Never one to overly mask his feelings, wine made him a trifle boastful, not for himself but for the British tar and especially his ship. Nelson was eager to remind his inferiors that he knew what it was like to serve before the mast, having done so aboard a merchant vessel in his early youth, to let them know that he understood how an able seaman or topman thought, knew how to get the best out of them, which was why his sixty-four gun ship of the line was the best fighting vessel in the fleet.
‘Hear him, hear him,’ came the collective cry when his praise was extended to those present: they too were proud of their ship and their abilities.
Only when he began to praise his wife did the eyes of his fellow diners glaze over and not just because of the effusion with which he spoke of Fanny Nelson. To hear her described as a paragon, the very essence of marital rectitude and the bosom companion of his heart flew in the face of both his deeds and other statements he was wont to use after too frequent attention to the decanter. He had been heard to say more than once, ‘East of Gibraltar every man is a bachelor.’
Ashore, there was no plying of Nelson, quite the reverse, for in drink he was a worry; in the hothouse atmosphere of the kind of entertainments to which his rank got him invited, adulterous temptation was something he found hard to resist, his most recent fancy an amply bosomed Italian opera singer. There was no regard for his wife then and it was doubly dangerous in that he was often attended upon by his stepson Josiah Nesbit, serving aboard as a midshipman; who knew what the lad was telling his mother!
Toby Burns, the sole guest of that rank at the table, was being plied by Dick Farmiloe in order to get him to loosen up; he had seemed like a wound spring since he had been released and even if his one-time fellow mid thought he knew the reasons, there seemed no need to avoid a celebration of his freedom. Farmiloe’s attention, which kept Toby’s glass well topped up, backfired when the youngster was called upon to recount the past heroics for which he was famed.
Normally, when it came to recounting the events in Brittany for which he had been much lauded, Toby could trot out a well-worn tale liberally sprinkled with the kind of becoming modesty that deflected repugnance. Excess wine altered that and induced a degree of boastfulness that many found embarrassing, Farmiloe most of all; only Nelson seemed to drink in his every word, rapt in his attention.
‘To find yourself ashore,’ Toby slurred, in conclusion, ‘with half a dozen seamen in a panic is terrifying, sir, given I was on my first ever voyage. But I soon took charge and began to formulate that which I must, a way to get us back to HMS Brilliant.’
‘Which you achieved with a brilliant stroke,’ Nelson hooted, looking around the table for approval of his telling pun.
‘Indeed it was,’ Toby responded with seeming glee, even if he had heard the same words ten dozen times, in being a jest too obvious for many to avoid.
‘Did you not have help?’ Dick Farmiloe asked, seeking to temper the swank, which he knew to be pure invention. ‘Some of the men you led aided quite substantially in the affair, did they not?’
‘Useless!’ That reply was spat out along with droplets of wine. ‘And a damn radical in one case, Dick, a true Jacobin.’ Toby’s voice dropped and his face took on a look of what he supposed was cunning; it made him look like a particularly dishonest horse vendor. ‘But I saw to him and no error. You know the fellow I speak of—’
The voice from the door interrupted to tell all assembled that HMS Victory was in sight, which made Nelson sit back in his chair; it also prevented a stony-faced Farmiloe from dishing the whole fiction of what Toby Burns had just imparted.
‘Gentlemen, I must resist any more of your hospitality, for Lord Hood will want me aboard to hear from my own lips about the fall of Calvi. And you, gentlemen, need to be about your duties.’
There was no mystery in his listeners as to what that meant: their commanding officer needed to sober up and they had to pretty the decks so that their ship would pass muster under Hood’s basilisk and very critical gaze. Every eye was upon Nelson as he said those words and they stayed there as he got unsteadily to his feet, his servant Frank Lepeé stepping forward to get close enough in case he stumbled.
This was even more amusing than anything that had happened at dinner. Lepeé drank like a fish and was often in need of a hand on his elbow himself and here was such an occasion, for the servant, with glazed eye and unsteady gait, had clearly been tippling hard in the wardroom pantry.
The pantomime that followed, as the pair staggered towards the doorway trying to measure the pitch and roll of the ship, meant no one was looking at Toby Burns, which was just as well given he had taken the news badly, so much so that, head in his hands, he had begun to cry. Those who passed his shaking shoulders reacted in different ways, some embarrassed, others patting his shoulder and issuing reassuring words. Farmiloe, having been first out the door, even before Nelson and Lepeé, had not noticed and would probably not have expressed sympathy if he had.
The last to pass him was the premier, who ended up utterly nonplussed by the reaction to his kindly delivered words, an even greater shuddering of the shoulders. ‘Never mind, lad, we’ll get a boat to fetch you back to Britannia before the next watch. Nothing like your own berth, eh?’
With all secure aboard HMS Larcher, John Pearce could prepare to go ashore, a list of his present stores in his hand, as well as what he needed to bring them up to requirement for what lay in the future. Where he would be going next he had no idea, for in his orders bringing him to Leghorn there had been no mention of what he should then do. They might be here for a while, which was a not unpleasant prospect given what was awaiting him.
