The Scent of Corruption (The Fighting Sail Series Book 7) by Alaric Bond Page B

ain't gobblers or landsharks and look only for those who will be of use aboard ship.”
    There was a murmur of understanding from those about him, and Lewis wondered if they knew of his other reasons for avoiding the ringleaders. Anyone smart enough to place themselves in a position of authority was likely to dodge an impressment order with ease. Some may even be lawyers or magistrates themselves: it was not unknown for men of all manner of business to indulge in such a lucrative venture. He had documentation that entitled him to seize able men; even taking free traders was perhaps stretching the point, although any overstepping of authority might also be excused. Men caught smuggling were frequently sent for five years' service with the Royal Navy on conviction. It was conceivable that Prometheus ' commission would be shorter so, in effect, Lewis was doing them a favour. But a well set up individual, be he doctor, lawyer or even a tavern keeper, might not see it in quite the same light. And, given access to a court of law, they could bring charges against Lewis or the captain for false imprisonment.
    No, it was better to go for the ordinary workers; the common hands who would be of more use, cause less trouble and probably be a good deal more skilled into the bargain. He would whisk them back to the ship, where any protest could be received in private and relative safety. There were two dockyard carts standing by, and the horses were reasonably fresh: with luck, all should be over within the hour, and they would be well on their way back to Prometheus .
    “Two more walkers,” Clement whispered, and Lewis raised himself up to look once more. That would make eighteen, by his calculation. He had little room for more on the wagons; some of his men might have to run alongside as it was.
    “Very well, form up, and check your equipment.”
    They rose slowly, flexing stiff limbs, and some began to shake out their sand filled coshes with professional swagger, slapping them against horny hands and grinning to each other in anticipation. Lewis was far happier for his men to carry such weapons; to his mind they were infinitely preferable to the belaying pins favoured by many. Handled properly, the business should be orderly enough but if it came to a fight, seamen were inclined to use force without consideration. A heavy blow from a cosh might well cause unconsciousness, but the same stroke delivered with the solidity of what amounted to a heavy club could easily kill.
    Each man was also equipped with a cutlass, while some carried pistols. These were unlikely to be used: even if drawn, it would amount to an admission of defeat or, at least, unforeseen resistance. Those seized usually went easily enough at first, and could be trussed up and removed relatively quickly. In time they might try to escape, and it was not unknown for friends to learn of their impressment, and attempt to free them. That meant the journey back would probably be the most dangerous part of the procedure. The three miles they had to travel gave ample time for accomplices to be raised and an attack organised. Then it may well come to cold steel or even firearms.
    “If all are ready, we shall begin.” Lewis spoke softly, well aware that it was not customary to phrase an order in such a way, although press gang work was somewhat apart from the usual shipboard discipline. In the next few minutes every man would be looking after the other but, unlike a regular action, they must exercise control. There was no enemy here; instead it was hoped that whoever they seized would someday become a friend.
    They walked silently out of the yard and across the darkened street. Without a direct order, Jenkins, Todd and Harrison broke off and made to secure the rear, while Sanderson and Jeffrey stayed behind with the carts, and stood ready in the lee of the stables. All had carried out similar raids on previous occasions and most actually enjoyed the exercise. But every one of