Teaching was another option; he had enough learning for that, especially in French, but quite apart from the fact that they earned a pittance, he had bad memories of the schools he had attended and the kind of people that taught in them; miserable sods who were sore-headed in the morning, drunk in the afternoon, and very fond of the birch cane as a teaching aid. He could follow in the parental footsteps – the name Adam Pearce would open certain doors – except he had none of the conviction that had sustained his father over the years.
Besides that, he longed to clear himself in the eyes of the only friends he felt he had in the world. Right now Colbourne was the sole person who could provide him with an avenue, however tenuous, to do that, for they were on the ship and might never be allowed ashore while the war lasted. Maybe the Navy would assuage that desire for revenge he felt by giving him a chance to strike back at the French in some small way. He had no mind to be a soldier; that was known to be worse than being a sailor, unless you were an officer, and that required the means to buy a commission. He had even thought about the idea of a sum of prize money that would set him up, before reminding himself, as he had sought to relay to others, that such notions were in the realms of a pipe dream.
These depressing thoughts ceased as the Lieutenant came up the High Street from the Commodore’s house, head thrust forward, trailing the usual following of grubby boys, cupped hands out, one persistently asking for a penny, another for a halfpenny, the most desperate for a farthing. He almost felt a kindred spirit to them.
‘Even if your return is fortuitous, I have no real notion that I want you back aboard my ship.’
They were inside now, sat at a table, waiting for the food that had been ordered, each man with a flagon of cider in his hand. Pearce, who had failed to mention that he could not pay, longed to ask why his presence was fortuitous, but he sensed that would not help his cause. ‘I will come back aboard as a common seaman.’
‘You will not!’ Colbourne exclaimed. ‘If I allow you back on board at all it will be in the rank with which you departed, that of a volunteer. Then at least the Navy won’t have to pay you, and nor will you get a chance to undermine the crew.’
Hope thought Pearce; he is thinking of agreeing.
‘If that damn fool Bailey had not broken his leg I would not even consider it.’ Colbourne responded to the enquiring look. ‘He fell out of the rigging, fortunately from not too great a height. So you see I am short of a body, even a fairly useless one, to run the ship.’
Pearce posed his next question with some trepidation. ‘I was given to understand that a queue of boys existed who would do anything to get in to the Navy.’
‘Not aboard the Griffin.’ Colbourne snapped. ‘I even asked the Commodore for a suggestion. He said, and I quote his attempt to be jocose, “that he could think of no person he disliked enough”.’ Then he looked hard at Pearce and asked, ‘Why?’
‘I will not lie to you, I am at stand and the way I left Griffin still makes me uncomfortable.’
‘The notion that you are stymied makes me content. In fact I can recall the moment you allude to and the fact that I thoroughly enjoyed it.’
Pearce felt his opinion of Colbourne shifting, though in truth it had been dented on their last parting. He had seen him as rather soft, easy-going, perhaps with a sense of humour, but experience had shown that he had his own way of dealing with things, and a devious mind to boot. And there was an air of malice in his responses that Pearce had never thought to see.
‘Might I ask if the crew is less disgruntled?’
That touched a nerve, for Colbourne spat a reply. ‘The crew will do what is required of them.’
Perhaps things have not settled after all, Pearce thought. Would telling him the story of how his father had died and how he had witnessed it provoke sympathy, enough to aid the case? It was possible but he did not want to reprise it; he had dreamt about it too often these last two weeks, woken from his nightmare to curse himself as a coward for not even endeavouring to attempt a rescue. He should have tried and died in the process, and that he failed to do so would haunt him for the rest of his life.
‘In truth, Mr Colbourne, at this moment, I have nowhere else to go and it pains me to tell you that I do not even have the means to pay for the food we have ordered.’
That quite visibly surprised the Lieutenant, who suddenly covered the lower half of his face with his cider tankard, holding it there longer than the time taken for a gulp.
‘I can pay for your dinner.’
‘Thank you.’
There was another pause, of the kind that all men make when faced with a decision they would rather avoid. Then Colbourne allowed himself a slight smile, as though he had just had a notion that amused him. ‘I will grant you one voyage. In that time you must show me that my kindness is not misplaced. You must also show me you have the ability to command those men who were your former shipmates.’
Pearce could not resist the thought that Colbourne was toying with him once more, and he would have liked to have declined; but since he had no choice, he was forced to say. ‘Thank you, again.’
‘The correct form of address, Mr Pearce, is thank you, sir.’
The looks he got when he arrived at the quayside almost made his prior action worthwhile, which felt very much like grovelling. In no position to say anything, the boat crew had to look at him once more, this time their faces blank masks, to let him know the opposite of what was the truth; that they were near-dying of curiosity. Alongside Griffin a flat-bottomed Hoy was pumping fresh water aboard, this while a barge disgorged bundles of wood to feed the ship’s stoves and the cook’s coppers. Off the stern another party was hoisting in sacks of fresh bread, dried peas and oatmeal, and barrels of beer, salt beef and pork, these being lowered though a hatch to the holds. The cry of Griffin from the coxswain, to let those aboard ship know that their captain was coming aboard, did little to disturb the work. The men necessary to see Colbourne aboard, the quartet of marines and Midshipman Short, had changed from working clothes to proper uniform the minute they had seen the boat put off from the shore, this told to them by a ship’s boy set at the masthead for that purpose.
