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  “Did he not demand tobacco before he would speak?”

  “He did not demand it. He asked for it. He would have spoken up in any case.”

  “Soyou say. Yet he must have suspected that some hint as to Tobias’s whereabouts would put him in good stead with Sir John. Did you not tell Sir John the information and its source?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “You see? He accomplished his purpose.”

  “You have my head spinning with all your suspicions. I know not what to say.”

  “There is but one way to settle this. Does that prison vherein he is confined— What is the name of it?”

  “The Fleet Prison.”

  “Would the prison keep a record of his visitors?”

  “Perhaps,” said I.” No, probably.” Then I admitted: “I don’t really know for certain.”

  “Well, if they do, and Mr. Boone is on the list, I’d say there was a good chance I was right, wouldn’t you?”

  I said nothing.

  “Wouldn’tyou?” Tom repeated.

  “I’ll have no more of this talk,” said I.” All I want now is to go to bed.”

  I at last prevailed. We climbed up the stairs, I leading the way and Tom close behind. As I thought back later upon this conversation it seemed oddly significant to me that it had taken place in the dark.

  As I arose early next morning to make the fire in the kitchen stove, I found Sir John sitting at the table. He was hunched, with head bowed, over a plate of mutton and bread. Had I known it to be his habit, I should have said he was saying a prayer over his meal. Yet his lips did not move, and his deep, tranquil breathing made it plain he had fallen asleep at the table. But how long ago? If he had fallen asleep but minutes ago, it might be proper to wake him and urge him up to his bed. Or, if he slept as deep as he seemed to, it would be best perhaps to leave him undisturbed. Yet the fire had to be built. The porridge must be cooked and the tea made. Annie would be down in a short time. What was I to do?

  In the end, of course, I did what I had done all those mornings before, but did it much quieter. I cleaned the ashes from the grate and made rid of them, then very quietly placed the logs and the kindling, and over and among them I sprinkled wood shavings and torn paper. Finally, fetching down the tinderbox, I sparked the brimstone match and waited till it burned a good flame and lit the bits of paper till all blazed well. I saw the shavings catch fire, and also the kindling; then I knew the job had been done. All this I managed so quietly and well that Sir John ne’er stirred. I was quite proud of myself.

  Yet when Annie came clopping dovn the stairs in her clogs, I thought it certain she would rouse him, and so I rushed to silence her. I caught her at the last step but one. She looked at me most puzzled when, instead of my usual morning greeting, I met her with a finger to my lips, then pointed into the kitchen at the dozing Sir John. She nodded, sat down on the step, and removed her clogs.

  “The poor man,” she whispered.” How long has he been like that?”

  “I’ve no idea,” said I.” Tom and I went late to bed. He may have been out the entire night. He was just so when I came down and fixed the fire.”

  “Best to let him sleep.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Was there a great crime?”

  “Yes, murder — and worse, for it was murder of one we sought as a witness.”

  Murder she understood quite well. The rest, I think, was beyond her. Still, she nodded soberly, rose, and entered on silent bare feet. She swept about the kitchen, doing all that had to be done, yet managing it remarkably quiet.

  It was, at last, the smell of cooking bacon that roused him. Annie had cut a full eight rashers from the flitch and laid them in the pan: once they began popping and sizzling they gave off such an aroma as would have raised the dead from a churchyard. Sir John was most assuredly not dead, but only sleeping. His bowed head raised a bitm then a bit higher, and at last he twitched his face and turned about.

  “Ah,” said he, inhaling most deep, “bacon.”

  “So it is. Sir John.” said i-Vnnie, “and would you like a hen’s egg or two to go with it?”

  “I would. Annie, for if a man be denied sleep, he ought not deny himself food, for strength to meet the day must come from some source.”

  With that, he stood and stretched and tested his neck, which seemed a bit stiff, this way and that. He was in remarkably good spirits for one who had slept so little — and that in a chair: remarkably good, as well, for one who had lost his last hope to save one whom he deemed innocent.

