Watery Grave (25 page)

“About the size of a guinea,” said I.

“Ah, so large! Would you say, Tom, that it might have been inflicted by a bump against the bridge support?”

“Well, it is
possible
, I suppose.”

“But you do not think so?”

“No, sir.”

“What would you say then?”

“A belaying pin,” declared Tom with remarkable certainty.

“Ah, well …” And so saying. Sir John fell into a protracted silence, musing with bowed head there in the near-vanished light. Tom looked at me, frowning, as if to ask if the magistrate had suddenly nodded off to sleep. I knew he had not. I shook my head firmly. And at last Sir John roused himself.

“Do you recall, Jeremy,” said he, “that Admiral Sir Robert was waiting for my return down below when I sent you and Tom off on your search?”

“I do indeed, sir. He seemed most agitated.”

“He was. He brought news that Mr. Grimsby had deserted —left the ship in contradiction of Lieutenant Hartsell’s orders and his own. He said Grimsby would be hunted down and court-martialed. Then he demanded to know if the lieutenant had been in communication with me.

I told him he had, by letter, and that he had invited us aboard the
Adventure
. The admiral then said he had no right to do that, and henceforward we were not to go aboard unless in his company. All this, of course, we expected, having been lectured by Lieutenant Hartsell upon our departure.”

He sighed and lapsed once more into silence for a moment.

“If Mr. Grimsby was indeed given a knock and dumped overboard,” said Tom, “then there was a fair chance he would not be found.”

“Except for London Bridge,” Sir John responded, “he might be floating on still. Yet he told me what he had to tell, poor man, and it could not have been easy.” He paused.” His death makes one thing certain.”

“And what is that, sir?”

“Mr. Landon must be removed from the
Adventure
at all costs. I believe his life is in danger there, as well. It may mean the Tower Prison for him, but that would be preferable to his present situation. I shall send a letter to Bobbie tomorrow informing of all this and giving him the opportunity to send a surgeon to the Raker’s to confirm what you two have found.”

“Who carries these messages back and forth from the frigate to the admiral?”

“I would hazard this one was brought by Mr. Byner. He seems to spend more time with Lieutenant Hartsell than with him he has been appointed to defend.”

Indeed Sir John was right: Annie was a better cook than Mrs. Gredge. Was it her use of good English spices —rosemary, sage, and thyme — which the old cook quite forbore? Her love of onions—which Mrs. Gredge complained caused her gas and consequent flatulence? Was it her boldness with garlic —which the good old lady despised as a foreign intrusion? Or was it simply that Annie gave closer attention to her work? Never a burnt roast. Never a scorched stew. She looked after her own fire and did not, as Mrs. Gredge did, depend upon me to tend it. Annie often said that knowing when to dampen a fire and when to feed it was half the secret of the art.

All this she had proven with the beef stew she had set before Tom and me after our interview with Sir John. It was well seasoned, onioned and garlicked to perfection, and kept at a simmer until the very end when it was brought to a gentle boil. She tasted it as a critic.

“Good as when it was first cooked up,” said she with a smack of her lips.

And then, after serving it forth, she had excused herself and gone up to her room. Tom stared after her, quite perplexed.

“She does seem different,” said he.

I was too pleasantly occupied with what was in my plate to do more than grunt a few words.

“What was that?” He had not understood.

“Got her pride back,” I repeated.” Sir John paid her a great and true compliment. Sincere praise can work wonders. Or had you never experienced that yourself?”

After considering that for a moment, he said quite soberly, “Yes, from Lieutenant Landon.”

We may have eaten a bit more solemnly thereafter, though nevertheless just as heartily. We were but lads, after all, and not even a saddening thought could dull the taste of our good dinner.

Only minutes later, we were sopping our plates with bread, when on the stairs below we heard a most frightful racket. Then, without so much as a knock, through the door burst Mr. Benjamin Bailey, the captain of the Bow Street Runners. Such an interruption was so unlike him, who was the most respectful of men (except to malefactors and criminals, of course), that I saw immediately that he was on an errand of extreme importance. I was on my feet as he stood panting for a moment, seeking to reclaim his breath.

“Is Sir John here, Jeremy?”

“He is. I’ll fetch him.”

