A Flag of Truce

by David Donachie

  ‘We must take Harbin and Farmiloe along with us. It will do them good to experience polite society.’

  Digby laughed. ‘God knows what it will do for polite society to be exposed to that pair.’

  It might be called a costume ball, but for most naval officers that extended no further than a small face mask. Lord Hood and Admiral Sir William Hotham eschewed even that, and seemd to be quite embarrassed at the way Rear Admiral de Trogoff had got himself up as a Roman Emperor. In all, the French officers took the matter of dress more seriously, while the other trait they exhibited was a certain abstemiousness when it came to food and drink. The British officers and mids were never far from a punch bowl or a platter, and Pearce, watching the behaviour of both, was amused at the quite obvious difference in national habits.

  ‘Drink up, Pearce,’ said a red-faced and sweating Digby, his voice raised over the nearby music. ‘You are supposed to be here to enjoy yourself.’

  Tempted to reply that guzzling was not a prerequisite of pleasure, Pearce decided it would be inappropriate, sank what he had in his cup, and was persuaded to take a refill. But having done so he detached himself from Digby and his ilk, and as he made his way amongst the French officers, all dressed in some form of costume, he regretted not having done likewise. The whiff of Paris was again strong, surrounded as he was by people speaking French, as well as the behaviour and the dress. For all the fervour of the Revolution, it had to be noted, as a nation, these people took their entertainment seriously. While never having experienced Parisian life before the year ’91, he guessed that such masques and balls had changed little from monarchical times. With his fellow officers, the object seemed to be to get drunk; with the French, it was dalliance, each lady present surrounded by suitors, most respectful, some deadly serious in their attempts at seduction.

  ‘Lieutenant Pearce, you look to be in some kind of study.’

  Captain d’Imbert was wearing a very florid and feathered hat of the seventeenth-century period, and a tabard over breeches and boots that had on it a large blue cross, the blade at his side kept short for decoration. He could hardly be said to look martial, given his age and shape, but he did look striking.

  ‘I was just observing, Monsieur le baron, the differing natures of our two nations. I fear my fellows lack the refinement of your own.’

  ‘It is as well that you did not see the place prior to our conjoining. We had as many of that type in our navy, which was hard to swallow, but then, the British Navy is open to all, whereas under the Bourbons, commissions were really the preserve of the well connected.’

  ‘Yet there were stout fighters and good sailors amongst them.’

  ‘I believe you are to escort those who refuse to serve back to their ports.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Then observe them well, Lieutenant Pearce, and might I also say, watch them closely.’

  Pearce was looking across the room, to where Emily Barclay stood, barely visible, surrounded as she was by Frenchmen. That was another difference in temperament; no British officer would so openly display admiration in the presence of her husband. Their hosts suffered from no such constraints; if a woman was beautiful, and she was that in her milkmaid’s outfit, then paying court to her was an obligation as well as a pleasure.

  The slight disturbance behind her took his eye and he saw a bunch of midshipmen facing up to an equal number of French youths, who would mostly be the sons of the locals. Knowing how the mids thirsted for a fight wherever they were, and guessing that the Provençal character was equally contentious, he decided to intervene, so he made his way across the room, passing as he did so Emily Barclay and those paying court to her. That also allowed him to see Ralph Barclay, deep in conversation with Elphinstone, though his eyes were on his wife, and even in a mask, it was plain he was displeased.

  ‘Mr Harbin, what’s afoot here?’

  Harbin was drunk, and a quick look at the others present showed them to be in a like state. Those they confronted were not, but since the mids were armed with their dirks, it was reasonable to suppose their opponents were likewise equipped. It would not do anything for Toulonnais/British relations if they fought each other; someone was almost certain to be seriously wounded.

  ‘They insulted the king, sir.’ Harbin slurred, ‘said he could keep his head as it worn’t worth the chopping off.’

  ‘This was said to you in English?’

  ‘No, sir,’ said another midshipman, equally inebriated. ‘Not one of the buggers speaks like a man should. It’s all heathen tongue.’

