A Divided Command (9 page)

‘I was only going to point out that once he has gone you have the power to do anything you wish, and Lord Hood was much given to trusting this Pearce fellow with missions which, if I may say so, bordered on the extremely risky.’

‘If I had my way I’d drop the little sod Burns over the side on a dark night with a cannonball in his breeches and hang Pearce from the yardarm.’

The tone of the response was designed to soothe, something at which the clever Irishman was adept.

‘Sir William, the lad does not know Pearce is back in the Mediterranean. Can I suggest he be kept in ignorance until the time comes where such knowledge suits our purpose? In which case, you must maintain with Burns the same attitude that you have demonstrated to him so far.’ That got a grunt. ‘And you will recall, sir, that we set an examination as much for our intentions as any other purpose.’

The plan had been to have Burns promoted, even if he behaved like a dunce, then to send him off to serve with some tartar of a captain, a man loyal to Hotham, who would both keep an eye on any correspondence to and from Burns and, as well as making his life a misery, ensure that if there was danger in the offing, he was sent towards it.

‘I can’t set another examination so soon.’

‘Sir William, I repeat, when you are in command, you can do whatever you wish, and should such an act be questioned by the Admiralty – why, who would be so churlish as to not
see it as a favour to a lad, already a hero, denied his right by cruel circumstance?’

‘Hero, my foot; Barclay told me the truth of that little escapade. The boy is a damned coward and perhaps it would be best if the truth of that were known.’

Toomey was often given to wondering if endless patience was the lot of anyone who held his position, or was he excessively burdened in that regard. Sometimes it was damned hard to serve a man so blind to his own interests. Allowing his emotions to surface was one thing; not suborning them to the greater purpose was another.

‘I should call Burns in, Sir William, added to which I beg you treat him kindly.’

It hurt, Toomey could plainly see that, and it took time to be filtered through Hotham’s anger and frustration at having to deal with a situation he thought resolved. But eventually, after a degree of huffing, the admiral saw the sense of the advice and waved that Toomey should let Burns in, which he did with a degree of what looked like quiet flattery mixed with concern.

‘Well, Mr Burns,’ Hotham said, sure his voice sounded strained, ‘no cat has the luck on you, do they?’

‘No, sir.’

‘I am agog to hear of your latest adventure, as is Toomey, I’m sure.’ The man knew what that meant; stay with us and make sure I do not lose my temper. ‘Well?’

‘It was an action proposed by Captain Nelson.’

That got a deep frown; Hotham made little secret of his dislike of that particular officer, and in waiting, Toby had reasoned that if there was to be any anger directed in his heading the best way to deflect it was by giving Hotham a better target.

‘The aim was to spike the guns playing on the battery where I was employed.’

‘I do not see it as a job for midshipmen when there are regiments of soldiers available.’

‘Captain Nelson is not one to stand aside for a bullock, sir.’

‘Captain Nelson is scarcely a fellow to stand aside for his own creator!’

Toomey quickly intervened; Nelson was a bête noire and once Hotham’s temper was let loose it could go in any direction. ‘I take it you volunteered, Mr Burns?’

The nod made that a good guess on Toomey’s part: the youngster was not going to say that he had been presented with little choice in the matter; it was stand to be counted or display open fear and Toby Burns, if he would do all he could to avoid danger, would do even more to avoid being thought shy.

‘Was it wise, Burns,’ Hotham barked, ‘this raid?’

The reply did not come immediately. ‘It is not for me to say, sir.’

‘Nonsense! From what I hear it was a damp squib.’

‘There was a large element of risk, yes.’

Hotham had sat forward and was, to Toomey’s mind, being too aggressive in his questioning; he could not seem to accept that Burns was just a youngster who would know little and probably observe less.

‘I think, Sir William, it would be best if we just let Mr Burns relate his story.’

That got him a glare, but then a nod and at least the admiral sat back and ceased to appear so threatening.

‘Bear what you have said in mind, Mr Burns. It may be
that Captain Nelson will be called upon, at a future date, to explain such a foolhardy action. So, tell me what happened and how you came to be a prisoner?’

Horatio Nelson was closeted with Lord Hood and Admiral Parker, his expressions of regret at the C-in-C’s impending departure long aired, as was his refusal of another ship, a seventy-four, to which he was more than entitled. He was content with
HMS Agamemnon
and she was thus to set sail for Leghorn under his command, there to effect some very necessary repairs and make up her stores. Once complete he was to make his way to Genoa with a message for the Doge and his council.

‘Which,’ Parker pointed out, ‘will be couched in polite language, Captain Nelson, but you must make it plain to them that if we are to stop the French, Genoa must do more, and if they cannot provide ships they must furnish us with money and supplies. If they wish us to fight their battles they must dip into their coffers of gold.’