‘Mr Dorling, I need you to work out a list for some shore leave – no more than eight hands at a time and none to spend a night out of the ship. I trust we have no one foolish enough to run.’
‘Not likely on a foreign shore, Capt’n.’
Pearce nodded, even if he knew that there were sailors in the fleet, though he doubted on Larcher, who would desert regardless of where they were. That was more the case on the larger ships; the intimacy of a smaller vessel meant the binding connections were more personal.
‘I will grant that once I have seen to the revictualling.’ Looking over the side at the dozens of boats that had surrounded the armed cutter almost before she had hove to and anchored, Pearce added, ‘The men may trade, but no women to come aboard. If the men want their pleasures they will be granted time to take them ashore.’
Pearce suspected that would somehow be circumvented for he had no marines in his complement to prevent it, not that the lobsters were beyond the odd backhand bribe to allow what was every commanding officer’s right to ban, though many did not bother to do so. Often they took quite the opposite course, which flew in the face of Admiralty instructions.
A glance around the inner roads, just before he entered his cabin, showed just what a predicament it was; every warship had its quota of bumboats close by and there was a seventy-four not far off, with open ports, from which it was possible to hear the sound of fiddles and flutes, while he had no doubt the local whores had clambered through those openings to service the crew, even if there were guards set to stop them.
‘Leander,’ Michael said when Pearce alluded to the seventy-four and the sounds of merriment. ‘Sure it’s the devil ship. Me, Charlie and Rufus was put aboard her to come out here the first time.’
‘Not a happy time?’ Pearce replied, not without a strong stab of guilt, for that had been his fault.
‘Sure, the captain was never to be seen outside a foray on deck of a morning and the ship was run by that bastard Taberly, who I have told you of enough.’
It was rare for Michael O’Hagan to overly complain; he was a man who tended to take life as it came, but he had done so and very vocally about serving aboard HMS Leander. The aforementioned Taberly, premier of the ship, was a flogger and a gamer, who had put Michael to bare-knuckle fighting, bouts on which he had creamed off goodly sums, a s
mall reward going to the man who had earned him his winnings. He felt no need to give away more: if Michael did not do Taberly’s bidding there was always the grating to help persuade him.
‘Then let us hope you do not run into him.’
‘We will be going ashore, John-boy?’
‘You will. I’ll arrange it, Michael, that you, Charlie and Rufus are ashore at the same time as myself. Then we can find somewhere quiet to share a drink without the need for any of you to go forelock touching.’
Even in his private space both Pearce and O’Hagan had spoken very softly; it was a truism that the average sailor could hear a whisper through ten inches of planking and generally knew what their officers were about to propose well before they gave out any orders. If the crew knew that there was a special bond between these Pelicans it was not something to be too blatant about; any hint of favouritism could lead to resentment in the confines of a ship and that was a problem, once it took hold, very hard to counter.
The response came in the same hushed way and with a hint of humour. ‘Sure I hope not too quiet, John-boy. We Pelicans are as minded to pleasure as any man aboard.’
‘Just as long as you get back by the last dogwatch, Michael.’
‘No problem there, as Jesus is my judge.’
That got O’Hagan a jaundiced look, for he was a man too fond of the bottle for the liking of his friend. Then there was his other habit of seeking to knock some poor soul’s block off his shoulders; when Michael was in drink, violence was never far off, which might have been acceptable without his massive size and considerable ability.
Pearce worried that one day O’Hagan would be so far gone he might maim or even kill someone, which past experience had shown was not beyond him, albeit in the act of near murder when he had been stone-cold sober and needing to defend himself.
‘Boat’s ready, Your Honour,’ Dorling called, ‘and Bellam requests that he go ashore with you, given the parlous state of your personal pantry.’
Tempted to point out, that with Emily Barclay in the town, he was more likely to eat ashore than aboard, Pearce held off. If there was a golden rule in the navy, regardless of your rank, it was never to upset the cook. Fishing in his purse, he pulled out several coins, more than enough to allow Bellam to purchase what he thought he needed. There was another truism Pearce was aware of: he would see no change and it would be a far from sober one-legged cook who came back on board.
There was a momentary distraction as a frigate that had been in their wake made to anchor, the calls to do so floating over the harbour from an officer using a speaking trumpet. HMS Dolphin had first been spotted well out to sea and Pearce knew it to be British after they had exchanged the private signal and their respective numbers.
He had assumed it to be on course for Leghorn and for the same reasons as he, and the only thing unusual now was the number of redcoat officers crowding its quarterdeck and poop as the crew went about their duties, which brought an aside from Dorling.
‘Bullocks gettin’ in the way, Your Honour, an’ it was ever thus.’
‘Not for long, Dorling; they will be as eager for the fleshpots as any of our lads.’
‘Best, then, they don’t frequent the same, for it will be knives out an’ no error.’
‘Let’s hope, as officers, they seek out a higher grade of establishment.’
For a second, before he stepped down into the boat waiting to take him ashore, Pearce wondered about issuing an instruction to his crew to avoid any army officers if they encountered them; that he also put aside, for it would be a waste of breath and might have the reverse effect of what was intended. They might start to seek out those bullocks as a fitting target for a good brawl.
