‘Tread carefully they say,’ Hood added, ‘without even acknowledging that the man is a trial.’
Hood was the master of a good scowl, having the craggy visage, the prominent nose and the bushy eyebrows to give it effect. Parker was smoother by far; indeed there was a touch of excess in the flesh of his body, replicated in his smooth and rosy-cheeked countenance. While Hood had an air of activity and impatience about him, with a tongue to match, Parker seemed to reek of passive contentment, which was as it should be; two irascible souls seeking to work in tandem to control a fleet could be a recipe for trouble.
‘I was looking over the papers on Captain Barclay’s court martial,’ Parker said.
‘A travesty,’ Hood growled, wondering at the abrupt change of subject. ‘He gets no more than a reprimand, which is like a slap on the wrist, when the man is fit to be drummed out of the service.’
Hood had little time for Captain Ralph Barclay of the frigate HMS Brilliant, and that had applied prior to the recent court martial, the charge being one of illegal impressment. He and Hood had clashed in London the previous year, before either man sailed for the Mediterranean. Barclay, ordered to weigh from Sheerness, complained that he lacked the hands necessary to man his frigate. Despite a verbal warning from Hood to have a care in how he resolved that dilemma, Barclay had led out a press gang. That in itself was not a worry; it was the chosen location which caused the problem, a section of the Thames riverside known as the Liberties of the Savoy. Seeking to press men for sea service within the boundaries of the Liberties was an act forbidden by ancient statute.
Pushed to institute a court martial by John Pearce, one of the victims of that press gang, he had handed the matter over to Hotham as a quid pro quo for his support in the issue of removing those French sailors to the Atlantic ports. His second-in-command had rigged matters in the most shameless way to get the result he wanted, for an officer to whom he had recently become a patron. Not only had he sent away any hostile witnesses, John Pearce included, but by choosing the captains to sit in judgement, as well as a useless prosecutor, he had made sure Barclay received the right verdict.
Given these terse communications from London, Hood also had good grounds to think that Hotham had reneged on the agreement by writing to Portland to question the action to which he had agreed, which had him add, with a sigh, ‘I am, Parker, obliged to confirm the verdict.’
‘Are you so obligated, sir?’
Hood looked hard at his Fleet Captain, who did not flinch from the glare. ‘I did give Hotham my word.’
‘It strikes me, sir,’ Parker insisted, ‘that Admiral Hotham has broken his word, indeed has taken greater advantage of your indulgence than is strictly warranted. In fact, I would say his chicanery in this matter, both in his arrangements for Barclay’s court martial and writing to London in a manner designed to undermine you, is so blatant as to constitute an insult to your flag.’
Hood raised his eyes to the deck beams, as though he could see through the planking and the captain’s cabin above his head to the flag that flew at the masthead, which designated his command as that of a vice admiral of the White Squadron.
‘I doubt he has much respect for my flag.’
Parker, who had been sitting back at his ease, pushed himself forward, hands on his ample, straddled thighs. ‘If I can reprise what he has done, sir…’
‘Go on,’ Hood interrupted, giving his Captain of the Fleet a penetrating look designed to warn him not to waste his time.
‘He took, or rather you gave to him, responsibility for the matter of investigating Captain Barclay’s supposed illegalities.’
‘I rather think the illegalities are a fact, not a supposition.’
‘Which makes it doubly galling that Admiral Hotham saw fit to so rig the court to guarantee Barclay a mere reprimand. Not only did he ensure that the witness statements his secretary took were not introduced to the court, he sent away on that mission to the Atlantic ports not only those who made them, but anyone who had evidence to damn Barclay, and in particular his chief accuser.’
‘He went that far?’
‘I have good grounds to believe so, sir, and I have a list of those who were affected.’
‘You’ve been busy.’
‘On your behalf, sir.’
‘What a fine set of blackguards they are, Parker,’ Hood growled. ‘To me, John Pearce and Sir William Hotham are of a piece, though I would hazard that Pearce is the more truthful of the pair.’
