A Close Run Thing

by David Donachie

  ‘Reckon his temper got the better of him,’ was the opinion of another, a fellow called Simon, for John Pearce had laid about him with gusto, with a short stave standing in for a cutlass. ‘He has an evil eye that one.’

  ‘Well, he got my eye,’ declared Harry Teach, ‘and he knows my name.’

  ‘I’m damned glad he don’t know mine,’ came from a Tom.

  ‘Which tells me you’re afraid of the bastard.’

  ‘As any one of sense would be.’

  ‘I got both sense and gonads, an’ soon enough our high-and-mighty captain will know of both.’

  The eyes of those opposite Teach were raised, but not to alert him. Already they were reckoning him heading for trouble and deserving of what it brought him. It was the silent approach of Michael O’Hagan that had attracted their attention, as well as their curiosity. Had he heard what Teach had said?

  There was no way of telling. Michael merely stopped at the end of the table and enquired after the quality of the grub, to receive general agreement it was good and filling, this delivered with heads bowed over their mess dishes. Anyone looking at his broad smiling face might have noticed his gaze falling on Teach, which would have told them he had marked the man. But he said nothing and moved on.

  ‘Big bastard, that one,’ said Simon.

  ‘Big enough to come down hard,’ growled Teach.

  Above and behind them, John Pearce was also eating his dinner, which Michael had knocked up before going on his rounds. Instead of the Irishman serving him – he had looked after his friend for a long time – the dishes came to him by the hands of a couple of youngsters, which allowed him to enquire more closely into their past, in truth that of their fathers.

  If they were a mite cack-handed, they made up for it in their willingness to do right, so he was content. Alerted to an officer asking permission to come aboard, he had to leave his cheese and port to go and see who it was and why. It turned out to be a lieutenant who named himself as Isaac Hallowell in a distinctly American twang.

  ‘Permission to come aboard, sir.’ That granted and all the formalities observed, Pearce was in for another surprise. ‘I have been despatched to you from Portsmouth, sir.’

  ‘Not surely from Admiral Parker?’

  ‘The very same, but I cannot comprehend how you could have guessed.’

  ‘Second sight, Mr Hallowell. Please, I am just finishing my dinner and it would please me if you would join me in some cheese and a glass of port.’

  ‘Obliged.’

  Once he was seated Pearce could ask him his purpose, which turned out to be nothing more than the provision of a junior officer Parker saw fit, and with the competence, to be premier of an unrated ship like Hazard.

  ‘I was third on Barfleur, sir, presently at Spithead, but Sir Peter has ever been kind to the family. He knows my uncle very well.’

  ‘I know the name. Your uncle would have been at Toulon, yes?’

  ‘And Bastia and Calvi. He presently has Lowestoffe and is serving with Sir John Jervis.’

  A sip of port was enough to hide from Hallowell that the name Jervis was not one to cheer John Pearce. It was he who’d sent him home from the Mediterranean, in circumstances that screamed good riddance.

  ‘He has written to the Admiralty to recommend that I be appointed to your ship, but of course that is as much in your gift as theirs.’

  ‘Mr Hallowell, considering I don’t have any lieutenants at all, you are very welcome.’ Noting the querying look, Pearce felt constrained to tell Hallowell why. ‘Which may colour your desire to serve under me.’

  ‘I would like to show you that I have the ability to perform the task.’

  ‘I assume the boat you came in has your sea chest?’ A nod. ‘Then I will see it shifted to the wardroom where you will find Mr Williams, the master. Might I suggest that you change into working clothing tomorrow, for there is much to do?’

  The decision to have both Hallowell and Oliphant to supper was necessary as a way to introduce them, as well as to see if they could exist in harmony. Unlike his behaviour with the Pelicans, Oliphant was charm itself and it was noticeable he had the ability to ask penetrating questions without causing offence.

  This established that the young fellow had no knowledge of the area to which they were headed and certainly no knowledge of the Catalonian or Spanish languages, which laid to rest one worry. To the suggestion that Oliphant move to the wardroom, he was welcoming.

