Gherson, whose eyes had widened as Ralph Barclay spoke, positively grovelled, trying to take his hand to kiss it. ‘Belay that man. Pick up your dunnage and go to the entry port. My barge is standing off. Call it in and get aboard.’
‘Your honour.’
‘One more thing, Gherson. I expect, that when I face the court martial being forced on the admiral by Pearce, you will bear witness to the truth?’
‘Happily, captain, happily.’
‘Might I ask who has taken on the task of defending Barclay?’
Hotham’s secretary corrected him immediately. ‘Captain Barclay, and the answer is no one yet, though I anticipate there will be many who will put themselves forward.’
‘Am I free to go?’
The secretary lifted up the several pages of writing which was Pearce’s written evidence and made a show of looking at it. He then proffered a quill and the last sheet to be signed, which John Pearce did with a flourish. A languid hand indicated that he should depart and as he came out on to the maindeck, he saw Barclay ending his conversation with Gherson, saw the treacherous sod pick up the small ditty bag that contained his possessions and head for the entry port, giving Michael O’Hagan a wide berth. Looking back, Gherson saw Pearce as well, and the gloating look on his face made Pearce wonder what the bastard was up to now. Barclay had turned and re-entered the door from which he had no doubt exited, leaving Pearce to walk over to his friends.
‘Michael, Rufus, Charlie.’ As their hands moved to touch their foreheads he barked, ‘Don’t you dare.’
‘Sure,’ said Michael, grinning, ‘it’s only for show, John-boy.’
‘Are we free?’ asked Charlie.
‘Not free, no, at least not yet.’ That made Charlie frown; he was always the most vocal of their plight, and the one inclined to remind Pearce of his previous failures to get them free. ‘But you are to have the misfortune of serving under me, and I am about to serve under our old lieutenant, Mr Digby.’
O’Hagan’s face lit up, all his teeth were visible. ‘Holy Mother of God, John, after what we have had, it sounds like free to me.’
‘Then pick up your bags. I must go to the Officer of the Watch and request a boat.’
‘Will we be free, John?’ asked Rufus.
‘If it can be done, we four will do it. There is going to be a court martial on Barclay when we return, so the sooner we get moving the sooner that might be. Now come along.’
They were all grinning as they responded. ‘Aye, aye, sir.’
Looking at the up-to-date muster book, Ralph Barclay was seeking those men it would be best to send into the prize. Sykes, his bosun, he would like to have sent, but the movement of a ship’s standing officers, Bosun, Gunner, Carpenter and Purser, was not within his powers, and the man would hardly volunteer to go into a ship half the size of his present warrant. Still, he could ask. For the rest it would be the standing officers’ assistants who would get the nod, though he had a care to keep with him those who he thought he could call as witnesses in his defence.
At another table, Gherson was examining the rest of the ship’s books, which told of what stores HMS Brilliant carried, had a record of what she had consumed in a list of articles that ran into the hundreds. Having raided the Toulon Arsenal, the ship was well found in everything, and Gherson was looking for those gaps where he could purloin a bit, something to set aside which he could sell should the occasion arise. He would need the connivance of the correct members of the crew; only the gunner had access to powder, a valuable commodity, likewise the carpenter with timber and tools. The purser would have his own peccadilloes, so there it was a case of finding out what he was up to and hoping that a little would fall his way. Canvas, cordage and lifting tackle was an impossibility: Sykes, the bosun, was too honest.
The man who had employed him thought he had the measure of Gherson; he knew he would try to cheat him, all clerks did, just like the servants at home in Frome. But for a man who had needed to be careful of his purse before taking up this command, indeed one who had had the tipstaff banging their staff of office on his door, it took a canny soul to bamboozle him. Let Gherson try, that would at least bear some testimony to his competence – but he would be brought up with a round turn, and told, in no uncertain terms, that the proceeds from anything purloined must be shared, and must be done in a way no admiralty clerk could spot.
The knock on the door admitted Midshipman Farmiloe, gangly and fair, and somewhat in terror of his commanding officer.
