“It was reported to me by one of the marines, sir—Davidson.”
“Was this man not killed in defence of the ship?”
“He was, sir.”
“Did he tell you how he had knowledge of this petition, Mr Barthe?” Gardner asked.
“He was friendly with many of the hands, sir, and I had the impression that he was one of the organizers of the petition.”
“Did you report this to the first lieutenant?”
“The first lieutenant had quit the service, sir. I spoke of it to Mr Landry and certain officers, but we agreed we would say nothing unless we could learn more.”
“So when the captain returned you did not report this, nor did you report it to the First Lieutenant Hayden when he joined the ship?”
Bathe glanced Hayden’s way, then drew in a quick breath. “No, sir.”
“And why did you not, Mr Barthe?”
“It was only an unsubstantiated rumour. When the captain returned, the crew sailed with only a little grumbling, sir, so it seemed the crisis had passed, and I did not tell Lieutenant Hayden because he was new to the ship and did not then know the crew well enough to deal with such a problem.”
“Were you told why the crew would take this drastic step of petitioning the Port Admiral to have Captain Hart removed?”
“Because the crew believed Captain Hart to be a tyrant, sir, and because they also believed he was shy.”
“Shy, sir?” Gardner said, looking up at Barthe over a pair of round spectacles. “Captain Hart? Why on earth would they believe that?”
“Admiral Duncan,” one of the captains interrupted before Barthe could speak, “are we to allow the character of Captain Sir Josiah Hart to be traduced by the repetition of rumours? Captain Hart’s record of service is unblemished, and many a good fighting captain has had crews grumble about his ‘tyranny’ who only wished to run a crack ship and carry the war to the enemy. I dare say, we have all had the same grumbling upon our own lower decks. It is apparent, though, from the accounts of these officers that they kept much from the captain that would have allowed him to deal with these mutineers before they infected the crew with their radical ideals. Had Mr Barthe and Mr Hayden the common sense to keep their captain properly informed, these unfortunate events would surely have been avoided, preserving many a life. I dare say, Captain Hart has been ill served in this matter.”
The ship’s bell chimed, and the admiral glanced out the stern gallery window, perhaps surprised by how much of the day had slipped away.
“Let us end for this day,” the admiral said, “and return to Mr Barthe tomorrow with clear minds.”
The row back to the Themis, beneath a sullen and threatening sky, passed in silence, the officers misliking to speak of this matter before the oarsmen. They collected in the gunroom immediately upon reaching the Themis, all of them but Mr Barthe partaking of port. The steward and servants were sent off, and an agitated Barthe paced forth and back, three steps, before the rudder-stock.
“Well, it had to be said,” he blustered, sensing the mood of his fellows. “The hands were talking mutiny long before we left for our cruise. Now it will all come out. Sir Josiah Hart! Knighted for notorious shyness!”
“Calm yourself, Mr Barthe,” Griffiths cautioned. The doctor appeared very concerned, his sombre manner even more subdued than usual. “Although you are to be commended for your honesty, I believe Hart and Landry did a great deal to shift the blame for the mutiny to the shoulders of Mr Hayden and yourself. I am not sure what will happen on the morrow, for surely when two groups are so opposed in their understanding of events, the captains of the panel will be forced to find the truth by instinct. Not the best situation, for I fear it will be natural for them to believe one of their own.”
“Certainly the captains can see that Sir Josiah Faint-Hart is trying to preserve his now-great reputation?” Hawthorne pronounced with disgust.
“But why should Mr Hayden and Mr Barthe be doing any less?” the doctor countered. “If Admiral Duncan decides to include Mr Hayden among those being tried for the loss of the Themis, I have no doubt that things will go badly for you both.” He glanced from Barthe to Hayden. “It is clear that Hart has several supporters on the panel, and I dare say that even Admiral Duncan is not beyond the displeasure of Mrs Hart’s family.”
“I, for one, was thoroughly deceived by Hart’s lawyer,” Hawthorne noted. “I truly believed that Hart would stand up and claim there was no foreknowledge of the crew’s mutinous inclination. Clearly he had conspired with Hart to so throw us off.”