  ‘Might I remind you young man, it is their tongue, and if you do not understand it I am at a loss to know how you can say with such certainty that they insulted the king.’

  Pearce was also wondering at the reaction, or lack of it, of his fellow officers. He could not have been the only one to see the possibility of a confrontation, yet they were so intent on drinking and eating that they seemed content to let it pass. He went over to the sullen-looking group of local youths and, addressing them in French, asked them what was amiss, holding up his hand, given they all seemed to want to speak at once, pointing to one of the tallest to extract an explanation. Garbled as it was, it was clearly a case of misinterpretation; they had not said what was supposed. Just as clearly, faced with a bunch of equally belligerent youths, their honour was at stake and they were not going to back down. Admonishing them to do nothing, Pearce went over to where Elphinstone stood, which forced Ralph Barclay to move away.

  ‘Sir, I fear we may have an outbreak of violence.’

  ‘You mean the shavers, laddie,’ Elphinstone replied, indicating the knot of still agitated mids. When Pearce nodded, he just laughed. ‘Happens aw the time, Pearce. You’ll never stop young men strutting. The only way I have ever found is to pack them off to a whorehouse so they can work off their energy on a moll. There will be sair heids come the morn.’

  ‘Then might I suggest, sir, that we relieve them of their dirks?’

  Elphinstone was quite shocked at the idea. ‘What, and leave them with no defence?’

  Plainly he would get nowhere with a man like Elphinstone, so he went back and called to Farmiloe and Harbin. ‘Both of you, if you get into trouble tonight, I will masthead you for a week, as well as stretch you and have you kiss the gunner’s daughter every day for the same length of time.’

  It was fortunate that some of the local adults had also seen what was brewing; they were shepherding their youth to the other side of the room, so that the promised trouble seemed to abate, so the clutch of mids went back to drinking. Crossing back to where he had set out, he inadvertently caught Emily Barclay’s eye, and it was the devil in him that took him towards and not past her, displacing, with the effect of his arrival, the Frenchmen paying her court.

  ‘Mrs Barclay,’ he said, with a bow.

  ‘Mr Pearce.’

  He laughed. ‘I am so pleased you talk to me as a civilian. I must say I am uncomfortable still at being addressed by my rank.’

  ‘I find it hard to see you as other than the person I first observed.’

  ‘I fear you saw me in some straits.’

  Pearce had not intended to refer to her husband, but he had done so merely with those words, which brought a very bonny touch of rouge to her cheeks. He felt again the attraction he had experienced on first seeing her, that reinforced every time he had witnessed her forays on to the deck of HMS Brilliant.

  ‘I fear it would do little good, sir, for me to apologise.’

  ‘I cannot see what you have to say sorry for.’

  ‘I sense a kindness in that response, which is unwarranted. I fear I was the cause of my husband’s displeasure.’

  ‘Madam, I was the cause of my own misfortune. How could I observe you and not wish to engage you in conversation.’

  The fan she was carrying waved violently. ‘Sir, you are too bold.’

  Pearce smiled. ‘I think our French friends have been somewhat more so.’

  Suddenl
y animated, she was lovelier than ever. ‘They are, sir, to the point of rudeness. Some of the allusions they made were bordering on the obscene.’

  The look of shock on her face was stunning, and had Pearce wishing they were somewhere else. The poor girl did not know that the outré compliments to which she had been subjected were normal in French society, and it was a habit he had absorbed when seeking to make advances to women in Paris. Since they were as prepared to accept them as he was to press them, he had, as a handsome, well-set youth, enjoyed great success, even acquiring in Amelie Labordiére a mistress of high social standing and great beauty. That was what Emily Barclay would have enjoyed had she been French; her husband, like Amelie’s, would have acceded and got on with his own affairs, but provincial English life did not extend to such things. London, perhaps: out in the country, no.

  ‘Their compliments were well intentioned, I do assure you.’

  That fan was violent again. ‘I cannot see it as so, sir.’

  ‘It is the nature of the country.’