  ‘You carried that off well,’ Pearce said, as he and Oliphant took a stroll on the deck before turning in.

  ‘Did you not pick up on the probing?’

  ‘I know you enquired quite a lot of him.’

  ‘Well a certain amount is obvious. He’s a Loyalist Tory, of course, from a quite prominent family, who were forced to flee to Canada when the Americans rose in revolt.’

  ‘That is a subject I shall stay away from. Like my father, I was in support of their grievances.’

  ‘Which marks you out to me as a dupe once more, if you believe all that nonsense about representation. Greed was the true trigger.’

  ‘I wonder,’ was the mordant reply, ‘if you and I will ever plumb the depths of our differences.’

  ‘It surprises me you have any desire to do so. Now, it strikes me that my presence aboard, with all that is going on, is superfluous.’

  Pearce had to fight the temptation to issue a sharp dig, to tell Oliphant he was likely to be in the way, but he held it in check.

  ‘So I propose to reside ashore until matters are resolved. I hope that fits with your opinion?’

  ‘Saints alive, Oliphant,’ was exclaimed with gusto, ‘we can agree on some things after all.’

  It was a rather pinched companion who said. ‘I’ll bespeak a boat at first light.’

  Feeling reasonably pleased with the day, Pearce went to bed in a good frame of mind. The next day saw Oliphant gone and the Bedfords back aboard, working hard. It had to be admitted, also, some of the quota men were showing promise; not all, but in numbers that boded well. Everyone would not reach the same level of ability, regardless of how long they were in the service. But a ship of war could accommodate that, having, as it did, so many tasks to be undertaken.

  The late afternoon brought for him another problem in the shape of Lieutenant Peat, the elderly officer who’d written to him days before from Chatham. It transpired he had also petitioned the Admiralty, the latter responding favourably to his request for a place aboard the sloop, subject to approval by the captain.

  He was, in every respect, somewhat worse than his written description. Peat was a bit deaf, which had Pearce wonder if it was something to do with the amount of hair in his ears, a bushy grey cluster, which was replicated above his eyes. There was a sort of belligerent look to his normal countenance, as if he was in permanent preparation for an argument.

  In better circumstances he might have sent him packing, but right now any officer, given the duties to be carried out, was better than none. There was also the thought that if he was refused, then the sods in London would send him someone worse. Yet there were other complications: while Peat had to accept that John Pearce was his superior by dint of his position, if not the date of his commission, the same did not apply to Isaac Hallowell.

  ‘I cannot see that the young man deserves to be premier, when my time served is so much greater.’

  ‘You will allow the choice is mine, Mr Peat.’

  ‘I grant you that, but I quote custom and practice. It is in the tradition of the service to respect seniority by date of commission.’

  ‘I have not formally given the position to Mr Hallowell,’ Pearce replied, fearing he might have done just that when he mentioned possession of the wardroom. ‘So I will take your point under consideration and make my mind up when I see how you both perform.’

  The grunt that got showed the depth of the reluctance that went with acceptance. Peat’s jaw was set firm in his rather grey face, which was set off by pepper-and-salt
hair and watery blue eyes. Pearce felt the need to justify his actions.

  ‘I have looked at your service record from that letter you sent me, Mr Peat. This tells me you have not been at sea, indeed not in employment, for a very long time.’

  ‘A lack of interest, sir, no more. I have no one to plead on my behalf.’

  ‘A point I noted. But I must tell you that Mr Hallowell has been in employment, as well as at sea, continuously from entering as a captain’s servant.’

  ‘Which I assume was a favour for his uncle.’

  ‘So you know of Captain Hallowell?’

  ‘Enough to be sure he has the interest to further the career of his relatives.’

  Pearce was wondering if he should tell Peat of the way Hallowell had come to Hazard. Sir Peter Parker would never send to him an incompetent officer, quite the reverse. He must rate Hallowell highly. Parker fully understood the behaviour of the Admiralty and was quite prepared to apply his seniority to thwart them. Yet that would only evoke in the older man a further claim that Hallowell had the powerful support Peat lacked.

