The Devil to Pay

by David Donachie

  The sigh that Barclay emitted then made his companions curious but they were not be enlightened as to the thought that spurred it; Emily had made her bed and must lie on it and if that took her into an arc of danger, so be it.

  ‘Please do not think I am lacking in appreciation, sir.’ That got a sympathetic nod from Hotham. ‘Tell me what I must do and I will follow your instructions to the letter.’

  ‘Good man,’ the admiral replied, as he heard the sound of stamping boots, a sure sign of other captains arriving at the entry port. ‘I know you will struggle to be at ease given what you have learnt but I would ask that no hint of your discomfort be imparted to your fellow officers, with whom we are about to dine.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Toomey, alert my steward that we are ready to receive our guests.’

  ‘Do any of them know about Mrs Barclay?’

  ‘If they do, it is not from anything that has passed my lips,’ Hotham replied, standing, which obliged the others to follow. ‘I also hazard if they do they will refrain from mentioning the matter for to do so would be a serious breach of good manners. Now, Captain Barclay, I beg you to partake of some claret and Toomey, I think that will be all.’

  Within minutes the cabin was full of post captains, for each had been punctual in their arrival, with Barclay being welcomed and doubly so when these peers of his heard he had been with Howe on the Glorious First. That elevated him to a very special guest indeed and from being rather downcast such was the attention he received that it lifted his spirits to the point that the problem of Pearce and his young wife could be shifted to the back of his thinking.

  That did not apply to Sir William Hotham; as he described the battle and fielded erudite questions, Barclay kept an eye on him and it registered what the admiral was up to, engaging certain captains in a discreet way and if he could not overhear all of the conversations he could put together a fair summary of what they were about, aided by snatches he did manage to pick up.

  One matter he did register; this was no exclusive gathering of his clients, there were men present who were closer to Hood, Commodore Robert Linzee, very senior on the captain’s list and close to flag rank, being one of them. Not that he got chummy with the admiral; when they did speak it was with chilly politeness; Hotham had taken aim at others.

  ‘Can’t fault a fellow for going after prizes … Master reports his action in the chase as showing great acumen … got his crew back to the fleet, which is a surprise on its own … seems he saved a very valuable vessel and crew from being taken and at great personal cost … took a wound you know.’

  Barclay also tried to discern the reaction from the men Hotham was engaging with, not that he had to wonder much. They would pick up from the admiral the drift of his feelings and given they probably had no real idea of any personal animus towards Pearce – his name had hardly been mentioned at Barclay’s own court martial and these were many of the same fellows who had judged him – they would know they were being given guidance on how they should proceed.

  It was all completed before they sat down to a meal close to the naval heart; roast beef – if not of Old England then fresh from the nearby island – washed down with copious quantities of Italian wines bought in Leghorn followed by port that induced a feeling of convivial bonhomie. As they made their way back to their various barges it was not the rocking motion of HMS Britannia that induced an unsteady gait.

  Only one commanding officer was sober, Ralph Barclay, who had been unusually abstemious as, on a different level to his many conversations, he thought through the ins and outs of Hotham’s proposal. The conclusion: if he had reservations he was damned if he knew what he could do about them.

  ‘Let the game be played out,’ he said out loud, as he sat in his barge.

  ‘Your honour?’ slurred Devenow, far from sober himself having put much pressure on Hotham’s pantry and his steward – he was big and a noted bully – to provide him with a taste of the wine being served at table.

  ‘Nothing, Devenow, a bit off devilry, only at this point I have no idea who is really Satan.’

