Abigail's Cousin

by Ron Pearse

  St John nodded simply remarking: "As such I can make resources available where other means are lacking. We receive intelligence from all quarters so when one door closes, another door might open. It is, knowing. Knowledge is power." St John paused to allow his words to sink in before he went on: "Allow me to summarize your project. It is to assemble a military force to cross the Atlantic and join up with militia from the Colonies in order to mount an attack upon the French city of Quebec. To do this you will need warships and transports."

  "And men!" interrupted Hill though the suggestion was somewhat trite, and St John ignored it, continuing: "My proposition is to provide you with the means to acquire a fleet. How you fill the ships is your business though even here my suggestions might be apposite. Am I making sense?"

  "You are, damn you!" Hill sucked at his pipe which had gone out but waved away St John's offer of a light. It gave him time to think. He said:

  "And what do you want from me?" The question sounded aggressive though St John half expecting it simply said calmly:

  "You do not see Belle again."

  "Is that all!" The comment spat out seemed contemptuous, Hill adding: "With your looks and position." He did not finish but looked across to the other man who eyed him back somewhat sheepishly before admitting:

  "To tell truth, I have fallen for Belle. I do not want to see her hurt. Is that not enough?"

  "You poor sod!" ejaculated Hill and briskly added: "Let me know the details, if you have them."

  "All in good time. First give me your hand." Stretching out his hand he said, "As a gentleman!"

  Hill smirked but took the hand with the comment: "No more Belle!"

  St John said: "I am giving you an admiral instead. His name is Sir Hugh Hovendon Walker who is at present on shore leave in Plymouth."

  "And his bloody fleet?" asked Hill, unreasonably irritated.

  "In Plymouth Sound. He has three ships of the line with sixty guns or more, and other warships and transports."

  Hill said suspiciously: "How come the Admiralty in London do not know about this fleet?"

  "Good question," answered St John, "and easily answered. Mr Churchill is indisposed and I have kept Walker's notification back until he resumes his office. By the time he recovers, you will have sailed, I hope."

  Hill laughed which seemed to discomfit St John who drew out several documents from a valise shoving it under Hill's nose whose laughter had turned into a soft merry chuckle as he tried to read the document. St John said: "Why bother to strain your eyes? The first is an order in council to Admiral Walker to place his transport facilities at your disposal. He will retain command of the fleet at all times."

  "And this!" Hill flashed another document at St John who recognised it and said with gravity: "It is a promissory note for ten thousand pounds sterling drawn upon agents in Plymouth to supply stores, provisions and whatever is necessary within the limit of the note.

  "And my official orders." St John looked with appreciation at Hill before saying: "Your commission is from her majesty. It is in my office."

  Hill said almost derisively: "All this for Belle."

  St John said defensively: "There was another Belle, la belle Helene."

  Hill smirked as he said: "The face that launched a thousand ships."

  St John still defensive said: "Quite appropriate, in a way."

  "Except, I have just a dozen ships."

  "Perhaps, a baker's dozen. There may well be more. The admiral brought several prizes back with him from the Mediteranean."

  "I have not got much time." said Hill showing signs of movement.

  "You still have a few days" interrupted St John, "before you need to make the journey to Plymouth."

  "I have not got much time for drinking." said Hill emphatically adding: "Where is your nearest tavern, Henry, is it?"

  St John chuckled. He liked this man, nodding: "It is not far, brigadier. If, I may join you." Then thought and said: "Hill, Churchill. I hear you are related through the distaff side."

  "Yes," agree Hill, "there is always a woman at the bottom of things. Still I cannot complain as things stand. After all I owe my trip to Quebec to the queen. She made Churchill a duke so I still have some way to go."

  As the two men made their way to the exit, St John said: "What would we do without them?"