‘Mr Farmiloe, we have orders to remain at this berth, which will be the death of an enthusiast like yourself. I have therefore agreed that you should have a temporary shift to HMS Faron. It’s that French prize you saw come in. Mr Digby commands her and she is off on a cruise. Much more suitable than languishing here, what?’
If Ralph Barclay had not been so cheerful, Farmiloe would have accepted with the grace that was clearly expected, but smiling good news was not his captain’s habit, so his response was mumbled.
‘I want you to sort out the following men. Gherson, take note of these names. Costello, Dysart, Dent, both the Kempshalls, Dorling, Lanky Smith…’ The names were reeled off, with Farmiloe wondering how Gherson had got to be where he was. Mind, he was a useless bugger on deck from what the midshipman could recall, so he was probably better off here. ‘Tell them to get their dunnage together and be prepared to shift.’
Ralph Barclay stared at the deck before him, and sifted through troubled thoughts. His bosun was a real problem, since he could be called to give evidence. ‘Send Mr Sykes to me, if you please.’
Toby Burns knocked and entered. ‘Mrs Barclay approaching, sir.’
‘See your aunt aboard, Mr Burns. I am busy.’
Cornelius Gherson was looking hard at a set of figures, but he was not really reading them now. He had forgotten the captain’s delicious wife, and the thoughts he was harbouring as he recalled her would have seen him chucked overboard. She was very young compared to her husband. He never even considered that such actions had got him into trouble before; that had been someone else’s fault, not his. This was, quite possibly, going to be a bit of better good fortune than he had at first surmised. When she entered the cabin, and made what was memory dull by the reality of her presence, he felt his blood race.
‘Don’t stare, Gherson, it lacks manners.’
Barclay’s rebuke had him looking at his books again, but an introduction had him on his feet.
‘My dear, allow me to name Cornelius Gherson. I have engaged him to be my clerk.’
‘I know your face, Mr Gherson,’ said Emily.
He nearly blurted out that he knew hers, but he forced himself into an obsequious nod.
‘He was one of my Sheerness volunteers, my dear, and damn me…’ Seeing the look that minor blasphemy brought to his wife’s face he looked contrite, yet thinking it was a burden to be with sailors one minute and a wife of strict manners the next. ‘Anyway, I had no idea he was accomplished in the clerkish line, but now I do.’
‘Is this to be his place of work, husband?’
Please, thought Gherson, unaware of why the question had been posed. It was because of Ralph Barclay’s sailor-servant, Shenton, who had been with him for years of bachelorhood and had not taken kindly to his master having his wife aboard. He was, to Emily Barclay, a nuisance, never knocking when he should and, in his own subtle way, letting it be known that he saw her as an interloper. Another person with unrestricted access to this cabin was not to be welcomed.
‘No, my dear. We will find him a crib in which he can work.’
Another knock and Sykes entered. ‘You sent for me, sir.’
There was a terrible temptation to scowl at the man. Sykes was competent but lacked the necessary fire, being a bit soft on the hands, and Ralph Barclay had had to rebuke him more than once for what he saw as Sykes mollycoddling them, which always produced a look of injury. But it would not do; he had to look gracious. A quick explanation followed, in the sam
e vein as that given to Farmiloe, with the captain unaware that by now everyone on the ship knew what was afoot.
‘I just wonder if the experience will be better than sitting here, Sykes, when we are fully rigged and only the odd bit of grease or tar needed to keep us shipshape. I can tell you we will not weigh until Toulon is either secured or abandoned, and I know that Mr Digby could use a capable man.’
The alacrity with which the offer was accepted quite offended the giver; the man might have at least have pondered, but then he did not know how much Sykes disliked him, nor had his mind moved at the same speed. The bosun could go on a detached duty, but his place aboard the frigate was secure. No one but Lord Hood could take it from him, and even if he did Sykes could appeal above the C-in-C’s head to the Navy Board.
‘Very decent of you, sir, and I thank you for your consideration.’