  “Then, after a good breakfast, sir, said Annie, “you may go up and have a nap. Do you good, sir. I hear Lady Fielding stirring about now. I’m sure she’ll agree it’s what you need.”

  “Much as I should like to do so. I cannot, for I have a busy morning before me. But who knows? Perhaps later, after my court session.”

  He turned his head about until it was fixed right square in my direction.

  “Jeremy.” said he.” You are here, are you not?”

  “I am here, sir.”

  “Get the razor and the bowl —and strop the razor good. I’m in need of a clean close shave today, for I must look my best. And so must you, bov, since we are oft this morning to pay another visit to Vice-Admiral Sir Robert Redmond. Indeed I hope it shall be our last.”

  Whilst I had been told by Sir John that I might expect Lieutenant William Landon to be present during our time with Sir Robert, I had no idea he would arrive in the company of marine guards. There were three: one on either side of the prisoner and a third to shout commands at them. We encountered this curious quartet as we alighted from the hackney in which we had been driven from Number 4 Bow Street. They marched up Tower Hill, having traversed the moat bridge down by the river. Sir John had succeeded in getting an order from the admiral to have the prisoner installed in the Tower Prison following the death of Mr. Grimsby, even though Sir Robert, in a brief inquiry (which consisted of an interview with Lieutenant Hartsell), had determined that Grimsby had fallen overboard in a state of drunkenness in the middle of the night at a time when the attention of the deck officer (Mr. Boone) was otherwise engaged.

  By his keen ears, Sir John was made aware of their coming before I so much as glimpsed them. Stepping down from the conveyance, he cocked his head and took a moment to listen.

  “I hear three men marching in good time and another walking indifferently,” said he.” Would that be Mr. Landon conveyed by a guard party?”

  Turning, I looked in the direction he indicated —toward the Thames —and noted that he had “seen” them perfectly with his ears.

  “Yes sir,” said I, “it is.”

  “Is he in hand irons?”

  I looked closely and saw arms and hands swinging freely.

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, thank God for that. They have at least allowed him that shred of dignity.”

  In point of fact, Lieutenant Landon looked quite relaxed in this odd company— and in some peculiar fashion, amused. He blessed us with a wry smile as the hackney pulled away, and we waited for them to pass. I thought it odd and commented upon it to Sir John.

  “He is a strange young man,” said he.” I know not precisely what to think of him. At times he seems to me almost to be seeking martyrdom.”

  Sir John pointed after them with his stick, and we set off together. Clearly, he intended that the marines and their prisoner should arrive first in the admiral’s office. He dawdled. We waited. The marines, reformed into a single column with their prisoner in the second place in line, continued up the stairs and into the building, then up and up the wide stairway —while all the while we followed them, impatient that they might get on with this strange ceremony. When they entered Sir Robert’s office, Sir John held me back at the top of the stairs until the marines emerged and took their places in the hall, standing at rest arms. All this he knew and understood by the information given him by his ears. At last he nodded, and we proceeded past them an
d through the door.

  “Sir!” shouted Lieutenant Byner in his exaggerated sergeant major manner.” The admiral awaits you within in company with the prisoner.”

  “Very good, ” said Sir John.” I take it that you, as the prisoner’s counsel, will also be present during this interrogation?”

  “With your permission, sir!”

  “Permission granted, certainly. It should be we who ask you.”

  Having no response for that, Lieutenant Byner simply bobbed his head in an exaggerated manner, walked stiffly to the door, and threw it open. We entered. The Heutenant followed. There were handshakes all around —though none for me, as a minor, of course. Sir John rather pointedly sought out Lieutenant Landon and made an offer of his hand, which was solemnly accepted.

  “I understand, Sir John, that it is you who is responsible for the change in my accommodations,” said Mr. Landon.

  “It is in a sense, I suppose,” Sir John responded, “for I made the suggestion. Admiral Redmond granted the necessary permission, however.”

  “Well, I thank you, sir, for I am more comfortable in that ancient and notorious old prison, odd though that may seem.”

