‘Mr Neame tells me we will raise Naples by nightfall, sir, but recommends standing off till dawn.’
‘Very wise, Mr Pearce, even in such an open bay there are too many islands.’
‘I was wondering, sir, if you would see it as consistent with your dignity, that you accompany me to meet with Sir William Hamilton?’
Digby’s jaw dropped to his chest and he stood in an attitude of deep study and Pearce knew what was going through his mind. He had not had a chance to present his compliments to the Hamiltons on the first visit; could he consider it now or would that make him look like a pawn to his premier? Could he add anything to the mission Pearce was on, or would he be left to stand idly by looking like a fool? Against that, there was his position as master and commander of this vessel. He was almost obliged to pay his respects, and not to do so might be seen as unbecoming arrogance, not something he would wish the British ambassador to think if his name ever came up.
‘I am merely waiting upon Sir William to hear the result of his conversations with Queen Caroline, sir,’ Pearce added, moving closer so as not to be overheard.
‘You will understand that such matters do not enter into my consideration, Mr Pearce. I merely think that a failure to make myself known to Sir William, which as the ship’s captain is my duty, would border on impertinence.’
‘I so agree, sir,’ Pearce replied happily.
Winter it might be, but it was a bright, clear day as they opened the Bay of Naples and this time it came to them in all its glory, the wide sweep from Ischia down to Sorrento, white sands intermingled with colourful villages, the Palazzo Reale splendid in its mile-long frontage, with the dramatic backdrop of the older castle of Saint Elmo and smoking Vesuvius as the crown of the view. They had obviously been sighted from the shore, for they had hardly anchored before they could see, in the boat approaching with some haste, the figure of Sir William Hamilton, clearly intent on coming aboard.
‘Man ropes at the gangway,’ Pearce shouted, ‘and hands standing by to help our visitor.’
‘Mr Pearce,’ Digby said, ‘make sure you do not forget the salute.’
‘And the ambassador, sir?’
‘Will have to share it with royalty.’
The brass signal gun was booming away as Sir William clambered aboard, helped up the man-ropes with a sailor at each side and one below to prevent a fall. As he made the quarterdeck he raised his hat to the ship’s flag.
‘Mr Pearce,’ he said, in a slightly breathless way.
Pearce spoke quickly, his mind firmly on his captain’s dignity. ‘May I present to you Henry Digby, master and commander of HMS Faron.’
‘I am delighted to welcome you aboard, sir,’ said Digby, as the last boom of the salute died away.
‘Obliged,’ Hamilton said, impatiently, ‘but I have little time, Captain, for pleasantries. Mr Pearce, I need a word with you in private. I have a message for Lord Hood, and I wish it to be delivered with all speed.’
Damn, thought Pearce, as he saw Digby’s face close up. Hamilton had not spoken quietly, so half the ears on the ship, busy with the aftermath of anchoring, had heard those words.
‘I would ask that Captain Digby join us, sir,’ he said hurriedly.
Sir William Hamilton looked perplexed, being well aware that Pearce had come to him with a private and verbal message, hence his desire to send back his reply in a like manner.
‘I have made the captain privy to our discussion,’ Pearce said, very quietly.
‘So be it, Mr Pearce, that is for you to decide.’
Digby spoke then, and the hurt was plain in his tone. ‘Please, Sir William, use my cabin. I have many duties to perform in getting ship anchored.’
‘I should put aside any thought of that, Captain. What I have to say to Mr Pearce will brook no delay. You must set sail for Toulon as soon as I am back in my boat.’ The ambassador looked hard at Digby to ensure he understood, then snapped, ‘Mr Pearce, lead the way.’
It was a red-faced Henry Digby they left on deck, and a very unhappy John Pearce who led the older man to the privacy of the main cabin. Door closed, Sir William wasted no time. ‘We have had a communication from Prince Pignatelli requesting permission to evacuate his men, and asking that we send ships for the purpose. You will readily appreciate that in the face of such a message the notion of sending more troops is not something to consider.’