There was a terrible temptation to do the same to Brilliant’s master, who was a useless timid sod, but that would be a step too far. ‘Right, Sykes, ask Mr Glaister to join me; we must work out some revised watch lists.’
‘And, Mr Digby, I have to inform you that I lack the knowledge to do the task for which I have been selected.’
Digby had listened with increasing disbelief as Pearce had outlined his adventures of the last six months, since he had seen him go over the side of HMS Brilliant off the Brittany coast, already having seen action. To be pressed once was bad enough, to be pressed twice was hellish, yet there was also a strand of envy mixed up with wonder at the amount of conflict Pearce had seen. It was the stuff of a junior officer’s dreams. The man, despite his insistence on naming other people as responsible for what success he had enjoyed, seemed touched by some divine providence in the article of opportunity. To help in the capture of a French 74, which might have sunk a British 50, was fantastic.
‘Might I suggest that you seek the appointment of another officer.’
That was tempting; to have as his second-in-command someone of so little experience was bound to place an extra burden on him, and it was not as if Pearce wanted it. What he asked next was what killed the notion.
‘I would of course want O’Hagan, Taverner and Dommet released into my care.’
Digby was quite brusque; Pearce ashore and close to Barclay with that trio to aid him was too risky to be considered. The man might not be beyond secret murder, and where would that leave him!
‘I must decline both requests, Mr Pearce. We have been given a duty to perform and it is up to us to execute that to the best of our ability. Now you will cease to be so unconstructive and help me to work out how we are going to fill the various offices that must be occupied. Not one of the men Captain Barclay proposes to send us, apart from Mr Sykes and Costello, has a true rating over able seaman, and we are still short of a master and probably another midshipman.
‘Then can I suggest, sir, you request that they should come from HMS Weazel. Mr Neame, you must know, is an excellent master, and Harbin I rate very highly.’ Digby was nodding slowly, while Pearce was thinking that with those two aboard some of his inexperience could be disguised. ‘Oh, and my Pelicans have requested that we ask for a couple of hands from Leander. Their names are Latimer and Blubber Booth. Both good men who can hand, reef and steer.’
‘I will see what I can do, but we must show some haste, for there is much to be taken aboard in terms of stores. We have to be ready to weigh by this time tomorrow.’
Chapter Eight
Coming aboard the newly commissioned HMS Faron, Lieutenant Digby was greeted by the boy who had brought her in, Midshipman Harbin, who was immediately asked if he was prepared to stay aboard. It was telling that he hesitated, pointing out that his ship was HMS Weazel, and only assented when he heard from where the recommendation had come, and that the same fellow who made it would be joining them. Farmiloe came aboard with the draft from Ralph Barclay, and though he seemed a personable enough lad, the mention of that same officer produced a dramatically different result; the notion of Lieutenant John Pearce sharing the same deck did not please him at all.
‘Mr Sykes, at your service, sir, and right glad to see you again. Captain Barclay has agreed that I may serve on your ship on this commission, if that is acceptable to you.’
‘Acceptable, Mr Sykes, it is damned handsome,’ Digby replied, not willing to say what he really thought, that it was damned odd.
‘It is only because he has orders to keep our ship in the inner harbour with enough men to man the guns, a floating battery so to speak. Admiral Hood intends to keep Johnny Crapaud honest. Any sign of backsliding and it’s a cannonball through the winders.’
Digby raised an eyebrow, not at the notion, which was sound, but at the easy way that Sykes talked of it; surely such a thing should be in the nature of a secret. Mind, he had never ceased to be surprised at the way sailors found out things that should not be vouchsafed to them. Keeping a secret aboard a ship was something generally held to be well nigh impossible unless the captain was so close-mouthed he told no one of any action he contemplated.
‘Then you will know, Mr Sykes, of our intended duty.’
The bull-necked bosun grinned, reminding Digby that, with the exception of his dealings with Ralph Barclay, the man had a habit of general good cheer. ‘Whole port and fleet knows that by now, your honour.’
‘Then the whole fleet will also know how much time we have to complete our stores. Best get to work, Mr Sykes, and I suggest you start by inspecting how we are fixed in the article of canvas and cordage.’
