A Flag of Truce

by David Donachie

  What was he going to do with that Burns boy? The lad was as near to useless as it was possible to be, yet he was a relative by marriage and that meant an obligation. Naturally that led on to thoughts of his wife, of their wedding, with he being able to recall with clarity the cold but clear day, the cheerful friends, added to the wonder he felt that such a beautiful creature had agreed to marry him. He managed to blot from these recollections the fact that Emily’s family occupied a house that was entailed to him; that he could have, on his father’s demise, slung them out. No, she had come to him not just because of a sense of duty but because she admired him.

  But that admiration had been dented. It was galling that she refused to understand, annoying that she applied the mores of her sheltered upbringing to a service that was nothing like family life in rural Somerset. Sailors were not bucolic farm hands or local labourers, some were rascals of the worst kind, others men who, not in the least refined, when conflict looked imminent and the fleet expanded, left the merchant service for the better conditions on a ship of war; not pay, but regular food, fourteen inches of sleeping space and a berth full of mates all eager to talk of prize taking. But there were never enough of them, so pressed men were necessary to man the fleet. The nation was at war, and they must be willing to face death so that their county could triumph.

  There was a brief reverie of Ralph Barclay chastising his wife as his father had done with his mother; a good seeing-to with a birch would bring her to heel, bring her back to the proper degree of respect due to her marital master, but it did not last; he knew he would struggle to administer such a punishment and on reflection he guessed it would have, on Emily, the reverse effect of that imagined. Yet brought to heel she must be, and when he did finally fall into a deep slumber, that was the last thought he had.

  ‘Mr Glaister, I see that certain members of the crew are being shipped into a boat.’

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Barclay,’ the First Lieutenant said, raising his hat with his one good hand, the other being still in a sling from a wound taken when the ship was captured. Polite as that was it did not answer her enquiry, which forced her to repeat it.

  ‘They are to attend on Captain Barclay’s court martial, ma’am.’

  Looking into the boat she could see Coyle, the Master at Arms, a bosun’s mate called Kemp, whom she found unpleasant, Devenow, her husband’s new clerk, Gherson and her nephew.

  ‘I am at a loss, Mr Glaister, to think what Mr Burns can bring to proceedings. From what I gather he was not present on the night in question.’

  ‘Captain’s order, Mrs Barclay. Not for me to query.’

  The way the blue-eyed Highlander was looking at her, his sharp-boned face disapproving, it was as if he was telling her that she should think likewise, which was not an attitude that she was prepared to accept.

  ‘Fortunately I have only the bounds of marriage to constrain me, Mr Glaister, not those of the service. With your permission, I will join them.’

  Glaister stiffened. ‘I have orders, Mrs Barclay, that you are not to leave the ship.’

  ‘You do not have, sir, the authority to confine me.’

  ‘Madam,’ Glaister replied unhappily, ‘I have the authority to deny you that boat.’

  She was tempted to snap at him, but that would be futile; the man was only doing what he had been told. The seat of this problem lay with her husband, not Glaister. ‘When you say not leave the ship, am I to take it that includes a stroll of some kind?’

  ‘No, but the man Captain Barclay would allot the duty of escorting you is not going to be available. As you will see, Devenow is in the boat.’

  The jolly boat was pulling away and looking over the side into the refuse-filled water of the inner harbour, Emily was struck by the fact that Toby Burns kept his face turned away from her, which, given he normally looked at her with sheep-like devotion or deep worry for some imagined transgression, was disquieting.

  ‘I shall take a walk, Lieutenant Glaister, and I shall do so unescorted. I have found that Toulon is quite safe now that all those radical sailors have departed.’

  The two sets of eyes locked, those of the Premier troubled, hers like flints. She knew she had placed him in a difficult, indeed impossible position. As a gentleman he could not bar her from what she intended, but it was clear he should. Ralph Barclay had been quite specific, telling Glaister that should she demand, she must be denied a boat. He had said nothing about terra firma. In truth, he should have offered her another escort, but that, in his captain’s eyes, might smack of collusion. Upsetting his commanding officer was not a good idea if he wished for advancement.