I turned and, poised to dash, saw that the man himself was at that moment descending the stairs and making his entrance into the kitchen.

“No,” said he, “here I am, here I am. What have you to report, Mr. Bailey?”

“A riot, sir.”

“Oh, God help us. In progress?”

“Indeed, Sir John —in progress. What I’m asking for, sir, is your permission to send to the Tower for a company of grenadiers.”

“That bad, is it?” bir. It s —

“No, no, Mr. Bailey, if that is your judgment, I accept it. Send for them, by all means. You will not have to go?”

“I’ll send Constable Perkins. He’s waiting.”

“Go then and put him on his way, then wait for us downstairs. We’ll be but a moment.”

As he turned to go, Mr. Bailey called out, “It’s the crew of that frigate anchored by London Bridge caused the trouble.”

According to Mr. Bailey, who told the story as we made our way hurriedly through the streets, this great disturbance had all stemmed from a not uncommon incident at Mrs. Gerney’s, a notorious brothel in the Strand. Much earlier in the evening, a seaman from the
Adventure
had, in the course of his visit to one of Mrs. Gerney’s belles, discovered he had been robbed. He complained bitterly to the mistress of the house but received no satisfaction. So then, with dire threats, he left her and went immediately to raise a force of his shipmates. He recruited a small army from the dens along the Thames and the dives of Covent Garden. Not only his mates but also their bottle companions and recent acquaintances joined him. Days of drinking and retelling their tales of past battles had put them in a humor for a good fight. As they marched upon Mrs. Gerney’s in the Strand, gathering sticks, clubs, and loose cobblestones along the way, the demand for redress was soon altered by the dark chemistry of mob might to a desire for revenge.

They were near a hundred or more in number by the time they reached their goal, where they found but two constables, forewarned and at the door, to oppose them. The mob did not so much do battle with the constables — Rumford and Cowley —as sweep them aside, ignoring their cries to “Disperse!” and “Go home! ” What were two men armed only with clubs to do against a hundred?

Through the door the rioters poured, trampling, bruising, and variously abusing the thin line of male defense Mrs. Gerney had hired to protect her and her disorderly house. There were sounds of destruction inside —breaking glass, thumps and bumps of furniture thrown about —and the squeals and screams of frightened women. The action spread upward in the house, which was of considerable size. Windows were broken above, and through them came crashing down to the pavement looking glasses, chairs, bedding, and mattresses. The crowd that had gathered to watch (as crowds will gather to watch anything) ran back in terror from the objects raining down upon them. Smaller pieces sailed out into the broad street, causing confusion and a bit of panic among the carriages and coaches. A coach horse shied and set his partner off, and together they threw their vehicle into rough contact with a hackney carriage. There was a good deal of hot language tossed about between the two drivers as they stopped to discuss the matter; and in stopping they thereby halted the flow of traffic in the street.

And about this time, a line of Mrs. Gerney’s inmates and their customers began to run out, seeking safety from the mob. Though none were completely naked, most were in some stage of undress. This added greatly to the entertainment of the onlookers.

It was this scene of near chaos that Benjamin Bailey looked upon when he arrived with three more constables in reinforcement. But these, too, were armed only with stout clubs. The inexperienced Constable Cowley put forward that the rioters might be arrested, one by one, as they emerged from the building. Mr. Bailey saw the folly of that, ordered four of the constables to gather the property littering the walkway and the street together in a single pile and guard it, then left with Perkins to seek Sir John’s permission to call out the grenadiers.

The situation had altered somewhat by the time Mr. Bailey returned with Sir John, Tom, and me. As we came down Southampton Street and turned right on the Strand, we saw a great tumult no more than one street distant. But from that great milling mass of people there rose what seemed to be wisps of smoke. Yet as we came closer, and saw plainer by the light of the streetlamps, we noted that they were indeed more than wisps and that there were many of them moving around and about in a design roughly describing a circle. Mr. Bailey informed Sir John of this, then plowed ahead into the crowd. Tom and I exchanged glances, then followed close behind Sir John, who had grabbed hold the constable’s belt and thus was pulled along.

“One side, one side, ‘ shouted Mr. Bailey.” The magistrate is coming through.”

