Lt. Anthony Drinkwater, in temporary command. 16-7-1799
Our search party has returned. Captain Smith and his party dined at the Anchor and left at approximately 6:30 pm, and shortly thereafter were seen entering a coach in company with a shore-service Lieutenant, whom we have been unable to locate or identify. The search party has requested permission to return to their task, and I am granting it, as these seamen are part of the gunnery crews commanded by Mr. Marshall and Mr. Archer, and have demonstrated great personal loyalty to these fine young officers. I believe they present no risk of desertion, and moreover have access to a level of society that would be closed to most officers. We all hope for the uneventful return of our Captain and his party, but I have already informed the Port Authority of their disappearance, whereupon Admiral Roberts ordered a thorough search of all ships that have been in port since 3:30 this past evening. His office reports employing no officer answering the description of the man seen with our shipmates. The Admiral has expressed his concern that this unexplained disappearance may be connected with a recent series of abductions. It hardly seems likely that such knaves would be foolhardy enough to seize our Captain, but of course no abductor could know Captain Smith as we do. However, one extremely successful merchant captain was abducted from this very port 18 months ago, so the villains are familiar with this territory. I have issued pistols for our search party, and so great is the loyalty of this crew that many other men have volunteered to join the search. I have authorized leave for those I believe trustworthy. (See list, attached).
~
The trip was much shorter than Marshall had expected. After only a few minutes ride on the cart, he was unloaded onto a dock, then into a boat—a fairly small one, and, judging by the exaggerated rocking motion, not a well-balanced craft. The last bit, out to the ship, was worst, but it was also the shortest. That probably meant they had gone through an actual port, since a smugglers’ rendezvous would mean a long haul from a quiet beach to an anchored ship. Portsmouth was the only major Navy port in the area; villages would have launched from a beach or estuary. This had to be Portsmouth again. A clever scheme, to return them to the port from which they’d been taken. Every ship in the harbor would have been searched by now.
After an unpleasant couple of minutes while the barrels were swayed aboard, he felt the familiar solidity of a deck again. The muffled voices he heard through the oak sounded much the same as any crew bringing aboard any cargo.
Then another voice rose above the muttering. “Good evening, gentlemen.” Something thumped on his barrel; two more thumps said the others were close by. “Welcome to the good ship
Elusive,
though that is of course not the name on her prow. I am her Captain; you may address me as Captain Adrian, or ‘sir’. My men will be escorting you to your quarters. Captain Smith, if all goes well, you will not see your men again until our visit has ended. I have found my guests much less prone to attempt escape if they are separated. You note I say ‘attempt’ because that is as far as it ever gets. I will be down to see you when you are settled in.”
It was no surprise that Smith would be jailed separately, but Marshall had hoped otherwise. He had little time to worry about it as his barrel was hoisted and joggled down a flight of steps. They were clever, these brigands, leaving no chance of anyone ashore or aboard a nearby ship seeing prisoners being taken out of barrels. And no chance of their getting a look at this ship, either.
Finally the jostling stopped, and some metal implement scraped at the barrel lid. As that came away, the whole thing tilted again, and he was dragged out and dropped on a deck. Just beside him, a couple of masked sailors with crowbars were at work on the other barrel.
“Good morning,” said the voice he’d heard above. “Is it Marshall or Archer?”
“Marshall.” He scrambled up awkwardly, straightening to face his captor. All he could really see was a silhouette; there was only one lantern in the narrow passage, and it was behind the man, but he gave the impression of relative youth—a year or two either side of 30—and physical vigor. “Captain... Adrian?”
The man’s head inclined slightly, and Marshall could see that he, too, was wearing a mask over his eyes, as well as a reddish beard that hid the rest of his face. “At your service.”
“Please forgive me if I doubt that.”
“Doubt anything you like. Has he been searched?”
“Twice, sir,” one of the men said. “Sword, clasp-knife, flint and tinder, one pound, two shillings, and fourpence.”
“You are wise not to carry much on shore leave, Lieutenant. One never knows what sort of footpad may be lurking. What’s wrong there? He is breathing, isn’t he?”
