Fletcher's Fortune Read online

  God Almighty, what a bloody fool I was! Barker had a nasty grin on his face but even then I couldn’t see what was coming, and I went back to our mess like the King of the Cannibal Isles. Word of what I’d done went running up the lower deck before me and gaining with the telling all the way. By the time I reached our mess, Sammy and the others had it pat.

  “Here he comes!” says Sammy, beaming from ear to ear. “Told him proper, you did!” says Norris.

  “He-he-he!” says Johnny Basford.

  “Gave Mason his marchin’ orders, did you?” says Sammy, and the first little shadow appeared on my blue horizon.

  “No,” says I, “it was Barker.” The smile drained out of Sammy’s face and he became deathly serious.

  “Jacob, lad, you did say it to Mason, didn’t you?”

  “No, it was Barker.”

  “Christ!” says Sammy. “You’ve insulted Billy Mason before the whole ship. Don’t you know that’s one of his little games, pinching mess-pots? And he always uses Barker to do it. That’s how he goes after them as he takes against.”

  “Sammy!” says Norris. “Here he comes!” We looked and saw a figure coming up the deck from the stern. He walked like a tiger, full of menace, and silence followed him like a wave. The whole deck heard every word that followed. He bore down upon us like doom and stopped at our table.

  Close up he was even more frightening, if that were possible. His face was all bone. Heavy jaw, heavy brows, a shiny bald face with staring eyes.

  “Sit!” says he, and the six of us sat down like dogs. Sammy did his best.

  “Now then, Billy!” says he, merry as could be. “Let’s you and I talk this over with a drop of rum. Norris, fetch the bottle!” Sammy reached out to take Mason’s arm in a friendly gesture. Crack! Striking with fierce precision, Mason rapped his knuckles hard down on Sammy’s wrist. It was so sudden that Sammy, who’d taken thirty-six lashes in silence, yelped in pain. Mason sneered.

  “Shut your face, you fucking old man. I ain’t after you ... it’s him!” He jabbed a thick finger at me. “You, Fletcher! You gimme three things or I’ll piss on you every time I see you. One, you give me my dinner, now!” He pointed at the pot of stew. I looked to Sammy for guidance and he nodded, every so slightly. I shoved the pot towards Mason. “Good!” says he. “And two, you say sorry you tried to take it off my mate.” Again I looked to Sammy and he nodded.

  “Sorry,” says I, quietly.

  “Loud!” says he. “Say it loud.”

  “Sorry!” says I.

  “Now three, so everyone here knows who’s the thief and who ain’t, you bring me my dinner and you follow me back to my mess, walking behind me.”

  If I did that, it would mean shame and humiliation before the entire community that I had to live in. The whole lower deck was watching in intent silence. I looked at Sammy and he bowed his head. For once he had nothing to offer and the decision was mine alone.

  “No,” says I, “I’ve given you the dinner and I’ve said sorry. Isn’t that enough?”

  “It’s all or none,” says Mason.

  “No,” says I. I was afraid of him, but I was even more afraid of what he was asking.

  “Good!” says he. “Then we’ll meet tomorrow on the fo’c’sle and I’ll smash you good, Fletcher. My mate’ll fix it with this one.” He pointed to Sammy and grinned like a death’s head. Then he picked up the stew-pot.

  “You can keep this nigger’s shit,” says he, and up-ended the pot on to our mess table so it slopped out and ran everywhere. Then he stalked off and left us wrapped in shame for the way that one man had dominated the six of us.

  “Come on, lads,” says Sammy, “let’s clear this away,” and we set to, awkwardly like drunken men.

  “Can’t we go to Mr Williams?” says I, desperately. Sammy sneered.

  “Bleedin’ Officers! What do they care?” He nodded towards the stern. “They’ll know all about it by now and be placing their bets and telling one another what a set of British bulldogs they’ve got on the lower deck. You’ll just have to fight him, Jacob.” Then he looked me over and a thought occurred to him. “Any road, why not? Look at the size of you, you great bugger, maybe you’ll win!”