As we pushed roughly through the recalcitrant spectators, I saw the source of the smoke: torches held aloft, carried swiftly back and forth.

“One side for Sir John Fielding, Magistrate of the Bow Street Court.”

When it was necessary, Mr. Bailey did not hesitate to use the club he used so well. The most unyielding of the crowd he would knock on the shoulder or thwack on the backside. Thus by his persistence we reached the first row of onlookers and beheld the spectacle that so held them.

The constables, who had done as their captain directed and piled high the property thrown from the upper floors of the brothel, were now forced to defend it as best they could. The rioters had evidently grown tired of their rampage and had trailed out of the building. They then saw the great mound of goods and must have thought what a lovely bonfire It would make — for torches were lit. The constables positioned themselves at four corners from which the might strike out at one who dared approach and put fire to the pile. What ensued was a kind of game —or the sailors must have thought it so; for when we arrived, six of them (I counted six, but there may have been more) were dancing around, torches in hand, feinting with them toward the pile, thrusting them boldly toward the constables, accepting stout knocks upon the arms and legs as part of the sport. It seemed to me then that had they set their minds to it, they could have had their bonfire and might still have it, yet these bad boys enjoyed this form of play far more, for it greatly amused the crowd. There was jolly laughter all round us, occasional applause at an artful feint or thrust. For this reason alone the spectators had been reluctant to let us through and make room for us: they were enjoying the show.

Mr. Bailey had his head close to Sir John’s, no doubt describing this bizarre scene. The magistrate’s reply was also inaudible to me until a roll of laughter came, and he shouted above it, “How far?”

“Ten paces,” came Mr. Bailey’s response, also shouted, “and no more.”

Then, without hesitation Sir John walked off those ten paces, whipping his stick in the air before him. This put him between two of the torchbearers and quite near young Constable Cowley, who watched him in surprise.

The dance came to a halt. The sudden presence of the blind man in their midst so surprised the performers that they stood quite still for a moment, looking at one another in a most doubtful manner. Who was he? What was his intrusion?

Seeing that the frivolity had ended, even if perhaps only temporarily, the crowd began to boo; there were whistles and jeers from the rioters who had ranged themselves near the door of Mrs. Gerney’s and beyond. But then, when one —not the nearest —circled round the pile of goods and approached Sir John, the mob and its audience fell silent, sensing that a confrontation was imminent.

He was a lean man of medium height, one who, like many seamen, looked older in his face than in his body. Though his cheeks were lined and darkened by the sun, and he had not all his teeth, he held his torch up high and until but a moment ago, he had been capering about with his mates to the frustration of the constables.

Of a sudden Tom jabbed me in the arm with his elbow.

“It’s him, Jeremy.” he whispered loudly in my ear, “it’s him!”

I had not the slightest notion what he meant by that, so deeply was I involved in the drama of the moment. As I made a move to wave him to silence a thought struck me.

“It’s who?”

“Tobias Trindle,” said Tom in that same stage whisper.” I would know him anywhere.”

What should we do? Shout the news to Sir John? Rush out and make an appeal to Trindle to bear witness on Mr. Landon’s behalf? Quite impossible, of course. All that could be done now was to keep silent and let the drama unfold, for they were about to speak.

“Who be yuh? ” Tobias Trindle demanded.

“I am John Fielding, Magistrate of the Bow Street Court. And who, sir, are you?”

He laughed boldly at that. “Wouldn’t I be a fool to tell you?”

“Considering what you and your companions have been engaged in during the past hour, I should say that you have already established yourself as a fool —and each of them, as well. So you might just as well tell me the name of the fool I now address.”

“Well, I won’t do it.”

And having said that, Trindle made a swift motion with the torch he held toward Sir John’s face. He held it close. Sir John did not flinch. A shocked murmur ran through the crowd. Even some of the rioters fell back at such effrontery.

“Y’are blind, ain’t ya?’

“Yes, I am. Now remove that burning brand from my face, for I assure you that if you harm me, or any of my constables, you will be hanged. We are officers of the law, and the law must be respected. So far you have shown precious little respect for it. You and your fellows have disturbed the peace. You have done damage to property. And now you play with fire. Arson is also a hanging offense.”