Sykes gave instructions to the men with whom he had come aboard, and Digby greeted each one he could remember by name as they passed him, pleased that they seemed content to be coming aboard his ship, then immediately concerned that the reason could be that they might see him as soft.
‘Mr Farmiloe, I have here a list of stores compiled after ship’s capture. Please be so good as to go below and ensure it is accurate.’ Farmiloe looked at the sheet, and pointed out that it was dated not more than a week past, to which Digby replied, ‘Time enough for tempted fingers to diminish it substantially. I need to know precisely what to request from the storehouse ashore, and I would not dare start off short.’
‘Mr Pearce approaching, sir,’ called Harbin.
‘Very good, Mr Harbin. See to Mr Farmiloe, tell him where to stow his dunnage, and then report back to me.’
Digby was suddenly aware that the approach of Pearce, with the three other Pelicans in the thwarts, had taken everyone’s attention; in fact no one was doing anything. In a voice that was heard in half the ships in the anchorage he yelled at them to ‘get a move on’, and was pleased by the response, forced to turn away to hide his smile. Men were rushing to their duty; he might be remembered a considerate soul, but he was not going to be thought lenient.
‘Sure that’s a fair old roar, John-boy,’ said Michael O’Hagan, ‘are you sure it was Digby?’
The men on the oars, all from Hotham’s flagship, looked at each other to register their surprise, not for the first time, that a common seaman should address an officer so.
‘That, Michael, is the voice of one in command, and if you think it loud, wait till you hear me. I think you will be surprised.’
O’Hagan laughed out loud. ‘Jesus, never. Did I not tell you once that you were made for a blue coat?’
‘And I saw you as a positive tyrant,’ added Charlie Taverner, with just a trace in his voice that the remark was not wholly tongue in cheek.
Pearce knew he had a problem with these three, probably he would have a problem with the crew he was about to face, because they knew him more as one of their own than as an officer. He had been gnawing on how to deal with it, and come to the conclusion that it would find its own level, for he could not behave in any other way than his conscience dictated. If any act of his caused offence, so be it, but now was as good a time as any to lay down a marker.
‘I have learnt, my friends, a ship must run smooth, that there is no place for laxity, for the
sea will surely take you if you do not treat it with respect, and so will an enemy. I hope you too have absorbed this lesson.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said young Rufus.
Charlie’s voice had no humour now. ‘It means, Rufus, that when John Pearce shouts shit, the likes of us jump on the shovel.’
‘Stow it, Charlie,’ Michael responded, as the boat came alongside. He was already following Pearce through the gangway, when he added, ‘John-boy will not become a Barclay just because he has the dress, but obey him we must, if he asks us to.’
‘It’ll be hard, Michael.’
‘I do not recall it so. I seem to remember we was happy to follow his lead when we were last in real trouble.’
The reference to Brittany made Charlie Taverner shut up.
‘That’ll be a damn rum vessel an’ no error,’ said the man coxing the Britannia’s boat, as they pulled clear. ‘Paddy’s Market by the sound of it. Ain’t never heard the like, disputing with an officer like that. Navy’s goin’ to the dogs.’
‘Mr Pearce,’ said Digby, responding to the raised hat. ‘I welcome you aboard, though I have a feeling it should be the other way round.’
Pearce did not want to think of that, nor of Digby occupying quarters the like of which had so recently been his own. ‘I hope you recall our old shipmates, sir?’
‘That I do, Mr Pearce, and I welcome you aboard also. I have sent in a request to the flagship to be allowed to warp into the mole to take on stores, so we will need the boats manned as soon as that is given. Please be so good as to tell Mr Sykes this will be his next task after he has checked the sail lockers and the cable tier.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’
As they made for the companionway, Digby called Pearce back to him, and said quietly, ‘I know, sir, you have an attachment to these fellows that exceeds the bounds of normal duty, and while I respect it, I cannot allow it to interfere with the running of the ship.’
A Flag of Truce Page 9