‘I shan’t linger,’ Nelson replied seriously, equally quick to miss the salacious look which had taken hold of the face of his companion. ‘Once my mission is accomplished, I shall be straight back here. Why would I not when there is going to be some fighting?’
‘Captain Barclay.’ Turning, he saw the C-in-C’s letter writer. ‘Lord Hood will see you now.’
‘Good luck in Naples, Nelson. Don’t get up to any mischief. Remember, every man is a bachelor east of Gibraltar.’
Nelson blushed at that, and added a slightly forced smile, it being something he had said, too loud and drunk with it, at a dinner in Lisbon.
‘Captain Barclay,’ demanded Lord Hood, in a voice that lacked any welcome. ‘What is it you wish to see me about on a day when I have hardly a second to spare?’
‘I wish to give you my report on the action of HMS Brilliant.’
Ralph Barclay took a chance to nod to the others in the cabin, admirals Hotham, Parker and Rear Admiral Goodall.
‘Surely you mean the loss?’ said Hood.
‘We have her back now, sir,’ Barclay said, placing the despatch on the table, ‘and most of her repairs are completed. I have taken the liberty of raiding the French storehouses so I can confidently say that she is, in all respect bar one, ready for service.’
‘Bar one?’
‘I lost hands in the battle, sir, which leaves me short.’
Hood, busy reading the despatch, just grunted.
‘I hear it was a hot action, Barclay,’ said Hotham. ‘And damned difficult odds.’
‘Damned hot, sir, and I so very nearly got clear, but the wind was dead foul.’
It was Parker’s turn to speak. ‘I have to say, Captain, that questions have been raised about the probity of this encounter.’
The response had been rehearsed a hundred times in the last few days of captivity, so came out smoothly. ‘Sir, I saw it as my duty to ensure that the French did not weigh, to sow in their minds the notion that this very fleet was close enough to bring them to an action should they do so. When you read my report you will see that I had the necessary signals flying to convey that message.’
‘A bluff, Barclay,’ said Hotham in a rather forced manner.
‘Precisely that, sir. I feared that if they got out on a wind they could head in any direction.’
‘And if they had?’ demanded Parker.
‘It was my intention to shadow them, sir, then communicate the course to the cutter I left on station.’
‘Very proper,’ said Hotham, throwing a glance at Hood, who was still digesting the report on the action.
The possibility of censure existed, it always did in King George’s Navy, regardless of what one did, but he looked to Hotham for support. Hood, he knew, had little time for him; they had clashed in London before Brilliant weighed, and it had been obvious that he still saw him in the light of his past connections. Barclay had been a protégé of the late Admiral Sir George Brydges Rodney, a man he considered a genius, while Hood reviled his one-time superior as a fount of misplaced greed and outright corruption.
The problem for Ralph Barclay was in the ‘late’. Admiral Rodney was dead, and nothing so blighted an officer’s career as being attached to a senior who was a corpse, for he could do nothing to advance his followers from the grave, and that was the source of elevation. Without interest in the world a man was nothing, regardless of which profession he chose to follow and in the Navy it was especially paramount. He and Hotham, though it had not been stated openly, had come to an understanding in Lisbon. He had done the admiral a favour, without asking for anything in return as a sign of his attachment. So for Ralph Barclay, Hotham, hopefully, had replaced the late, lamented Rodney.
‘Hands, Barclay,’ said Hood finally. ‘I seem to recall having a discussion on that topic before.’
‘Yes, sir, at the Admiralty.’
‘Ah yes. You implied I was a liar.’
‘I doubt that, sir,’ Hotham insisted, shock on his carefully barbered face. ‘Captain Barclay is not that sort of officer.’
