He was reassured as soon as he enquired: Lutyens looked and they were still where they had been left. ‘Would you do me a service, Heinrich, and keep them there?’
‘You do not see your own cabin as secure?’ the surgeon enquired, his pointy nose in the air, denoting his surprise.
‘Here is safer, brother.’
‘So be it.’ Looking past John Pearce, he said happily, ‘Emily, my dear.’
Pearce turned to look at her, smiling; she had come to ask Lutyens about those papers, but the words died on her lips and she turned and left quickly, leaving John Pearce to grimace to his friend.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dawn brought on a sore head, not much helped by unexplained excitement, running feet on the deck rather than the accustomed and soporific sound of holystoning, causing John Pearce to go on deck, there to find HMS Grampus, seemingly with half the ships anchored in the bay, being made ready to weigh, which was strange given he could feel the wind was gusting uncertainly with no fixed direction. Not on friendly terms with his fellow officers, he was not able to ask any of them why they were so cheerful; in the end it was the master, an older man and less constrained by the captain, who enlightened him to the presence of a levanter, which if it increased in strength would be the perfect wind to get them through the strong east-running current that came in from the Atlantic.
‘See that cloud above the rock, Mr Pearce, the way it seems to be blowing off the peak towards the west like a triangle? That is a sure sign, and if the wind increases it is even better.’
‘You will know?’
‘For sure, given that there cloud will break away and disperse. Then we will have a right proper wind of strength enough to make getting out as easy as kissing my hand. We shall weather Tarifa with no trouble at all, instead of being obliged to creep along the coast.’
And so it proved, for the wind strengthened to make taut the whole top hamper, the ship heeling over from the pressure, as she cleared Algeciras Bay, to be driven through a choppy sea and out and away from the southern Spanish coast. To the south rose the high mountains of Morocco and, as the master had said, they weathered Punta Tarifa at the extreme range of the fortress thereon. Pearce was reminded of what he had been previously told: that when at war with Spain, Gibraltar was a damn difficult place to get in and out of unscathed.
Ralph Barclay had come on deck and for once Pearce did not avoid his basilisk stare, yet he was taken by something else in that look, almost a gleam of triumph. Devenow and Gherson were behind him, with Pearce wondering which of them had rifled his sea chest, for he had no notion it had been one of the wardroom servants – had they been so inclined they would not have lasted in what was an undemanding position. It seemed to him that he had been at war with Barclay from the first night he had encountered him and was wont to wonder if that had produced in him an effect that was untoward. Had he become obsessed?
Once clear of the Straits the course was set to cross the Bay of Cádiz – again one which would not have been taken in a time of conflict, Cádiz being the main base for the Spanish fleet – the destination, once they had weathered Cape St Vincent, being Lisbon. Some subterfuge had to be used in the ship’s logs to justify such an act but it was a time-honoured diversion for naval officers, frowned on in public and ignored in private, the Portuguese capital being the place where the mercantile City of London looked for its supplies of gold and silver.
Brought in from South America to both Spain and Portugal, Lisbon was the preferred trading port for British merchants, that nation being an old and trusted ally. Naturally everyone in Europe knew that such precious metals were the lifeblood of British commerce; they also knew that the destination for that specie lay at the end of the English Channel, and quite specifically in the Port of London itself. It was thus no surprise that every enemy privateer’s dream was to take a vessel carrying such large sums of an easily tradable commodity. It was also no surprise that the agents of those London merchants and bankers were disinclined to ship their money in vulnerable vessels.
Thus a trade had evolved in which King George’s warships, frequently passing in wartime between the Mediterranean or the East Indies en route home, would call in at Lisbon to pick up cargos of gold and silver. To utterly avoid risk in trafficking such money was impossible, but a well-armed Royal Navy vessel was better than any poorly armed and manned merchantman, and it was well worth the bullion traders’ while to pay naval captains one per cent of the value of what they carried: a tempting reward which had, over time, come to be seen as almost a right.
John Pearce was no stranger to the avarice of naval officers: if there was one topic to excite a conversation in even the dullest wardroom it was the possibility that the men there might be lucky enough to partake in the capture of a Spanish Plate ship, deeply laden with precious metals and jewels, coming from the Caribbean to Cádiz. The blockade of that port was one of the greatest plums in the gift of the Admiralty, especially for those frigate captains tasked to set a screen out at sea to alert their heavier counterparts to incoming vessels.
The sight of a fleet of Spanish galleons, at a time when the two nations were at war, was the dream of every naval officer. They might talk of glory in battle with enthusiasm, of forcing an enemy combatant to strike and receiving the thanks of the nation, but deep down the prospect of limitless wealth was the greater draw, the kind of prize taken that would set up even a lieutenant for life and make a ship’s captain not just a fellow of independent means, but a person of real substance.
If the dream fulfilled was a rarity, a fee of one per cent of several thousand pounds was not to be sniffed at. So HMS Grampus was soon at anchor off the city of Lisbon, with Captain Daws having himself rowed ashore, this time with strict instructions that neither women, traders or entertainers should be allowed aboard, given the time it always took to clear any vessel of their presence. Indeed, there was one other boat making for the shore, carrying, despite their protests, several women who had come aboard at Gibraltar and managed to conceal themselves from the master-at-arms, his mates and the marines whose task it was to clear the ship. The excuses for stopping at Lisbon were varied and well worn, but delay was anathema to the men who ran the navy.