Emily he spied well before he made the quayside and his heart lifted at the sight of her, for she had changed out of her everyday clothing and bonnet; now she was dressed in fine clothing and under a parasol, with her long auburn hair pinned up showing a slender neck. Every one of her features was plain to see and heart-stoppingly beautiful they were. Facing forward Pearce declined to respond when she waved, for before him were several sets of rowers. He was damned if he was prepared to see them grinning at him, indeed he waited till the cutter swung round to tie up before merely lifting his hat.
As it was, Emily did not call to him, but to those very same oarsmen. ‘Gentlemen, it is good to see you again.’
That had them grinning all right, to the mind of John Pearce akin to baboons. Yet there was no disguising the pleasure they took in being acknowledged. In the voyage from England Emily had endeared herself to the whole crew, after one unfortunate incident, by her obvious lack of airs and graces as well as her consideration for the extra burden she placed on them by her mere presence. Added to that, she made their commander happy and a man in that state was a sight easier to deal with than a misery guts like the fellow John Pearce had replaced.
He had only a brief moment to touch Emily’s hand before he was obliged to help the rotund, one-legged Bellam out of the boat, watching him as he stomped off along the quay, then he was required to address the oarsmen.
‘I must ask you to return to Larcher and wait for our cook to signal his need to return. There will be leave, but not until I have seen those in command here and found out what places you should avoid.’
Pearce did not hear the grumbles as the cutter pulled away, too taken as he was with his paramour; the places the Leghorn consul and the senior naval officer would wish them to avoid would be the very places they were most keen to visit.
‘How it would please me to kiss more than your hand, Emily.’
‘Which must wait, John,’ came the hurried reply, for she knew him to be impetuous, ‘until we are somewhere more private.’
There was something of a growl in his throat then, a signal to her that when they were somewhere more private there would be more than kissing to do. That she understood exactly what that sound meant produced a flush to her cheeks that made her even more attractive to her lover. Yet the way her fingers tightened round his sent another signal, to say she was not inclined to resist such a notion, which made it doubly hard to point out the need to attend to his duties first. It also made what followed, as they set off along the quay, sound very banal.
‘You have been well since I left you?’
‘It has not been long enough for anything untoward to occur, John.’
For all the weeks they had now spent together, Pearce was still in that state of early infatuation that made it necessary to examine every word Emily said and the way in which it was delivered; he also knew that she still harboured doubts about her actions in agreeing to depart England with him, and such acute sensibility allowed him to detect a hint of a false note in her voice.
‘If something has, it would be as well to tell me.’
That got a slight pout. ‘It must have occurred to you that my situation here is far from ideal.’
To agree with what was a palpable truth was to open a box of problems best avoided; in truth, her circumstances would be far from perfect wherever she was, but it took no great leap of imagination that here in Leghorn they could be acute. For the estranged wife of a post captain to be resident in a port much frequented by the Royal Navy, even on her own, was far from being ideal; to be there openly in his company would be damning. Quick-witted as ever, he produced a reply to that point with what he reckoned to be a convincing tone.
‘Such a fact occurred to me, Emily, while we were apart, and it may be that we need to find somewhere less frequented by anyone who might know …’
He had to pause; what was appropriate to describe her circumstances? Did he say ‘know your husband’?; ‘know you are married and not to me’? What?
‘Why do I get the impression, John, that what you have just said has come from the kind of sudden inspiration to which you are somewhat prone?’
Tempted to lie, or at least bluster, he could do no more than smile. ‘You have come to know me too well.’
That
got him a squeeze on his arm. ‘Not true, I need to know you much better than I do.’
There was a pause before he spoke again, as he sought to distract himself from the feelings running through his body, that being far from easy. ‘Yet you have an immediate worry, I sense, and on that score.’
‘While I was walking the quay this morning, just as you were entering the roads, I met someone we both know, Henry Digby.’
‘Ah!’
‘You sound so very like him when you respond like that. He asked about my husband, expecting if I was present so was he …’
‘And you told him the truth?’
‘I was about to proffer some excuse when I spotted Larcher. With you about to land it seemed pointless to lie.’
‘And if he makes that public …’
‘I asked him to be discreet. I have no idea if he will abide by that request.’
‘He is a good man, Digby, and I believe he will. In any case I will seek him out and explain our position to him.’
‘And if it happens again, with another officer acquaintance?’
‘I will not let anyone insult you, Emily.’
‘And what difference will that make to their opinion of me?’
There was no doubt that the conversation had killed off the happy feeling apparent at the moment he stepped onto the quay; it was equally plain that it was not just going to suddenly disappear. Emily could not stay here if such knowledge became common; she would be exposed to, at best ridicule, and at worst, if he was not there to protect her, being importuned by men who saw any woman who had acted as had she as more than fair game.
Their forward progress, which had slowed in any case, was brought to a near halt by the redcoats piling out of several boats that had brought them ashore from HMS Dolphin. Boisterous in the extreme, they were milling about in a way that made passing through their ranks far from easy, which irritated John Pearce, even as it obliged him to put a cap on that as he uttered a series of the necessary polite asides to get them to clear a path.
A Divided Command Page 8