the press, Lord Eckersley bade him goodbye.

Back at the town house, Tim found his father with his feet up with another brandy in his hand. Asked about his session with the First Lord, Phillips said he was being considered for another command. For now, he was ordered to remain out of sight. Would it be possible for him to return to the Essex estate and remain there until called to his new ship?

John assured him he would be most welcome and suggested they leave first thing in the morning. When Tim suggested they take the chaise, his father demurred, suggesting they would be more comfortable in the coach. The coach was presently at the livery where its enamel finish was being restored, but thought it likely to be finished by now.

John sent the pot boy to the livery with instructions to have the coach and its driver sent around at first light next morning.

When Tim rose the next morning, he found a selection of firearms and their accoutrements from the gun room had been laid out on the breakfast table. His father reminded him of the time years ago when highwaymen had waylaid them on their way to the estate. Stating he did not wish that to happen again, he asked his son to choose his weapons.

The most lethal looking weapons appeared to be short-barreled, bell mouthed blunderbusses. Phillips had seen then in the gun room many times but had never fired one. His father explained. “Some people think the purpose of the belled muzzle is to enable the shot to spread out more.’

‘The real reason is to allow the person firing to reload the weapon in a hurry. If you are in a coach, perhaps up on top, with the horses at a run, the coach swaying and a highwayman closing in, if you miss with the first shot, you merely pour a handful of powder down the bore, drop in a handful of swan shot, slam the butt of the weapon against the dashboard, which will likely jar a bit of powder through the vent into the pan. Now, all that needs done is pull back the cock, present the weapon to the bandit’s face, who is now presumably riding beside the coach with his pistols out, and fire. If you do not blow his face off, you will likely frighten him to death.”

When the coach arrived. The servants loaded the vehicle and father and son selected their weapons and boarded. Tim thought the blunderbuss was a bit more than the task required but took it to please his father. He took a pair of ornate duelers his parent offered him and his sword. John carried beside the blunderbuss, an ornate, silver mounted rifle. Tim had fired this weapon in his younger days and knew it was capable of knocking a man down at 300 yards.

The driver and footman boarded and they set out. His father owned four matched bay geldings for drives in London. But for this trip, he hired four rather rough looking coach horses that would carry them at a good clip for miles. When they did tire, they would leave them at a posting in and take on fresh animals. Phillips did not care to leave his own expensive animals in the care of a seldom visited livery until he was able to come back and retrieve them.

The first leg of their trip passed quickly, their being still much to talk about.  The horses were changed at a relay point twenty miles down the road, and they were off again after each downed a pint of ale in the inn and visited the necessary.

Halfway to the next relay, heir driver had stopped to rest the horses at the foot of a hill. It had rained recently and the roadbed was soft. With the wheels sinking into the mud, it was difficult for the animals to pull the weight of the coach up the incline. As the men continued the conversation, while the horses rested, the driver shouted down. “Road agents!” and popped his whip. As the coach accelerated up the muddy slope, Tim noticed some men sitting their horses in the cover of a copse on the right side of the road. There were four of them, and they spurred their mounts after the coach.

John turned to his son. “This is why we brought the weapons. Hold your fire until they come up to us. The footman has a double barreled fowling piece loaded with swan shot. One of the bandits may come up from behind and attempt to board us from the rear, Barney’s job will be to dissuade him. They will probably come up on either side and threaten us. Maybe kill a horse to stop us. When you are sure of your shot, shoot to kill. If you miss, load again or take up another weapon. These people are deadly serious. If caught, it is the gallows for them, so it is no concern to them if they kill one or all of us.”

As the coach rocked along, having now crested the hill, there were meadows on either side of the road. A gaping shepherd with his flock stared at them as they passed. With a curve in the road, the highwaymen left the road and raced cross country in the meadow, scattering sheep in every direction. Now closing in, the men separated, with two men on the right, one on the left and another coming up behind. Tim put his head out the window, to judge how close the man behind was.

When the racing bandits approached, there was a loud shot from the top of the coach and Tim saw the trailing horse lose his stride for a moment. Continuing on, another shot sounded a second later and the horse went down at once. Kicking and thrashing, the horse had his rider pinned underneath.

Now a rider had appeared on the left side of the coach, where Tim was seated. The bandit was riding with a pistol in each hand, and the reins in his teeth. Unsure how this weapon patterned, Tim fired a little early. The cloud of smoke gushed out the muzzle at the shot but the man kept coming. Frantically, Tim grabbed for the powder flask by his side and poured an enormous charge into the bell muzzle. A handful of shot was dropped down the barrel on top of the charge. Had he been using an ordinary musket or fowling piece he doubted he would have been able to reload in the rocking coach.