‘I take it I am forbidden to threaten bombardment if they show themselves unwilling?’

Hood chuckled, this while Parker frowned: he was not one to trust such jokes and he reckoned Nelson could be a dangerous loose cannon, just as he thought that his superior was too indulgent of this officer.

‘We have some despatches for Sir William Hamilton as well. I will give you orders that they are to be taken to Naples by
HMS Larcher
, presently in Leghorn.’

‘I would much rather go to Naples than Genoa, milord.’

It was Parker who replied, his tone impatient. ‘One needs stature, Nelson, a man who can make the Genoese
sweat a trifle, see that we might not support them if they do not oblige us – and, by damn, they are threatened with the French just along the coast. Naples is with us heart and soul, thanks to Ambassador Hamilton. Such a job as sending despatches to him is not a task for a ship of the line.’

Nelson was an enthusiast as well as a man who wore his feelings on his sleeve, so it was of some interest to Admiral Parker that he looked exceedingly crestfallen.

‘Then, Nelson,’ Hood added, taking up the conversation, ‘once you are done in Genoa, we must find what the Jacobins are up to in Savoy. You will hoist your flag as commodore and take a squadron of frigates to see if we can impede the French as they seek to get into Italy, as they are bound to do. Once there you can bombard away to your heart’s content and send parties ashore to cause mayhem.’

As usual, the prospect of action immediately lifted Nelson’s somewhat downcast spirits; his eyes took on a gleam and he began to move restlessly in his chair, as if he wanted to up and at ’em that very second.

‘And once
HMS Larcher
is done in Naples she can join you, for there is bound to be inshore work for which an armed cutter will be useful.’

‘As you wish, sir.’

‘Now, we must celebrate the fall of Calvi, Nelson, so I will have a message sent round the fleet to assemble tonight for a capital dinner. I’m sure you will be praised to the maintop.’

Parker, listening, was wondering if there was another motive for a celebratory dinner. Hotham would have to be invited as a matter of course and Hood would be able to openly gloat in his presence.

Lieutenant Walcott of the 63rd Foot was pacing the deck of
HMS Larcher
looking with increasing anxiety to the west, to the point where the sun was slowly sinking towards the horizon, wondering at the absence of the damned fellow he had come to call upon? Surely a ship’s captain should be aboard his vessel, not gallivanting about ashore.

Dorling had offered him the use of a chair, which he had declined, yet as he paced he thought on what he had learnt about this John Pearce, who it transpired was no stranger to Leghorn, nor, given what he had earlier had on his arm, to the local ladies.

The navy man had been in these parts before and had got into a scrape with some countess or other, quite a beauty by all accounts, the pair being nearly caught in flagrante by her husband and Pearce forced to flee through the streets in his smalls, carrying his clothing. The information had come about as soon as his name was mentioned at the commissariat, where the bullocks had gone to draw on
the stores that were theirs by right; clearly the fellow was a rake as well as a coward and the butt of what was seen as a humorous tale.

The visitor was not to know it was a story also known to Emily Barclay, for, as well as John Pearce she had been in Leghorn with her husband when it happened and she had marked it as shameful. It was now, however, an incident over which they had, with mutual silence, drawn a discreet veil.

Walcott could suppose that whatever was keeping Pearce from his nautical duties was of the same order of business as that escapade. Remembering what he saw of the filly Pearce had been escorting when he encountered them on the quay induced a definite feeling of jealousy: she too was a rare beauty.

‘Captain has signalled for his boat, sir, and will be with you in a trice.’

‘Thank you.’

Dorling waited a second in the hope he might hear the purpose of the visit, but nothing was forthcoming. The whole crew was just as curious, not sure if Michael O’Hagan was right or wrong when he said, that to his mind, it boded ill and would do their captain no good at all, he being minded to chuck the redcoat in the harbour if given the word.

‘Bound to be trouble if Pearce is to do with it,’ opined Charlie Taverner.

‘No error there, mate,’ Rufus Dommet agreed, and since their opinion was held to be more knowledgeable about their commander it was a crew on edge by the time his boat came alongside and he was piped aboard.

‘I take it, sir, you know who I am?’

‘Not by name, sir.’

‘Lieutenant Walcott, at your service.’

‘And to what do I owe the honour?’

Both men knew the answer to that question, but it fell to the bullock to speak. ‘I am here on behalf of Major Lipton who has asked me, as his second, to tell you that he demands satisfaction for the cowardly way you have struck him on two occasions.’

The whole ship was listening, both on deck and those below, exchanging knowing nods; it came as no surprise to hear that their commander had belted some cove. Twice was seen as a plus, not a black mark.

‘He does not feel that experience mitigates against exposing himself to danger?’

‘He is a soldier, sir, danger is part of our profession, as it is of yours.’