“If you had seen the look of dismay on Hart’s barrister’s face when the good captain began to blame Mr Hayden,” Wickham observed, “you would change your thoughts, I think. No, shifting responsibility for the crew’s disaffection was entirely Hart’s idea, I’m quite sure.”
It was Hayden’s turn to rise and pace. “Not for a moment did I think, as we rowed to the admiral’s ship, that I could be in the least danger.” His stomach turned over, and a little sour wine erupted into his mouth, swallowed quickly down.
Griffiths regarded him evenly. “I warned you, Mr Hayden, of the threats Hart made against you while he was under my care. He said he would do for you when we returned to England.”
“And I fully expected him to do everything within his powers to ruin my chances for advancement, but never for a moment did I imagine this. Has anyone ever heard of a man not aboard a ship being tried for its loss?”
No one had.
Seeing the look of concern upon the doctor’s face as he regarded him, Hayden forced himself to sit, though he did so with difficulty, so great was his agitation.
Hawthorne set his great arms upon the table, leaning forward as though in some pain. “Hart is desperate to preserve his name. I don’t think he would be above casting his pet, Landry, to the dogs if he thought it would save him.”
“Have you heard about Landry?” Archer asked quietly. “I spoke to a lieutenant on the admiral’s ship who told me that Landry is to have a position aboard a flagship. Landry, if you can believe it.”
A general disgusted shaking of heads and snorting among the men present.
“I was foolish enough to believe Landry had regained his manhood in the end,” Hayden said. “Apparently he had his price, as they say every man does.”
“Poltroon!” Barthe muttered, resuming his pendulous crossing of the cabin.
“Landry’s little verbal broadside inflicted the desired damage.” The doctor tapped a thin finger on the table-top. “There was no mistaking the intent of that man—what was his name, the captain missing an ear … ?”
“Bainsbridge, Doctor.”
“Ah, yes, Bainsbridge. It was he who said that Captain Hart was ill served by his officers who kept from him knowledge regarding the crew’s mutinous plans and intent. He also accepted it as undisputed truth when Hart asserted that the discord aboard the Themis began while Mr Hayden was in command. Hart shall be acquitted, and you, Mr Barthe and Mr Hayden, will be censured. That is what will occur, I am very sorry to say it, but I cannot see this affair turning out any other way.”
Hayden fought the urge to jump up again. “But will Duncan allow them to bring charges against me? Surely, it will open up future courts-martial to all manner of manoeuvring. Why not blame the previous officers for all manner of ills—the state of the ship, the shyness of the crew?”
“I fear, Mr Hayden, that you underestimate the interest of Sir Josiah Hart. Precedents will be set, no matter how ruinous, if it will preserve our brave captain.”
“But Mr Barthe and Mr Hayden are not the only ones put in danger by Hart’s vindictiveness,” Wickham spoke up, his voice filled with concern. “We must, at all costs, be certain that Mr Aldrich is pulled to safety.”
“Mr Wickham is right,” Griffiths agreed. “Aldrich had not the sense, when questioned by Hart, to deny possession of the pamphlets. He is too honest for his own good. Although I think it can be fairly proved that he did not ta
ke part in the mutiny, indeed it was by his influence that Landry escaped a flogging, but even so, his reading of Paine’s pamphlets to the crew might be taken as a partial cause of the mutiny, and for this he might be punished.”
“But he has already been flogged for this offence,” Hawthorne pointed out. “Certainly the court will not feel it necessary to punish him again?”
“So we might hope, but if Hart is to escape unscathed, then others must take his place.” Dr Griffiths picked unhappily at one of his fingernails. “It is the way of things.”
“I will speak with Aldrich and caution him,” Hayden announced, glad to take his mind off his own predicament. “But as Dr Griffiths has said, the man is honest to a fault, and such forthrightness simply will not answer before a court.”
Aldrich sat up in a cot in the sick-berth on the after-orlop, reading a book. To Hayden’s eye he appeared perfectly hale, though there was always about him now a stiffness of manner, a hint of sorrow—or perhaps shame—about the eyes, which he did much to hide.
