‘Would it be possible to draw what am I owed and still seek the rest once my rank has been established?’
Davidson nodded again. ‘It is not a sum to excite, I must say, but we are dealing with the crews of two vessels, and I must say your Griffin was heavily manned for her size.’
‘A figure, if you please, sir?’
Davidson shuffled some papers in a drawer, finally producing a sheaf to be studied.
‘The whole prize is valued at just over twenty-three thousand pounds, and a landsman’s share comes in at just above twenty guineas. I could advance you the sum of sixteen pounds with safety.’
‘Can I ask what Captain Marchand will receive?’
Davidson had the good grace to look slightly uncomfortable. He was a man unaccustomed to having in his office those on the lowest rung of the prize fund ladder, the common seamen, and was therefore unused to trying to explain a system so manifestly unfair.
‘It is a sum you can calculate for yourself, Lieutenant. Should his case be found to be correct, and given he was sailing under Admiralty orders with no commanding officer to share his good fortune, he will receive over eight thousand pounds, less of course, his legal fees and my commissions. If Mr Colbourne is successful in his suit that will be halved.’
‘I have heard sailors curse the system of distribution of prize money. Now I know them to be right in their condemnation.’
‘There are many sailors, sir, but only one captain.’
‘Have any of the Griffins applied for advance payment?’
Davidson looked down at the ledger to check. ‘Not a one, and nor has Mr Colbourne applied on their behalf.’
Hardly surprising, Pearce thought. The poor sods are trapped on another ship, and I doubt Colbourne cares two hoots about them.
‘What you offer is not enough to meet my needs.’
‘Then, sir,’ Davidson replied gravely, ‘you must act as do other naval officers and pledge your pay as credit. Those who supply the Navy are accustomed to accept such sureties in lieu of settlement.’ Davidson actually laughed then, not very much, but enough. ‘Damn me, sir, without that sort of credit we would scarce have a man able to serve. Even admirals are accustomed to pawning their plate or borrowing in order to take up their duties.’
The money was paid out by a clerk, and it was a ruminative John Pearce, mentally composing a stiff letter to his previous commander on the subject of his rank, who walked back to the hotel, there to find a letter waiting for him bearing an impressive Royal Treasury seal and franked as government post. It was clear, as it was handed over, that he was not the only one to be astounded; the hotel clerk who gave it to him had learnt how to grovel somewhat to a man who clearly had the ear of those in power. He waited till he was alone in his room to read it.
Lieutenant Pearce,
I am, on reflection, conscious of the commitment I made to you at Windsor and with that in mind I have made representations to my brother regarding your needs, unfortunately to no avail. You will understand that, at present, as the First Lord of the Admiralty, Lord Chatham is inundated with requests for employment from extremely deserving officers with exemplary service records, submissions he is often obliged to decline for lack of an available place. To ask him to elevate your claim above theirs would be grossly unfair.
Having read the letter you left with my secretary I am unsure of your purpose. Is your primary concern the release of those companions you claim were, like you, illegally pressed into the Navy and now on route to serve in the Mediterranean? Or is it that you seek employment for yourself?
Recalling what he had penned the night before, Pearce was sure that he had made plain what he sought, both verbally and in writing. He had, as a backstop, asked for a place if that would provide the only avenue open to him to help his friends.
While I cannot comment on the merits of your case, I can see that the proper place to make representations on their behalf would be to Lord Hood, the Commander-in-Chief on that station, who, as the senior naval member serving on the Board of Admiralty, might also be in a position to adjudicate on your assertions of improper behaviour on the part of an officer presently serving under his command. It would also be the case, that should you seek an opening, Lord Hood, as a serving C-in-C on active service, would be in a better position to offer you employment than even my own brother.
With that in mind, and in the hope that it will satisfy you, I have arranged for you to take passage on the packet carrying official despatches for Lord Hood, which sails, weather permitting, from Portsmouth every seven days. There is also private correspondence of a confidential nature, which you must undertake to carry, along with a recommendation from me regarding the granting to you of a place suitable to your abilities, which I can say with some confidence should have the desired effect. If Lord Hood can oblige me, given that he is a stout supporter of my government, owing as he does his position as a serving member on the Board of Admiralty to me, he will undoubtedly do so.
If you agree, please send the enclosed, pre-franked note by return, the information in which I will pass on to the First Secretary at the Admiralty, who can then have drawn up the requisite official instructions. Should you accept the offer contained herein, I consider, as I am sure you do, that my obligation to you is satisfied in all respects.