Hood looked from one to the other, and smiled to himself as he dropped his eyes back to the papers in front of him, the letters from William Pitt, the main thrust of which was the tenuous nature of his government’s power. No one knew better than Samuel Hood the skeins of interest and how they operated, and by speaking as he had, Hotham had just told him that he was prepared to act as Barclay’s protector. That complicated matters, for in the private correspondence that had come with Pearce it had been made plain that his Second-in-Command had powerful friends in Parliament, like the Whig Duke of Portland, who led a faction inclined to support the war against France. These were people that Pitt was trying to seduce into joining his government and the addition of such support was no light matter, for that bloc of votes, in effect splitting and emasculating the Whig opposition, would make his position as the King’s First Minister unassailable.
Concomitant to that, although not stated in writing, was the obvious fact that Sir William Hotham, because of that connection, was a man to be handled with care. To upset him, to have him writing home to his friends in complaint, which might give them cause to rebuff Pitt, was to risk the future of the government he supported, as well as his own position as C-in-C in the Mediterranean.
‘But the discussion was about hands, was it not?’ Hood insisted.
‘I was very short on my complement, sir,’ Ralph Barclay replied.
‘So short that you indulged in a little illegal impressment?’
‘Sir?’
‘We had an officer come out from England, a Lieutenant Pearce—’
‘Surely he is not truly of that rank, sir?’
‘Please do not interrupt me, Captain.’ Barclay nodded an apology, his mind spinning as to where this conversation was leading. ‘As I said, Pearce. He is a lieutenant, made so at the insistence of the King himself.’
This was a time for Ralph Barclay to stay silent. To express his thoughts to a room full of admirals, that the King must indeed be mad, was professional suicide.
‘And for outstanding bravery, Captain Barclay. Now this man says you pressed him and others illegally.’
‘There is no truth in that, sir.’
‘So Pearce is a liar?’
‘I did press men before we weighed, but I took them to be seamen. If this Pearce, whom I scarcely can recall, says he is not of that profession, then all I can say is that it did not appear to be the case to those I sent out hunting.’
‘You did not go yourself?’
‘No!’ The negative response was out before he thought it through, and he suspected it to be a mistake. But withdrawal was impossible.
Hood smiled to himself again. ‘Perhaps we should bring you face to face with the fellow, and see who is telling the truth?’
‘With respect, sir,’ said Hotham, ‘this is hardly a subject for a fleet with the defence of Toulon to deal with.’
Hood looked at Hotham with something less than affability – they did not get on – but his mind was registering the fact that his second-in-command would not only protect Barclay, but might go to some lengths to do so, just to establish his own position. If he could receive private correspondence so could Hotham. It made him wonder at what bargain they had struck, but since he would never know he gave up speculating. All he knew was that politics would insist that he accede to whatever Hotham demanded, if the man was prepared to push Barclay’s case; he was not about to jeopardise the government of which he was a part for a brand new lieutenant, who was also the son of a man who abhorred everything that he held sacred.
He passed Barclay’s despatch to his junior, feeling a bit like Pontius Pilate. ‘Then we must think of another way to resolve it, Admiral Hotham. I would welcome any suggestions you have.’
‘These orders are, I assume, from Admiral Hood?’ The secretary shrugged, in a way that angered John Pearce. ‘I wish to question them.’
That got a lazily raised eyebrow. ‘Qu
estion them?’
‘I had the impression that we both spoke English. What is it about that which I just said you find confusing?’
The tone of mockery was unwelcome, that was obvious from the response. The secretary was clearly used to respect, hardly surprising given his lofty office – the C-in-C’s man of business and fleet prize agent. A hand was held out, into which Pearce placed the folded paper, to be opened and read.
‘These orders come from Admiral Hotham.’
‘Hotham?’
‘Allow that I can recognise the hand of his letter writer, as well as the admiral’s signature.’
‘Why would Admiral Hotham be giving orders to me?’
‘I have no idea. All I do know is you are being given a commission, and I have rarely known that to bring anything to a fellow of your rank other than joy.’
‘I don’t want a commission.’