As Hayden entered and was greeted by the mate and loblolly boy, Aldrich touched a knuckle to his forehead.
“How went the court-martial, sir?” he asked.
“Not quite as anyone expected, Aldrich.” Hayden took a seat upon an offered stool. “How are you feeling?”
“As well as ever, sir. I do not know the reason the doctor has me back in the sick-berth.”
“He tells me you have a fever again, which he cannot quite explain, for your wounds appear to have closed nicely.”
Aldrich shrugged. Like many a man he was embarrassed by his own illness. “I do not feel fevered, sir.”
“Perhaps not, but I will trust the doctor in this matter. We were speaking of the court-martial …” Hayden gave him a detailed account of what had occurred that day, watching the seaman’s face carefully when he revealed that Hart had named him a leader of the mutineers. Aldrich attempted to hide his distress at this news, but was not terribly successful. Hayden might be in danger of losing his career, but Aldrich could forfeit his life if Hart was successful in placing him among the mutineers. The poor seaman suddenly looked quite ill indeed.
“But I took no part in the mutiny, Mr Hayden, as Mr Ariss here can attest. Nor did I encourage or even speak of mutiny with the other men.”
“I know that full well, Aldrich, but Hart’s statement to the court was damaging to you all the same, and now we must be very careful to extract you from among the mutineers. Your reading of Mr Paine’s pamphlets to the crew will count as a black mark against you, and we must convince the court that you did not do this to inflame the crew’s resentments or grievances.”
“Certainly that was never my purpose, Mr Hayden. Some of the ship’s people asked me if I would read the pamphlets, for they were unable to do so themselves. I was happy to do it, as I believe all knowledge is uplifting, sir, and no one could use this more than the crew of our ship, most of whom, as you know, were brought aboard against their will.”
“Mr Aldrich, you must guard what you say. Such language before the court will place you in great danger, I fear. To say you read the pamphlets because you were asked to by others is all well and good. Better, even, if the pamphlets were not yours. But to undertake any manner of criticism of the press or to suggest that seamen should be brought to consider their state unjust in any way would be folly.”
“But the condition of the seamen in His Majesty’s Navy is very unjust, as you must yourself agree, Mr Hayden. Imagine if it were you taken from your life ashore and forced into a life aboard ship, deprived of the love of your family for years on end. Deprived of the company of the fairer sex, deprived of a multitude of simple pleasures that all but the poorest ashore might know. It is terribly unjust and—”
Hayden held up his hands. “Mr Aldrich! This is a debate that will see you hanged. There has been a mutiny aboard this ship and such talk will be your undoing. You must be prepared to deny any such ideas before the captains of the court-martial. You must say that you read the pamphlets to the crew because you were asked to do so—no more. Keep your opinions of the Navy’s injustices to yourself. Deny any part in the mutiny or even any mutinous discussions. You have a very good character among the officers and young gentlemen and we will all speak on your behalf. You did not participate in the mutiny, which can be proven, and you used your influence among the crew to stop the flogging of officers, not to mention saving the Themis from being blown to flinders. All this will count on your behalf and should see you free, but if you begin to lecture the officers of the court on radical ideas or even reform of the Navy you will undo all that we might manage to do for you. Do you understand? You are in danger of being hanged as a mutineer, thanks to Hart’s malice. You must now make a very careful defence—a single misstep and you will be lost. Is that understood?”
Aldrich nodded. “I do understand, Mr Hayden. It is my weakness to let my enthusiasms overcome my better judgement.”
“Perfectly acceptable when you are debating the midshipmen or discussing matters with the doctor, but such talk among the crew, who are less educated than yourself and who might misapprehend your intent, could set the captains of the court against you.”
Aldrich nodded again, though Hayden feared the man did not comprehend his danger. Had he learned nothing from his flogging by Hart? Innocence would not protect him.