‘May I ask what has happened to bring this about?’
‘I do not know, but it is clear the fellow thinks the situation is bad and likely to get worse. Lord Hood must be told of his feelings so he has a chance to ensure that Prince Pignatelli does not withdraw his men prematurely. I must urge you to bend on every sail you possess, and get this to the admiral with haste so he can act to counter it.’
‘I would be obliged, Sir William, if that is a request you could put to the captain of the ship.’
‘Very well.’
‘And while you are doing that, I will fetch for you the letters I brought back from Captain Nelson.’
There was a brief flash of something across the ambassador’s face then, like impatience, but there was no time to wonder on that as he spun round and went out through the cabin door. The passing of letters and his return to his boat were two things quickly done, and as soon as the rowers unhooked, Digby gave the orders to man the capstan. They were back at sea within half a glass, that view they had so admired now disappearing over the stern.
The news of Captain Barclay’s lost arm rippled through HMS Brilliant, producing a raft of reactions. For Lieutenant Glaister, with so many officers engaged on shore duty, it allowed him to dream of a step up. He would not get a frigate, but in the shuffle attendant on providing his present ship with a new captain – given that such a wound as Barclay had sustained would take months from which to recover – all things were possible.
Then he turned his mind to those purloined stores, and that was a worry. Any new commanding officer coming aboard would wonder at the way the frigate’s holds were filled to near bursting with everything marked as French. He would see it as illegal and he would know such a thing could not have happened without his connivance, while the chances of him being like-minded regarding the profits to be made were low. They had to be got rid of, for if it were exposed, he would be ruined. Not much point in a quick gain from larceny if he forfeited his career.
Gherson likewise had cause to consider what to do, especially when Glaister told him of his conclusion. Ralph Barclay had snatched him from the lower deck to become his clerk. He needed the man to get well, or he had to find another officer in need of his skills, perhaps a newly commissioned captain on this very ship. As to the stores, the idea of selling them was fine for a naval officer, who knew their value. He did not, and would likely be cheated if he tried to shift them without help. Reluctantly, he had to agree with Glaister. Only the purser baulked at that idea, but he could not hold out against their combined view.
It was fortunate that Glaister received orders to warp HMS Brilliant out of the inner harbour, which had come under intermittent cannon fire, a task he decided to undertake in the pre-dawn. Full casks sank, anything from nails to powder, as did bolts of canvas. The cable lengths of cordage did float, but not much more than that was left in the wake of the frigate as, once clear of the harbour, she raised her topsails to the morning light and sailed out to take station with the rest of the fleet.
Approaching Toulon, every man on board with half a brain could see that the situation in the enclave had deteriorated. The French cannon were much further forward than previously, and the fire they were laying down took in not only the redoubts, but the town, the citadel, the inner harbour and the dockyard. Making straight for Victory, Pearce was in to a boat and rowing across before his ship had come to rest. There was no delay either in him getting to see Lord Hood, finding sitting before him a man whose face looked weary, evidence of the strain he was under. Pearce delivered his message, which was bad, then underlined that with the
negative dispatch from Commodore Linzee.
‘Parker, we must get the prince aboard and ask him to stay his hand.’
‘I will send a message now, milord.’
Parker exited to carry out that task, and Pearce asked, wondering why he was feeling sorry for a man who had so used him as some kind of pawn, ‘How bad is it, sir?’
Hood looked at him for a moment, as though he was thinking if the questioner was worthy of a reply, but eventually he sighed and obliged.
‘All over bar the shouting, Pearce, if we have no more troops. Without a proper attack, and with what we have now I cannot risk it, the French will have their guns up to close off the entrance to the Petite Rade within the week, and once that happens the fleet must haul off to avoid being destroyed.’
‘And the French warships?’
‘We will take what we can man and burn the rest, Pearce, once we have set fire to and destroyed their arsenal and dockyards.’
‘I have no idea how many folk there are in Toulon—’
‘Too many, Pearce,’ Hood interrupted, ‘far too many. Much as I would like to take them all off, it will be impossible.’