  ‘Very well, Mrs Barclay, but I abjure you to keep a weather eye open. Toulon may appear safe with a hulk like Devenow a few paces to your rear. It might not be quite so secure for a lady on her own.’

  ‘Nonsense. I shall fetch my parasol.’

  Emily went below and did just that, but she also dug out her pin money purse, not containing a great deal of coin, but surely enough for what was needed, a one-way trip in a wherry to HMS Britannia.

  The accused and Pigot entered the great cabin just after those officers who were interested had taken what seats were available for an audience. Ralph Barclay was encouraged by the smiles and nods of support he received; he was at least among his peers.

  Hotham’s secretary, acting as recorder, called, ‘All rise’, an instruction which everyone present obeyed. A file of five post captains, all with twin epaulettes, entered, and stood behind the long table ranged before the footlockers that ran under the casements. The President of the Court took out his sword and laid it on the green baize cloth, then sat down, followed by his fellow judges and the rest of the people in the room. Ralph Barclay had no sooner made his seat than the mention of his name had him and Pigot up again.

  ‘Allow me to introduce the officers who will hear this case. On my left Captain Luckner and Captain Breen, on my right Captain Fellows and Captain Laidlaw. I am Captain Foregham, and I act as president. I must ask you, Captain Barclay, to confirm your name and rank, and name to the court your trusted friend.’

  Barclay obliged, and that was followed by a reading of the charges, which were in all respects a repetition of what Hotham had said to him when he announced this court.

  ‘I now introduce to you and the court, Lieutenant Elijah Birdutt, who will put the case for the prosecution.’

  ‘Good,’ thought Barclay; he knew the man and he was well known for his blustering stupidity.

  Birdutt stood, his bright red face and untidy grey hair evidence of the time he had spent in his rank; he had to be one of the oldest lieutenants in the King’s Navy, which was a direct result of his inability to both execute his duties and impress those in command. He had been denied promotion for the very good reason that he was unworthy of elevation, only a degree of influence keeping him in employment.

  ‘May it please the court, I have nothing but the charges to levy against the accused, those claiming testimony regarding the case having been taken away from Toulon by their duties.’

  ‘Those are?’ asked the President.

  ‘Lieutenants Digby and Pearce, Midshipman Farmiloe, Bosun Robert Sykes, and seamen Dent, Dommet, O’Hagan and Taverner.’

  ‘Do we have any depositions from those missing?’

  ‘Unfortunately not, sir. It seems there was no time to take such a thing prior to their hurried departure.’ Ralph Barclay was looking at Hotham’s secretary, writing in an elegant hand words he knew to be total lies. The man’s sangfroid was admirable. ‘There is however the verbal testimony made both to Admiral Lord Hood, his Captain of the Fleet, Rear Admiral Hyde Parker, and to Admiral Hotham on a separate occasion. I asked those officers to provide written statements of what transpired and with the courts permission I would like to read them out.’

  ‘It would be best to hear their remarks from their own lips, while also allowing Lieutenant Pigot an opportunity to question them for the sake of clarity.’

&nb
sp; ‘May it please the court,’ Pigot said, looking at his client and sending blasts of stale wine breath into his face as he spoke. ‘We are talking of officers engaged in the most onerous of tasks, men with great responsibilities. I can speak for Captain Barclay when I say he would not wish them taken away from their duties merely to confirm their written word.’

  ‘Very well. Mr Birdutt, you may read each one in turn, before passing it to the court.’

  ‘The accusations stem from one source only, sir, and that is Lieutenant John Pearce.’

  ‘None of the others mentioned in the witness list have made complaint?’

  ‘If they have, sir, it is not recorded.’

  ‘Carry on.’

