A Flag of Truce

by David Donachie

  Making his way aft when the work was complete, Pearce entered the main cabin, to find it crowded with the possessions of the officers, a knot of the dozen lieutenants working out from copious lists the way they would man their watches. In his hand, Pearce had a copy of the Admiralty signal book, which he passed over to the most senior, a small stocky fellow who had earlier introduced himself as Gerard Moreau, who would command the lead vessel, Apollon, explaining that when they needed to contact Faron, this was the book they must use.

  ‘But, monsieur,’ Moreau replied in French, with a slightly mystified air, ‘none of us here speak English.’

  ‘Then, monsieur, you will have to use that one most.’

  Pearce opened the book at the signal that requested another ship to come alongside, adding. ‘I doubt you will need much signalling anyway. Our course is to the Straits and, once through, to the Bay of Biscay.’

  He also left a list of instructions; lanterns to be rigged and lit every night fore and aft, no boats to be launched without express permission, the speed of the whole to be dictated by Captain Digby, who in a lighter and better-equipped vessel should always have the legs of them. They must heave to if they encountered fog and use the signal guns to mark their position.

  Moreau had a ready smile and a twinkle in his eyes as he responded. ‘I think you mistake our purpose, monsieur. We have no plans to evade you, we merely wish to get home.’

  ‘I fear, monsieur, that my seniors have little faith in your intentions.’

  Moreau smiled. ‘Perhaps we can convince you over a glass of wine?’

  Pearce pulled a face. ‘I am afraid, Lieutenant Moreau, that I, along with all of the men who will escort you, have strict orders not to mix.’

  ‘Ah!’ Moreau replied, throwing up his hands in a very Gallic way. ‘They fear you will become Jacobins perhaps?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Pearce replied.

  Yet he smiled to ensure that Moreau knew such a notion was as absurd as the Frenchman supposed. Seeing that his attitude was creating ill-feeling – the others in the cabin were frowning seriously – he decided that his superiors could go hang. They saw things in a too black and white a fashion, always separating Frenchmen into virulent revolutionaries or the opposite. Pearce knew different: such Manichean simplicity did not exist; every shade of opinion existed. There would be, no doubt, aboard these four capital ships, some bloodthirsty radicals, but they would be few and unlikely to be much of an influence. In the main these were seamen wanting to return home, and that was a sentiment with which he could not disagree.

  ‘One glass, monsieur, to be amicable.’

  L’amitié required that to be several glasses, not one, and he got to know the names of the others who would command the vessels. Pasquale Garnier was the next senior lieutenant and he would command Orion. Hector Jacquelin, a less friendly fellow came next in line and would take charge of Patriote, the most junior, Forcet, having Entreprenant. The other eight lieutenants present would be the watch officers on each vessel, and they showed uncommon civility as they sorted out their needs, leaving Pearce thinking that they were employing a good method to achieve their ends. It was, on the whole, Jacquelin excepted, a very sociable atmosphere, one which was not appreciated when he went aboard his own ship to face Henry Digby.

  ‘You are supposed to have nothing to do with them, Mr Pearce, and here you come back on my deck with the odour of their wine on your breath.’

  ‘I took a glass to be friendly, sir, and I cannot find it in me to condemn them for their aim of getting home.’

  ‘And what about their politics?’ Digby demanded.

  It was a sad reflection, Pearce thought, as he looked into the irritable face of his superior, that even one as intelligent as he seemed to be, could not get hold of the notion that Frenchmen were no different to Britons; they were just as fractious and divided as any other race and that included his own. Like Scotsmen; to put any two of that race into private dispute was to garner three opinions.

  ‘We are to go alongside one of the store ships,’ Digby growled. ‘Lord Hood has sanctioned your notion of us carrying carronades. Oh, and that fellow, Lutyens, is to join us, since no French surgeon would agree to serve such Jacobins. Once we have those aboard, all we need is a wind.’

  Shenton, at the door of his pantry, could hear the conversation in the main cabin, and though he wanted to intervene he was powerless to do so. Toby Burns, dining with his aunt, was on the rack, and much as he twisted and turned he was slowly being roasted. The truth was coming out as she, quietly but persistently, posed question after question and they had moved on from the retaking of the Lady Harrington, to what had happened subsequently.