Pearce had no idea who it was who spotted and identified him, but all labour ceased in an instant, every eye on the approaching boat, with several hands outstretched and pointing fingers. The roar of a petty officer’s voice, heavy with cursing, got them working again, but not at the previous pace; every action was made in the light of the need to keep an eye on John Pearce. Colbourne was piped aboard to the stamp of marine boots, and Pearce, as he followed, was gifted the sight of Midshipman Short’s lined old face in deep shock, this while his jaw worked to find the words he should say. Finally, taking his hat from his head, they came out as a croak.
‘Welcome aboard, sir.’
Colbourne lifted his own hat to what passed for the quarterdeck, an act which had Pearce doing the same, as he recalled that it was what officers did on coming aboard ship. A ripple of exclamation, gasps and damnations swept the deck, that followed by another bellow from the petty officer to get working.
‘Mr Short,’ said Colbourne. ‘As you know I rated Mr Pearce as a gentleman volunteer prior to his departure from the ship.’
‘Sir.’
‘He is now rejoining to replace Mr Bailey.’
There was obviously an enquiry in the Captain’s look for Short responded. ‘Shipped ashore, sir, to the hospital. I have been told to expect him to be unable to resume his duties for some six weeks, and he has asked me to ask you if he has permission to go home and convalesce with his family.’
‘Six weeks, Mr Pearce. You might last more than one voyage after all.’
It could not have been staged, but it certainly felt like it, for those words were, as usual, heard by everyone. It was almost as if Colbourne was telling the crew to give him a hard time. Pearce remembered that slight amused smile before Colbourne consented to take him aboard. He thought now he understood it.
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br /> ‘Please return to your duties, Mr Short, while I outline to Mr Pearce his. After all, he is a complete novice. I will write Mr Bailey’s permission to go home. It can go ashore with one of the supply vessels.’
All trooped below, Short and the marines to change back into working gear, Pearce trailing Colbourne to his so-called cabin. The captain stopped between the two layers of hanging canvas. ‘You may put your possessions, such as they are, in where Mr Bailey berthed, and treat it as your own. I am sure he will have no objection to you using those things he has left behind. The most important will be his books on seamanship. I suggest you make a deep study of those.’
In his ‘cabin’ Colbourne continued, sitting himself but not inviting his new Midshipman to do the same, so Pearce was forced to stand head bowed, legs well spread and uncomfortable. ‘Once we sail you will share watches with Mr Short, four hours on, and four off. I will take the deck at dawn each day, and I will wish the ship to be cleared for action just before that. You will keep the ship on the course I have set and do no more than alert me should you sight another vessel, apprehend any threat, or feel that the state of the weather requires my presence on deck. Now, I suggest you go on deck and supervise some of the loading of stores.’
Pearce put as much effort into his ‘Aye aye, sir,’ as he could. Probably futile, he was determined to show Colbourne that his petty malice had no effect. Busy getting out the materials to write a letter, the man did not even notice.
Pearce stood at the bottom of the companionway ladder for a moment, looking around what had once been his quarters and half regretting the fact that it was no longer the case, steeling himself for what he knew was likely to be a hostile reception. At all costs he must get Michael O’Hagan alone. If he could explain to the Irishman, and convince him that he had had no choice, then Michael would bring round the rest of the crew. The other thing he determined was that, while he was aboard, he would carry out his duties as scrupulously as he could, giving neither Colbourne, nor the rest of the hands, any excuse to regret his being there. Taking a deep breath he began to climb.
There was banter on the deck, there always was when this kind of duty was being performed, as one tar would jocosely insult another for laziness, looks, the pox, or some other perceived fault. It died completely, as did the work, the moment Pearce’s head emerged from the hatchway. More telling was the fact that no one looked in his direction – any inadvertent eye was quickly turned away – that and the quiet manner, as opposed to the previous shouts, by which they were told to resume the proper level of labour.
Pearce headed for Short, who was, in all probability, his superior. He would have to share a berth with him, albeit they would rarely be in situ at the same time. ‘Mr Short, where would you like me to be?’
The look on that preternaturally aged face, and the glare that went with it, was as good as the man saying hell, but he had responsibility, and that overrode his personal desires. ‘They are loading victuals aft. Take charge of the party there and see to it that what is sent below is properly stowed.’
