‘I must ask you Captain d’Imbert, what your own feelings are?’
‘Let us say that I, like most of my fellow officers, prefer order to chaos…’
‘Captain Barclay,’ Emily called across de Trogoff, producing an unwelcome distraction to which her husband nevertheless had to respond. ‘Admiral St Julien has invited me to take a carriage ride with him into the hills outside the town. He says there are fields of lavender that stretch for miles, which I may pick to my heart’s content.’
Her husband looked past his wife at the coiffed St Julien, wet-lipped and smiling, his hooded eyes quite unabashed in the way he held the Englishman’s gaze. Ralph Barclay smiled at him, and touched the white bandage on his head before replying, in a gesture designed to ensure this popinjay knew he was a fighter. ‘Tell the Admiral, my dear, that we would be delighted.’
The emphasis was enough to make Emily blush slightly, and she sounded hurt. ‘I do hope you did not think I would go with him alone?’
‘Not for a moment, Mrs Barclay, but I suspect that the Admiral would not object if you did.’ Then he turned to d’Imbert and said, not without irritation, ‘Gallantry, you say?’
‘I fear the Revolution has destroyed more than the ancient monarchy of France. Manners have suffered as well.’
Ralph Barclay was not a patient man, never had been, and that knowing look from St Julien made his next question a sharp one. ‘What support does the junior Admiral have?’
Captain d’Imbert hesitated then, for it was obvious that to reply to such a direct enquiry was to commit an indiscretion much greater than anything he had said hitherto. The truth of that was in the keen look on Ralph Barclay’s face and the Frenchman toyed with his glass of wine while he ruminated on the consequences, with his fellow guest holding his breath for what seemed an age.
‘It would be impossible to be precise. It depends on how many of the sailors would follow their officers.’
‘The officers then, would back Admiral de Trogoff?’
‘Let us just say that their opinions are likely to coincide.’
‘The warrants?’ The look of incomprehension d’Imbert gave him then made him add, ‘The ship’s standing officers. The masters, gunners, bosuns and the like. You know as well as I do that on any warship they are the men, the steady types, that the crew will listen to. If a drastic course of action is proposed you cannot carry the crews without you carry such people.’
‘I would say only this, Captain Barclay. Those who are true seamen, and have served for a time, will not follow St Julien. But you must understand, the fleet has been expanded, and those brought in by the needs of war are not of the same calibre.’
‘Capitaine Barclay,’ said Admiral de Trogoff, ‘Pardonnez-moi…’
The beneficiary of what came next had to wait until d’Imbert translated words that were full of apology for ignoring his guest of honour.
John Pearce sat in idle contemplation as Lord Hood read the private despatches, that followed by the letter from Pitt, recalling the look he had exchanged with the young, fair-haired midshipman, wondering if he had shown any shock to match that which he had observed. He hoped not, for in his imagination he had, many times, conjured up a vision of meeting those who would recall him as a pressed landsman. That Farmiloe would do that he did not doubt; the boy had been with Barclay the night he had been forcibly taken up, so his name was imprinted on Pearce’s mind, and it was not one to conjure up kind thoughts.
‘Are you privy to what is in these papers. Lieutenant?’
‘No, sir, except that Mr Pitt told me some of what he intended to write regarding my needs, based upon submissions I made to him.’
‘About your being pressed?’
‘That, and other things.’
‘He makes much of the mode of your elevation to your present rank, and the reason?’
‘If he included that, I was not aware of it.’
‘I would have objected in the strongest terms had I been available to be consulted. The granting of commissions is the prerogative of those who run the Navy.’
‘Mr Pitt seemed anxious not to upset the King.’
Hood nearly snarled his reply to that. ‘It does sovereigns good to sometimes be disappointed.’ There was a moment when he looked as though he was going to quote a few examples, but the annoyance cleared from both his face and his voice. ‘Let us concentrate on the matter of your alleged impressment for now. I would wish to hear what happened, in your own words.’