  ‘I was told,’ the boy said, head lowered, ‘should a King’s ship seek to press Pearce and his companions from the Lady Harrington, provided they did not jeopardise the safety of the ship, I was not to interfere, it being legal for the Navy to do so.’

  ‘And it was my husband’s express order that you should act as you did?’ The positive reply was so soft as to be almost inaudible. ‘Then though I find it hard to fathom, Toby, I cannot condemn you. It is too much that one as young as you should be given such a terrible amount of responsibility.’

  That got a louder response. ‘I felt the responsibility keenly, Aunt Emily.’

  Which engendered a sharp rejoinder. ‘Not keenly enough to decline to be treated as a hero.’

  How distant that seemed to a now-crestfallen Toby Burns. If he had ever seriously harboured the thought that he had betrayed John Pearce it had quickly faded on his arrival back in England. With the war only weeks old, he had found himself feted as a typical chip off the old oak block of Albion. Never mind he was barely breeched, he was a tar to his toes, even at such a tender age capable of the prodigious deeds listed in Ralph Barclay’s despatch, which credited him with the leadership of the whole enterprise in the Trieux Estuary.

  In Deal, at the Three Kings Hotel on the beach, every person in the dining room had stood to applaud as he entered, and the owners would not hear of him paying for his provender. He had suffered an interview with the First Lord of the Admiralty and going home to Frome he had been hoisted on the shoulders of boys with whom he had done his schooling, friends they said they were, even if he could not remember it being so, carried through the streets to cheers, only to come to his own home and find it full of the leading citizens of the town waiting to greet him and shake his hand. And more than that, they demanded he tell his story.

  He had not wanted to come back to sea, having found his first experience too harrowing for words; the filth of a midshipman’s berth, the foul language and downright thievery that was seen as the norm, that and the constant threat, which he never knew to be real or joshing, that he would keep happy the older boys if he cared to join them in some dark place. Nor did being on deck suit him, given he was not a commanding presence; quite the opposite, in his ill-fitting clothes made for someone expected to grow by the foot. He found his newly acquired Uncle Ralph to be a harsh and unpleasant man, the crew people of a type he had only ever hurried past in a street, and his Aunt Emily, who he had looked to for a softer touch, unwilling to cross her husband to ease his predicament.

  But he was a hero; how could he not want to get back to that element which would provide him with more opportunity to garner glory for himself and England? Not even his mother, to whom he was closest, seemed to see the doubt in his eyes when his return to HMS Brilliant was broached, while his father positively glowed, seeming to quite forget that warships got into battles in which people on board were maimed or killed in the most ghastly fashion; he knew just how bad that could be, for the sailors on his uncle’s frigate had taken foul delight in telling him so. And then there was that affair for which he was being praised; while he accepted the accolades, Toby Burns knew the truth, knew that he had acted in a cowardly fashion from the moment he was thrown up on to the Breton shore till the act of retaking the merchantman was complete, and he was deeply fearf
ul that faced with the prospect of death or injury, he would once more behave in a less than impressive fashion.

  ‘I did my best to deflect the accolades, Aunt Emily, but I was overwhelmed by enthusiasm.’

  I bet you were, you little shite, thought Shenton, who knew that it would not be the boy who would suffer for these revelations, but his captain, and he was right.

  ‘Toby,’ said Emily with a serious face. ‘I shall not mention this again, and I would request that if you are asked to describe the conversation of this dinner yourself, you decline to do so. And I think you should draw a veil also over the exploit for which you are praised.’

  That was a hard request with which to accede; on the voyage out in HMS Victory he had more than once been the guest of the wardroom, and on one occasion had even dined in the company of Lord Hood. In the mid’s berth he had been treated with respect, the same on deck, and free from any duties, being a supernumerary, he had quite enjoyed the experience of being at sea in what was, in truth, a cruise. Even if deep down he knew it to be misplaced, to be treated as a hero was exceedingly pleasant.