  Chapter 21

  A chaise, pulled by a proud-stepping thoroughbred, slowed on meeting the slight incline of the Madeira Road, though its occupant minded not in the least as he might better view the tall masts of his flotilla as it rode at anchor in Plymouth Sound. His sole regret was his cold hands holding the reins because the early morning breeze chilled his knuckles as well as his limbs and he thought nostalgically of the warm breezes he had enjoyed only a month ago before he had received orders to return to home waters though what a homecoming it had been. His mind dwelt upon the text of a letter from her majesty, Queen Anne, notifying him of his elevation to the sacred order of knights.

  Instinctively he put his hand to his breast pocket of his uniform and immediately withdrew it remembering the injunction of his little wife on no account should it leave the house recallling her words: "Hovendon!" His dear lady wife never used his fist name as Hovendon sounded better, "Should you lose it dearest and her majesty ask to see it! No my love, it's safer here with me." In truth Lady Walker kept it by her so she could produce the letter in a flourish of triumph when the locals got a little uppity at her occasional soirees. She and her husband were Irish which seemed to provoke an immediate feeling of superiority among the English no matter where they found themselves. Armed with the letter now lady Walker was in a position to turn the tables, as it were.

  Rear-admiral Sir Hugh Hovendon Walker smiled at his wife's latest idiosyncrasy and marvelled at her reply to his objection. "Why Hovendon, you just let slip your share of the prize money from the Barcelona business and his nob, Sir Percy Lascelles will be eating out of your hands, so help me, he will." The Barcelona business had been a bloody business though he had kept the gory details from her only telling Shelagh how HMS Cumberland had captured two men-o-war and several rich transports conveying bullion to pay the Spanish and French troops in the Netherlands. He cared little for the ultimate intended destination. The Frenchies had met with Hugh Hovendon Walker and his brave lads, and, as a result, he had left Barcelona £10,000 richer than when he had arrived. As the chaise breasted the second rise, he called 'Whoa!" not being able to resist looking out over the Sound, his ships looking even grander from this yet higher vantage point. He took out his telescope and unfolding it, placed it to his right eye and shouted with joy, 'Capital, capital!" before ruefully folding the glass shut and putting it away in his coat pocket. He undid the reins loosely thrown over the splash-back and with a sigh resumed his journey along the Madeira Road.

  On his right were the massive walls of the Citadel, the castle newly built just seventeen years before by Charles II, but for what purpose nobody living would venture a guess. Perhaps it was because Plymouth had been held by Parliament in the Civil War of his ill-fated father and Charles wanted to demonstrate that in the event of another such war, Plymouth would be a royal bastion. The road skirted one of the round turrets and ahead he glimpsed massive doors in front of which stood two musketeers who upon his approach clicked their heels bringing their muskets to the port. He was not sure whether the ceremony was due to his rank or whether that was normal upon sighting approaching visitors.

  Having presented his credentials he sat back to wait and once again with nothing to do thoughts of recent glories crowded all else from his brain. Once again he recalled his little wife's words and smiled wondering if they would make much of an impression upon the gentleman he was to meet.

  We are rich, Hovendon, rich. In your wildest dreams now in those God-forsaken bogs of Ireland, did you ever think of ten thousand golden pounds, and English, at that."

  That is all very well, he thought, for only yesterday a bill had been placed before him to the v
alue of 9852 pounds, six shillings and eleven pence halfpenny for the provisioning of six companies of Foot, some six hundred officers and men. Had he to pay for that, there would be little change from his ten thousand though, thank God, it would be charged against the Crown. His signature was required as Captain-Resident, Plymouth, in fact commander-in-chief, in the absence of the flag officer, called away to other duties by order of the lord high admiral.

  His mind turned to the warrant in his breast pocket signed by the Secretary for War nominating him as commander-in-chief of a secret expedition. It was the reason he was here as the lord-lieutenant, it seemed, was also a party to the secret, and he wondered whether he knew the code word. To his knowledge only four people were privy to it beside himself, her majesty the queen, the Secretary of State, the lord-lieutenant whom he was about to see and a brigadier-general Hill who was due to arrive in Plymouth shortly. Inside the Citadel he heard barked commands and glanced at the two guards, who had resumed their station.

