Watery Grave Read online

  Mr. Marsden, who had by that time gone to his desk in the alcove, was occupied with the routine of court business. Mr. Fuller was then noplace about, for which I was grateful: he would surely disapprove any such favor to a prisoner.

  After hearing me explain my mission, the court clerk took the clay pipe and began filling it from his pouch, as all the while he kept his long churchwarden clenched between his teeth.

  “What have we to lose but a bit of tobacco?” said he, handing back the filled pipe.” And you may tell him there’ll be more good Virginia for him if what he has to offer is of value.” And with that he winked.

  Giving him my thanks, I made my way back to the strong room, where I found Isaac waiting patiently by the barred door. Patience slipped swiftly to impatience as he grabbed the pipe from my hands and began fumbling with his tinderbox. Only when he had the pipe lit and had exclaimed enthusiastically at the quality of the tobacco would he deign to discuss other matters. He beckoned me close and began whispering.

  “I remember you three lads was lookin’ to find Tobias Trindie.”

  “Yes,” said I most eagerly.” Do you know where he might be?”

  Isaac shook his head in something akin to annoyance.

  “That ain’t the point. What I got to tell you is this: There’s others looking for Tobias.”

  “Oh? Who?”

  “This is how it was, like. A long time after you come by, there was another come asking the same sort of questions—where is he, where might he be, and such like. Only us three at the table, we told him nothin’ at all, considerin’ who he was.”

  “But who was he?”

  “Aw, ‘twas that little shit, Mr. Boone, the midshipman —the one you sent flying down the poop deck ladder. Damn, we did enjoy that!” He ended in a cackle, revealing gums, stumps, and a few whole teeth.

  “But what would he want with Tobias Trindie?”

  “Have you no sense, boy? It’s the captain sent him to find Tobias. Boone even said as much, he did. ‘The captain wants him,’ said he. ‘Tell him so, if you see him.’ Oh, we nodded, gave assurance and all. But when he left, we agreed amongst ourselves that if the captain wanted him, it was for no good.”

  “And what did you tell Tobias?”

  “Oh, we told him the captain wanted him, right enough, and that he’d sent snotty Boone to find him. But we advised him to stay well hid till after they got done hanging Lieutenant Landon. That’s what it’s about, ain’t it? I mean, it was well known in the fo’castle that Tobias had a view of it when the captain — Captain Markham, I mean—went overboard, and according to him, it happened just as Mr. Landon said. But we all kept still about it.”

  “But why?”

  He looked at me in dismay and shook his head as if marveling at my ignorance.

  “You ain’t got the littlest notion of what it is to ship aboard in His Majesty’s Navy, have you?”

  “No,” said I in a manner suitably grave.” But tell me, you said that it was some time after we came to the Gull and Anchor that Boone came by. Could you be any more exact about when it was?”

  “Sorry, lad, drinking the day away with no ship’s bells to ring the watches, you lose your sense of time, in a manner of speakin’. Yet it seems to me it must have been gettin’ toward dark. For not long after it was that Tobias hisself came by, and we — ” At that point he stopped, realizing perhaps that what he had been about to impart would impeach the tale of innocence he had earlier told.

  “Was that when you let Tobias Trindle know that Boone was searching for him?”

  “Well, you never mind when one thing happened and then another, ” said he, most suddenly peckish.” I done what I said I’d do. I told you what you wanted, and it weren’t for the tobacco I told you, neither. It’s because Tobias would be better off with the blind man than if the captain got hold of him.”

  “Lieutenant Grimsby was pulled from the river,” said I.

  “That’s what I mean. We got word of that. So did Tobias.”

  “Where is he? You must know.”

  “I mustn’t no such thing. He’s a fair bright man, so he would have sense enough to stay hid. If you want him, you must search him out — and pray you find him before Boone does.”

  He held the pipe up to me and waved it in a great fit of pique.

  “Now look what,” said he.” All this talkin’ with your questions and all, and my pipe’s gone out on me.”