  John Pearce heard them depart, for it was again the occasion for many a bosun’s whistle to be piped but he sought to close it out from his mind, which was engaged with the paper before him and the writing upon it, a list of questions he expected would be posed. To these he must prepare answers and if some of them strayed somewhat from the truth all he was concerned with was one possible outcome; could those lies be challenged?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Was it essential that the condemned man should eat a hearty breakfast? It seemed the junior members of the wardroom thought so if not the premier – he was plied with eggs and ham, a whole pigeon in a pie as well as a suet pudding and as much coffee as he could consume, given he declined wine. If they were not partisan on behalf of John Pearce, some must be quite the reverse, each knew that one day they might find themselves in a similar predicament in which any actions they undertook, regardless of how brave and how right they had seemed at the time could, in the cold light of a courtroom, been see as wrong-headed and career breaking.

  It seemed the same as Pearce took a turn around the deck to ease his alimentary discomfort; his stomach was somewhat distended though he wondered if anxiety played a part. Every eye he caught – and that included from the common seamen – had within the look a man gives out when he is mentally swapping places with someone in difficulty, usually accompanied by the slightest nod of encouragement.

  Could Pearce take from that their approval at least of his actions after leaving Naples, for everyone now knew the story of his adventures? He had to conclude not; their opinion mattered not at all. He also knew of the flaws in the case he was about to present, which rested entirely on who the court would call from the crew of Larcher and what they would say.

  Dorling would be questioned for certain and perhaps the other warrants, all of whom could blow his defence out of the water but he hoped might not. But would they question any of the lower deck? It was not impossible; it depended on their determination to convict and he reckoned if the brought the Jeremiahs who had plagued the ship from Palermo onwards to testify against him he would be quickly sunk.

  The beat of the drum told him that the court was assembling, which oddly took him back to an unhappy recollection; that was the same kind of rat-a-tat tattoo that had heralded the arrival of a tumbril of prisoners from the Conciergerie prison in the plaza those who had overthrown King Louis named the Place de la Revolution. Suddenly he was back in that packed Parisian square, hemmed in by a screaming mob all yelling imprecations at the tattered aristocrats and denounced unfortunates destined to feed both their blood lust and the guillotine. It was not a happy portent.

  ‘Mr Pearce,’ the officer of the watch said as he approached, ‘the court is assembled and awaiting your arrival.’

  ‘Thank you, Lieutenant.’

  Pearce waited for the man to wish him luck but it did not come so he just nodded and passed by him, heading for the upper deck cabin vacated for the occasion by Captain Holloway. Again, if you took away the dark blue coats, there was a similarity to the revolutionary tribunals he had witnessed; the stern faces set along the rear of a long baize-covered table, the air of serious intent with Pearce hoping what was missing would be the certainty of guilt and inevitable conviction that had so recently animated the rogues of the Committee of Public Safety.

  Having sat down at a small table, on which lay a batch of papers, he became aware that an audience was filing in behind him to occupy the chairs set out to accommodate them. He was obliged to stand up again so the charge against him could be read out, this by a captain the accused knew to be called Linzee, a hardy-looking fellow with a high forehead topped by grey curls.

  Linzee was very senior indeed; Pearce had been on a mission to Tangier, which Linzee had led and knew him to be somewhat intemperate but also effective as an officer. Seeking to place him in the Hotham firmament, he struggled to recall if
the man from Hampshire – he had a distinct vocal burr – was closely attached to Hotham and he thought not, which rendered his presence a curiosity.

  ‘Lieutenant Pearce, the charge against is that on the dates listed in the papers before you, you did willingly and unnecessarily risk the vessel under your command, the armed cutter HMS Larcher. It is also a charge against you that you disobeyed your orders to return from Naples with all despatch and instead deviated in order that you could profit from the dereliction of your rightful duty, subsequently creating the circumstances that led to the loss of said vessel as well as the lives of several of your crew.’

  Toomey, who had undertaken the task of clerk to the court, allowed those words of his to sink in before asking. ‘How do you plead?’

  Pearce addressed Linzee. ‘Not guilty, sir.’

  That got a sharply raised set of heavy eyebrows. ‘That is a bold plea, fellow.’