  After one of them had notified another inside via a small door which had opened to the guard's shouted request, nothing seemed to be doing. Perhaps his arrival had taken them by surprise though he recalled with a feeling of pride as his rank, new title and name had been announced, but the door had shut. His thoroughbred shifted uneasily her hooves rattling on the cobblestones. At last he heard bolts drawn across. The two sentries stepped smartly forward, performed a sharp turn and marched a few paces away allowing his chaise to be able to move forward as the massive doors gradually were drawn aside, how he knew not imagining some giant wheel being turned in the Barbican above the stonework housing the entrance. When there was sufficient room, he called to his, as yet unnamed horse, to move forward into the courtyard which opened up before them.

  The subject, meanwhile, of Sir Hugh Hovendon Walker's speculation was indeed on a highway which led to Plymouth though he was in a carriage drawn by four horses, very necessary, for besides brigadier-general Hill sat Serjeant Duncan Mack, as broad and florid in features as his companion was pinched and narrow. "Do ye no ken the country, sir?" remarked serjeant Mack adding: "Tis a pity, if ye do not, for I do like to ken the countryside I am passing through. I wish I knew how many miles still to go. It would be nice to know. Do ye no ken, sir?"

  To the brigadier feeling hot and sweaty in the stuffy atmosphere of the coach, the droning of his serjeant seemed intolerable and tetchily he told him so: "I neither know nor ken. So shut up, man. We shall reach the town when we reach it. Just leave me to my shut-eye." This impatient speech was also heard aloft by the coachman and he sighed for the serjeant as it was typical of the brigadier whose attitude seemed to be that serjeants were lower mortals and, like children, should be seen and not heard.

  The carriage and team plunged onwards driven ably by the coachman who felt constrained as he would have liked to have passed information into the coach but now felt decidedly unwelcome fearing he might become the butt of the brigadier's stream of impatient abuse. Yet in truth he reasoned it would be an unnecessary intervention as he had spotted in the distance some houses which from exprience he knew to be the outskirts of Tavistock, an outlying village not twenty miles removed from Plymouth and he looked forward to clattering over the cobblestones of the Barbican alongside Sutton harbour, long before the onset of evening.

  As he dozed Hill was overcome by a feeling of arrogant well-being as he recalled the letter from the queen announcing his promotion and news of the promulgation in the London Gazette. He would show these upstart, smart-ass officers who hitherto had looked down on him recalling St John's words about dropping the prefix Brigadier and calling himself general. What were St John's words about the cachet of the rank of general telling him, in his cups, it was true, to let them think what they liked. Tell them you were at Blenheim, Oudenarde, Ramillies. You're still only twenty-six and the senior officers cannot fail to consider you as something out of the ordinary, and to the lower ranks you will be a hero.

  St John's advice still echoed. Nobody will mind your not being drawn. True heroes are reticent. So what, it is a pretence. Are we not all pretenders? The biggest pretender sits across the waters. He pretends he could be king of England. He tried and was kicked out by Englishmen. Try a thousand times, you'll not be a worse pretender than he.

  Hill chuckled as he thought of their last boozing bout at the Hog's Head. Whilst they were still relatively sober, St John had advised him to carry a valise. Get your aide-de-camp to carry it. Hill's aide was this brute of a Scotsman beside him. No matter, he kept away the riff-raff. Inside the valise was another of St John's suggestions for a general, a telescope. Yet one cloud, one dark cloud overshadowed his reflections - money. He had learned the hard way when a page in the service of Prince George, that emoluments were often months in arrears which had not worried his fellow pages such as Masham, as Captain Masham, his father, gave him an allowance, and this was true for other pages, except for Hill. His patron had been Sarah Churchill, but even the small allowance from this quarter was stopped when his patron learned of his drinking.

