A Close Run Thing

by David Donachie

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  If the Admiralty had stripped out the crew, they lacked the power to shift the standing officers and warrants. The master, the gunner and the carpenter were appointed by the Navy Board, the purser by the Victualling Board. The cook, who was always a Chatham Chest pensioner, got his place, a highly valued one for a man often missing a leg, from the Commissioners of the Navy. The bosun, again a Navy Board appointee and the senior petty officer of the ship, belonged to the vessel and would stay with her whether in service or laid up in ordinary.

  When John Pearce came face to face with these men, he found himself looking at a far from happy bunch. Their mates, the men on whom they relied to carry out their duties and whose positions were approved by the captain, had departed with Milton. When you listed what the sloop lacked it was scary; he was bereft in every area required to sail the ship and sustain the crew, never mind fight with it.

  He required people of experience to fill the various functions: a surgeon to repair wounds and deal with common ailments, a sailmaker, an armourer, a rope maker, a caulker and a cooper, though some he could probably do without. He also needed experienced men for various leading roles, not least a yeoman of the sheets to supervise things aloft when it came to the setting and taking in of sails.

  Right now he did not even have the manpower to haul inboard the ship’s boats, which had been left behind in the water. The muscle to man the capstan and heave them inboard was lacking, as was the number of men it would need to haul the ship over her anchor.

  ‘Rest assured this situation is temporary and will be rectified. I request that you go about your duties with that in mind and I will carry out an inspection of each of your purposes when time permits.’

  Stated with a confidence he did not feel, the words were backed up by a determined look. Oliphant, standing to one side, sought to appear equally resolute, even when Pearce had told him privately the situation was dire.

  ‘I shall first go to Chatham and beard Admiral Buckner who, if he did not issue the orders to strip out the ship, must certainly have known of them. I will demand of him that the requirements of the ship be made good.’

  That got another dogged look, to which all four warrants responded in a like manner: their faces were stony masks and, such was their manifest doubts, they would not meet his eye.

  ‘Gentlemen, you may have heard of me and I would not presume it to be flattering. But know this, you will not find an officer more resolute than I, or one more willing to engage with the enemy, be they the French or in the corridors of the Admiralty.’

  ‘I know your bravery to have been praised personally by King George,’ Oliphant bellowed. ‘Was it not he who promoted you to your present rank?’

  He was trying to help, only to have Pearce reckon he had achieved the very opposite. He had reminded these men of why he was so disliked by his naval peers. It was not just blue coats who loved the service. These men would too, for it was, in their various branches, purser apart, a lifelong career. It might be they resented him just as much as his fellow officers, but that worried him less, given he backed himself to win them over in time.

  ‘Now I ask that you go about your duties as best you can, while I sort out what will turn out to be a hiccup.’

  They still had not met his eye, nor responded verbally, by the time they filed out. Pearce turned to Oliphant, his expression conveying his thoughts. ‘You can bet that lot have gone to write to everyone they know who might owe them a favour, asking to be shifted.’

  ‘Pantry cupboards are bare, John-boy,’ Michael said, having appeared as the others departed. ‘Mouse would want for provender.’

  That presented another problem. In normal circumstances he would have sent Michael ashore with the funds necessary to buy what was needed in food and wine. But his melee with the Impress men made that risky, the same applying to Charlie and Rufus. It seemed he would have to go and do the ordering himself. He pulled a ledger from his desk, listing the stores in the hold.

  ‘It will do us good to eat as common seamen until the situation can be rectified. Michael, go to the cook and make sure his coppers are lit. You, Charlie and Rufus will have to haul out from the hold that which needs to be boiled.’

  ‘If you’re going ashore I shall come with you,’ Oliphant pronounced. ‘Such fare may suit you, but I am of a more delicate nature.’

  ‘You will come ashore with me, but not to take your ease at table. If my interview with Admiral Buckner—’

  Oliphant interrupted. ‘If he’ll see you. That fellow Laidlaw declined, did he not?’