They had pried the lid off David’s barrel; he wasn’t moving. Marshall craned his neck to see within, trying to keep his fear out of his face.
“Yes, sir, just out cold.”
Adrian nodded and they dumped Archer out on the floor, face down. “Midshipman?” Adrian asked, prodding him with a toe.
“Acting Lieutenant,” Marshall corrected. He couldn’t see any blood. What the devil had they done to him?
“Well, see if you can’t persuade him to act conscious; he may need to write a letter.” He nodded toward a door that stood open. “Free their hands and lock them up.” As two of the men untied Archer and tossed him through the doorway, he turned to Marshall. “And do you have family or friends who might be willing to stand ransom for, say, 5,000 pounds?”
The sum was staggering. His pay had jumped from a midshipman’s annual ¤22 to ¤100, but there was no hope of ever repaying ¤5,000, even if his career did last another fifty years. It would take every bit of prize money he might ever earn, and more. Captain Smith could not have expected anything of this sort when he made his generous offer. “You had better speak to my Captain on that subject.” Smith could reconsider, make the decision. With luck, they might be able to escape before it came to the test.
“Be assured I shall. Have a pleasant rest, Lieutenant.”
The cell was less than eight feet square, with a ceiling a little lower than Marshall’s six feet of height. He noticed that only because the rough boards scraped his head as he stepped inside; his attention was focused on Davy, lying face-down in the straw that covered the floor.
“Davy?” Marshall found a couple of scraps of sailcloth in the corner, unfolded one, and rolled Archer over onto the makeshift cot. It was difficult to see much, since the only light came from a lantern hung just outside the barred window set in the door, but there was no sign of a wound on the white waistcoat of his dress uniform. A smear of blood on his mouth, though; it looked like he’d bitten through his lip. What on earth... Archer had never shown any sign of apoplexy—could it be his heart? Had they knocked him unconscious first? “Davy, for God’s sake, say something!”
“Mm?”
Marshall let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Archer stirred, blinked, and rolled up on one elbow. “Will. Where are we?”
He glanced around. Three buckets stood near the door, and one had a wooden cup beside it. He checked first, taking nothing for granted, but it did hold fresh water. He scooped some into the cup and offered it to Archer. “We’re on board a ship. The
Elusive,
he called her, though that’s apparently not actually her name. And the captain and crew are all masked.”
“Sounds too clever for words. Are you sure it isn’t just a fancy-dress ball?”
“Davy, what happened? You were unconscious. Are you all right?”
“Well enough.” Archer put the cup back. “It was what you said about breathing. I was trying to distract myself, seeing how long I could hold a breath, and all of a sudden I blacked out. So I just did that every time I woke up.” He shrugged. “Not very heroic.”
“Ingenious was probably better than heroic; there was nothing to be done but wait it out.”
“Where’s the Captain?”
Marshall briefly outlined what had happened on their arrival. “It felt like we came down seven or eight steps. I think this ship’s a bit smaller than the
Calypso
, but it was hard to tell from inside a barrel.”
“I suppose this is an improvement.” Archer stood, cautious until he was sure he’d clear the ceiling, then frowned. “Damn. You can’t stand up in here, can you?”
“No, but I can lie down without kicking the slop-bucket. It could be worse.”
“The door is locked, of course?”
“Bolt on the outside.” Marshall thumped at it, noting there was no handle on their side.
He heard footsteps, then a masked face peered in. “Leave the door alone, or you’ll be sorry.”
“... and a guard,” Marshall continued, ignoring him. “Friendly bastard.” The face disappeared, followed by footsteps that stopped five steps away, not close enough for a prisoner to reach.
Archer continued circling the little cell, running his hands along the walls. Marshall hoped he’d settle down soon; he was restless enough himself. “Will, look!”
“What?” He got up to see, and found that they had a window of sorts—a small square port about 18 inches on a side, bisected by a single upright metal bar, with a board outside hinged at the bottom and tilting away at an angle. He could reach up far enough to feel the top edge of the board, and two metal rings bolted to its corners. It moved slightly when he pulled at it. “I think it’s some kind of shutter, Davy, like a gunport in reverse. We can’t see out, and they can pull it shut if another vessel comes close enough to hear us.”