  Sammy tried by every means to put heart into me, but my soul was like lead. I was very young, remember, and better men than I were afraid of Mason. Sammy himself had told me that soon after Phiandra was commissioned, a mad Irishman, strong as a bull, by the name of O’Meara had challenged Mason, who stamped him thoroughly into the deck, putting out one of his eyes and breaking all his fingers. O’Meara was discharged the Service after that, and he’d never be the same man again.

  Soon after Mason had gone, his chum Barker came swaggering up to our mess, sneering fit to turn milk sour at the range of a mile. He and Sammy fixed the time for my meeting with Mason. As usual the place would be the fo’c’sle, where any fights among the crew always took place, keeping as far as possible from the notice of the officers. This suited both officers and men, since the former could pretend they were unaware of what was happening and the latter could enjoy the spectacle in peace. And if this seems strange to modern tastes, I would point out that in my youth, any gentleman thought it his right to exchange pistol-fire with any other gentleman who had insulted him. So in leaving the crew to settle their differences, the officers were only extending the same courtesy to us.

  In the intervening time I can only say that I was glad the Navy kept me too busy for really serious worrying and sent me to my hammock too tired to do other than sleep. None the less I was hoping that any impossible thing might happen so I didn’t have to face Mason ... please God let it be tomorrow and the thing all over ... please let it be three weeks ago ... or the minute before I pushed Barker, so I could let him take the damn mess-pot ... But it did no good and the fell moment came when I was heading for the fo’c’sle with my mates and Sammy pouring words into my ear about how to hold my fists, and how to give a punch, and a dozen other things I paid no heed to. I felt sick and empty. My heart was galloping like a horse and my knees shook.

  Most of the crew were gathered there with Bosun Shaw and Sergeant Arnold, of the Marines, to keep order. The betting in the ship had been furious, and these two had backed opposite sides. The Sergeant had his money on Mason, and the Bosun on me. In all truth the thing was as official as any other activity aboard ship. Everyone knew what was happening and the officers had laid their wagers like all the rest.

  I saw Mason surrounded by his cronies, already stripped to the waist. His brown face and hands looked odd against his white body, but he was all hard muscle and looked terrifying. He was dancing about on the balls of his feet as the pugilists do, stabbing the air and weaving his head about.

  “Fletcher!” says he, at the sight of me. “Come on, sonny!” And his mates laughed and cheered. Especially Barker. Then Sammy was pulling off my jacket and shirt and jabbering at me. I saw his face, anxious and serious, trying to give advice, but none of it penetrated the funk I was in, and soon the Bosun was bringing Mason and me to the “scratch” line chalked on the deck. The bout would end when either man could not stand and come up to scratch. There were no other rules.

  “Go to it!” says the Bosun, and stepped out of the way. A sea of faces surrounded us. Men were on all sides and in the rigging, eager and gawping with delight. Dog-fights and the like are fun, but there’s nothing so congenial to the human spirit as watching two men punch each other’s faces flat when there’s no limit to the damage they’re allowed to inflict, and when neither of them is you yourself. I stood as Sammy had told me and raised my fists, but I felt like death on a cold Monday morning.

  Mason danced in and jabbed his right fist at me. Instinctively I caught it on my left arm. He grinned and did the same again. I caught that one too. This wasn’t so bad, after all. Perhaps I was better than I’d feared. Then he did it a third time and I moved to intercept the blow, just as he’d intended ... WHIZZZZBANG! And something landed with sickening force on
my nose. I never even saw the blow coming.

  Blood sprayed out and the deck went spinning round. Mason was laughing, and his mates were laughing at the simple, fool’s trick he’d played on me, and in he came again. He threw a blur of punches to catch my attention then kicked a spot on my knee that left my whole leg numb with pain, darted under my guard to seize me by the waist and threw me over his hip to land on my back. As I struggled up he kicked me hard in the kidneys and the pain of it sent me down again. Then he slid clear to let me rise and led me lumbering after him like a harpooned whale, so he could treat the company to an exhibition of his skill. Jab! Jab! Jab! On my wounded nose, relaxed and easy and effortless. Each blow was agony but my months at sea had made me tough and it was some while before I went down again. Or rather, this time, I felt that it was me that was upright and the deck that came up to meet me with a crash. I thought that was the end of it, but a bucket of cold seawater was emptied over me and my mates lifted me gasping and blowing to my feet. The shock of it cleared my head and I saw that Sammy Bone was slapping me about the face to wake me up. He was furious and I realised he was yelling at me.