The secretary sat back, exhaling air in the manner of a person who had too much to do, and no time to be bothered with this intrusion. ‘You have the right to refuse, of course, but if you wish to do so, the place to make that known is aboard HMS Britannia, not here.’
‘I wish to see Lord Hood.’
‘Lord Hood is busy.’
‘Ask him!’
He could not help but feel he was the witness to a performance. An under-secretary was summoned – the same fellow who had lent Pearce his coat – who went into the main cabin, only to emerge after a few seconds to whisper in his superior’s ear.
‘Admiral Lord Hood is busy seeing to the defence of Toulon. He has no time to see you, Lieutenant Pearce.’
‘If I wait?’
The secretary enjoyed his riposte, which came with a thin-lipped smile. ‘If you decide to do so, I should fetch your shaving kit.’
At least he got to see a naval officer aboard Britannia, not Hotham but his Flag Lieutenant, a good-looking fellow eager to explain to a less than enamoured caller the thinking of his admiral.
‘Your complaint against Captain Barclay requires investigation, but you will readily appreciate that this moment is hardly the time to undertake such a thing. The task given to HMS Weazel is neither hazardous nor likely to be of much duration, and her own lieutenant has, like so many other fleet officers, been ordered ashore, leaving Captain Benton unsupported. Since you had no employment, and none of the skills necessary to likewise work on the defences, the admiral felt that you would be better employed cruising than kicking your heels aboard ship.’
Reiterating that he did not want a commission brought forth a concerned look from the man he was addressing, a fellow of his own age with the air of a practised diplomat. Now he looked worried.
‘Lieutenant Pearce, if I may speak to you man to man, and outside my duties as Admiral Hotham’s Flag Lieutenant?’ He paused, waiting for a frowning Pearce to nod. ‘I am aware of your case against Captain Barclay, but I am also conscious, as I suspect you are not, that you will require the goodwill of the senior officers on the station to bring it to any sort of conclusion. He is a post captain, and while it may be true that what he did was questionable…’
‘Illegal!’
‘…there is not another captain or admiral on this station who has not at some time in his career done the same. While they are honest men, they are also serving sailors who have found themselves in a like situation. It would not be surprising, therefore, that they would have a natural inclination to support Mr Barclay.’
Pearce was genuinely surprised. ‘You’re saying that I am wasting my time?’
‘No, Lieutenant Pearce, I am saying that refusing Admiral Hotham’s orders will not endear you to him, and he is one of those to whom you must plead your case. I doubt HMS Weazel will be gone for more than a week, by which time things will have settled here, matters will be in hand, and time can be given to consideration of your complaint.’
‘I seem to spend my entire time seeking to please admirals.’
‘Believe me, Mr Pearce,’ the Flag Lieutenant replied, in a deeply serious tone, ‘that is a far better idea than upsetting them.’ Sensing that his fellow-lieutenant was weakening, he added, ‘Weazel has orders to sail at dawn. I would suggest to you that it would be a good idea to get aboard and introduce yourself to Captain Benton.’
‘I am concerned for my friends.’
‘Which does you credit, sir, but what possible harm can come to them? The French in Toulon are now our allies, the revolutionary armies are occupied subduing Marseilles and are not expected here for weeks. The worst that can happen to them is that they will be sent ashore to throw up earthworks for the gun emplacements being planned for Mont Faron.’
Pearce was torn. Taberly had expressly forbidden him Leander, so he could spend no time with his fellow Pelicans. Hood, he suspected, would not see him, neither would Hotham, so his suit would languish, and he was not a person who enjoyed the prospect of being idle, with nothing to do but gnaw on and be frustrated by that. He imagined, once more, duelling with Barclay, but reverted to a decision he had already made; his determination to see the man disgraced before that took place. He could, of course, go ashore, given that he had an almost proprietary interest in the place, but would he be welcome and of any use if he was? The port was likely to be a dull place socially until things settled down, and any idea of looking at the region was out of the question given the impending arrival of a Jacobin army.
