by David McDine
Anson managed the ghost of a smile.
‘As to your face, well, it’s as neat a piece of needlework as I’ve seen and all being well the stitches can be removed in a day or two.’
‘Obliged to you, doctor,’ Anson whispered huskily.
Doctor Hawkins nodded benevolently. ‘Now, you’ll need lots of bed rest and, I think, only liquid food until your face is healed. Chicken soup would be capital. But first we must get you cleaned up.’
‘Oh, no!’ Anson thought, remembering his earlier convalescence at Ludden Hall.
And yes, it was the redoubtable Emily, she of ample girth and hint of a moustache, beaming at him, gap-toothed, from the doorway, pitcher of water in hand and flannel and towels over her arm.
Helpless as a baby, Anson could do no more than to submit to another bed-bath at the work-coarsened hands of the sometime nurse and layer out of the dead of the parish.
43
The Weakest Link
Captain Hoare crossed the Admiralty’s cobbled courtyard with a spring in his step.
Word of his successes against privateers had reached their lordships, he knew. He had made sure of that himself.
And now, being alongside Nelson himself during the raid on Boulogne surely added to the kudos he had earned.
Could they be about to offer him a more prestigious and salubrious posting, or perhaps a decoration? Captain Arthur Veryan St Cleer Hoare, Commander of the Bath, had quite a ring to it.
Being kept on tenterhooks in the infamous waiting room was an occupational hazard but he was nevertheless relieved to be summoned forth after a relatively short sojourn.
Hoare was ushered in to find Captain Wallis, whom he knew, seated behind a large desk with a rear admiral who was not known to him. Neither greeted him, and, unusually he thought, the admiral did not introduce himself.
He waited, a little apprehensive. He had expected that this summons must be to do with official recognition for the capture of Égalité, but the cool reception had sparked a flickering doubt.
After seconds that seemed like minutes, the admiral asked abruptly: ‘Hoare?’
‘Yes, sir, Captain Hoare.’
‘Be seated.’
‘Thank you, sir. May I ask—?
The admiral ignored his half-asked question and barked: ‘You know Captain Wallis, I believe?’
Hoare directed a rictus grin at Wallis but got no reaction. ‘I do, sir.’
‘He – we – have some questions for you concerning the taking of a privateer operating out of Normandy. Égalité was it not?’
‘Yes, sir, I had the honour of …’
‘And is this a copy of the report you subsequently sent to their lordships?’ The admiral slipped a sheet of foolscap across the desk.
Hoare scanned it quickly. ‘It is, sir.’
The admiral turned to Wallis. ‘Ask away.’
Wallis cleared his throat and asked: ‘Captain Hoare, to what degree if any were you involved in planning this operation?’
‘From start to finish …’ Rattled, Hoare almost called Wallis ‘sir’, but conscious that although his questioner was his senior they were of the same rank, so refrained.
‘Elucidate.’
‘Well, I er, I wrote to request signal stations along the coast to pass me intelligence of the privateer’s movements.’
‘You wrote?’
‘Indeed, the letter bears my signature.’
‘Was it not Lieutenant Anson whose initiative this was, and who drafted the letter for your signature?’
‘I dispute that. The captain of a ship or establishment is deemed responsible for everything that occurs under his command, is he not?’
Wallis brushed aside the question. ‘And who formed the plan to lure the privateer into a trap, made such arrangements that were necessary with Commander Armstrong at Fairlight, and so forth?’
‘All this took place under my command.’
‘Not at your command?
‘It was as I said, under my command. Surely a captain cannot expect to know precisely what every bilge rat is up to …’
Wallis exchanged a knowing glance with the admiral. ‘Let us now turn to the capture itself. Were you there?’
Hoare looked from one to the other nervously. ‘As my report says, I was present to take the surrender of the French officer. I have his sword still.’
‘But you arrived after the fighting was over, did you not, and found that the Frenchman had already struck and surrendered his sword to Lieutenant Anson?’
‘The wretched Frog still had his sword!’
‘Is it not the case that Anson had given it back to him as an honourable gesture because the French captain had ordered his men to lay down their arms to avoid further unnecessary bloodshed?’
Hoare spluttered: ‘That uppity fellow Anson has engineered this! It’s nothing but a stitch-up!’
‘No, Captain Hoare, Lieutenant Anson has not seen fit to challenge your account, preferring to remain silent on the matter. However, Commander Armstrong, Lieutenant Coney – and the French officer himself, who is now a guest of His Majesty in the Chatham hulks – have been interviewed in depth—’
‘You’d take the word of a Frenchman?’
‘Over yours, yes. It is clear from what all three have told us that your version of what occurred before and during this whole affair is a gross exaggeration, sir, at the very least.’
Hoare’s mouth worked but no words came forth.
Wallis continued: ‘You took no part in the planning or execution of this operation. What’s more when it was all over you thought fit to reprimand Anson for carrying it out behind your back.’
‘Yes, yes, it was rank insubordination!’
‘Nevertheless, although you had not been involved you took the credit and passed yourself off to the local mayor and anyone else who would listen as the hero of the hour?’