  “I’m happy for your comfort. Lieutenant, but it was your safety I had in mind. I feared you might meet with an accident, as Lieutenant Grimsby did.”

  “Jack,” said Sir Robert, “there is no need to go into that. I’ve inquired into the matter, as you know, and satisfied myself as to the cause of his death.”

  “So I heard,” Sir John replied to the admiral. Then to Mr. Landon: “I thought also that you might speak more freely, given the chance, away from the H.M.S. Adventure.”

  At this point, nephew and uncle exchanged looks, as they had before in the lieutenant’s cabin on the frigate. On this occasion, however, what they communicated with their eyes was altogether different and much easier to interpret. Sir Robert threw him a strong challenge, but Mr. Landon met it and returned him one of his own. There was a prolonged moment of silence as each continued to stare at the other. It was Sir John who broke that silence.

  “Lieutenant,” said he, “willyou speak?”

  “That I will.”

  “Then let us sit down, for a magistrate’s hours are never well fixed, and I have had a hard night of it, this one past.”

  “I prefer to stand, if I may,” said Mr. Landon.

  “Then stand, by all means,” said Sir John, sinking into the chair to which I had guided him, “but let us proceed.”

  I took my usual place behind it. On this occasion, I placed my hand upon his shoulder so that a signal might be passed between us when the time came. He had assigned me a role to play. Though unrehearsed, I was certain I could act it well as any at Drury Lane.

  “Lieutenant Landon,” said Sir John, “what sort of officer was the late Captain Markham?” Then he added hastily: “Before you answer that, let me ask Mr. Byner, do you have a writing instrument in hand?”

  “Yes sir, a pencil.”

  “Probably best. And something to write upon?”

  “Yes sir, a quantity of paper. ‘

  “Good. Make special note of my question, for when it comes time to interrogate him in court, those you ask him should be, like mine, broad enough to allow him to tell his story. And listen well to the answers he gives now, for you must never ask a question of a witness in court to which you do not already know the answer.”

  “Sir?” Mr. Byner seemed puzzled by that, though it seemed perfectly sensible to me.

  “Exactly so. There should be no surprises.” Again to Mr. Landon: “Now, sir, if we may begin again, with my apologies for the interruption, I shall put the question to you. What sort of officer was the late Captain Markham of His Majesty’s Ship Adventure?”

  There was a pause as Lieutenant Landon stood briefly, facing Sir John, apparently organizing his answer. Sir Robert Redmond sat uneasily at his desk, leaning forward as if fearful of what the prisoner might say. Lieutenant Byner was hunched in his chair, scrawling on a block of folded paper he balanced upon his knee.

  “From the first day out of Portsmouth,” Mr. Landon began, “it was evident that Captain Markham drank to excess. At our first mess at the captain’s table, he alone downed two bottles of claret —seemed to guard them as his own, leaving two more for the rest of us to share out amongst ourselves. He then consumed half a bottle of brandy, grew increasingly drowsy, and fell asleep at table.

  “This became the pattern on those occasions when he did appear at his own table, which occasions became rarer as the ship progressed south. Likewise, his appearances above decks were correspondingly rare. He took little part in charting the ship’s course, though I understood he kept a record of it for a time in the log. He knew none of the officers but Lieutenant Hartsell by name, and him he knew because he more or less left the running of the ship to him. By the time we were well along the coast of Africa, Lieutenant Hartsell was acting in the role of captain as Captain Markham remained in his cabin, presumably drunk.”

  “Very good,” said Sir John.” You have answered the question. End your response there. In court, you must try to avoid phrases such as ‘more or less’ and such terms as ‘presumably.’ Be as exact as it is possible to be. We already have it on record in a statement from the ship’s surgeon, Mr. MacNaughton, which will be read at the court-martial, that the captain was in a state of near-perpetual drunkenness during those hours, and indeed days, when he was incommunicado. It will not be necessary for you to presume.”

  Mr. Landon, who had stood rather rigid while answering Sir John’s question, relaxed somewhat during this criticism, nodding his understanding and acceptance of the points made against him. He then seemed more, rather than less, confident when Sir John posed his next question.