  “You’ve not even tried to hit the bugger! What are you anyway? What sort of man are you? Put your head down and go for him! Look at the bloody size of you! And if you won’t fight then don’t bother coming back to our mess, ’cos you’re not wanted!” He slapped me, ringing round the head. “Can you hear me?” he cried and glared into my eyes. I nodded. “Then go and hit him!” Sammy cried. “HIT HIM!”

  He shoved me forward, and there was Mason smiling and just itching to carry on. Christ but I hated that man! He’d beaten me fair and square. But that wasn’t enough; he wanted more, he wanted to do real harm. And there he stood, relishing the pleasure of it, the swine. The trouble was that, despite my enormous strength, I was afraid of him. And didn’t he just know it! I’d not hit him ’cos I hoped that he’d leave me alone if I didn’t make him angry. But he wasn’t going to leave me alone. I could see that. So what was I going to do? It was another turning point in my life, as important as that moment in the bows of Bullfrog. Terror is dangerously close to rage and I could just as easily have dropped on either side of the divide.

  But I thought of Sammy’s words, and they set off something within me that I never knew was there. The fear vanished and a mad anger took its place. I rushed at Mason, swinging wildly. He was a devilish fine boxer and hit me heavily, once or twice. But I was berserk and couldn’t be stopped, and he got the full weight of my sixteen stones. I battered through his defence by brute force and planted a good one under his ribs.

  The shock ran up my arm and the air squeezed out of him like a bellows. His legs sagged and he swayed on his feet, gasping for breath with his eyes half-closed. He didn’t know if it was Monday or Friday and was wide open to a blow. Instantly, I swung my right fist full into the middle of his face, with all my might. Smack! It sounded like a round-shot hitting a cow. Down he went and his head hit the deck with a wallop that the Captain must have heard in his cabin.

  Triumph and delight — Bosun Shaw snapped his fingers in Sergeant Arnold’s face, the tars cheered, and every effort of his mates could not rouse the unconscious Billy Mason. Sammy said afterwards that the only thing that had marred that wonderful moment was the fear that I might actually have killed the bastard.

  Then I was paraded round the ship, large sums of money changed hands all round and my messmates (who’d bet their grog on me) collected enough drink to float the ship.

  Mason recovered soon enough and hated me like poison ever after. He didn’t forget and he didn’t forgive, and by no means was he done with me. But he knew now that he had a master at fist-fighting and he didn’t come back for more. From time to time I would see him with his messmates, glaring at me and muttering as if he was waiting his chance. But that’s all he did, and I wasn’t frightened of him any more, for the fight had changed me. It altered the whole way I saw the world. I’d always felt superior to others by being clever. But now I felt physically confident as well, if you know what I mean. And more important still, the fight brought me my first promotion.

  15

  What evil deed has been worked upon your son I do not know, but the boy is broken in spirit. And so I send him home to you, in the hope that a father’s care may, in God’s good time, set him right.

  (Letter of 25th March 1793 to Mr Richard Lucey from Mr Nathan Pendennis at Clerk’s Court, London.)

  *

  Nobody would have guessed from the splendour of Lord Dunn’s London house, or the powdered wigs of his footmen, that the noble Lord was penniless. But he was, since his father (the ninth Earl) had devoted his life to claret, gambling and the whores of Drury Lane, until his career was brought to an untimely end by the combined assaults of drink and the clap. The ancient title had then devolved upon the present Lord Dunn, who for the next twenty years worked like a plantation black to put things right. But today, despite his efforts, even the splendid house and the powdered wigs were still in pawn to the money-lenders.

  Consequently, in his unending search for money, the tenth Earl was often forced to receive as social equals individuals who, in his father’s time, would have come in by the tradesmen’s door with their hats in their hands. But Lord Dunn was a skilful politician and nobody would have guessed from his pleasant conversation how much he disliked the self-important, puffed-up, provincial mayor who was sipping his sherry at this moment — not to mention the sanctimonious little grub of a lawyer that he’d brought with him like a pet monkey.