Pearce heard the rumble as he made to oblige. Even in harbour the ship pitched on a slight swell, and whoever had dislodged it had timed it well, for as it grew louder he had to turn to look. Then he had to jump, quick, for the cannon ball was very close to his ankle, rolling by to come up against the rim of the hatchway. Slowly Pearce bent down and picked it up, turning and holding it in his hand. Not one eye was aimed in his direction, everyone was busy. Then, slowly he walked towards the bows, looking for the garland from which it had been taken, seeing one missing from the nine pounder furthest forward. Carefully he placed it back where it belonged, and as he straightened he caught the look of one of his shipmates. It was that of Michael, and it was a look filled with what appeared to be a deep loathing.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The very tactic that Pearce had visited on Lieutenant Colbourne was, on that duty, now being applied to him. In charge of loading the rest of the stores he would issue an order and it would be obeyed, but at a pace designed to show him just how he stood in the estimation of the crew. It did not help that he had to ask advice regarding the proper storage of the casks, which led to a string of derogatory remarks, all loud enough to reach his ears. Any hope he had of talking to the Pelicans was nullified by the fact that they stayed as far away from him as possible, working on the deck of the store ship rather than their own.
As the hands were being piped to dinner, he made his way below, passing through the crew quarters to get to the screened-off den that was now his, which exposed him to hissed curses and no shortage of jostling. Charlie Taverner and Rufus Dommet refused to meet his eye, not something Michael was prepared to do, though given the look Pearce wished he would. The dinner he ate was no better than that he had been given before, and in Short he had a companion who, either from suspicion or dislike, was good for no more than an occasional grunt in conversation, this in a berth so cramped that he almost longed for the crush he had known previously.
Then it was back on deck to complete the victualling of the ship, this work carried out with more of a will. That had nothing to do with Midshipman Pearce and his ability to issue orders, more to do with the fact that the boats would be coming out from shore again, and the men were keen to pretty themselves up for the visit. Colbourne clearly had no notion to witness the debauchery, for he called for his boat to go ashore. He would have to come back, for he was obliged by standing orders to sleep aboard, but he would, no doubt, time his return for when things had quieted somewhat. Short, once work was completed and they were back below, did actually speak to him on the matter of the forthcoming arrangements, nothing more galling than his assumption of agreement.
‘You will appreciate, Pearce, that Bailey was too young to have an interest in the fair sex.’ Pearce just nodded, having a very good idea what was coming. ‘That would not, of course, apply to you, would it?’
Pearce looked up from his seat on Bailey’s sea chest; not very far up for sitting, he was nearly the same height as his new messmate, conjuring up as he did so an image of the whores he had seen ashore, which did nothing to cheer him, for it would be they or their ilk coming out to service the crew tonight.
‘I do have an interest in the fair sex, Mr Short, but it is not an appellation I would apply to the females who are presently going to come aboard. In them I have no interest whatsoever.’
That brought an expression to Short’s face which could only be described as thwarted, and it was with some feeling that he said, ‘Beggars can’t be choosers.’
‘Then I am happy to admit to not being a beggar.’
‘It is the question of room, Pearce,’ Short insisted, looking round their hutch. ‘You do understand that a fellow has needs, and a degree of decent privacy is necessary when they are…’
He could not finish the sentence, but then he did not have to. ‘If I had somewhere else to go, Mr Short, I would oblige you. But as I do not, and as I have no desire to share the pleasures you no doubt anticipate, I intend to sling a hammock and try to get some sleep.’
Short’s little old face screwed up with frustration. ‘That is damned unco-operative, Pearce. I should think that someone already in bad odour with the crew…’
‘Would conclude,’ Pearce interrupted, ‘that it makes no odds if that is extended.’
The look Short gave him, just before he spun round and made his exit, was deeply malevolent, and Pearce wondered if he had been wise to be so intransigent, for he would, very likely, need advice from this dwarf if he was to carry out his duties. That was until he reminded himself that he really did have no choice, apart from spending the night on the open deck, hardly an enticing prospect since, given the overcrowding aboard, that was likely to be a scene of much carnal activity.
His few possessions, sextant, shaving implements, flints, he placed on the available shelves, including a small tin he had purchased to hold that paper-wrapped earth he had taken from his father’s graveside. The
n, on second consideration, he decided to keep the tin on his person, to remind him of the cause he must pursue. In his pocket he could touch it constantly, and perhaps draw from it resolve, if not strength. When he did rig his hammock and climb in he found himself, with so little space, staring at his own knees. At least when he opened Bailey’s copy of The Seaman’s Vade-Mecum it was resting in the right place to read, that is if the light from the guttering lantern had been any good. He heard the scrape of boats coming alongside, and feet on the deck as the tribe of money-grasping nocturnals came aboard. That was the least of the noise, which increased in pitch as time wore on. There was a fiddler scratching a tune, probably for a penny, of which he was unworthy, squeals of female laughter mingled with screams, some happy, others angry and vicious, and he tried to blot from his imagination the scene beyond the screen at his feet, and what was happening above his head on deck. The canvas that cut him off from the passage to Colbourne’s cabin was hauled back more than once, and he found himself looking into faces of supreme ugliness, of whores who were still looking for a trick, or eager to service more than one tar. Finding that a polite refusal was insufficient, he roared at them to get out, which they did, leaving behind them aspersions on his manhood and his probable inclinations.
A Shot Rolling Ship Page 23