  ‘Well, let it rest for now, given I am due another pair of junior officers and I will need to assess them too. There is any amount of work to be done before we can think of weighing and that will only qualify as a trip round the bay. Now I suggest you settle in, make the acquaintance of Isaac Hallowell, Mr Williams the master and the marine lieutenant. There is a great deal of work to be done with a crew completely lacking in skill. Which we will begin to remedy in the morning.’

  ‘Inexperienced, you say?’

  When it was explained to him just how lacking they were as tars, and Pearce agreed the need to be firm, Peat looked as if he had been ordered to quell a mutiny.

  The real problem with the older man surfaced very quickly. He appeared appropriately dressed for toil, in an old uniform coat, so faded from its original blue it would have passed for a French Navy struck by poverty. It was his attitude to discipline that quickly manifested itself, for he carried in his hand a length of knotted rope, to use as a starter, and he was free with its use.

  At first, Pearce, busy with Mr Williams and his charts, studying the local waters, had no knowledge of what was happening on deck. It later transpired that Isaac Hallowell felt himself unable to intervene. It was Michael O’Hagan who suggested to his captain that he should come on deck and his expression meant it brooked no delay.

  Pearce was just in time to see Peat not only haranguing the fellow known as Teach, but he had been belabouring him with said starter. He was quickly informed that the old sod had threatened some of the Bedfords with like punishment, though he had not actually struck any of them a blow.

  The difference in their attitude was obvious, to a man who had observed them over two days. Gone was the cheery enthusiasm, the joshing as they cajoled the men they were instructing to greater efforts: now they were sullen. Pearce was in time to see the starter raised above Peat’s hat, but a call to stop it being used failed due to Peat’s lack of good hearing. He also saw that the victim, who had been recoiling in order to mitigate the effect, was bunching himself up to retaliate.

  The yell to belay, intended for both, did not halt that which was already in progress. Teach, and the Gods had to be thanked for this, did not punch Peat, which might have seen him hang. He merely put both hands on the old lieutenant’s chest and pushed him backwards. That he was about to follow that up with said blow became clear as all saw the fists were bunched.

  ‘Mr Peat, come away from there at once,’ had to be stated loud enough to register, bringing the head round to aim a vacant stare at his commanding officer.

  Charlie Taverner was no fighter, but he had enough strength to restrain Teach, who had taken a small step forward, and shout in his ear what he risked, this while Pearce was striding down the deck towards Peat, his face like thunder.

  ‘What, sir, is that in your hand?’

  ‘The swine laid hands upon me, Mr Pearce, did you observe it?’

  Pearce grabbed the starter, which was swinging loose and threw it over the side.

  ‘I will not have such a thing on my deck.’

  Everyone had ceased to work and were now standing transfixed, this as an angry Pearce towered over Peat. But there was a dilemma: he wanted to reprimand Peat but to do so in full view of everyone was unwise. In order to do what he must, he first had to control his temper and his voice.

  He fought to sound calm as he said, ‘Mr Hallowell, you have the deck. Mr Peat, please join me in my cabin.’

  ‘What about this good-for-nothing?’ Peat demanded. ‘He struck me, you must have seen it.’

  ‘Master-at-arms. Take this man below.’

  Peat spat at Teach, now being held by Charlie and one of the Bedfords, ‘I’ll see you at the grating.’

  ‘An’ I’ll see you in hell,’ Teach yelled back.

  ‘Mr Peat, my cabin, now.’

  They made their way along a crowded and silent deck and, just as they disappeared, Pearce heard Hallowell ordering everyone back to work. Inside, Mr Williams was waiting for Pearce to return; one glance at the pair and the joint looks of fury had him roll up his charts and depart.

  Pearce assumed his seat and looked at the old lieutenant, his face leaving his captain in no doubt of his anger. That was being returned in equal measure.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Once the door to the cabin was closed, Peat let fly. ‘I do not take kindly to being humiliated, sir.’