Rehearsed so many times, they did not sound half as convincing spoken as they had in his head, and he left out the fact that he was running from a King’s Bench Warrant at the time and had only ended up in the Pelican to avoid that pursuit, for mention of his father to a political admiral like Hood would not aid his cause. Instead he emphasised the fact that pressing men for sea service was illegal in the Liberties of the Savoy, in which the Pelican Tavern was located.
‘I will not enquire as to why you were in such a place.’
In saying that, Hood was making it plain what he knew; that the Liberties were a part of London where those in fear of arrest for debt or a minor crime took refuge, a few streets betwixt the River Thames and the Strand, part of the grounds of the old Savoy Palace, from which bailiffs and tipstaffs were banned.
Pearce nodded towards the open letter on his desk. ‘I did not reside there, my presence on that night was pure bad luck. It was the same for one of my friends, but two of them did live there, as well as an old fellow, now dead as a direct consequence of being taken up. Whatever reason they had to be in the Liberties does not detract from the fact that they were illegally pressed.’
‘The truth of that is yet to be decided.’
‘Not in my mind!’
The response was too sharp, too fierce, and that showed in the glowering look with which it was greeted. ‘I think you will find, young man, that speaking to me in that tone will not do anything to aid your submission.’
Pearce made sure of a more emollient pitch, when he replied. ‘Forgive me, sir, but I hope you will appreciate how the event still rankles. And if you wish for the truth of what I say, you have a midshipman aboard, a member of HMS Brilliant’s crew, who was there on that very night, and took part in the operation.’
‘Farmiloe?’ Pearce nodded and Hood called out for someone to fetch the youngster, after which he shuffled the letters, then said. ‘While we are waiting, the action with the Valmy. I sailed before that happened. Tell me about it.’
Pearce reckoned this to be no time for modesty, but he managed, without sounding vain, to tell of the action, of how he had found himself forced to make decisions, of those he had made and the result. As Hood listened, Pearce had the impression he was not entirely concentrating on what he was hearing, that he was thinking of other matters, which was unusual in a naval officer hearing a tale of battle.
‘The result you know, sir. I was whisked off to Windsor, the King was excitable, and insisted on my promotion. Lord Chatham objected, his brother did not. I, for one, have no idea if it was deserved, only that it exists.’
‘I saw you in deep conversation with those Frenchmen from Marseilles.’
Slightly thrown by the change of subject, Pearce took a second to respond. ‘They were worried for their lives, sir. Monsieur Rebequi does not enjoy their full confidence, and they are not as one in their views. He, for instance, is a member of the faction called the Gironde…’
‘Please don’t confuse me, Pearce. Girondes, Feuillants, Jacobins. To me these Frenchmen, and their damned factions, are all as one.’
‘Like Whigs and Tories?’
‘Nothing like, as well you know, young man.’
Pearce could not resist baiting him, thinking his fellow-countrymen, this admiral included, pious in their condemnation of the French. ‘It took them some time, I grant you, to get round to beheading a king, but you cannot deny that we in Britain, in chopping the head off the first King Charles, set them a precedent of near a centu
ry and a half.’
Hood would not be drawn into a discussion about the judicial murder of monarchs, British Stuarts or French Bourbons. ‘I believe we were talking about your dinner companions?’
‘Most would call themselves Republicans, but with, I think, no great depth of conviction. Some even mentioned a declaration for the brother of the late King Louis as a way to ward off the revenge of Paris. As I say, they are worried.’
That only got a raised eyebrow. ‘They have every right to be, Pearce, and it is of some regret that I can do nothing to aid them. Let us hope the Revolutionary Army is in as much disarray as they claim. You speak good French, obviously.’
‘I lived in Paris for over two years, and my father, naturally, as a Scot, having a warm feeling towards an old ally, made sure I had a grounding in the language before that.’
The big eyebrows went up. ‘Indeed. Might I enquire what took you there?’
It was with an air of defiance that Pearce answered. ‘My father took me there!’