  ‘Sir, if you were to separate the charges I would admit to disobeying my orders, but I cannot plead guilty to doing what I consider to be my duty and that of every other officer in His Majesty’s Navy, in seeking out and confronting his and our nation’s enemies.’

  ‘With your permission, Commodore Linzee,’ Toomey asked, to a quick nod. ‘You cannot separate the charges since the action in one case led to the entire consequence. You may therefore wish to change your plea.’

  ‘No, I stand to be judged by my actions.’

  ‘Very well, let us proceed. Lieutenant Hotham, if you please?’

  He sat opposite Toomey in the position of the prosecutor, at another small desk on which sat the logs of HMS Larcher and he now stood up to address Pearce, who was wondering what the name portended for he had to be a relative even if there seemed to be no family likeness. The man spoke to first confirm his name, rank and the date of his commission, which occasioned a great deal of concentration on the trio of captains who made up the bench to see how they reacted, given the circumstances of his elevation were unlikely to be a mystery. There was nothing there but frowns of disapprobation; King George and his whims be damned.

  The litany that followed from this younger Hotham was no more than a confirmation of his orders, that he had fully understood them, this leading to query as to his actions in disobeying them.

  ‘If you are prepared to plead not guilty, Mr Pearce, you must have grounds to justify that?’

  ‘It is an unfortunate fact that I cannot call to the court certain witnesses who might be able to give grounds to validate my actions—’

  Any hope that such a point would be helpful was quickly dashed and from a very correct Linzee. ‘Just answer the question.’

  ‘In my meeting with the Ambassador to the Kingdom of Naples he alluded several times to the losses being suffered by British, Neapolitan and neutral vessels in the waters between the capital of the mainland and the capital of the island of Sicily, namely Palermo.

  ‘Do you have any evidence of this?’

  ‘I have my word as an officer, no more, but if I may continue?’ A nod. ‘Sir William Hamilton has requested from both Lord Hood and Admiral Hotham that a squadron of His Majesty’s ships should be stationed in Naples to patrol said waters and provide protection against both privateers and pirates from North Africa.’

  Linzee indicated that Toomey should approach the bench and there followed a whispered conversation, the contents of which Pearce could guess at. It was Hamilton who had told him of the requests he had made and if his reasoning was somewhat different they were real. The ambassador wished to show support for King Ferdinand in a kingdom unsettled by events in France; no monarchy was immune to revolutionary undercurrents not even King George, which was what had made he and his ministers so afraid of Adam Pearce.

  ‘We accept that such requests were made,’ Linzee said eventually, looking left and right to his colleagues to assure himself they understood before nodding to the prosecuting lieutenant to continue, the next question an obvious one.

  ‘Did the ambassador request you to act upon this?’

  ‘He made it plain to me that a diversion in my course might serve a useful purpose.’

  Pearce had to hold his breath then; no matter how many times you rehearse a lie to yourself the first time it is publicly aired in a moment of anxiety. Having mentioned missing witnesses he was banking on the fact that this court could no more call Sir William Hamilton than could he.

  ‘How did he make it plain?’

  ‘I don’t follow,’ Pearce prevaricated.

  ‘Did the ambassador ask you to deviate from your orders?’

  ‘Not in so many words.’

  The response came with a touch of theatrical exasperation. ‘It would be instructive to hear what words he used, Mr Pearce.’

  ‘I doubt if I repeated them, and accuracy would be questionable in any case from a series of fragmented conversations, if they would have the same effect on you as they had on me.’

  ‘You must try us,’ growled the fellow to Linzee’s left, a dry stick of a captain who looked to not be utterly well, in sharp contrast to the heartily round and red faced fellow on the other side.

  Pearce adopted an air of troubled recollection as he spun his fabrications. ‘He generally deplored that his requests had been ignored, alluded to the absurdly high insurance rates pertaining to the Levant trade and hinted that he would encourage any officer who felt he could detour for a short time to those waters.’

  ‘Was anyone else witness to this?’