The weapon charged, he rapped the butt stock sharply against the floor, presented the weapon out the window, and there was the fellow racing for all he was worth just outside, only feet away with an enormous pistol in his right hand. Praying there was enough powder in the pan to fire the main charge, he pulled back the cock and pulled the trigger again. This time, there was a noticeable delay, but then the priming flared and the weapon fired with a loud explosion and a vicious recoil against his shoulder, The smoke disappeared instantly, swept away from the racing coach, and Phillips saw the bandits face turn from a white blur into red ruin and the large shot destroyed his head.

In the same moment, his father’s weapon sounded. Phillips grabbed his pistols to see if he needed to do anything on that side, but the sole remaining highwayman was racing away up the hill, His companion was lying in the meadow behind the coach and the fellow’s horse was heading across the meadow by itself. At the summit, the sole remaining bandit stopped his horse and looked down, probably to look for his companions. Phillips senior shouted for the driver to stop the team and pulled up his rifle and rested it on the window frame.

The weapon had three rear sights, each adjusted to a different range. Selecting one, he raised it, took careful aim, and fired. The man’s horse jumped forward, and his rider remained on its back for a few steps, then fell off like a sack of corn.

Reloading their weapons, the driver, footman and the Phillips stepped over to view their handiwork. Two of the three outlaws were dead. Another lay under his still thrashing horse, with broken bones but still alive. John put the horse out of his misery with a shot to his head. The driver and footman produced a rope which they tied to the dead horse and fastened to the coach. The injured bandit’s groans turned into a scream as the horses pulled the dead animal off him.

There was a brief debate about what to do with their trophies. In the end, with nobody enthusiastic about climbing the hill to retrieve the distant body, a good three hundred yards away, the dead were left where they had fallen, and the injured one was loaded into the carriage. Neither father nor son wished to remain in the coach with the sobbing felon, but the footman volunteered. He had reloaded his fowling piece and kept it ostentatiously trained on his victim, although, it was difficult to see how the fellow could escape or harm anyone with his broken limbs.

More screams issued from the injured highwayman as the coach got under way, rocking on the uneven ground, but the footman assured him his pain would go away quickly the next day when they hung him up.

The horses, being blown from their dash up the hill with the heavy coach, were kept to a walk. When they came to a village, they asked for the magistrate. They were directed to a sprawling manor house on the edge of town. A servant asked their business. When informed, he went over to a huge brass gong, with East Indian goddesses decorating the surface. He struck the metal with a heavy mallet which created a noise that probably could be hears for miles. Phillips had seen a similar object on his voyage to the East.

Eventually, the magistrate came riding up with his daughter. A young woman of about sixteen or so. Introduced as Mistress Susan, she eyed Tim speculatively. He kept his thoughts to himself. He had enough problems on his plate without adding another in the form of this young woman.

Apprised of the situation, a wagon was produced and horses led out for the men to ride out to retrieve the bodies. There were only three horses available in the stable fit to ride, the pair ridden by the magistrate and his daughter having been ridden hard all morning chasing a fox. The girl wished to ride with the men to see the bodies, so Tim offered to stay behind to watch over the prisoner. Emily pouted when he declined to go with the others, but she did not offer to remain behind also.

Before the men rode out, Tim wondered what he should do about the injured highwayman. The magistrate answered. “Not much you can do, son. I am going to ask you to stay over tonight. We’ll have the inquest in the morning, right after that is over, we’ll have the trial, and hang the fellow up in the afternoon. I’m not sure what we’ll do about the gallows. It’s been a few years since we’ve used it and the overhead beam does not look right to me. I’d hate to see it break with the weight of this fellow.”

“When we get back, I’ll ask my people if we have a good beam around that will suffice.”

After the party left, Tim thought he should stay by the prisoner. He soon became depressed by the fellows sobbing and pleas for mercy. He assured the man there was nothing he could do for him. He had chosen his fate when he chose this life. Eventually, becoming tired of the man’s noise, Tim climbed on top of the coach and retrieved a bottle from his bag. It contained a quart of the white liquor he had bought for the ship’s crew back in Simonstown at the cape.

Since he had purchased it he had developed a taste for it, and had come to enjoy a drink of it in the evening. The bandit, while he suffered from a compound fracture of a leg and a simple fracture of his upper arm, still had one hand he could use. Pulling the cork from the bottle, he handed the man to take a drink. The man coughed and spluttered when it went down, but he soon took another sip. He kept drinking until the bottle was half gone. Turning maudlin then, he started crying for his mother. Phillips could not decide whether he disliked this man’s theatrics more drunk or sober. The man passed out before the bottle was finished so he replaced the cork, just in case the fellow needed a drink the next morning.

The party returned at dusk with the bodies. The magistrate said he would send a work party of his ne’er do-wells to dig a pit and bury the horse the next morning. Nobody commented on the unconscious man. Phillips wondered they did not smell the drink on him, but the man’s smell had been pretty rank before he had a drink, so perhaps they thought that was his normal smell. In the end, they did not need to hold the inquest for the fellow the next morning. He had died during the night lying on the stable floor and was stiff and cold in the morning.

The horses had had a rest overnight, and given fresh hay and mash in the morning, were ready to resume their journey.