  ‘It would wound me to have to insist, Toby.’

  ‘I will do as you say, Aunt Emily.’

  ‘Thank you. And not a word of this conversation to Captain Barclay.’

  ‘He’ll hear it all right,’ Shenton said softly to himself. ‘Every bleedin’ word.’

  He then entered the cabin and asked, with a large and insincere smile. ‘Is you ready for the cheese, Mrs Barclay?’

  Emily nodded, then said, ‘Please ask if a boat can be ready after dinner to take me over to Mr Lutyens.’

  ‘Aye, aye, mam.’

  ‘I will be back in a few weeks at most, Emily,’ said Lutyens, aware that the news of his departure was not being well received.

  ‘Then I will have no one to talk to for that time.’

  ‘Your husband…’

  ‘Is no longer much aboard,’ Emily said quickly. ‘He is ashore working on the defences around Fort Mulgrave, and when he returns it is only to snatch a quick meal and sleep.’

  ‘If I read your tone aright, you have not repaired the breach that occurred at de Trogoff’s ball?’

  ‘No,’ Emily replied, then, in a rush, added, ‘Heinrich, can I confide in you?’

  ‘I hope you feel you are safe to do so.’

  The story came tumbling out, every detail, and as he had done before, he pretended no knowledge of the truth. As Emily talked of her nephew, Lutyens’ mind went back to the original observations he had made and noted at the beginning of their voyage. He had watched Burns as he had everyone else: the boy was plainly not cut out for the life, always with a face either miserable or concerned, with no appearance of knowing what he was to do, or an ability to absorb his duties; quite certainly no capacity for bluff. Hardly surprising, then, he had acted the way he had. There was no condemnation from the surgeon; that was his purpose for being at sea, to find out how men, even boys, in the confines of a ship, exposed perhaps to harsh punishment, certainly to rough company, possible battle and death, would react. He had left a profitable practice and the prospects presented by a well-connected parent for this, and here was Emily Barclay, another object of observation, confiding her deepest worries to him. His hand itched to get it all down on paper, yet he also had to be pragmatic.

  ‘I must advise you, Emily, that no man is perfect. Your husband is acting, by his own lights, in a proper manner, and harsh as it may seem to you…’ He left the rest hanging in the air. ‘You must, I think, find a way of healing this spat, for from what I have seen of Captain Barclay, I fear he is not equipped to do so.’

  ‘I find it hard to forgive him.’

  ‘No doubt, but forgive him is what you must do, because, if you do not, I fear that the rest of your married life will suffer.’

  Emily either did not want to consider such a thing, or admit that it had occurred to her already. Instead she looked at his chests, the one with his clothes, the other with his potions, unctions and the tools of his trade. ‘I see you are ready to depart.’

  ‘I have no wish to hurry you, my dear, but I am expected aboard.’

  ‘Mr Lutyens, I welcome you, and say, without a word of a lie, I am happy to see you once more.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Digby.’ The surgeon turned to acknowledge John Pearce and behind him all the Brilliants who were aboard. Martin Dent, the cheekiest, made a dumb show of him scribbling. ‘I believe you have instructions not to fraternise with the Frenchmen you are escorting.’

  ‘That is so.’

  ‘It is also impossible, sir. They do not have any medical men of their own, apart from one or two who may have served as mates to a surgeon, so if anything occurs, and on a voyage like this I suspect it must, I will have to go on board their vessels to treat them. And since I do not speak their language with anything approaching felicity, I fear Mr Pearce here will need to accompany me.’

  ‘Let us get to sea Mr Lutyens, away from the prying eyes and ears of admirals. When needs must, we will do what is necessary.’

  ‘Heinrich,’ said Pearce, ‘allow me to name to you the Master, Mr Neame, the fellow with the bandage you have already encountered.’ Lutyens nodded to Harbin, who had his head swathed in white linen. ‘Mr Harbin, see Mr Lutyens to his quarters.’

  ‘Ahoy Faron.’

  The shout had them looking over the side, to a boat which contained, apart from its oarsman, one old sailor with a face as lined as leather, and another substantial fellow who went by the name of Blubber. Pearce called over to them to welcome them aboard.