“At least it’s fresh air.”
“Yes. And when it’s light we can see if we might be able to throw something out.”
“A message in a bottle?” Archer asked facetiously.
“If we had one. Like as not they’d see it themselves, from above. I don’t see what we can do until morning, though that should be soon; dawn’s around 5:30.” As if in confirmation, a ship’s bell rang once, echoing through the ventilator. “An hour’s sleep, then. If nothing else, we can use the time to practice navigation problems for your examination.” Mathematics, he knew, was Archer’s least favorite aspect of seamanship, though he was competent enough at it.
“That certainly gives me something to look forward to.” Archer shoved the straw around. “Looks like they were expecting livestock, not human beings. You’d think they could at least give us a couple of hammocks.”
“We won’t be here long enough to be bothered.” Marshall tried to sound confident.
Archer’s look said he knew they were both already bothered, but he nodded. “Do you think we should stand watches?”
“Not at this point, no. Get some rest, Davy. It’s been a rotten day.”
“It’s already tomorrow.” Archer gave him an apologetic smile. “Happy birthday, Will.”
Supplemental Log, HMS Calypso, in for repair, Portsmouth.
Lt. Anthony Drinkwater, in temporary command. 17-7-1799
We are now fairly convinced that Captain Smith, Lt. Marshall, and M’man Archer were taken by the gang mentioned in the previous entry. Our gunnery crew located a retired cooper who, despite considerable inebriation, related being nearly run down by a closed coach matching the description of the one our men were seen entering, being driven at unreasonable speed, from whence issued shouts and sounds of a struggle. As this is the same method used to abduct the previous victim, only one conclusion is possible. Our marines are now conducting a search of all waterfront buildings, hoping to locate the coach and hence the driver. We are also awaiting contact from the abductors, as ransom seems the most likely aim of this heinous act. I am, in the meantime, attending to the repair and refitting of the
Calypso
. When she will sail again, and whether it will be under the command of her rightful Captain, God only knows.
~
“Are you satisfied with your new quarters, Captain?”
Smith had to duck to enter the cramped berth, and its ceiling was too damned low. But in the course of his career he’d slept in worse places, and this did have basic furnishings: a cot stowed on a hook, a straight-backed chair, and a small table that held a candle-lantern, paper, and writing implements.
Gesturing at the table, he scowled at the figure standing outside his cell. “For producing a ransom note, I presume?”
“Not just yet. The presence of your traveling companions means that I must reconsider my requirements. For the moment, it will suffice if you pen a brief message that you and your officers are alive and well, and further communiqués will be forthcoming.”
“Decided to raise the price, have you?” With the lantern hanging on the wall behind the man who called himself captain of this ship, Smith couldn’t read his face. Not that he needed to. He’d seen more than enough posturing popinjays who let a little power go to their heads.
“Captain, you have no idea what a pleasure it is to converse with a ready wit. You do anticipate me. Since we had no idea that you would be in company...”
“No doubt. However, I dislike the principle of paying extortion. It encourages bad habits. Since you appear to be a gentleman, I propose that we arm ourselves and settle this on the field of honor.”
“I had heard that you have been a rather vocal opponent of duelling, sir. Why this sudden change?”
“It will save His Majesty’s courts the trouble and expense of a trial,” Smith said shortly. “You might also consider that the penalty for high treason is far more unpleasant than a bullet at dawn.”
“I suppose I should be flattered at your offer, but I regret to admit that I’m only a simple merchant, and I’ve no intention of risking damage to rare and valuable merchandise. I do not claim to be a gentleman, sir.”
“But you could claim to be a coward. As might be deduced from the nature of your ‘merchandise’.”
Adrian ignored the blatant insult. “I do understand your reluctance to write such a letter, and the embarrassment you may suffer over your capture, but I must insist. You have in your party a young man of no commercial value, and I would be perfectly happy to have him shot as a demonstration of my sincerity.”