‘His shoulder,’ Pearce said softly. ‘The nature of our encounter did not allow me to ask if it is fully healed?’

‘There is no reason for him to avoid what must be done.’

‘And if I offered Major Lipton a full apology?’

That got suppressed gasps from the crew; their man was in no way shy, quite the opposite.

‘It would not be accepted. Also, since you struck the blow, Major Lipton insists that should you agree to give him satisfaction he reserves the right to choose the weapons.’

‘Very well.’

‘All that remains for you to do is to send me your second and we can finalise the arrangements for the time and place of the encounter. We are billeted at the Pensione d’Ambrosio.’

That the man he was addressing then laughed confused Walcott, but he could not know, and John Pearce was not about to tell him, that he would be hard-pressed to find
anyone to second him; it had to be a fellow officer and as of this moment he knew no one in Leghorn apart from the Navy Board captain with whom he had spent an hour in dispute.

‘My boat crew will take you ashore.’

‘Obliged.’

It was getting dark now, pinpricks of light appearing in the buildings that lined the shore. Pearce stood rock still as the army man got down into his boat, which immediately set off. It was almost at the quayside before he moved, calling for Dorling to come to his cabin and to bring with him the lists of men he had targeted for leave.

Michael O’Hagan saw to the lanterns being lit before departing. Sitting opposite each other, Pearce knew that the ship’s master was dying to ask him about the recent conversation on deck, which had his captain concentrating on the paper before him, about which he had only one reservation.

‘I see you have put O’Hagan, Taverner and Dommet down for the very first batch. Better leave them for a day, since I would not want them to appear specially favoured.’ Even if he did not look up he knew that had been received with an understanding nod. ‘I must also tell you that I will be spending most of my time ashore, so I will be able to keep an eye out for our lads.’

He did look up then, into a face that had gone utterly blank; Dorling would never say it or even give a hint of what he knew: if John Pearce was ashore, the only thing he would have eyes for was not going to be male or naval.

‘I have indented for the following,’ Pearce said, passing over the list of stores they could expect. ‘I will leave it to you to stow the holds with what hands are left aboard.’

‘Aye, aye, sir. Might I enquire as to where we are headed next, the lads are agog to know?’

The temptation to say bollocks had to be suppressed; only Dorling would care about that. To a man, the crew of
Larcher
would be thinking of wine and women, as well as counting out what coin they could muster and setting that against what pleasure it would pay for. Thinking on that reminded him that Charlie and Rufus had been taken from a receiving ship straight onto a warship. They might be utterly bereft on that commodity and he owed it to them to provide the remedy.

‘I have set an anchor watch, sir, if that is acceptable.’

‘Of course, but we will need sentinels as well, and rig lantern aloft, for we are sure to be given a visit from the local villains.’

Michael O’Hagan entered as soon as Dorling departed and there was no need, given the look in his eye, for him to speak: he expected to be told what was afoot and he was indulged, wearily but fully, leaving Pearce a little nonplussed that his predicament seemed to amuse his friend.

‘I don’t know what’s so funny!’

‘Sure, John-boy, we’re not much alike, ’cepting when it comes to trouble. If it don’t follow us about we seem fitted to go out and find it.’

If the connection was tenuous, that brought to him an image of his actions in La Rochelle and with that the face of the man who had commanded
HMS Faron
, the ship on which they sailed to the Bay of Biscay. Henry Digby had been gifted no knowledge of what had happened in Gibraltar when they were there together, but he was in Leghorn, and surely, given the adventures they had subsequently shared, he would not decline to act for him.

‘I had a thought while talking to Dorling,’ Pearce said, still thinking on that while he fetched out his purse. ‘Charlie and Rufus are probably a bit light on coin, so I’d best give you some to see them right.’

‘What about pay?’

Pearce shook his head, that having been another discussion he had been obliged to undertake while ashore and if he had complained it was to no avail: the man who held the British Government funds in the Grand Duchy of Tuscany had seen him off; when it came to sailors’ pay, bigger and better fish than he.

‘There’s not enough specie in Leghorn, or the whole of Tuscany if what I am told is true, to pay ships’ crews, and if it is a lie there’s damn all I can do about it. So the best you can ask for is a pay warrant to discount with the locals. I would say it’s better to spend what you have than be dunned for a good half of what you are owed.’

‘It so happens, John-boy, that I am a trifle light myself.’

On previous occasions, John Pearce might have just chucked his purse to Michael and told him to help himself, but in discussing pay he had become acutely aware that he was bearing a degree of expense now that was greater than hitherto. He had to shell out for Emily’s board and lodging, with no certain knowledge of how long that would last, the only conviction being whatever it was it must be met. So he doled out a couple of guineas, which brought from his friend a weird look.