  But the mayor and his monkey had been making trouble all over London these last weeks, rattling the cages of the Admiralty and getting themselves introduced to persons of influence. And so they had now come to Lord Dunn, one of whose remaining assets was the gift of half a dozen parliamentary seats. All this effort, it seemed, was being expended on behalf of some apprentice or other, who’d got himself pressed when he shouldn’t have, and had now thought better of it.

  Lord Dunn looked again at the letter of introduction that the mayor had brought with him. The signature was one he respected and the content urged him to give the matter his consideration. But he’d have done so in any case, for his information was that money was involved; very much money. The apprentice, one Fletcher, was rumoured to be heir to a fortune and therefore in a position to show his gratitude to those who helped him.

  Lord Dunn cleared his throat and interrupted the mayor who was droning on about the iniquitous behaviour of the Admiralty in claiming to be unable to give up a man simply because he was in a ship away at sea!

  “Gentlemen,” said his Lordship with a smile, “I agree with everything you say!” Mayor and monkey raised their eyebrows. “It is indeed hard to secure justice for a wrongly pressed man,” he said, “and I should be happy to do what I can to help you.” He noted the expressions on their faces and smiled to himself as he saw that they knew what was coming next. They might be provincial but they weren’t so green as they looked. He continued, “But to do all that I should wish to do on your behalf, I should have to incur considerable expense. So I regret that it would be impractical for me to serve your interests ... without being advanced one thousand guineas in gold.”

  “My Lord,” said Mr Nathan Pendennis, without blinking an eye, “we are deeply grateful for your gracious condescension, but regret that we can advance no more than two hundred guineas, and that not in cash, but only as a promissory note ... ”

  Ten minutes later, Mr Pendennis and Mr Lucey were being shown out of Lord Dunn’s house by a respectful servant. They turned right along the wide avenue, bustling with the carriages of the mighty and the fashionable, and made for their modest lodgings in Clerk’s Court.

  “Four hundred and fifty guineas on Fletcher’s release and fifty in advance,” said Pendennis. “I believe he’d have taken less but I want his active co-operation.”

  “You are a most skilful negotiator, Mr Pendennis,” said Edward Lucey. Pendennis shrugged his shoulders
.

  “Thirty years’ experience, Edward my boy,” he said. “But now we must labour to keep his Lordship at work. He and all the others we’ve seen. If we don’t keep them at it, they’ll slack off! We must ... ” But he saw that he’d lost his companion’s attention. Lucey was gaping at a richly dressed young lady driving a perch phaeton drawn by a magnificent pair of silky-black horses, while her gentleman escort lounged beside her. Smartly she cracked the whip and the phaeton sped forward to slip between a gap in the traffic ahead. Lucey was fascinated. She drove like a coachman, and young ladies didn’t do that in Lonborough. He was still seeing the great city with fresh eyes.

  Pendennis smiled. He was fond of young Lucey. His wife had delivered up a string of daughters to bless their union, and though they were his own flesh and blood, they were indubitably daughters and were not sons, and would never be sons. And Edward Lucey made him feel young again just to look at him. So he kept his thoughts to himself and left the lad to enjoy the sights.

  Later as they entered Clerk’s Court, he indulged young Edward still further.

  “Mr Pendennis,” said Lucey, nervously, “as we have achieved so much today, I wonder if I might spend an hour taking a turn about the town? I should much like to see more of it and we have been so busy ... ”

  Such a request from one of Pendennis’s apprentices, with all its implication of time wasted in idleness and pleasure, would have drawn a shrivelling blast from his lips, but that was different.

  “Of course you may, Edward,” said the great man benevolently. “Just ensure that you return by four o’clock. I believe Mrs Jervis has a fine joint of mutton for our dinner!”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Lucey, and went off without a care in the world to explore the wonders of the metropolis by himself. Pendennis smiled to see him go and knocked at the landlady’s door. Neither he nor Edward Lucey noticed the lady and gentleman who’d been following them for some days patiently awaiting this opportunity.