Daws came back aboard in a patently obvious fury and, as always, the reason for his anger spread through the ship with remarkable speed. A frigate, HMS Fury, on her way back from Calcutta, sailing alone instead of escorting a convoy, had been in the week before and scooped the pool. She had weighed for home with near half a million in bullion tucked safe in her captain’s cabin, and since no more specie had come in from South America, Daws was obliged to depart Lisbon empty-handed. That there was no sympathy for him was natural and that extended from the meanest swabber to the premier: captains were not obliged to share their one per cent and thus rarely did so.
So it was back to deep water and a course set north, and with no land in sight the ship settled into the familiar routine: the decks were cleaned, swabbed and flogged dry every morning before the hands were sent to breakfast; following that meal, the various tasks detailed by the premier were carried out on sails and rigging, interrupted by slight adjustments to the sail plan. Then came the piping of the hands to dinner, at which point he was obliged, as he too ate in the wardroom, to endure the way conversation flowed around, but did not include, him – something he accepted with annoying equanimity, though occasionally he was tempted to speak when one of their number mouthed some patent absurdity. As soon as he had consumed his food he made his way to the deck, thus relieving them of his presence and his own ears of their dull conversation.
The days the guns were run in and out in dumbshow to exercise the crews were worth attention, each action timed and commented on by a watch-holding Captain Daws, poor results getting the lieutenants in charge a roasting, the next attempt expected to show visible improvement, for here was the seat of British naval superiority, the ability to load and fire their cannon faster than any enemy and to sail their ship wi
th greater skill of manoeuvre. There was boarding practice to follow, as well as the concomitant need to rehearse how to repel the reverse act, which had the deck full of men supposed to be fighting in dumbshow, but using it to entertain themselves or settle scores, which gave work to Surgeon Lutyens.
Pearce also took great interest in the fencing practice carried out by the lieutenants and midshipmen, and since no one barred him from instruction he took to aiding the younger mids in their swordplay: valuable instruction, given he had been taught in Paris by a master of the art. Odd how his competence produced on the faces of his wardroom companions looks of malevolence: they did not care for the notion that this upstart had any ability at all.
Each noon the midshipmen gathered with their sextants to shoot the sun at its zenith, thus marking the beginning and end of the naval day, and he had to admit some of these boys did that task with an aplomb he would struggle to match. Then it was back to the schoolroom for those not on watch, to attend their lessons in mathematics and navigation, that followed by a certain amount of skylarking in the rigging.
Given the master was not ill-disposed towards him, Pearce talked to him often, asking about the sail plan and why various strips of canvas were being employed and not others, discussing the state of the sea and currents, learning by absorption those things which stood as the accumulated knowledge of generations of seamen, acutely aware that he was lacking in the deep learning that made for better than competent sailors.
They encountered no ships going north but many passed them heading south, including one massive convoy which included East Indiamen of the same size and displacement of the ship on which Pearce stood, each deeply laden with goods that, all told, must have run into millions, and even he could see they had suffered some recent storm damage and were undergoing floating repairs.
Two days later they came across further evidence of a heavy storm, when the lookout aloft warned of a hazard in the water dead ahead, which, when they hove to alongside, looked to be the top half of a mainmast, and included a tangle of rigging and ripped canvas. Prepared to let it drift by, one sharp eye spotted something in amongst the labyrinth of ropes, wood and sailcloth, so a boat was put over the side to find what was a dead body, bloated by immersion, but unmistakably a Lascar.
‘Could be off any ship, Mr Pearce,’ said the master, ‘but given we just missed that frigate from the Bay of Bengal, it would not shock me to find he’s from her.’
‘It must have been a hell of a storm.’
‘And thank God we missed it, sir, for we have had enough foul weather for one cruise.’
‘We might have more.’
‘True,’ Mr Ludon replied, looking grim, ‘so let us hope the timbers of old Granny Grampus are not too injured by what we have endured up till now.’
There was discussion about what kind of ceremony should attend the interment of a man from the Far East, but, in the end, he was sewn in canvas with a shot at his feet and slipped into the ocean by use of the Anglican rite. For all it was sad, John Pearce saw it as relieving the boredom, and almost wished he had duties to perform to keep him occupied. With Michael, Charlie and Rufus he could exchange only a few brief words: naval convention discouraged chats between the lower deck and officers and there were precious few places on a ship that were not under observation by someone.
Nor, without permission, could he go aloft, for that required a nod from the quarterdeck and he would not ask for it. And like a leitmotif, day in, day out, and at night as well, came the clanking sound of the pumps, as the endless battle to keep at bay the level of the water in the well went on.
‘I know you are feeling better, husband, just by the colour of your cheeks. There is blood where so recently there was pallor.’
‘I still feel great pain, Mrs Barclay, and, as you know, I still require the surgeon to treat me with tincture of laudanum.’