  ‘He’ll see me, damn him,’ Pearce responded with real force. He could only hope he was right.

  It took another hired wherry to get him ashore and it entailed a much longer row than coming out from Sheerness. He was coming up two hours in the boat, huddled in his cloak to keep his best uniform clean. In some senses this was more demeaning than what had happened earlier: he should have been in his barge, being rowed by his own well-trained crew, under his trusted coxswain, able to approach the Admiralty Quay with a flourish.

  Instead he came alongside at a whimper. Having helped Oliphant on to dry land, he strode off towards the C-in-C’s office, part of the so-called officer’s row, these a dozen substantial and handsome brick buildings, constructed in the reign of the first George. These housed both the administrative headquarters of the fleet as well as providing accommodation to the senior officers on station.

  It was necessary to get past the ex-tars who’d managed to secure for themselves the agreeable jobs as doorkeepers. Passage for officers of his rank, with no arranged interview, was usually secured with a small bit of silver. Then came the more daunting obstacle of the civilian functionary, he who managed the business of the headquarters. He was the gatekeeper and long practised at refusal, which is what Pearce faced now. Politely requested at first, it soon became dogged.

  ‘Then I require you,’ Pearce insisted, ‘to inform Admiral Buckner that my next destination will be the Office of the First Lord of the Treasury. He will, no doubt, want to know why his express wishes are being thwarted by an officer whose fitness for command could be called into question.’

  That got Pearce a cold and disbelieving look from a dry stick of an official, with parchment skin and hooded eyes, a fellow who’d heard threats from many more whales of senior officers than this mere sprat of a lieutenant.

  Oliphant added his weight, in a deliberately even tone, which was more effective than the Pearce bluster. ‘It would be a mistake to see that as an idle threat. From Downing Street, the matter will go straight to the desk of Earl Spencer and, no doubt, given it is such a serious political problem, to the Duke of Portland as well.’

  The name hit home; keep the gate he might, but this man was not going to lay down his future to keep it closed. He conceded in a sepulchral tone.

  ‘All I can do is to send into the admiral and inform him of your request.’

  ‘Then oblige me by doing so,’ Pearce insisted.

  A bell summoned another ex-tar who was handed a note just penned to take to the C-in-C, with Pearce asking, ‘Where can we await his reply?’

  There was the very faintest twitch of the lips; this fellow, put on the back foot, was working up to take pleasure from his response. ‘I daresay this hallway will serve as well as anywhere. Or, if you prefer, Lieutenant, you may wait in the porch.’

  John Pearce’s blood had been boiling when he set of from HMS Hazard. It had, on such a long journey, cooled somewhat, but that remark sent it spiralling again. This disdainful dismissal, for that was what it was, sent his temper soaring to the level of rage. It was all Oliphant could do to restrain him as he pushed forward to the very edge of the desk, intent on clouting this supercilious sod.

  ‘Come away, John. Taking out your ire on this low cully of an under-clerk will not aid the purpose.’

  The icy and superior demeanour cracked. ‘You dare term me a low cully, sir! And under-clerk! I would have you
know of my seniority.’

  Oliphant threw up his hands, as well as his eyes, in a faux gesture. ‘Forgive me if I have inadvertently flattered you, for you are inferior to a scrub. Seniority? It is a truism that shit floats, to end up in the most surpassingly elevated places.’

  This was delivered as a Parthian shot, as he pulled Pearce away from a man now spluttering imprecations. Oliphant was advising his companion that a too often recourse to his fists was unbecoming. Pearce wanted to respond by telling him how close he himself had come to meeting them. The waiting was done out in the fresh air, which went some way to alleviate the mood, despite it taking a measure of time before Pearce calmed down.

  The call to see Admiral Buckner came eventually. Pearce, instructed to leave Oliphant behind, was led to his office, a large and well-illuminated room, due to the large sash windows and a clear blue sky. Buckner, of whom he knew little, was a burly fellow, with a crabbed expression. It was not just in the muscular upper body, but in the cast of the eye, a directness that seemed to eschew the guile that Pearce had found too often a trait in admirals.