Hoare stammered: ‘N-no, you don’t understand, I …’ He looked pleadingly at Wallis. ‘Look, is this any way to treat a fellow captain? You besmirch my honour.’
The admiral held up his hand to stop Captain Wallis’s questioning and took over himself, staring Hoare down with a piercing glare.
‘Honour be damned!’ Captain Wallis has my full authority – their lordships’ authority – to put these questions to you. And it is plain that your report of the Égalité business is a total misrepresentation of what occurred.’
‘I protest!’
‘It is also a fact that since the Égalité affair you have managed to sink one of our own merchantmen rather than another privateer that was attacking it?’
‘It was merely a coaster, and you cannot make omelettes without—’
’Omelettes? Are you completely deluded? And to cap it all we are informed that you have hoodwinked the town worthies and persuaded them to present you with a sword of honour to recognise your so-called victories.’
Hoare put his hand to his forehead, for once speechless.
‘You, sir, are a disgrace to the navy. You should be court-martialled and drummed out of the service.’
The admiral paused to let his words sink in before demanding: ‘Well, what d’you have to say?’
Hoare looked up, red-eyed and despairing. ‘Anson betrayed me, sir. He kept what he was up to from me. I should have been kept in the picture. He, well, it’s plain that he was trying to grab the glory for himself. I just wanted to put him in his place. I’ve sensed from the start that he’s never liked me.’
The admiral shook his head. ‘Fortunately the service doesn’t rely on who likes who. Has it not occurred to you that your lieutenants get on with things without consulting you because you are seldom available? You are too busy hobnobbing with the local bigwigs, enjoying the social scene and whatnot, are you not?’
Hoare protested: ‘I take the view, sir, that becoming part of the social scene is of considerable importance on the invasion coast.’
‘What view you take is of no interest to me whatsoever, Capta
in Hoare. Were it not for the fact that your report has been Gazetted and those dim-witted locals have presented you with that ridiculous inscribed sword, you would surely be court-martialled.’
He tapped a copy of the Kentish Gazette on his desk with the report of the presentation circled in ink. It had been sent to the Admiralty with a note briefly outlining the bare facts of the privateer incident by some-one signing themselves “a well-wisher”.
Hoare cringed.
‘Yes, you should be court-martialled. However, such a step would not only expose and punish you, but it would also bring disgrace upon the service. It would make the navy into a laughing stock at a time when we need to enhance its reputation as saviours of the nation, not to be portrayed as a bunch of clowns.’
The admiral picked up another file and opened it. ‘Are you aware of a Colonel Redfearn – and his role?’
‘Y-yes.’
‘This is a report from him stating that intelligence was reported to you of the French installing strong anti-boarding nets and chaining the Boulogne flotilla together so that their ships could not be cut out during Nelson’s recent raid.’
Hoare blanched again.
‘It states clearly that you were made aware of this before the raid and yet did not relay the information to Colonel Redfearn, or indeed, Lord Nelson, although you sailed with him in Medusa and had every opportunity to do so. What’s more, the colonel states that papers taken from the French in Boulogne before the raid and handed to you failed to reach him until after the event. Is that the case?’
Hoare put his head in his hands. ‘All preparations had been made. Nelson would have thought me lily-livered if I had tried to stop the operation on account of a few chains.’
Wallis shook his head slowly. ‘Have you not heard of the chain of command? You should have done, because you are the weakest link in it! It was not for you to pick and choose what to tell the admiral. If Lord Nelson had been in possession of the information about the chains he could have acted accordingly.’
Hoare protested weakly: ‘But I believed I was acting in the best interests of the service …’
The admiral favoured him with a look of disgust. ‘Best interests? You say you thought you were acting in the best interests of the service but as a result many men were killed or maimed and the operation failed!’
‘But—’
‘What’s more, you were in possession of a plan of the French defensive line and the positions of shore batteries – a plan obtained at great personal risk by two very brave officers, and yet you chose not to pass it to Colonel Redfearn or Nelson.’
‘I, er, forgot about the sketch. It was in my jacket, but, well, it was only on the way back that I remembered it,’ Hoare admitted weakly.
Shaking his head, the admiral closed the file in front of him.
‘Sadly we cannot court martial you for the reasons I have already outlined. However, it would be improper, totally improper, for you to remain as divisional captain. Too many within and outside the service know of these matters. So we must look to your next posting. You are a West Countryman, are you not?’
Despite his dejection, Hoare sensed a lifeline was being thrown to him and could not resist boasting: ‘I am indeed, sir, and related to some of the foremost families in Devon and Cornwall.’
‘Well, it has pleased their lordships to create a post that will suit you down to the ground: resident naval officer in the Isles of Scilly. Charming scenery and a wonderful climate, I believe, although a trifle windy much of the time – off the Atlantic, you see. You will remain there until we can think of a way of ridding the navy of you altogether without attracting attention.’
Hoare’s horror-stricken expression said it all. ‘But the Scillies are the farthest west you can go, totally cut off from civilisation—’
‘Precisely. You put it far better than I could. Personally I would have sent you to Muckle Flugga or even Botany Bay. Either would have been more in keeping with your offences!’