‘Then you will be interested to know, sir, that Lieutenant Pearce is threatening to bring a case of perjury against Barclay.’
‘Is he, by damn!’ Hood exclaimed, before his eyes narrowed and fixed on his junior admiral. ‘And how, Parker, do you know this?’
‘Is it not my job, sir, to know what is going on in your command, and so be in a position to advise you?’
Hood barked at him then. ‘And sometimes on occasion, Parker, to thwart me with your opinions.’
The reply was as nonchalant as the man who made it. ‘I would be remiss if I was a’feart to do that, sir.’
‘Perjury?’
‘Reading the transcripts of the given evidence, the case against Barclay is weakened by his not giving much in the way of personal testimony. It seems he declined to explain his actions, merely referring to that which had already been sworn by other witnesses. However, he did accept the prior evidence given as being true, and allowed the court to do the same. These I suspect to be lies he had engineered from those people he allowed to be called, which smacks of a conspiracy, an offence worse than mere perjury.’
‘You seem damn sure he did that, Parker.’
‘I have good reason.’
‘If you say the case is weak…’ Hood waved a hand, as if to the say the matter was not one worth the pursuit, which elicited from his executive officer a wolfish grin.
‘It seems one of those so suborned by Barclay, and perhaps the one most likely to be perjured, is his wife’s nephew, a certain midshipman called Toby Burns. From what I have gleaned the lad is not one to stand up to pressure. Get him in the same court as his uncle, with any form of decent prosecution, and Barclay would be doomed.’
Hood was growling again, clearly dissatisfied. ‘I am wondering, Parker, how it is that you seem to be in possession of information which is not, from my previous reading of the case papers, very obvious.’
‘I made a few discreet enquiries, sir, and found out that which I am now passing on to you.’
‘Am I to be told with whom you spoke?’
‘I would decline to do that, sir. It would not aid your situation to be seen as actively engaged in undermining Admiral Hotham. Better that, in a tight situation where some of this may come to light, you can justifiably plead innocence.’
‘Where is all this leading, Parker?’
‘Let us accept Ralph Barclay illegally pressed Pearce and those other fellows out of that Thameside tavern.’ Hood nodded. ‘Then let us also accept that Admiral Hotham, in order to protect an officer who has attached himself to his flag, has allowed, indeed connived in allowing a blatant miscarriage of justice to be perpetrated, one in which he could be shown to be complicit.’
‘It would need to be proved, but for the sake of your point we will allow it.’
‘It therefore stands to reason that Pearce and his proposed action for perjury represents a threat to both Captain Barclay and Admiral Hotham.’
‘Only if it comes to court and we both know how difficult that is.’
‘It is, however, like a sword of Damocles over both men, which is why I believe that Hotham, should he hear about Pearce’s proposed course of action, will do everything in his power to ensure it does not come to court. What concerns me is the means he will use to achieve that end.’
‘Which are?’
‘Right now, Lieutenant Pearce and the fellows he wants released from the Navy, the men he insists were illegally pressed with him, are aboard the pontoons ranged against the Fren
ch battery, which I believe they have named Sans Culottes.’
‘Them and their damn silly names. Without breeches, indeed!’
It was like a signal; the rolling sound of cannon fire filled the air, then the casements of the spacious cabin rattled slightly at the displacement of atmosphere, even although it was over a mile away.
‘Gell has begun the action, Parker, I need to see this.’
Parker hauled himself to his feet as Hood did likewise. Hats were handed over by a steward as they made their way out on to the long maindeck of the flagship, with Hood acknowledging the knuckled forehead salutes of those who resided there. Sprightly for a man of his sixty-nine years he skipped up the companionway, which brought everyone on Victory’s quarterdeck to attention, the watch officers raising their hats as one.
‘A telescope,’ Hood demanded, and the long glass was immediately pressed into his hand, a second being provided for Parker.