  He had about him the look of a man seeking to send a silent message that to cross him would be dangerous, and was standing, hands clasped behind his back, as if to guard against anything coming in his direction and he did just that. But first he had to admonish the sheer effrontery Pearce had shown.

  ‘How dare you, sir, behave in the manner you have shown?’

  ‘I have good reason to believe you are responsible for my lack of a crew.’

  ‘Indirectly. I am merely an intermediary in this matter. The orders to strip out Hazard came down from Mr Marsden.’

  ‘You take your instructions from the Second Secretary, sir?’

  The full face filled with blood and the response was a shout. ‘I take my instructions, young man, from the board upon whose directives he acts. And damn you, who do you think you are to come in here and challenge me?’

  ‘I am an officer in command of a ship of war, which cannot weigh for want of the hands to do it. I see it as deliberate enmity.’

  ‘From the little I know of you, you’d as well to see it as chickens coming home to roost.’

  ‘I demand you provide me with the men I require.’

  ‘Demand away, sir. How many ship’s captains do you think I have in here daily, pleading for things I cannot provide, and among those people are those for whom I have a high personal regard.’

  It did not have to be said that did not extend to John Pearce; the look was enough.

  ‘Then I have no choice but to bring the matter, which I see as deliberate interference in what is a government task, to Mr Pitt personally.’

  That got a derisive snort. ‘Then I hope he has some hands hidden away, for I have none to spare, this when every vessel under my flag is short on its compliment. Even if I had them, I would not provide them to you.’ That look of guile Pearce knew so well replaced exasperation and vocal bluster. ‘It might be best for you to resign your commission to command HMS Hazard, then matters may right themselves.’

  ‘You are not the first flag officer it’s been my misfortune to deal with, but I see you as, by far, the least substantial by some margin.’ The face reddened again, prior to an outburst, so Pearce spoke quickly to cut it off. ‘Having overcome the malice of fighting admirals, I see no great difficulty in humbling one who has yet to lead a fleet into battle.’

  The shouts of anger followed him down the corridors to the hallway, where he rejoined Oliphant, who fixed him with a look. ‘I sense it did not go well?’

  ‘It’s Whitehall for you and immediately.’

  ‘Not another coach – will my poor arse bear it?’ Then his face brightened. ‘At least I’ll not be required to share it with your damned Pelicans and their hostility.’

  By the time Pearce got Oliphant away on a London-bound coach, then visited the various chandlers and bespoke the needs of his personal stores and other necessary items, it was too late to return to the ship. So, despite the standing instruction, one which could only be waived by the commanding admiral, which stated officers must sleep aboard their ships, he booked himself into the Royal George.

  That too had been instructive of how quickly rumours spread in a place like Chatham. Not a word had been said, but in the attitude of those listing and costing his requirements lay a degree of scorn at the quantities ordered, enough for a long voyage. Yet they accepted his credit and undertook to ship the goods purchased out to HMS Hazard on the following day.

  Next, he had to deal with the fact his cabin was poorly furnished, Milton having removed his own possessions even before Pearce came aboard. These included his chronometers, and that needed addressing. So he visited the various emporiums where such used objects ended up, to bespeak several pieces that would make life more bearable, not least a dining table and a dozen chairs.

  He bought a wine cooler and a couple of captain’s chairs for individual visitors, with cushions to ease the hardness of the seat. A carpet would take away the stark wood of the decking and help to mask the sounds from the wardroom below, once he had the men to occupy it. A couple of tapestries always softened the appearance of a cabin, hinting at homeliness instead of the true function.

  But it was the clocks that were essential and there no expense was spared. He wanted better timepieces than those supplied by the navy, one telling Greenwich Time, the other set by sextant to local noon, thus enabling him to establish the ship’s longitude.