  ‘His wife on one occasion, Lady Hamilton.’

  It was necessary to hide his amusement at the reaction to that name and if it smacked of disapproval he knew it to be larded with hypocrisy; not one of these men, exposed to the charms of Emma Hamilton and finding her willing to succumb, would have hesitated to bed her. The pause such musing engendered allowed him to continue without interruption.

  ‘The same point was made to me by Captain Fleming of Sandown Castle.’ As expected that got a facial query. ‘He commanded a Levant merchant vessel about to sail to Palermo prior to an onward voyage to England with a valuable cargo and with several passengers.’

  ‘Captain or proprietor?’ asked the prosecutor.

  ‘He did not own the ship.’

  No one spoke; they all knew that a merchant captain doing such a thing was making a little extra for himself, monies he would not have to report to the vessel’s owners and it was such a common practice as to be hardly remarked upon. Nor would he have to record his detour to Palermo and Pearce was suddenly aware that there might be another reason why Fleming had felt in unwise to carry Emily back to England. A normal passenger posed no threat, one carrying a whiff of notoriety might.

  ‘You’re suggesting that this Captain Fleming, who is another witness we cannot question, expressed a specific worry.’

  Pearce could have kissed this prosecuting lieutenant, who had just made his case for him. He had been about to put forward the same point. ‘I am.’

  ‘Did you undertake to aid him?’

  ‘No, but HMS Larcher weighed shortly after he did and I decided to adopt his course before turning north and returning to the fleet.’

  ‘I refer you to your logs, Lieutenant Pearce, in which you make no mention of either of these conversations.’

  ‘I do not see them as place for speculation but you will have observed that I noted the course I followed, which was in the direction of Palermo and in the wake of Sandown Castle.’

  ‘Indeed. Now please describe what happened following on from this decision?’

  Which he did; the sighting of the enemy and the dilemma with which he was presented regarding the odds posing a rhetorical question. Could he leave a fellow countrymen to a certain fate and the brigantines being Barbary that would have been worse than he at first imagined?

  ‘I could not, sir,’ he said, addressing Linzee directly, ‘stand aside even at risk of the loss of my ship. I may have come to the navy and my rank by a route not generally taken but I do most heartily understand
the ethos of the service of which I am part. Who, sir, can merely watch while an enemy snaps up a British prize?’

  The heads went down to the table then; they were serving under a commander who had done just that in the American War and it would never be forgotten. Invited to continue he outlined the fight and the consequences and his own arrival in Palermo harbour as a victim of both a wound and a blow.

  ‘And I must, if I may, commend the actions of my men in what they undertook when I was not able to give them guidance, being unconscious. They fought like lions according to Captain Fleming.’

  ‘Noted,’ said Linzee, with a glance at Toomey.

  Then it was Palermo and di Stefano, who Pearce praised for his efforts to get HMS Larcher back to sea. ‘Tireless is the only word to describe him,’ he lied. ‘But he was up against his fellow countrymen, gentlemen, for whom sloth and chicanery is a way of life.’

  That got a murmur from his rear, quickly killed by a glare from Linzee; damning Johnny Foreigner was always good for a bit of sympathy even if Pearce doubted his own fellow countrymen were much better.

  ‘The consul made it plain to me that despite his sterling efforts I could be stuck in Palermo for months and without any aid in the way of funds. The poor man is up against debts he has already incurred on behalf of His Majesty’s Government and could not in all conscience take on the burden of any more without risk to his own position. It was he who suggested it might be wiser to seek aid in Naples.’

  There was no need for the prosecutor to mention another absent witness but he did, which led quite naturally to the events that followed and here the questioning took a different turn. The men before and judging him were all long-serving sea officers and they had curiosities they were not prepared to leave to second-hand explanation. Each one began to interrogate him separately and Pearce had a feeling that, Linzee apart, there was a want of censure in their expressions when he gave them answers.