As long as Michael, Charlie and Rufus were safe, a week would make no odds, and this sloop, he now knew, was bound for a cruise round Corsica, an island and a people of which he had heard much from James Boswell, one of his father’s old verbal sparring partners. Boswell had described it as a wild, romantic place, full of strange sights and an even more peculiar people. If he did not see it now, he probably never would. He was also tempted by another reason, which related to the conversations he had had with Captain McGann; was he up to the job of running a ship? The gaps in his knowledge were extensive, but he felt he had made a reasonable fist of his tasks aboard Griffin. Add to that what he had learnt aboard the Postal Packet and this would be by way of a test; a strange ship, and unfamiliar crew, and he would be, it seemed, the only officer under the captain. It was a chance to put one in the eye of people like Hood, who questioned his right to his rank. Even more appealing was the way it would infuriate Barclay!
Had it been a proper place he would have declined it regardless, but it was only a temporary posting till the present incumbent was free to resume his duties. ‘I will accept, but I have one request.’
‘Which is?’
‘No boxing bouts.’
The Flag Lieutenant struggled with that. ‘Boxing bouts?’
‘Yes. I want a strict instruction to the captain of HMS Leander that he is in no way to arrange or condone such a thing.’
The man before him was enough of a diplomat to evade the truth with ease; not lie, for he had no idea of what answer Admiral Hotham would give to such a request. ‘I will see that it is brought to the admiral’s attention.’
‘You may also wish to bring to the admiral’s attention the fact that such an event took place, and included gambling, at sea while HMS Leander was off the coast of Spain, which, if I am not mistaken contravenes the Articles of War, and should be the subject of a court martial.’
On entering Admiral Hotham’s cabin, his Flag Lieutenant was faced with an enquiring look from the two officers present.
‘Well?’ asked Ralph Barclay.
‘He has accepted.’
‘Well done,’ said Hotham. ‘That gains us time.’
‘He had one request, sir, a strange one.’
The young man explained, first to a raised eyebrow, then to a look of disbelief, until finally Hotham exploded, his face going bright red. ‘Damn the fellow. Does he want to bring every captain in the fleet to court martial?’
His Flag Lieutenant did not reply, thinking the answer was probably, yes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Pearce knew he had erred within ten
minutes of being aboard, not because of any incompetence on his part, not because HMS Weazel was so small, but by the behaviour of the ship’s captain. Benton was slightly drunk, and he looked like a fellow who was no stranger to that state, with reddish, watery eyes and that facial colour that spoke of badly corrupted blood under his skin. Pearce had seen too many of the type in his travels to come to any other conclusion; the taverns and pot houses of Britain were full of Bentons, usually addicted to gin, rather than that which the captain was drinking now and sharing with his new officer, which Pearce reckoned must be the cheapest form of blackstrap wine, the kind that left a sour taste on the tongue.
‘I am not pleased they took Digby, Mr Pearce, I want you to know that. He was just getting used to my ways.’
‘Digby?’
‘You know him?’
‘Only if he served aboard HMS Brilliant.’
‘He did,’ Benton replied, in a voice that had gravel, and little affection, in it. ‘Barclay got shot of him at Lisbon, and he was not the type to fit in on the flagship. Admiral Hotham likes his officers to be true gentlemen with the means to support that station. Digby lacked both the means and any interest from a patron, so I got him.’
Responding to what was a less-than-pleased tone, and recalling what Digby had been like aboard Brilliant, kind, if a little confused and uncertain, Pearce replied, ‘I thought him a competent officer, sir.’
‘He was far from that when he arrived, Pearce, but he benefited from being with me.’ The bleary eyes fixed on his new officer over a gulp of wine. ‘I assume you are another no-hoper, new to your commission, sent to try my patience.’
‘Very likely,’ Pearce replied, which had the virtue of both being true and surprising Benton enough to make him shift back in his chair.
An Awkward Commission Page 26