‘Pearce,’ Hood said, his look uncertain, clearly seeking to make a connection in his mind. ‘Paris?’ That he did so was obvious by the sharp nod that followed. What was strange was the fact that he did not say anything more.
‘Mr Farmiloe, sir,’ said his secretary.
‘Show the boy in.’
Expecting more questions about Toulon, Farmiloe’s heart sank when he saw Pearce sitting at the admiral’s table, and the look the man gave him did nothing to ease his disquiet. If he had been a discomforting presence aboard HMS Brilliant, he was a damn sight more so now. In the intervening hour, he had had plenty of time to recall everything he knew about the fellow and the trouble he had caused, though they had had little direct contact.
‘Mr Farmiloe,’ said Hood. ‘This gentleman claims that he was illegally pressed into the Navy. He also says that you were present at the time. I wonder if you would care to shed any light on that?’
A boy would have to be deaf, dumb and blind to be unaware that what Barclay had done was not officially permitted. It had been a topic of discussion in the wardroom and that had filtered down to the gunroom, with much ribbing aimed at him about being hung, drawn and quartered for being part of it. Well aware that the blame for transgressions had a way of spreading, the other topic of conversation had been the response to an accusation, so it was without hesitation that Farmiloe replied.
‘I was with Captain Barclay, sir, and obeying his orders.’
‘So you do not deny that Mr Pearce here was pressed?’
‘No, sir.’ Farmiloe paused then, trying to remember after all these months what it was Barclay had actually said on that night. He could recall the captain being in a foul temper, but then that was not unusual. ‘We were short on our complement and had orders to weigh. Captain Barclay made it plain that we needed hands, and that failure to get any would seriously compromise the ability of our ship to function. With the extra hands we were able to depart Sheerness the next morning.’
‘You are not aware that I saw Captain Barclay the very day this impressment is alleged to have taken place?’
It was with genuine shock that Farmiloe responded. ‘No, sir.’ Pearce merely looked inquisitive at the use of the word alleged.
‘The location of this was?’ Hood enquired.
‘The Thames, sir, above Blackfriars Bridge, where we expected to find at least some of those we took up were bred to the sea.’
‘But not all?’
‘There was no time to enquire, sir. Captain Barclay insisted we act quickly and take whosoever we could lay our hands on, albeit they were to be of the right age and fit enough to serve.’
‘Tell me, Mr Farmiloe,’ said Pearce, earning himself a dark look from Hood, who clearly felt he had no business interfering. ‘Do you know anything about the Liberties of the Savoy?’
‘No,’ Farmiloe replied, unable to add a “sir” to that.
‘They are in the part of London from which I was pressed.’
‘I don’t know London. That night was the only time I have been there.’
‘So you had no idea,’ demanded Hood, taking back the interrogation, ‘that the place from which you were taking these men had a protection under the auspices of the Duchy of Lancaster?’
‘No, sir, I did not.’
Again Pearce cut in. ‘But you found out subsequently, I suspect?’
Hood barked at him this time, his heavy eyebrows nearly joined above his nose. ‘Mr Pearce, please be so good as to leave this questioning to me. It makes no odds what people knew subsequently, all that matters is what they knew at the time.’
Farmiloe was looking at the deckbeams above his head, and Pearce, examining the boy, suddenly felt a tinge of sympathy for him. He was a midshipman; if his captain told him to do something there was no way a lad like this would question his orders. The real culprit was not present, and it was cruel to make Farmiloe suffer for the sins of Ralph Barclay.
‘Mr Farmiloe, I apologise to you. But please understand that the memory of that night, to me, is something that I cannot recall without anger. It is then hardly surprising that it can be misdirected.’
‘Thank you,’ Farmiloe said, genuinely relieved, for he was certain he was going to carry the kid for that night, certain that he would be sent home in disgrace.
‘Thank you, Mr Farmiloe,’ said Hood, going back to the letters on his desk. ‘That will be all.’