‘You will be leaving them, sir, to a grim fate.’
‘I reassure myself, Pearce, that I saved them from one some months ago. If Carteaux and his rabble had taken the port then, how many would have died?’
There was no point in alluding to the number of refugees that had since come into the port, Hood knew that as well as anyone, nor was there any point in asking what else might be done; the admiral would have been through that a hundred times. Though it seemed callous to raise the matter, Pearce was forced to ask about the promise made to him being redeemed.
‘At your convenience, Pearce,’ Hood replied, in a tone so weary it seemed unlike the same man who was forever castigating him for his insolence. ‘I will make available to you the court martial papers, and you can use one of my under-secretaries’ offices to make a fair copy. You would oblige me, if you were to say in future, that I had no hand in what you will do.’
‘Thank you, milord.’
That brought a flash of the old Hood back. ‘Milord? By damn, Pearce, have a care. You are, young sir, succumbing to a bout of manners.’
‘I must also ask how I am to get myself and my companions back to England?’
‘There will be transports loading the wounded from the St Mandrier hospital within a day or so. You and your companions will be ordered aboard that. Naturally, as many wounded men as possible will be taken back to England, especially the sailors. The wards at Haslar will be full for some time.’
‘Forgive me for mentioning this, sir, but will not the locals panic when they see the wounded being evacuated?’
Hood stood up and went to look out of his casement windows, and for the first time Pearce was aware of this old man’s spindly legs. He felt, unbidden as it was, a degree of respect for a fellow of seventy still able to command a fleet.
‘That is the worry, Pearce. We must begin to make preparations this very day, and move slowly so as to avoid mayhem. But we won’t succeed, boy, we won’t succeed.’
Pearce was thinking of Barras, Fréron and Augustine Robespierre. That guillotine in the square at Villefranche would be replicated in Toulon, and the blood would run like a torrent as they took their revenge.
‘The court martial papers, milord.’
‘Help yourself, Pearce. I would not want it said I gave them to you.’
As much as he knew what had taken place in that floating courtroom, John Pearce was surprised at the sheer blatant nature of the lies, but he had to stop himself from merely reading and write quickly to get down the mass of evidence, visited every so often by a flustered Hyde Parker and told to get a move on. It took hours and all the time the thunder of gunfire echoed across the bay. When he finished, he used one of the under-secretaries’ oilskin pouches to house the evidence, then tucked it into his coat. He waited till Parker made another visit, acknowledged he was finished and made his way to the entry port. He had what he needed now: he had his Pelicans as good as free.
Climbing into his boat, John Pearce looked forward in happy anticipation to telling them to gather up their dunnage, telling them they were all about to shift ship to the hospital ship. That so, what had happened to them in the Pelican would be redressed, and they would be home and free from King George’s Navy.
IF YOU ENJOYED THIS, YOU MIGHT LIKE TO READ OTHER TITLES BY DAVID DONACHIE IN THE JOHN PEARCE SERIES.
OR WHY NOT TRY HIS REPUBLIC AND CONQUEST SERIES, WRITTEN UNDER THE NAME JACK LUDLOW?
READ ON TO FIND OUT MORE…
THE JOHN PEARCE SERIES
BY DAVID DONACHIE
BY THE MAST DIVIDED
London 1793: Young firebrand John Pearce is illegally press-ganged from the refuge of the Pelican tavern to a brutal life aboard HMS Brilliant, a frigate on its way to war. In the first few days Pearce discovers the Navy is a world in which he can prosper. But he is not alone; he is drawn to a group of men – fly Charlie Taverner; quiet Ben Walker; tired old Abel Scrivens; the bairn of the group, Rufus Dommet; the droll, tough Irish labourer, Michael O’Hagan; and the bumptious Gherson – pressed men like him, who eventually form an exclusive gun crew, the Pelicans, with Pearce their elected leader.
During an action-packed two weeks, as HMS Brilliant chases a French privateer across the English Channel, this disparate group of men form friendships that will last a lifetime.