  ‘And, Mr Peat, I do not like to see members of my crew being abused.’

  ‘I am perfectly within my rights to correct slacking and the fellow was daydreaming.’

  ‘Correct idleness, by all means, but you looked set to draw blood. I do not approve of the use of a starter, and I tell you I will not stand for it from now on.’

  Peat adopted a sly look. ‘How is a person to know that when there are no standing orders to show him what is the correct way?’

  Pearce was slightly checked by that; it was his job, outside the Articles of War, to lay down for all to see, or at least have read to them, the way he wanted things done outside those regulations, specific to the running of the sloop, and he had not yet got around to it.

  ‘As to blood, it was I who was close to being drawn, sir. That ne’er do well was all set to fetch me a clout. I saw the way his fists were bunched. I suggest it is near worthy of a rope from the yards.’

  Pearce was aghast, not only at the suggestion but the look of excitement such a prospect generated on what was usually a closed-up and crabby face. ‘You would have Admiral Buckner convene a court martial for such a trivial event?’

  ‘Trivial, Mr Pearce?’ Peat demanded. ‘It is no such thing. It goes to the very heart of the proper application of discipline.’

  ‘Might I remind you the man in question is a quota man and thus new to the navy?’

  ‘All the more reason to set an example of him. The men must respect me and I will say I cannot see that being boosted by what amounted to a public dressing-down.’

  ‘I did no such thing. I made a point of asking you to leave the deck.’

  ‘You grabbed my instrument of authority and chucked it in the Thames!’

  ‘The instrument of your authority is the coat you wear and the rank you hold.’

  Peat reacted like a spoilt child, his fists bunched and shaking before him. His face, too, was contorted. ‘He deserves to be punished! I demand the punishment fit the crime.’

  Pearce responded in an icy tone. ‘I think you’ll find that is a decision for me. I suggest you go about your duties and, if you find you cannot do that, repair to the wardroom and stay there.’

  Peat opened his mouth to complain. Pearce cut him off with no grace whatsoever. ‘That, Mr Peat, is an order, which you disobey at your peril.’

  Once Peat had stomped out, the bulkhead door being slammed for good measure, Pearce considered the problem. Teach required to be punished, but what would fit the offence? Laying hands on an officer was
serious and, had a blow been struck, it would have had to go to Buckner, where a sentence of death was not beyond the bounds of possibility.

  He had to clear from his mind any dislike he had of the man himself, one who’d shown a degree of defiance when addressed. The normal punishments in his armoury – stopping grog, bread and water sustenance or even stapling to the deck – would not do. A boy was called to carry a message.

  ‘Please ask Mr Hallowell to spare me a moment.’

  When the American entered it was not so Pearce could seek his opinion; to do so would undermine him. He merely asked him what the reaction had been when he and Mr Peat had left the deck. The answer was a general buzz of chatter and some excitement in the new men, they falling silent if he came too close.

  ‘The Bedfords?’

  ‘Shrugs, sir. In my opinion, they reckon our fellows do not yet know their duty.’

  Having thanked him, he asked for Michael O’Hagan. Pearce knew he had to do something and the Irishman felt the same. Pearce had made sure they could not be overheard, so the conversation could be as informal as possible.

  ‘I can see no way out of a flogging, John-boy.’

  The look Pearce gave his friend required no words; he was not keen on flogging, having been lashed to a grating himself, albeit his punishment had proved light. He recalled discussing the matter with Nelson, a man also disinclined to resort to the cat. The words he had used were clear in his memory.

  ‘It makes a good man bad and a bad man worse.’

  However, even Nelson had acknowledged that, at times, a captain was left with no choice. The men who served in King George’s Navy were no saints, and some were incorrigible sinners, with drink at the root of many an offence. The grating was sometimes the only answer.

  ‘If the quota men get an inkling you’re soft,’ Michael continued, ‘we could have no end of trouble.’