‘Leghorn is cheap, Michael, and also, if I leave you on a rein it is for your own good.’

‘Jesus, this servant lark is no good at all, lest you can’t stand the man you’re seeing to.’

‘Meaning?’

Michael stood up, or rather crouched over, a look on his face that mystified his friend, for it was not kindly. ‘Then you can steal what you require instead of asking for it.’

Once he was gone, Pearce got out paper, ink and set to sharpening his quill. He had logs to complete, but also he needed to write to London, first to Alexander Davidson, his prize agent, to see if he could remit some money to the Mediterranean, then to his attorney, Lucknor, to inform him he would not, as he had supposed, be returning immediately to England and to send out to him any progress he had made in the case against Ralph Barclay.

That reminded him: one of Lucknor’s letters had been to Henry Digby. Was it a subject to raise with him, or one better left dormant, given his needs? What did Digby think of Barclay?

Still in London and continuing to claim the need to seek medical advice, Ralph Barclay was in receipt of better treatment than he had received from the Duke of Portland, but then the man in whose office he sat had seen him for some time as a source of profit, for the fees to be gained from handling the prize money of naval officers could be lavish, while the income that came from then investing and managing those monies was even more lucrative if properly handled.

That Ralph Barclay had been part of the recent successful action only added to his lustre; the total payout for the Glorious First was reckoned at over two hundred thousand pounds, and even if he were at odds with Lord Howe regarding his conduct, he would get his full share.

To this partner in the firm of Ommany and Druce, matters had been set up to guarantee satisfaction, for Barclay had as a clerk and secretary a fellow called Cornelius Gherson, a man who had a less than honest past and could be bought; he was as keen to see his own pockets bulge as that of his master.

It was not, however, a wholly happy interview. Edward Druce had managed to deflect Barclay for some time as he listened to his litany of complaints regarding the recent battle, during which the captain kept glancing over the prize agent’s head to a painting of another fleet action in which he had been present, if, as a frigate commander, less closely involved. This was the Battle of the Saintes, an encounter in which his one-time patron, the late Lord Rodney, had trounced the Comte de Grasse.

‘And that was a proper fleet, not like that parcel we encountered off Ushant,’ Barclay declared, when he finally made a comparison and pointed at the huge canvas. ‘The flower of the Royal French Navy was what Rodney beat, not some suddenly elevated numbskull tainted by revolution!’

He’s had too much claret, Druce thought, but if his glass was empty, and it was, there was little choice but to top it up, this in the hope that his client would burble on about naval battles and stay off the subject of his missing wife. When Emily Barclay had disappeared, a thief taker called Hodgeson had been employed, through Druce, in order that she should be found and returned to the matrimonial home, forcibly if necessary.

There had been a worry, voiced by the thief taker, a very experienced and canny fellow, that Barclay could not be trusted; that he might, when his wife was located and he was told of her whereabouts, act outside the law and that was voiced before there
was any mention of the involvement of another man, which was bound to heighten whatever feeling Barclay had. Though it had never been openly stated, there was the possibility of harm coming to the lady, of which Hodgeson wanted to be no part and neither did the man who had engaged him.

The other worry for Druce was the fellow Gherson, sat in the basement as of this very moment, going though the list of investments, as well as profits and expenses, even the odd small loss, so that he could reassure his master that the Ommany and Druce activities were sound.

God forbid Hodgeson should ever find him, for Edward Druce’s brother-in-law definitely wanted Gherson dead, indeed he had tried to dispose of him previously, with his relative by marriage unwittingly supplying the thugs, moonlighting members of the Impress Service, this to satisfy the way Gherson had dallied with the man’s wife.

Druce had also agreed to find Barclay’s clerk, then sent Hodgeson off on entirely the wrong scent with a description at total odds with Gherson’s very obvious appearance; the fellow was too profitable to the business to be put at any risk. He had described him as dark, swarthy and unprepossessing, instead of being what he was: near white of hair and with an absurdly handsome countenance. Such unwelcome ruminations were brought to a halt as Barclay’s voice rose to a pitch of irritation.

‘Medals to be struck, pensions granted, promotions to flag rank all around and what do I get? Nothing but spiteful lies.’

‘It is to be much regretted, Captain Barclay, for if I was not myself present, I cannot but believe you acted with noble endeavour. Were it in my power to alter matters I would put all my efforts to doing so.’

‘Just as I hope you have put in such efforts to find my wife! I had hoped, on my return to shore, there would be some information, indeed the place where she is skulking.’

His glass being drained again, Druce topped it up, thinking two unrelated thoughts: that it was a good thing Barclay did not have two hands and, though contentedly married himself, that matrimony could be a cesspit. In both the cases he was reluctantly dealing with, a great difference in age seemed to lie at the root of the trouble.