There was silence for a while, as he re-read some of Pitt’s letter, his brow furrowing in a way that implied some of what he was reading was unpleasant. ‘So, Mr Pearce, you are in need of a place?’
‘I am in need of a solution to the problem we have just been discussing, sir. If I, and my companions already named, were illegally pressed, and are anxious to get release from service at sea, then you are in a position to grant that wish.’
‘I can do nothing until I have questioned Captain Barclay.’
‘Who is where?’
‘Off Toulon.’
‘Which is where the fleet is headed, is it not?’
Hood sat back in his chair, and when he spoke his voice was flat, though the words he used were as pointed as they could be. ‘It seems to me, young man, that you have a very unfortunate manner. I think my rank entitles me to a little more in the way of polite address.’
‘That would only be because you are used to the company of naval officers.’
That was nothing short of damned cheek, but Hood did not respond. His voice remained even. ‘Which you have been commissioned as. Whether such a thing is right or wrong it is nevertheless true.’
‘One of the advantages of not seeking advancement, Lord Hood, is the fact that I can talk as I wish.’
Hood sat forward then, and lifted Pitt’s letter. ‘It says here that Mr Pitt would be most obliged if I would consider you for a place. You may or may not know that I am part of his government, appointed to my naval office by the very same man who tells me he has a commitment to you. He makes it plain how much meeting that means to him, which makes his request a hard one to deny.’
Pearce nearly blurted out the truth; that such a thing had only been added as a desperate attempt to make sure he got to where he was now, that if Hood acted as he should then such a request had no relevance. What stopped him he did not know, only that the admiral’s attitude perplexed him, and that it was better to keep to his chest what cards he had to play with, rather than squander them.
‘So,’ Hood continued, ‘I think in those circumstances a little less arrogance would be in your interest.’
‘Can I ask about your meeting with Captain Barclay prior to my being pressed?’
Hood smiled. ‘No, Lieutenant Pearce, you may not. Now please be so good as to depart, as I have more pressing business to attend to, dealing with our friends from Marseilles.’ Then he added, ‘I apologise for the play on words, it was unintentional.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Midshipman Toby Burns was sitting on the south-facing part of the
mainmast cap, digesting his dinner. He liked it up here when the flagship was sailing on a steady wind, with no one needing to trim sails and only the change of the lookouts plus the odd ship’s boy skylarking to disturb his peace. Most of his contemporaries liked to stay below, snug in their berth. Since he had never liked it there, nor had much regard for the company either on this ship or HMS Brilliant, he stayed out of the place as much as he could. The sun was shining, he was delightfully warm, with a welcome breeze this far aloft to ensure he was not baking in the late afternoon heat.
Aboard as a supernumerary, being carried as a passenger until he rejoined his own ship, he had no duties except to daily attend the schoolmaster’s lessons, something which the Premier of HMS Victory had insisted on as a cure for outright idleness. Earlier hints that he might undertake some duties, which would have relieved some of the ship’s designated midshipmen, had been politely declined, an attitude which would have produced an ill-reaction were it not that the fellow concerned was something of a hero.
The unexpected arrival of Midshipman Farmiloe had no seeming effect on that status, although to see him aboard the flagship was a shock. But it had served one purpose for, though there had been caution – he and Farmiloe had not been close – there had been no outright reserve in the greeting, which confirmed how he was seen aboard the frigate; in short, he was still a hero in the places that mattered, the gunroom, wardroom and captain’s cabin. At one time he had worried that one or two of the common seamen might have a different opinion, but then he had reasoned that no one who mattered cared what they thought, or would listen to what they said.
It was therefore a great shock to look down at the quarterdeck, and realise that the fellow who had just emerged from the after companionway, and in raising his hat to the officer of the watch had revealed his face, was the one man who could blow that undeserved reputation out of the water and damn him as a useless coward. What the hell was Pearce doing in the uniform of a lieutenant, and clearly being greeted as such?
An Awkward Commission Page 17