Noble Duty

27. London Arrival

Friday, 18th July 1718 – London

As we passed Wapping and swept around the final bend of the Thames, the familiar, soot-stained timbering of Bermondsey hove into view. A quarter-hour later, Atlantica glided into the narrow water of Saviour Dock, her fresh Manhattan oak hull patches, masts and spars contrasting sharply with the uniformity of the other ships.

On the wharf, the reaction was instantaneous. The clatter of iron-wheeled carts stopped. Clerks in ink-stained aprons spilt out of the British North America Company's administrative offices, staring in motionless silence at the ship.

Mister Martin stood at the rail, his voice carrying the authority of a man who had cheated death. "Hoy, there, ashore. Look alive! Pick up our heaving lines. Turn them up. All hands!"

Soon, the heaving lines snaked across the murky water, and the heavy hawsers followed. The dockmen hauled them ashore, turned them up and warped us alongside.

As Atlantica came breast-to against the stout oak timbers, I did not wait for the gangplank to be pinned. Vaulting over the bulwarks onto the wharf, I strode straight toward the main administrative building.

The heavy doors of the company headquarters flew open before I reached them. Mr Gable stumbled out onto the steps, soon followed by Thomas, who shouted, "Jarvis!" His voice cracked with what seemed a mix of disbelief and relief as he sprinted down the stone steps and threw his arms around me. "By God, brother, the Admiralty clerks reported Atlantica was lost! But just now, dock hands rushed in, saying her ghost had arrived."

I pulled him tight to my chest. "The ship is sound, Thomas, and so am I. Have you kept the company afloat?"

"Exactly as your standing orders dictated," Thomas said, swallowing hard as he stepped back and straightened his velvet waistcoat, eager to look the part of a partner. "Gable and I locked the vaults the hour the report arrived. Every rival merchant on the river came knocking, expecting the probate court to freeze our assets and hoping to buy our slipways for a song. We didn't give them an inch."

I looked at Gable, who gave me a slow, respectful nod of confirmation. "The lad held true, Sir Jarvis," the old administrator murmured. "He may not yet have attained his majority, but he commands like an Overton."

"I am proud of you, Thomas. Very proud," I said, my voice cutting through the rising hubbub of the gathering dockworkers. "Our father is gone." I paused, the words heavier spoken aloud. "Two-thirds of the crew and all but six of the passengers are gone with him. But I am here, and so is Atlantica. We shall carry on."

Gable raised a finger. "But we have some wrinkles to sort first, sir. The underwriters at Lloyd's Coffee House were already preparing to declare her a total loss. The Admiralty Court placed a restraint upon our accounts yesterday morning, so we cannot clear cargo without risking seizure by the King's water-bailiffs."

"Then we unfreeze them before the sun sets. Our logbook has been perfectly maintained the entire voyage. Set our best copyists to work. Transcribe the entries from Kingston, through the Bahamian attack and onward to our refit in New York. Thomas, take a hackney coach to Lincoln's Inn. Find our proctor and tell him to petition the Admiralty Court for immediate release of the ship, cargo and accounts before the clerks lock their desks for the weekend. We will show the Admiralty that Overton does not sail ghosts."

"Aye, sir. It is so good to have you back."

As Thomas dashed off, I turned to Gable, clapping a hand onto his still trembling shoulder. "The sorting begins now. We have a heavily laden ship and far more than enough documentation to satisfy Custom House. Organise it so that we are ready for the agents."