‘I should have a care not to rely on it too heavily. Mr Lutyens tells me he has known of cases where patients, once they have formed the habit, cannot rid themselves of it.’
‘I hope you know me well enough to discern that I am of a stronger character than that.’
Emily had watched the fencing practice on the foredeck as much as anyone and she could see the similarity to what was taking place now: verbal thrust, conversational parry and no intimacy whatsoever. They were not in the least comfortable in one another’s presence and she lacked either the will or the inclination to alter that state of affairs, while underlying everything was the knowledge she had acquired so surreptitiously while the ship lay at anchor.
The notion of telling her husband had occurred to her: forewarned he might be able to evade some of that coming in his direction, yet she could no more talk of it to him than she could to John Pearce, and the longer that went on the harder it became. Several times, seeing him on deck, and knowing he was well disposed towards her, she had thought to plead that he drop the matter for the sake of her and her family, but the words would no more come than they would now, and this to the man she should tell. Whatever else, they were bound together by the tight bonds of holy matrimony.
‘My dear, we cannot continue like this.’ That he had spoken shocked her into paying attention. ‘I am aware that I have in some way offended you, but I am forced to counter that you have likewise distressed me.’
Tempted to say, ‘by pointing out your failings,’ she remained silent.
‘I have some hope that time will heal the rift between us, and I also know that continued propinquity will not serve that aim. I refer, of course, to you accompanying me to sea to share my cabin.’ He moved his stump. ‘This will heal in time and I have high hopes of another command – perhaps something of the nature of Grampus might be seen as my due.’
Suddenly he smiled, but it was more of a rictus grin than truly anything warm: he was so obviously thinking of his own future happiness, not theirs.
‘Then I can only wish you joy of it, sir,’ Emily replied.
‘Naturally, when we land in England I will require a period of convalescence and that will have to be taken at home, though the waters in Bath will not be out of the question, given they are efficacious, but…’
She knew she had to pick up on his silence. ‘You are concerned, sir, that my behaviour may embarrass you.’
‘I know, Mrs Barclay, if it continues in this vein, it is bound to.’
‘I am not well versed in subterfuge.’
‘That,’ he said in a sharper tone, ‘is mere dissimulation. You know of what I speak. I have my sisters and you have your family. We cannot act like this before them without drawing them into some concern for the state of our marriage and, I might add, I have no wish to be the subject of gossip for every tongue in Frome.’
‘And what, Captain Barclay, would you say is the state of our marriage? Have you forgotten how cruelly you last used me?’
‘I exercised my rights as a husband, madam, and while I would have you willing I will have you when I must.’
He was struggling to contain himself and Emily could see it was getting harder. He would have been happier if she had shouted at him or wept with the shame of her near rape, the way he had taken her brutally and without consent while in drink, the very act which had caused her to move to the St Mandrier hospital. The calm tone of each response was doing nothing to cool his ire: he was finding that increasingly irritating. Memory of that assault was working on her temper too, so that she had to struggle to stay composed.
‘Then I have to tell you, sir, that as of this moment, I fear you will have to employ such methods should you wish to exercise them again.’
‘Are you saying you will not perform your wifely duty, madam?’
Ralph Barclay could not shout, there were too many ears on a ship, not least Daws in his main part of the cabin, but he wanted to, just as he wanted to do to his wife what he had done in the cabin of HMS Brilliant. If she would not give him his conjugal rights willingly, then he had the right in law to take them. But the pr
oximity of others was not the only constraint on such an act: with one arm, and that as yet to fully heal, he was only too well aware he could not manage it.
‘Then I must tell you,’ he hissed, ‘that I will have you adhere to your marriage vows, and I would warn you, madam, that I have shots in my locker which will make life unpleasant for more than me. Do not force me to act in a manner that will bring about harm to others and I know that is a subject on which I do not need to elaborate.’
Nor did he: Emily knew only too well that her family kept the house in which she had been born only on her husband’s generosity: the property was entailed and he, having inherited that, could throw them out of it at will.
‘Captain Barclay, I promise this and no more: to be polite, to show, in public, acquiescence, to always treat you with respect. But in private I will be what I am.’
‘Then your first act will be to move from the sick bay to take up your quarters here. You will also take your meals with Captain Daws and myself.’
Emily stood up. ‘You have about you, sir, a tone that is reprehensible, one you no doubt employ on those poor unfortunates obliged to serve under you. I do not and will not respond as they are constrained to do, and as to your request that I share this cabin, all I will say is that I will consider it.’
With that she swept out, to pass Cornelius Gherson sitting in a small cabin to the side, the look on his absurdly handsome face, his knowing smile, designed to let her know he had heard every word.
Devenow was up to his old tricks, though discreetly, since he had been warned by some of the harder bargains on the Grampus ‘to mind himself’. But in any ship’s company there were those who could be terrorised into passing over their grog and made to do so in a manner that ensured they did not pass onto others what was happening. The consumption of it also had to be carried out with prudence, so it was necessary to find a quiet spot where he could sit unobserved and consume what he saw as his good fortune.
An Ill Wind Page 16