  ‘Then I can see why, if they cannot control their tongues in polite conversation, they are so in thrall to Revolution.’

  Pearce burst out laughing, loud enough to turn what few heads had not been surreptitiously observing the exchange between him and the wife of his known enemy. Lutyens appeared out of nowhere, and taking his arm, paid Emily a passing compliment and forcibly led him away.

  ‘What are you trying to do, Pearce, alienate every fellow Briton in the room?’

  ‘I cannot imagine what you mean.’

  ‘Then you are a fool. How can you pay court to a fellow officer’s wife and have any hope of gaining their respect?’

  ‘You mistake my position, Heinrich. I neither need, not desire, their respect.’

  ‘Yet you wish for their judgement. Who do you think will sit on the Board of Court Martial that examines your case against Barclay.’ Seeing doubt in Pearce’s eye, Lutyens continued with some feeling. ‘Precisely. The very people who are in the room. What they think of you does matter to you and your friends, so do not commit the sin, a cardinal one in the eyes of those present, of openly admiring Emily.’

  ‘Emily? I see you are familiar enough to name her so. Am I encroaching on your preserve?’

  ‘I do not deny, Pearce, that I have harboured stimulating thoughts in that area; who could not with such a creature; but that is all they are and all they will remain. I recommend you do the same.’

  ‘That will be a cruel fate. I cannot believe that old sod of a husband satisfies her as she should be. Emily Barclay needs a man between her thighs, not a doddering tyrant.’

  In being so outspoken, Pearce realised that he was slightly affected by the drink he had consumed. Fortunately Lutyens was not offended, in fact responded with a thin smile.

  ‘I suspect you are trying to shock me, Pearce, but you are wasting your time. Recall my profession.’

  The sudden commotion from across the room took the attention of both, but only Pearce moved, glad to see that finally some of his fellow lieutenants did likewise. It was dangerous getting between the two sets of belligerents, with the midshipmen wielding their dirks and the locals with knifes of all shapes and sizes. There were a lot of theatrical threats with those weapons, but Pearce knew it was only a matter of moments before one was used, and seriously, so he buffeted around the ear the first midshipman he came across, then started to lay into the others, belabouring right and left and bellowing orders to belay. Harbin was on his knees, blood dripping from his head, Farmiloe standing above him, dirk out and pointed to protect the boy from further harm.

  ‘What happened, Farmiloe?’

  ‘A cut to the head, sir. One of those Frog swine sneaked up and slashed him.’

  ‘Get him out of here. Mr Lutyens is over yonder. Move.’

  To the sound of a rondo from the orchestra, lieutenants were wrestling drunken mids, trying to get them away from their opponents, while adults dressed in everything from togas to Red Indian headdress were struggling to do the same to the local boys. To Pearce, only one thing worked, a sound punch, and he laid into his side with gusto. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Elphinstone laughing so heartily he was having to hold his sides, clearly enjoying the spectacle, and when some peace had finally been restored he went over to remonstrate, which got him a rebuke.

  ‘Have a care, laddie, you’re not rank enough to take me to task.’

  ‘I do think it could have been stopped, sir.’

  ‘Then you show your ignorance, Pearce. I was a mid once, and I canna think of a ball or amusement that did not end up in a spat with someone. I have had fights from Lisbon to Calcutta, with one or two thrown in on the North American station before that war, and I have never served at home that a night in the taverns did not end in riot. Boys will be boys, and we canna expect them to stand up to roundshot and musket if they will no stand up for themselves at a bash like this. Now if I were you, I’d find some French fancy and ask her to dance.’

  Pearce looked at the floor area set aside for dancing, not yet full, and the temptation to cross over and ask Emily Barclay to step out with him was strong. But her husband was close to her, and judging by the way he was leaning over and addressing her, he was not pleased.

  ‘You have embarrassed me in front of every officer in the room, Mrs Barclay.’

  ‘I have done no such thing,’ Emily pleaded. ‘Lieutenant Pearce approached me. What would you have me do, turn my back?’