  He fetched out his tinderbox once again and began the business of lighting the pipe all over again.

  “One thing I will say, ” he muttered through clenched teeth.” Tobias said he’d had his fill of high-priced whores. You’ll not likely find him around Covent Garden. Look where you was lookin’ on the docks. He could’ve holed up with some wharf doxy in her crib, paid her well, and sent her out for food and drink. That’s what I would do if I was him: keep low and let the ship sail without him. There was one he was lookin’ for from years back—-Black Emma or Black Ella, some such name. Anyways, she was mixed blood. He likes them so.”

  He shook the pipe in disgust. Ashes flew.

  “Damned thing won’t light, all smoked out.”

  “Don’t worry, Isaac, ” said I, backing away from the bars.” I’ll see you get more tobacco —a good deal more. I promise.”

  The question was this: Had last night’s notable occurrence at Mrs. Gerney’s constituted a riot, or merely a disturbance of the peace? If the latter, then the matter would be heard and judged by Sir John Fielding alone. It would go no further than his Magistrate’s Court. If, however, he ruled that riot had taken place, any and all who had participated would be bound for trial at Old Bailey, for riot was a hanging offense. It was an interesting question, one whose answer attracted quite a crowd on what would otherwise have been a slow day m court. In point of fact, no other cases were to be heard that day. Ordinarily, that would have made for a short session, as well. The court crowd expected no more than a brief entertainment, a bit of diversion at the expense of a few unruly sailors. Yet it became clear that Sir John meant to treat this as a far more serious matter. To that end, he had put me to work for a good hour or more in his chambers, looking up law and reading cases to him from the dusty collection of books on the shelf behind his desk. He had also assembled diverse witnesses for examination in the matter.

  So it was that the Bow Street Magistrate’s Court convened at its usual hour, well filled with spectators. The prisoners, bound only in wrist irons, were marched into the courtroom by Constable Fuller. As Mr. Marsden read off their names —Timothy Beatty, Henry Bladgett, Patrick McGough, Isaac Tenker —they answered right sharply. All were then told to seat themselves, and all did, save Patrick McGough, who asked if he might remain standing due to the nature of his wound. There were titters and a few guffaws at that. But Sir John gaveled the room to order and granted permission to the prisoner to stand, if he chose, and went so far as to say that should he grow tired, he might take a place next to Mr. Fuller and lean against the wall. It was then time to make a proper beginning.

  “We are here to determine the nature of the incident which occurred last night at Number Seventeen in the Strand,” said Sir John, “and having made a determination on that matter, to make some disposition of the four prisoners taken there.” He paused at that point and told Mr. Marsden to call the first witness.

  The first witness was Constable Cowley, at twenty the youngest of the Bow Street Runners yet more than an apprentice, for in size and initiative he compensated for what he lacked in experience. As the first officer at the scene, he had the earliest look at the situation and had seen it through to its end. He had been notified of a great gang of men on the march down the Strand, and thinking they could be up to no good in such number, he hastened to intercept them. When he reached Number 17, he found them arrived and the first of them ready to push through the door. He yelled at them to halt, desist, disperse. Yet no attention was paid to him, nor to Constable Rumford, who arrived upon the scene but a
few minutes later.

  “Didyou and Constable Rumford attempt to use physical means to prevent their entry into the house at Number Seventeen?” asked Sir John.

  “We did, sir,” said Mr. Cowley, “but it was quite useless. We tried to block the door, but they pushed us aside. We beat upon a few with our clubs, but they just ignored us. Laughing they was, having a great time of it. They paid us no mind at all.”

  “Were they acting as drunken men? Would you characterize them as a drunken mob?”

  “Well, they weren’t staggering or nothin’, but yes sir, I would say they’d probably been drinking right through the day, for the smell of gin and rum was strong upon them. I would say they was drunk, but active drunk —oh, right active, if you get my meaning.”

  “I do indeed. And at what figure would you put their number?”

  “Sir?”

  “How many of them were there?”