  “Will you give us your memory, Mr. Landon, of the pertinent events of April 12, 1767?”

  “We were but two days out of Cape Town, as I recall, where we had taken on stores, when a storm of a magnitude I had never before experienced caught us and held us for most of a day and part of a night. It grew quite dark. There was heavy rain. But the worst was the sea itself, for there were swells as tall as any church tower in London. We were thrown up and down, battered port and starboard, in a most frightful way.

  ‘Twas I who brought Lieutenant Hartsell the news, in the midst of all this, that the foremast was showing signs of splintering and might not hold through the storm. I asked him should it be taken down. And he said that was not his decision but the captain’s, and that I was to fetch him. Then he —”

  Sir John interrupted: “What was your reaction to that order from Mr. Hartsell?”

  “One of surprise, sir,” responded the lieutenant, “for Mr. Hartsell had captained the ship in all but name for a good two weeks and had certainly made all decisions so far that day and had managed well to keep us afloat. In point of fact, I had not even seen Captain Markham for three days. He had put in a brief appearance on the quarterdeck during our stay in Cape Town. I wondered, considering all this, why Mr. Hartsell had grown suddenly shy of command.”

  “In what condition did you find Captain Markham?” asked Sir John.

  “In a frightful state. He seemed more dead than alive. He had been drinking, certainly, for he had a near-empty bottle by him in his bed. There was fresh vomit there, too, and the smell of spirits was heavy in the air. Yet he seemed more than drunk. I have heard of men, through illness or injury, falling into an unnaturally deep sleep for days, weeks even. So he seemed to me. I simply could not rouse him. And so I returned to Lieutenant Hartsell on the quarterdeck and told him I could in no wise rouse the captain. His response was that I must do it nevertheless, but that I was to take him to the poop deck, where the two of them would also inspect the mizzenmast. That was his order. I had no choice but to do what I could to carry’ it out. And so I returned to the captain’s cabin, pulled him bodily from his bed, and began dressing him in whatever manner I could. I recall throwing a cape around him and tying it, yet leaving h
im bareheaded, thinking that the wind and the rain might do something to bring him to consciousness. Before taking him above to the poop deck, I tried walking him around the cabin for a minute or two. I believe I did get some response from his legs, but his head slumbered on, just as before. But in the end, I managed, by supporting him, to get him up the ladder to the poop.”

  At this point. Lieutenant Landon paused in his narrative, apparently in need of a brief rest from the rigors of such recollection. I have known it to be so, reader, that in recalling and retelling events of great stress a man may find himself caught up in them once again, enduring the same feelings, the same strains as before. Thus it seemed to be with Mr. Landon, for sweat dripped from his face in that room which was not uncomfortably warm, and he seemed somewhat short of breath.

  All this Sir John seemed to perceive, for he waited an interval before putting his next question to him.

  “What did you find when you arrived on the poop deck?”

  “It was a question of what I did not find,” responded the lieutenant, a smile of irony upon his lips.” I did not find Lieutenant Hartsell there as he said he would be. The poop deck was empty but for me and the man I bore as a burden. It is, of course, the uppermost deck, and as such is a dangerous place in such a violent storm as that one. The ship was plunged down in a trough. I managed to catch hold of the rigging of the mizzenmast while yet keeping my grasp upon the captain. In that perilous posture, I caught sight of Mr. Hartsell below on the quarterdeck, clinging tight to an eighteen-pounder which was well secured. He raised an arm and beckoned us down. At the bottom of the trough the Adventure righted herself, and I thought it possible to risk it to the starboard ladder. I had near reached it with my arm about the captain when we were thrown hard along to the starboard quite of a sudden, and the violence of the motion tore him from my grasp. He landed against the taffrail just opposite the ladder, yet at the same time, the ship continued to slip starboard, and he began to topple overboard. I reached out to grasp him, but he continued his slide and passed through my arms into the sea, and I was left holding his shoe — as I believe I told you before.