  There was a certain amount of guilt about being ashore. He was staying in a comfortable tavern, eating a proper meal, while his friends were not. This he justified to himself by acknowledging the Pelicans had brought it on themselves. Had they been less at risk, he might have brought them along. For the others, he had to assume those Milton had been obliged to leave behind had their own personal stores.

  Food consumed, he retired to a room and sat down to write to Emily, deciding against detailing his concerns for the forthcoming cruise. He followed with another letter to Sir Peter Parker, detailing how the forces of malice had contrived to render his command inoperable, though adding what steps he was taking to remedy the matter. On the page these looked to be more hopes than realities.

  That done and cursing the navy and all its works, he went to bed, to dream of legions of admirals, all hanging from the sturdy branches of oak trees.

  That same day, three men were contemplating letters they had received from Emily Barclay. The first was Alexander Davidson, to confirm the wish that he take over the management of her affairs. While the chance for increased business was welcome, there had to be caution too. Ommaney and Druce, a larger firm, would not take kindly to what they would see as encroachment. They could retaliate by seeking to poach some of his own existing clients.

  The second letter had come to a bleary-eyed Edward Druce. He had spent too much time filleting the papers relating to the Barclay estate to welcome anything relating to it. An ultimatum had even come from home, to enquire where he was, one the work obliged him to ignore. The request, in truth a demand that the files in their entirety should be transferred to a rival, had him worry over his efforts, concerned that he might have missed something.

  Several schemes to which the Barclay funds had been committed had now been closed out, the shares in various trusts, not all canals, sold at the best price that could be extracted in a quick disposal. One or two showed losses, but happily others were marginally in profit or at break-even. Remaining were two of the most egregious ventures, where seeking a quick sale would be disastrous. These required as much as a fortnight before they could be liquidated at a reasonable value. That done, if you excluded the propriety of the original investments, they would appear as acceptable risks.

  The letter that went back to Harley Street requested time in which the firm could ensure that everything was in order. This came with the ritual words of dismay that their work on her behalf had failed to satisfy. But, in his heart, he was glad to be shot of the problem, ther
e being no doubt that Emily Barclay, thanks to her one visit to Newgate, knew too much to be an easily dealt with client in the future.

  Walter Hodgson got the third missive, having just returned from a tour of some of the less salubrious haunts known to a man of his trade. There were places in the city where information could be gleaned about the kind of villains he had spent his life in pursuit of. Such burrows were peopled by the dregs of a society that did not lack for low creatures, men and women engaged in every kind of criminality.

  The best sources were the least successful at survival in that world. Those who struggled to subsist by wrongdoing watched their more successful brethren with a keen and envious eye. They could be willing to provide scraps, if the fee for betrayal brought profit and provided it was carried out with care to avoid retribution. These partial tips a clever investigator could fashion into a whole.

  The whole he had conjured up this day told him the men in the drawings were not from the underbelly of the capital city. All he had asked for was recognition, not any crime that might be associated with the images. If you excused those so desperate they would concoct knowledge for the price of a pot of ale, he had drawn a complete blank. The result was not wholly discouraging; he had learnt where not to look, which could be just as valuable.

  Daisy had intimated the pair smacked of the sea, so further searches would take Hodgson east of the City, to the docks lining the north bank of the Thames. If nothing emerged there, it would be a tour of the coastal towns of Kent and Essex. If they had come to her place of entertainment for a possible act of murder, and that had yet to be established, it surely would not have been from a far-off location.

  During the day, he had toyed with the problem of what to pass on to Druce, coming to the conclusion anything partial would not serve. Gherson was still the prime suspect to all but him, but that only amounted to a reasonable if strong doubt about his guilt, based on a feeling in his lower gut. It was not a certainty. A visit to the usual clerk for funds to continue his pursuit would be necessary, and that would produce, as it had in the past, some useful gossip of the goings-on on the upper floors. But he would leave the principal alone until he could place before him undeniable facts.