  “Near a hundred.”

  “Very well, continue your story.”

  And so he did. Constable Cowley said that upstairs windows were broken and that objects of all kinds began to fly out to the pavement—as Mr. Bailey had earlier described. The captain of the Bow Street Runners had come on the scene with Constables Perkins, Sykes, and Cummins.

  With that Sir John dismissed Mr. Cowley, and the court clerk called Benjamin Bailey, who continued the tale from that point, describing the events much as I have earlier done. Only two matters stand out as noteworthy. As I sat listening to Sir John’s questions, recalling the cases he had asked me to read to him earlier, I sought to discern some pattern from them. Yet from Mr. Bailey’s answers none seemed to emerge.

  Sir John interrupted his chief constable as the latter told of his urgent visit to summon Sir John to Number 17 in the Strand.

  “Let me ask you here, Mr. Bailey, when you came to me, how did you describe the trouble you had witnessed?”

  “Well, I told you what I’d seen, sir.”

  “Indeed you did, but what term did you use?”

  “Well …” He hesitated, evidently uncertain as to what he should say. Finally: “I called it a riot.”

  “On what did you base that?”

  Again he hesitated.” The size of the mob,” said he at last, “the destruction of property, and the commotion caused in the street.”

  “Andyou recommended that troops be called from the Tower.”

  “Yes sir, I did.”

  “And I accepted your recommendation without hesitation. Now continue, Mr. Bailey, please.”

  He resumed his narrative and came swiftly to the peculiar behavior of the crewmen of the H.M.S. Adventure as they danced about that great heap of goods thrown down from Mrs. Gerney’s upper stories. Sir John allowed him to give a full description of the poke-and-parry that they practiced with their torches much to the distress of the four constables that Mr. Bailey had left on guard.

  Sir John held him again with a wave of his hand.

  “Mr. Bailey,” said he, “you described the activity of these men to me then in unusual words. Do you recall what you said to me?”

  Benjamin Bailey took a moment to think on that; then said he: “I believe I told you, sir, that they was playin’ a game with the constables, that all they had to do was toss a torch on the pile if what they wanted was a fire.”

  “Exactly,” said Sir John, “and then what happened?”

  “Then what happened? Well, you went bold as brass and offered a bargain to the rowdies.”

  “Yes, please tell us what was said and done by me and by him who spoke for the mob.”

  In that part of his testimony the chief constable seemed somewhat hesitant, for he wished to be accurate in quoting the magistrate, most particularly in this matter. When he concluded, he was offered Sir John’s congratulations.

  “That is exactly as I recall it. There are but a few more details I wish from you, however. First of all, the man with whom I spoke —would you, from your experience in such matters, say that he was the leader of this band of near a hundred?”

  “I would say so, yes sir.”

  “And is his name known to you?”

  “Yes sir, his name has been given to me as Tobias Trindle.”

  “Excellent, Mr. Bailey, and as you said, he conferred with his fellows on the offer that I had made. What happened then?”

  “Why, the grenadiers came in two wagons, led there by a certain Lieutenant Churchill.”

  “Thank you. Constable Bailey, that will be all for the present.”

  All eyes in the Bow Street Court rested upon the young gentleman who had quietly taken his place among the constables. He stood out from the rest of the assemblage as a proud red-feathered peacock might from a homely group of woodcocks. There seemed to be a general expectation that Lieutenant Thomas Churchill would be the next summoned.

  But he was not. As Mr. Bailey retired from his place before Sir John’s bench, Mr. Marsden called for Constable Oliver Perkins to appear as a witness. Upon hearing his name, Mr. Perkins jumped to his feet and made his way swiftly to the station his captain had left. He was a bit shorter than the rest of the Bow Street Runners; moreover, the left sleeve of his coat was empty— pinned up it was at the elbow, for he had lost that arm in the line of duty a year before. Thus he appeared somewhat different from the rest, though I knew him to be unsurpassed in courage and resourcefulness. But were his lively,manner, his modest stature, and his empty sleeve reason to laugh? Nevertheless, a long chorus of idiot laughter rang forth out of the crowd from the moment he showed himself.