  Birdutt read in a sonorous voice, as if it was he who was the admiral and not the man making the complaint. Some of Pearce’s venom was obvious in each one, indeed Ralph Barclay could practically hear the sod’s voice in Lord Hood’s testimony. Parker was more circumspect, relating only the facts, while Hotham’s told the court that he had needed, on more than one occasion, to remind Lieutenant Pearce of both his inferior rank, the virtues of the man he was traducing, and the fact that duelling between officers of His Majesty’s Navy, rank being immaterial, was forbidden. Once Birdutt was finished, the President cleared the court so they could read these documents in peace. Pigot was asked to remain for the same reason, but sent out when the five captains fell to discussing the contents.

  ‘It’s a damn shame about not duelling, sir.’ Ralph Barclay turned to face Taberly, who was smiling at him. ‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to call out Pearce.’

  ‘You’re not alone, Mr Taberly.’

  ‘Can I say, sir, that you have the support of every right thinking officer in the fleet.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Taberly. Allow me to name to you Lieutenant Pigot.’

  As if to underline his name, Pigot burped as he shook Taberly’s hand, and he turned away from the fetid smell as a voice called. ‘Gentlemen, the court will reconvene.’

  ‘Mr Pigot, do you have any remarks to make regarding what you have read?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Mr Birdutt, do you have any more evidence to introduce?’

  ‘No sir.’

  ‘Then, Mr Pigot, you may proceed to your defence.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I call Midshipman Burns.’

  Toby Burns was terrified long before he came through the door, and the sight of a row of blue-coated captains, and that sword on the table, nearly had his knees giving way. He was directed to stand centre room and Pigot immediately asked him his name, rank and ship.

  ‘Now, Mr Burns, please recount to the court the events, as you recall them, that took place in late February of this year.’

  Toby Burns opened his mouth, but nothing came out, which had the President say, ‘Take your time, lad, all we are after is the truth, and I would remind you that you are not here on trial.’

  The truth was all the boy was thinking of; if I tell them the truth I’m dished. Slowly he spoke, hesitant and rasping from a very dry throat, and all the while the recorder’s quill scratched across the page, seeming to him louder than his own voice. ‘The need for hands…the boat upriver…his task to land them west of Blackfriars…any mistake was his, his uncle being too indulgent in taking the blame on himself.’

  ‘You steered the boat to shore?’ asked Pigot.

  ‘I did.’

  The slight commotion made him look round, really no more than people shifting in their seats, one standing to let Emily Barclay sit down. The sight sent Toby Burns stomach heading down to the floor.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ralph Barclay had turned at the same, small commotion, but his reaction was one of very obvious fury, yet he could do or say nothing and he fought to compose his features; who knows, people might assume she was here to support his case. Her defiance was known only to him.

  ‘Mr Burns, please tell the court what happened when you landed.’

  He had to go on, there was no choice. If he blurted out now that his previous evidence was a lie, he would be in the dock as much as his uncle. It was a good thing he had been so thoroughly rehearsed, for that took over and it was in something of a daze that he answered.

  ‘It was pitch black, sir, which gave us no clue as to our true location, and the tavern into which Captain Barclay sent his scouting party would not have known they were in the wrong place entirely, no more than we outside did, as we secured the exits.’

  ‘There was violence, was there not?’ one of the other captains enquired. ‘The men taken did not surrender without offering resistance.’

  ‘One or two, sir, but not all. I would say that a goodly number of the men recruited took it to be their fate. How could they not, living in such squalor?’

  All five adjudicating captains, Lieutenant Birdutt, Pigot and Ralph Barclay adopted stony expressions at that statement, lest such a blatant piece of nonsense elicit the reaction it deserved; profound disbelief. Every one of those captains had pressed men in their time, and though they had also recruited volunteers, with bands, posters, bribes and downright falsehoods about untold wealth, they knew that it was not done in the hours of darkness, and in a place where men were taking their ease.

  ‘I take it,’ asked Pigot, ‘since he has been so vehement in his denunciation, that Lieutenant Pearce was not of that number.’