  ‘Latimer, Booth, I bid you a hearty welcome. I must say I never thought Taberly or his captain would release you.’

  ‘He was in a right old passion when he got his order an’ no error,’ said Latimer, as his feet touched the deck, this at the same time as his knuckle brushed his forehead. ‘I o’erheard him say that he would dearly like to horsewhip you, your honour.’

  ‘’Thought he was goin’ to do it to us,’ added Blubber. ‘Never seen the like.’

  ‘Not that you’d have felt it, Blubber,’ called Michael O’Hagan, ‘you’re too well padded.’

  ‘Belay that,’ shouted Pearce, aware that Digby was not pleased with the interjection, which smacked of ill-discipline. ‘See these men below.’

  ‘Have you taken note of the wind, Captain?’ asked Neame, sniffing as though the breeze, which had shifted, had a smell.

  ‘I have, Mr Neame. I think, gentlemen, we are in all respects ready for sea. Mr Pearce, please go aboard Apollon once more and speak to…what’s the fellow’s name again?’

  ‘Lieutenant Moreau, sir.’

  ‘I daresay he is in the nature of a Commodore now. Anyway, tell Monsieur Moreau to start warping his ships out of the inner roads.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Pearce replied, before calling for a boat party.

  They looked, with their gunports closed, like the real threatening article as they emerged into the outer roads, a quartet of seventy-fours being towed by their boats, the rowing men straining mightily to haul their bulk. Digby was aboard HMS Victory receiving last minute orders from Rear Admiral Hyde Parker.

  ‘Stay inshore of them at all times, where practicable. Their departure cannot be a secret to the Jacobins, Digby, and we must expect General Carteaux to be salivating at the prospect of taking them ashore as reinforcements.’

  ‘I doubt they would be willing to serve, sir. Lieutenant Pearce assured me they are intent on only one thing, getting home.’

  ‘And how, pray, does Lieutenant Pearce know this?’ Parker demanded, his round face suffused with irritation.

  Digby realised that he had dropped a brick, but he could see no way out of it. ‘He was in charge of the vessels when they were stripping out their guns, sir. I believe he felt it necessary to describe to them our signals, and in that process he discerned that they are not looking for any other outcome than a swift journey to their home ports.’

  ‘You will remind Pearc
e, as I will remind you, to stay away from these rascals, and that goes double for your crew. They carry with them a bacillus of disturbance which could affect the whole fleet.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Parker dropped his voice, not wishing to be overheard. ‘And if they show the slightest sign of waywardness, sink the sods, to my mind the best thing that could happen to them.’

  ‘You will ignore that, Digby,’ said Lord Hood, from the doorway to his sleeping cabin. ‘Admiral Parker is merely teasing you. These men are like us, sailors. I cannot think of a circumstance in which we would watch fellow-seamen drown.’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘It does however occur to me that you may find it more convenient, certainly to our cause, to let them go ashore in something other than a French naval port.’

  Digby looked at Hood for a moment in silence, a gaze that was held with a quizzical expression on the old admiral’s face. ‘Do you wish to give me orders in that regard, Milord?’

  The slow shake of the head spoke volumes; there would be nothing in writing, indeed no more said, and the only three people who knew what Hood was proposing were in this cabin, one of whom would soon be gone, the other being his right-hand man. He was being told what to do in a fashion that meant it was truly a secret, and in working that out he was also thinking that Lord Hood was a devious old sod.

  ‘I wish you God-speed, Mr Digby,’ Hood finally said. ‘Proceed to sea at once and await your charges.’

  HMS Faron led the way out into deep water, due south to begin with, to gain both sea room and remove any temptation to pass within even long sight of the positions of the besieging Jacobin forces. Digby was all activity, wishing to show his charges that the ship he commanded was nippy enough in stays to get quickly to any point of danger, the firing of the carronades in practice an added warning that should they transgress, he had the means to chastise them. Pearce was happy too; he might not have got his friends free, but they were with him now, away from the threat of arbitrary punishment; the sun was shining, the sea was smooth and life was good.