‘But—’
‘But nothing. You will need to keep an eye out for enemy shipping passing by, arrange the replenishment of the odd ship that touches the islands for watering and that sort of thing, but I understand the duties are minimal. The social life of which you are so fond probably lacks a little sophistication, so I do hope time doesn’t hang too heavily. At least you will be far enough away to avoid doing the navy any further damage.’
Hoare’s mouth had dropped open and stayed open long enough for circling flies to begin taking an interest.
‘Of course, if you’d prefer not to take on the Scillies challenge you can go on half pay and remove yourself somewhere a little more lively. Tunbridge Wells, Bath or Buxton spring to mind. Well what’s it to be?’
The devastated Hoare had been well and truly painted into a corner. After a brief hesitation he muttered almost inaudibly: I accept, sir – the Scilly posting I mean. But, sir, may I—?’
‘May you what?’
‘May I be permitted to keep my presentation sword?’
The admiral snorted: ‘I suppose the burghers of Seagate or whoever they were would start to ask questions if you handed it back, so you’d better keep it as a reminder of a less than honourable episode in your naval service.’
No doubt, the admiral thought, Hoare would soon be showing it to any movers and shakers he might encounter in the Isles of Scilly and portray himself as a hero no matter what had just occurred. But no matter, he would be got rid of once and for all as soon as convenient to the service.
‘Now you may go. But before you leave the building Captain Wallis here will make the necessary arrangements for your delightful new posting.’
Totally crushed, Hoare made to go, but at the door the admiral stopped him.
‘Oh, one last thing. Among the papers Captain Wallis will get you to sign is one relinquishing any claim whatsoever to any prize money that might accrue from the capture of the Normandy privateer Égalité. It would be more fitting if those who actually spilt blood in that enterprise did not have to share with the likes of you.’
44
Convalescence
After a few days the doctor pronounced Anson recovered sufficiently to be helped to a seat in the garden to enjoy the late summer sunshine.
One of the maids set up a small table beside him and Cassandra served tea and biscuits. ‘No need to tap them,’ she assured him mischievously. ‘They are completely weevil-free!’
He managed a genuine smile – rare since the raid. ‘I fear you have been consorting with rough sailors to have learnt of such things, Miss, er, sorry, Cassandra. Refined ladies should not be aware of the gory details of seamen’s eating habits.’
She laughed – a charming natural laugh that raised his spirits. ‘Tut, tut, Mister Anson, you are the only rough sailor I am acquainted with, so you are entirely to blame if I am turning into a Jolly Jill Tar!’
But a look of concern wiped her smile away when she saw him wince and clutch his shoulder.
‘It still pains you?’
He nodded, eyes closed until the wave of pain subsided. ‘Just a little. You are guilty of making me laugh and when I try to laugh my wound catches me out. But please don’t stop – I can do with all the amusement I can get.’
She took his hand. ‘I’m sorry. The very last thing I want to do is hurt you. Uncle and I thought we had lost you and now we’ll do whatever it takes to make you well again.’
‘I could not be in better hands.’
‘You must know that my uncle is very fond of you. He regards you as the son he never had, just as he treats me as his daughter.’
Anson had a sudden dark thought of Nelson and young Edward Parker, but tried to keep the mood light by quipping: ‘I hope that doesn’t make us brother and sister?’
She blushed and quickly changed the subject. ‘He took to you from the first time he brought you to Ludden Hall when you were taken ill on the stagecoach.’
It had been at the time of the mutiny at the
Nore and Anson looked back with affection at the happy days he had enjoyed while convalescing as the guest of Josiah Parkin.
‘Then, when you went off to sea, he so often mentioned you and wondered how you were faring. And it was a great thrill when he received what was left of your stuffed birds!’
They exchanged smiles and he noticed she still had her hand on his.
‘He had, well, we both hoped that when you returned from the Mediterranean you would come to see us. We didn’t realise at the time that you were a prisoner in France and then so very busy with your Sea Fencibles capturing that Normandy privateer. Then it was such a thrill for my uncle when you turned up with that French officer, Lieutenant Hurel.’
‘Was it a thrill for you, too?’
She blushed again. ‘Of course, although le Baron was perhaps a little over-attentive. But then you were snatched away from us again so quickly. I am coming to believe that the only way we can keep you here is to make sure you are ill or wounded first!’
There was a crunch on the gravel and she drew her hand away. ‘Ah, Uncle Josiah, I was just telling Mister Anson that the only way we can be sure of keeping him here is if he is sick or hurt, as I believe they say in the navy.’
Parkin chuckled. ‘My niece has a point, Anson, but I am delighted to see you looking a little better. Cassandra’s company is clearly more effective than medicine in your case. However, I believe cook wishes to have a word with her about suitable restorative meals for you, and there is something I wish to discuss, so …?’
Cassandra took the hint and went off in search of cook.
Parkin took her place on the garden seat and gave Anson a searching look. ‘You are well enough to discuss a matter of some importance, I trust?’
‘I am, sir.’
‘Well, it concerns your relationship with your family.’
Anson shook his head sadly. ‘That is not a matter for discussion. It was a family affair to do with a proposed marriage of convenience that I rejected.’