Hayden left the sick-berth, now doubly worried, for his own situation was equally unclear. Evidently Hart had influence among the panel of captains and they appeared to have conspired to shift the blame to him and to Mr Barthe, who had already been court-martialled once and was therefore a man suspect. The injustice of it offended his every sensibility. Had he not once been amused by Wickham’s school-yard sense of justice? And now his own was being revealed. In the court of the Admiralty the courtiers would find some functionary to blame for their failures—and Hayden was just such a lackey. Certainly the First Secretary had treated him as one.
As he reached the berth-deck Perseverance Gilhooly came hurrying along, clearly relieved to have found his master.
“A Lieutenant Janes asked permission to come aboard but a moment ago, sir … to see you. He is waiting on the deck, if you please, having declined my invitation to repair below.”
“I shall go right along, Perse, thank you.”
In a moment Hayden emerged from the companionway into a cool, starry night. There he found Lieutenant Janes—he who had first carried Hayden out to the Themis that innocent day in Plymouth. It seemed so very long ago.
“Mr Janes. To what do I owe this signal honour?”
The man turned to greet him, and even in the poor light Hayden could see his manner was most serious.
“I am playing the part of messenger this evening, Mr Hayden. Since last I saw you, I have become third lieutenant aboard Goliath—”
“Gardner’s ship?” Hayden could not have been more surprised.
“Yes. Captain Gardner has sent me to ask the great favour of you attending him aboard Goliath, at your earliest convenience.”
“Indeed …” Hayden replied, taken wholly by surprise.
Janes leaned forward and quietly added so that no other might hear, “By that I believe he meant, as soon as you could make your way across the small stretch of Plymouth Harbour that lies between our ships. My cutter is at your disposal.”
Hayden gave a small bow. “Allow me to change my coat and speak with Mr Archer. Have you any notion of the cause of this summons?”
“I regret, I do not.” A polite lie, Hayden suspected.
Not half an hour later Hayden clambered up the side of Goliath and was quickly ushered into Gardner’s surprisingly richly appointed cabin, where he found not only the Goliath’s captain but three others from the panel: McLeod, North, and Spencer. The four officers were seated about a table from which Hayden guessed the remains of a meal had recently been removed. Glasses of unfinished wine and port and cups of coffee were in evidence as were a number of bound books�
�among them Hayden’s own journal. If he had not been certain Gardner was a friend of Philip Stephens he would have felt great anxiety at being called here under such circumstances, but his present emotions were largely of curiosity and surprise.
Instead of the pleasant joviality he expected of officers who had just eaten and drunk their fill, he faced four rather solemn gentlemen, all of them disconcertingly sober. Gardner rose immediately.
“Mr Hayden,” he began, “I want to thank you for coming here this night and I do apologize for providing you so little warning. Please, take a chair. You know these gentlemen from earlier this day, but let me introduce you properly.”
Hayden made a leg as Gardner introduced his fellow captains, then took the offered seat. There were neither servants nor musicians present, which led Hayden to believe that the captains had been discussing matters of some delicacy—no need to wonder what these might be.
“Mr Hayden, allow me to be perfectly frank with you: it is our hope that you will be willing to aid our understanding of the events that took place so recently aboard the Themis. I do want to make it clear that you are under no obligation whatsoever to speak with us on these matters. You have not been charged with any offence; indeed, had you been we could not speak with you outside of the courtroom. Would you be willing to answer some few questions to this end?”
Hayden felt the eyes of these formidable men upon him, and his mouth went dry. “It is difficult, Captain Gardner, to agree in advance, as I am unaware of the exact nature of the questions.”
“These enquiries are regarding certain discrepancies between your sailing master’s log, the journals of the officers, and Captain Hart’s own reporting of events. It is acceptable to me, Mr Hayden, that you choose to answer only those questions which, in good conscience, you feel you can.” He looked to the other men present and each nodded agreement. “Can we proceed upon that understanding?”
“Yes, sir.”
At a nod from the others, Gardner began. “You have signed Mr Barthe’s log often in the last few months, indeed more often than your captain, but even so, Mr Hayden, I must ask you, is this log accurate in its depiction of events?”
Under Enemy Colours Page 47