  (Mr. Marsden later suggested to me that firstly, they had anticipated Lieutenant Churchill being called and were therefore surprised when Constable Perkins came forward—a common response to surprise being laughter. Secondly, said he, they had been bored by the proceedings up to that time, for they had not been near so entertaining as expected, and seized upon the constable of a sudden as an object for derision. Perhaps the presence of a one-armed constable was thought amusing by them.” He ought not to take it personal,” concluded the court clerk.)

  Yet take it personal he most certainly did. Mr. Perkins turned angrily upon the courtroom and might have shouted back at the crowd had not Sir John silenced them all wdth his gavel. The magistrate conferred briefly with his clerk to the reason for the (disturbance. Mr. Marsden may have then advanced to Sir John the ven reasons he offered me later. In any case, after a brief discussion, Sir John let fall the gavel one more time.

  “Any more such disturbance, and I shall have the room cleared,” he announced. And he was answered with absolute silence. He listened carefully to it for a few moments, then nodded in satisfaction.

  “Mr. Perkins,” he began, “I have but a few questions for you. Mr. Bailey sent you to the Tower with a request that troops be sent to Number Seventeen in the Strand, did he not?”

  “Yes sir, he did.”

  “You made all haste?”

  “I did, sir. I ran to Russell Street, and caught a hackney carriage. In point of fact, I climbed up on the driver’s box and urged him faster all the way.”

  “Very good. And you asked your way to the barracks of the grenadier guards? The’ were cooperative?”

  “They sped me on my way. In no wise was I impeded. They treated it as an urgent matter, as it of course was.”

  “And who did you speak to once you reached your destination?”

  “To a Captain Weybright, sir.”

  “And was Lieutenant Churchill present?”

  “Is he the officer now present in the courtroom?”

  “Yes, Mr. Perkins, just behind you, I believe.”

  Constable Perkins turned and glanced back at the young red-coated officer.

  “Yes, sir, he was one of three other officers who was engaged in a game of cards with the captain. He jumped up from his chair and said, ‘Let me go. Captain!’”

  “And what did the captain say to him?”

  “That I wouldn’t know, sir, for at that point I was invited by the captain t
o leave. ‘That will be all, Constable,’ said he to me. I offered to show them to the place on the Strand, but the captain just repeated, ‘That will be all.’ Quite frankly, sir, I was hopin’ for a ride back with them. But I left and went lookin’ for another hackney. You have to stretch your legs to find one on Tower Hill that time of night.”

  “Now, Mr. Perkins, I would like you to think carefully before answering this question, for I would like you to respond accurately and with perfect honesty. The question is this: When you described the situation at Mrs. Gerney’s establishment in the Strand, what word or phrase did you use?

  Constable Perkins did give the question serious consideration. He lowered his eyes, scratched his chin, and said at last: “I told the captain that it was a serious disturbance that was more than the constables present could handle. I told him I had been sent by your request and that you would be at the scene when the troops arrived —as I understand you was, sir.”

  “Those were your words? “

  “As I remember them, sir.”

  “You did not use the word ‘riot’?”

  “No sir, I did not.

  “Thank you, Mr. Perkins,” said Sir John. “And Mr. Marsden, you may call the next witness.”

  The next witness, of course, was Lieutenant Thomas Churchill. He stood before Sir John Fielding, his tricorn tucked under his left arm, in the military attitude known as parade rest. He was the very picture of a young officer of great promise. Putting aside his name, his family connections, and his wealth, it was possible to look upon this young man and know he would go far in the military. Capability’ and confidence showed forth from him in near visible measure. And indeed he had the night before demonstrated those qualities beyond doubt. All that had been missing were proper judgment and respect for authority.

  After identifying himself by name, rank, and unit, he waited silently for Sir John’s questions. If he was nervous, or even uneasy, it was impossible to tell.