HMS St George and Aurore were both wreathed in the smoke from their own cannon, the two pontoons likewise. Hood followed the course of the second salvo to see it land on the sandy shore, throwing up a great plume of earth short of the actual target. It took several minutes to reload and adjust the charges before the next salvo followed.
‘He’s not achieving much, Parker. All he is doing is shifting the shoreline.’
‘If he edged in closer…?’
‘The French have equal range and heated shot, he’ll risk the ship if he does.’
‘And that damned culverin.’
‘They won’t waste that on a ship. Barrel must be fairly old so they will keep it for the forts.’ A long silence followed before Hood asked, quietly, ‘So, what are you suggesting I do about this perjury thing, Parker?’
‘I am suggesting, sir,’ Parker replied in a like manner, there being a clutch of eavesdroppers nearby, ‘that keeping John Pearce alive would be to your advantage.’
‘The duty he is about is not guaranteed to kill him.’
‘No, but Admiral Hotham, should he get wind of what Pearce intends, has it in his power, thanks to you placing him under his direct command, to put him in danger at any time he chooses. The most exposed battery on shore, perhaps, or taking the lead in an attack that carries great risk. If I was to put odds on Pearce’s survival under those circumstances, I would not rate them as very high.’
‘You think I need to protect him?’
‘In doing so you may well protect yourself, sir.’
The ramifications of that did not need to be enumerated; it was as plain as the prominent nose on Hood’s face. Protect Pearce, and he would have a counter to Hotham’s baleful influence in London. The implied threat of a case brought against Ralph Barclay by John Pearce, which must of necessity drag in Hotham, would curtail his writing home to his political supporters in a way that undermined this command.
‘You cannot, of course, aid Pearce in bringing his case for perjury. Once he has done that he ceases to be a viable threat.’
‘God, Parker, you’re worse than a Whig, or a Jacobin for that matter. Give me an enemy to fight that I can see plain.’
‘I think we need a decision, milord.’
‘Get Pearce off that damned pontoon.’
‘I would say it was too late for that, sir. But, for the sake of your security, we should fetch off from under Hotham’s command not only Pearce, but also the men for whom he is fighting, whom he romantically refers to as his Pelicans.’
‘So it is not just the French who indulge in silly names?’
‘No, sir.’
‘And I think it would be unfortunate if Admiral Hotham failed to hear of the threat he faces,’ Parker added.
‘A hint to keep him honest?’
Parker responded with a wolfish grin, and a voice larded with insincerity. ‘We admirals must stick together, sir. And I reckon the sooner Admiral Hotham is apprised of it the better. I would be inclined to send him a note at once.’
‘Make it so, Parker,’ Hood replied. His telescope was concentrated on the smoke-wreathed pontoon on which those named were serving. ‘Mind, your shenanigans could be a waste of time. That fellow Pearce is such a contrary bugger, he will likely find a way to get his head blown off this very day.’
CHAPTER TWO
Digby’s first salvo had landed well short in the shallows, sending up great cascades of water mixed with sand, but doing no damage whatsoever to the enemy, given there was not even an onshore breeze to soak them with spray. It was some relief that the great guns of both capital ships had also misjudged the range. In fact, given the smaller calibre of their upper-deck cannon and the low elevation of their heavy armament, they had landed in deeper water. That lack of a wind also meant both pontoons and line-of-battle ships were wreathed in black acrid smoke, which took time to clear, this while Digby entered into careful discussion with the gunner. A worried individual called Jenkins, he agreed the charges needed to be increased, though he was loath to go too far in that direction, for fear of blasting apart the barrels.
‘If’n this don’t do the trick, your honour, we must move a tadge inshore,’ Jenkins insisted, in his lilting Welsh accent. He was sat in a gimcrack temporary booth made of slatted timber covered in soaked canvas as protection against a spark that might ignite his store of powder, with Digby having to lean over to talk to him in the gap through which he passed his loaded cartridges. ‘These be French guns, an’ I don’t know what they will bear in terms of powder. I would not be one to be trusting any works carried out by John Crapaud.’