  ‘Just that, which would tell all here that you hold him in the same regard as I do. The man is an impostor, a damned revolutionary and don’t you dare remonstrate with me for my language.’

  ‘Keep your voice down, husband. You are making a spectacle of yourself.’

  Barclay hissed at her. ‘It is you who have made the spectacle!’

  Emily lost her temper then, something she had never completely done with her husband, but she was not going to stand still to be publicly accused of unbecoming behaviour. ‘I daresay you would like to punish me as you punished him, and with the same want of justice.’

  ‘I punished him to protect your honour, madam.’

  ‘Claptrap, sir. You punished him for your own pride. And tell me, sir, what instructions you gave to my nephew regarding Pearce and his companions when they sailed for England?’

  ‘Instructions?’

  ‘Yes, husband. I was in the cabin when you and Toby were conversing on the poop. What has that boy done, sir, on your orders, that makes him fear retribution from John Pearce?’

  ‘That is naval business and none of your concern. I think now, also, that it is time we returned to the ship.’

  ‘You return if you wish. I am staying awhile.’

  ‘Madam, you must obey me, I am your husband.’

  ‘Must I ask my nephew what it is he fears, and why?’

  ‘I forbid that.’

  ‘Then I can only assume it is because you dread what I might learn. Like the day you named someone in a King’s blue coat a traitor, yet I ran into John Pearce in that very same-coloured coat at the hospital, before any other officer in the fleet came ashore. I have to surmise they were one and the same person.’

  ‘Wrong,’ Barclay replied with a defensiveness that damned him. ‘It was a different fellow.’

  ‘Was it? I fear you have allowed your hatred of the man to cloud not only your judgement but your self-esteem. And I, as your wife, will obey only a man who shows me the courtesy of being open and honest, which you, sir, plainly are not.’

  Fan waving violently, Emily moved away from her husband, who, looking after her, noticed that nearly every eye in the room was on him. The argument had not gone unnoticed and it was galling that in the looks he was getting, a good proportion had a trace of being thrilled. He strode across to where Elphinstone was supping another cup of punch.

  ‘Sir, I must tell you that I am ready to serve ashore as from this very moment.’

  The Scotsman looked at him through bleary eyes that
denoted his inebriation. ‘Have a cup of punch, Barclay. Carteaux and Lapoype can wait till morn.’

  Chapter Ten

  They might have been termed as useless or dangerous, but there was no mistaking the desire of those five thousand French sailors to get out of Toulon and back home to their Atlantic ports. They worked with gusto to get out the ship’s armament, no easy task since each cannon had to he hoisted out through its own gunport by a system of ropes, restraints and pulleys, in a complicity of knots that completely foxed John Pearce. Thankfully, his only task was an occasional one of necessary interpretation, and that was confined to the dozen officers, most of whom seemed a damn sight less Jacobin than he had been led to believe.

  While the guns were being hauled out, another party was working on the capstan bars, to drag out of the lower reaches of the holds the nets full of round, chain and case shot, as well as the powder barrels from the gunner’s store, with just enough of that commodity left for signalling. Out came muskets, pistols, pikes and boarding axes, cutlasses and knives, indeed anything that could be used as a weapon and he knew each man and his dunnage had been searched on coming aboard so not so much as a knife was going to be allowed.

  The sail locker was stripped to the bare minimum thought to be required, with only jibs, courses and topsails left, no topgallants or kites, while every spare bit of timber from planking to spars had been removed, as well as the hundred items of standard stores every vessel carried. Every inch of space would be needed; with each vessel carrying over twice her normal complement, food had to be loaded that would keep them hale for the entire length of the voyage. Beef and pork in barrels, sacks of peas and biscuit, water and wine for a month, which was reckoned at the maximum. Hood had made it plain that no stores could be collected from Gibraltar; this outing was being paid for by the remains of the Bourbon Navy, not the Admiralty, for it was generally held throughout the fleet that his decision to gift the French Navy four sound ships would not be welcomed in London. That was trouble enough without added expense to the Navy Board.