THE JOHN PEARCE SERIES
BY DAVID DONACHIE
A SHOT ROLLING SHIP
Pressed into King George’s Navy for the second time in a month, John Pearce and his Pelicans find themselves working aboard HMS Griffin, a slow and over crowded ship, sailing the Channel in search of the numerous French privateers that prey on English merchant shipping: her task to stop them and, if possible, to capture or destroy them.
But Pearce has greater things on his mind: he must rescue his ailing father from the dangers of revolutionary Paris, and to do that he must somehow leave the ship. He does so with the help of Benjamin Colbourne, the Captain aboard Griffin.
Travelling to France, Pearce discovers that his worst fears have become reality: he is too late to save his father, who is sent to the guillotine. Pearce is left with no choice but return to the Griffin to put right the appearance of betrayal with which he left, and to learn his sea-going trade in order to exact revenge.
THE JOHN PEARCE SERIES
BY DAVID DONACHIE
AN AWKWARD COMMISSION
Stranded in Portsmouth, John Pearce has once again failed to secure the release of those who depended on him – his fellow Pelicans. They have been shipped off to the Mediterranean while he was indulging himself in London. So he must take ship and follow them. His application to William Pitt for a place finds him as 8th lieutenant on HMS Victory, flagship of Admiral Lord Hood.
South and ahead of him, his Pelicans are serving under a flogging captain, but all is not lost as each of the gang does what he can to promote himself – O’Hagan fights to establish his place in the below decks hierarchy; Taverner carves out a niche where his trickery can work to the gang’s advantage; Gherson ends up as secretary to Rear Admiral Ralph Barclay.
As the action moves to the main French Mediterranean port of Toulon, the tension between crews and captains intensifies, coming to a brilliant head when the HMS Brilliant is detached from the fleet under the orders of Captain Horatio Nelson, bound for North Africa.
THE JOHN PEARCE SERIES
BY DAVID DONACHIE
A FLAG OF TRUCE
1793. Returning triumphant from a successful mission in Corsica, Lieutenant John Pearce receives a mixed welcome, particularly from his arch-enemy, Captain Ralph Barclay. But with the Siege of Toulon escalating in violence and the revolutionary army preparing to attack, all thoughts of revenge must be put on hold as Pearce is entrusted with escorting five thousand radical French sailors to a port on the Atlantic coast, where they are to be set f
ree. When their assignment goes awry, it is up to Pearce and his comrades to prevent the inevitable bloodshed, but challenging the agents of the French Revolution as well as their navy could be a fatal mistake…
Set against the backdrop of the bloody French Revolution, A Flag of Truce brilliantly combines a gripping adventure with intricate historical detail, to explosive effect.
THE REPUBLIC SERIES
WRITTEN AS JACK LUDLOW
THE PILLARS OF ROME
A cave hacked out of the rock, lit by flickering torches…two young boys appeal to the famed Roman oracle for a glimpse into their future. The Sybil draws a blood-red shape of an eagle with wings outstretched. An omen of death. As they flee from the cave in fear, Aulus and Lucius make an oath of loyalty until death. An oath that will be tested in the years to come.
Thirty years on and Aulus, now Rome’s most successful general, faces his toughest battle. Barbarian rebels have captured his wife, and are demanding the withdrawal of Roman legions from their land in return for her life. It is unthinkable for Aulus to agree, and he fears her life must be forfeit to Rome. Meanwhile, Lucius has risen to high rank in the Senate; a position he uses and abuses. But when Lucius is suspected of arranging a murder, the very foundations of the Republic are threatened. Lucius and Aulus soon find themselves on very different sides of the conflict – perhaps the prophecy of the eagle will come true after all.
THE REPUBLIC SERIES
WRITTEN AS JACK LUDLOW
THE SWORD OF REVENGE
‘One shall tame a mighty foe, the other strike to save Rome’s fame, neither will achieve their aim. Look aloft if you dare, though what you fear cannot fly, both will face it before you die.’
The Admirals' Game Page 26