‘They will likely be as well made as any of our own cannon, Jenkins.’
Officer or no, Digby got a look that told him in no uncertain terms he was wrong. He turned to find John Pearce by his side, looking worried.
‘Did you see the effect of that salvo on our anchor cables, sir?’
‘No I did not.’
‘I fear for the strain on them. I was wondering if we could fire one cannon at a time to ease it.’
‘Let me observe the effect, Mr Pearce, and make a judgement. The two firing together do have a greater impact.’ He pointed to the second pontoon. ‘In fact if we could time our action to the other fellow, landing four shots simultaneously, it might be much more valuable.’
Pearce nodded and, without being asked, hailed one of their boats, instructing the coxswain to pass on the thought to the other officer in command, this while the cannon on his own pontoon were reloaded with the heavier charge. Clearly the capital ships had undertaken the same measure, for they fired off another salvo that at least cleared the shoreline, though it still fell short of the redoubt.
‘Gun captains,’ Digby called, ‘we must try to fire on what little uproll we have from the swell.’
That acknowledged, they waited until a slight wave lifted the rear of the pontoon, pulling their lanyards to fire the flints as it ran underneath them, the balls emerging just as it raised slightly the shore-facing edge. Digby was watching the fall of shot, Pearce the strain on the forward anchor cables as the cannon recoiled. Brought up on their relieving tackles, what force the weight of the cannon created was transferred through the ringbolts to the planking below, sending the pontoon back to strain the anchors.
‘Mr Pearce,’ Digby called, and he waited until his second-in-command joined him. ‘I fear that old worrier of a gunner is right about the barrels, but even if he is wrong I am obliged to take on board what he says. We must decrease the range.’
The solution was simple and copied by their consort; they paid out the sea anchors and hauled in on the shoreside, and this time it was their consort copying them. Likewise Admiral Gell was backing and filling to get further inshore.
‘Our friends yonder have yet to return fire.’
‘They still have the sun in their eyes, Mr Pearce, and I reckon, once that is high enough, they will oblige us with a response. Besides, they will be under the command of an artillery officer, and probably he will have a better understanding of range. Once they know we are far enough in
shore to be a real threat, we will be well served.’
Given it was fire at will, the other officer opened up first from the new position, which sent up two great piles of earth and sand right at the front of the newly erected French revetments. Digby was in the process of acknowledging the improvement when one of the second pontoon’s anchor cables snapped from the strain. The broken rope whistled at head height across the deck, sending men diving to avoid it while, one corner released, the platform swung away from its fixed position. As it did so the French cannon finally spoke, sending two visible black objects arcing towards their target, balls which straddled the swinging pontoon; indeed it seemed that the misfortune of the severed cable might have been of some salvation.
Digby had little time to express his concern, as another pair of cannon fired on him, though they overshot to land in the sea a hundred yards behind–a worry, since even if he moved his pontoon back to the original anchor point, they would still be in danger. Yet it was immediately obvious they were not the main target; the remainder of the battery opened up, a dozen cannon, all firing at HMS St George. Some hit water and made spouts, but a couple struck timber, and the sound of rending wood rumbled across the bay. On a sturdy 98-gunner, the damage was not in any way terminal, but it did indicate that Gell’s flagship was vulnerable.
Digby shouted, alluding to the parted rope. ‘On the flint lanyards, one cannon at a time, the cables will not bear the recoil.’
All the advantage lay with the shore batteries, firing as they were from fixed positions on solid ground. At sea, though it was not running strong, they were at the mercy of even the slightest movement, snubbing on the cables as the currents moved them one way or the other, always firing from a slightly different elevation due to the effect of the swell, for it was impossible to correctly time the best point of discharge. So it was a measure of the luck of the pontoons that the first salvos aimed at them looked to be the most dangerous, given that what followed came nowhere near.
The Admirals' Game Page 2