  ‘I could not say, sir. He was not at that time Lieutenant Pearce, he was just another volunteer, one face amongst many.’

  As Pigot gave the judges a meaningful look, the sound of a slight cough from behind, which he guessed to be his Aunt Emily, made Toby Burns’ skin crawl. He was also aware that he was sweating, conscious that a cabin too full of bodies was turning stuffy, and licking his upper lip he tasted salt.

  ‘The men were taken into your boats,’ Pigot continued, ‘shipped down to Sheerness, where they were given the chance to volunteer for service to the Crown.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And did you see any evidence of dissention?’

  He had seen them coming aboard that grey morning, some bearing cuts, others scars and bruises, rubbing wrists that had chaffed at their restraints, one or two weeping, many confused, others emitting looks of sheer defiance. He had not known it was Pearce when Ralph Barclay cuffed him hard round the ear; that he found out later.

  ‘Sir, I can recall, just before I went to my berth, that there was a great deal of jollity.’

  ‘Jollity?’

  ‘Laughing, an exchange of teasing.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Burns. I am finished with this witness, sir.’

  ‘Mr Birdutt?’

  ‘No questions, sir.’

  ‘Mr Burns,’ said Pigot, ‘you may step down.’

  As Toby Burns went to sit to one side, Hotham’s junior clerk was despatched to fetch the Master at Arms. Coyle, still suffering from a leg broken in a storm, came limping in using sticks, then, with some difficulty, knuckled his forehead and removed his cap. The ritual of identity and the Bible completed he was asked very much the same sort of questions as Toby Burns. For Coyle it was simple; if the captain was to be had up over pressing in the Liberties, then that could apply to all who were with him on the night and he was not ever going to lay himself open to such a charge. Coyle had been a soldier before becoming a Master at Arms, and every brush with authority all his life had led him to treat it with mistrust. He was honest enough to admit he could not recall who was steering the boat and he quite cleverly managed to avoid saying that Burns was not there. As to location, he had no idea; such things were left to those qualified to decide and he obeyed what orders he was given once on dry land.

  Violence? Some, not much. Despair? There were a few that took that line, but they soon came round and were ready for the King’s shilling once it had been explained to them the joys of shipboard life and the prospect of prize money.

  ‘I would say, sir,’ Coyle intoned, in response to Pigot’s final enquiry, ‘by the time
they made the deck they were as content a bunch of prospective hands as it has ever been my good fortune to help recruit.’

  Birdutt was again invited to cross-examine, but replied that he could see no purpose in it, as Lieutenant Pigot had been so good as to pose any questions he, himself, might have thought of. Ralph Barclay heard an approving murmur go round the great cabin, with much nodding of heads, causing the President to rap his knuckles on the green baize to command silence and attention.

  Kemp came next, and such was his rat-like snivelling appearance, Pigot got through his evidence quickly, really a repetition of Coyle’s, for he created an impression that every word he uttered was a falsehood. But he had one valuable addition to the tale; at the time, he had been a bosun’s mate, and had had charge of John Pearce once he had been entered.

  ‘He changed his tune when work was called for, your honour. A shirker he was, alas hanging back from what was needed to be done, unlike the rest who was willing. I had to encourage him more’n once.’

  ‘Changed his tune?’ asked Birdutt, when Pigot handed him over.

  ‘Aye, your honour. He was happy enough to take the King’s shilling, but not happy to meet his end of the bargain, and I heard him trying like billy-o to get others to rise up and rebel.’

  ‘In the depositions this court has already studied from our senior officers, it seems that Mr Pearce was insisting on freedom for others. This he would hardly do without their connivance.’

  ‘I won’t say they didn’t waver, sir, I don’t say that at all, for Pearce had a silver tongue. An’ I daresay for a time one or two fell into his way of seein’ things. But hot and cold they would be, with Pearce when he was in their ears, happier with their lot when they was left alone to think it out.’