  Now as a general, Hill had still the same problem in that his rightful emoluments were traditionally months in arrears because only gentlemen hitherto with private incomes became generals so that the withholding of a salary was no problem, apart from Brigadier-general Hill, promoted by reason of his sister's influence with the queen of England. But neither woman had thought to provide an allowance. There was only one thing for it and he tapped his valise quietly. Inside were letters of marque, warrants, promissory notes. Promissory notes with the authority of the new Bank of England charging agents in Plymouth to provide the expedition with stores. He would have to see to it that he took his cut. After all St John had alleged that the captain-general himself took his cut, he could not believe it, but if Marlborough did not, his predecessor would have done and his sucessor would do so, that was the tradition. Anyway it was all very well for the duke to be straight as he had a private income, he could afford to be. The first Bank note was for £10,000. Ten percent of that would be a modest share.

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  "Quebec!"

  "To Quebec!" echoed read-admiral Sir Hugh Hovendon Walker in response to the lord-lieutenant's toast. Each raised his glass of claret and while his host sipped his, Walker half-drained the generous glass accustomed as he was to down full tots of rum when he spliced the main-brace and not only when the sun passed over the yardarm.

  "This gentleman, Brigadier Hill, do you know anything about him?" asked the lord-lieutenant, Sir Percy Lascelles to which question Walker showed some surprise, commenting:

  "I was hoping you would fill me in, you being an army man. Nobody I have spoken to has ever heard of the name."

  "Hmm!" grunted Lascelles, "I seem to be in the same boat if you will pardon the expression," he chuckled then said, "mind you, if you have enough of the ready, I suppose you can buy yourself in. What say you?"

  "Not in the Navy, that is for certain. All my promotions have come from meritorious service. Admirals are made not bought.”

  Lascelles raised his eyebrows at this pompous speech and ignored the implied snub about officers in the British Army as he went on to explain:

  "An officer's rank is open for purchase, I do agree, but only usually when there is a vacancy, otherwise the army would be stuffed with incompetent generals."

  It was Walker's turn to raise an eyebrow thinking of William's army but listened politely as Lascelles went on: "It normally takes a lifetime to buy yourself a generalship as officers are not usually permitted to skip a rank in his climb up the greasy pole. Besides, an officer must also be recommended. It is a puzzle."

  Walker fingered his empty glass in the hope of catching Lascelles attention and giving up said: "We have been at war these past nine years, colonel. Perhaps our brigadier has distinguished himself on the field of battle. He is, according to the Gazette, just twenty nine and was present at a number of battles. It p
uts my war service distinctly in the shade. I've been rather proud of my campaigns to date, Cadiz, Gibraltar, Barcelona. I think this young 'un has eclipsed them. He seems to be a real hero of our time."

  "I drink to you, sir." called his host, "You may be twice his age but there are not many men who command the splendid fleet such as I can see from the Citadel." The lord-lieutenant drained his glass and said:

  "Do you have enough ships to take all the men I have mustered?"

  "I have ten warships that I brought from Spain and so far Captain Ponsonby, my second-in-command, has managed to collect a score of transports of one kind or another and more being inspected and added every day How many troops had you at the last muster?"

  "Let me see." the colonel mused aloud: "Six companies of Devon Foot, four of the Somerset Yeomanry. There are three battalions of the Plymouth Fusiliers, right here in the Citadel. That's about it, I warrant."

  "Have you included the six companies of Foot, I signed off yesterday?" Said Walker to which Lascelle responded: "With those added in there should be some three thousand soldiers though mind you none of them has seen any war service and with rumours of a peace in the offing, I doubt that." He stopped before saying as an after-thought, "This Quebec venture will sharpen them up, I daresay. Would you care for a quick tour of the castle rear-admiral?"

  "Capital idea!" responded Walker though Lascelles suddenly frowned and then asked:

  "Would you mind leaving your hat behind, rear-admiral? Protocol you see. In theory you're being senior to me, I should provide you with a guard of honour, but I can see you are not a stickler for such things, eh what!"

  The rear-admiral forced a smile and it was just as well his face did not reveal his thoughts. He would have adored the protocol but sadly left his three-corned admiral's hat in the wardroom as he followed Lascelles who pointed then proceeded up a flight of circular steps which brought them out onto the gun platform, a circular crenellated turret bristling with cannon. Two sentries patrolled the area.