William Pitt had signed it with a flourish, affixing his official seal and a ribbon inside as well. The blank letter mentioned was indeed enclosed, that too government franked, and thus free to both sender and recipient.
Re-reading the letter, John Pearce was more conscious of the problems such an offer could create rather than the opportunities. To take passage on that packet was to take a journey into the unknown; he had no real idea how close what was proposed would take him to those he was committed to get free, nor how the man in charge would respond. Hood could tell him to go to the devil in very much the same way as had Admiral Graves. What would he do then? And what about the request that he be found employment, a course fraught with peril? He might be a lieutenant – or would be once he had sworn the requisite oaths and paid his fee – but he had little knowledge of how to undertake the duties that went with the rank. The notion that he might be reluctantly forced to follow that course brought home to him another fact; as he had pointed out to Davidson, he lacked the means to equip himself with the clothing and equipment necessary to even look the part, and look the part he must if he was to have the slightest chance of achieving his aim.
The faces of his friends came into his mind, as well as the promise he had made them. Pitt had met his obligation, surely he, John Pearce, could do no less and if he was required to pretend to be that which he was not, so be it. He must prepare for every eventuality, but how was he to fund such a thing? The face that replaced those of Michael, Charlie and Rufus was that of the clerk who had handed him Pitt’s letter. The man now thought him superbly well connected, and probably copper-bottomed as far as capital was concerned, with a huge tranche of prize money coming his way. He knew he must play to that, so moving to the door, he rang the levered bell that would summon Didcot, and when the man came, taking care to tip him with a shilling, Pearce had him send out to a series of naval outfitters, requesting that they attend upon him at the hotel, where he would kit himself out for his journey.
Within twenty-four hours he had ordered his two dozen linen shirts, a working hat and coat to go with the dress one he already owned, and he had chosen a brass edged sea-chest to contain it all with the initials Lt. J. P. to be burnt into it by the local blacksmith, then gilded by a limner. There were three pairs of shoes, one dress with silver-plated buckles, boots for going ashore and an everyday pair of pumps that would not damage the deck planking, breeches and a raft of silk stockings, small clothes, handkerchiefs, a boatcloak, a comforter for his neck, oilskins and a foul weather hat, a medicine box, and a vanity one with combs, a mirror and, last but not least, a proper dress sword, all fitted under the personal supervision of one of the senior outfitting p
artners, who had no doubt taken care to check with the hotel that this customer could be relied upon to meet his obligations.
‘Your goods to be delivered here, sir?’
‘No, no. Send them and the chest straight down to Portsmouth, with instructions that they are to be taken to the Pig & Whistle Tavern owned by a Mrs Peg Bamber, near Portsmouth Point.’
The quizzical expression on the man’s face spoke volumes, and Pearce had to steel himself to sound languid as he sought to justify such a destination, which was, quite decidedly, not one of the port’s best. The Point at Portsmouth, crowded with drinking dens and hard by the beach on which were drawn up the local boats, was notorious throughout the land for drunken behaviour and licentiousness, but he did not know the name of another establishment and he could hardly ask.
‘I am hoist upon a promise I made some time ago, sir, to a warm-hearted naval widow, never to reside anywhere else should I be in Portsmouth. If you knew the lady, you would also know why it would be an unwise undertaking to break.’
‘I daresay the drovers will know where it is. And the account, sir?’
Pearce could not look the fellow in the eye as he replied. ‘Just send that here. I shall not be leaving London for several weeks.’
Having seen the chest taken away, he made a point of visiting the blacksmith who had burnt-in his lettering, even going to the trouble of delivering it back to the outfitters, and paid him in cash for his work and that of the limner who had gilded it, for he could not, in all conscience, fail to meet his obligations to the two working men. Back at Nerot’s he sat down and wrote two notes, one to Didcot, who could probably read, the other to be handed into the front desk, which simply told them he was vacating the room and that the bill, along with any others due, as well as Lady Annabel’s old, battered chest, should be sent to him via the Admiralty. These he left propped on the bureau.
The last thing he did was retrieve from that old chest a small tin, which thanks to a tight seal had not suffered from water penetration when he had been forced to swim from the fight with the Valmy. Pearce opened it, smelling once more the earth it contained, taken from a Paris churchyard in which he had watched his father interred. One day he would go back to that place, and see if the request he had made that a headstone be provided had been met. Perhaps, in a time of peace he could have his father’s remains disinterred and taken back to Edinburgh for burial in his native city, and maybe even he would tell the truth about his death; that, a sick man who suspected he was dying, he had put himself in place of another marked for execution.
Until then, this earth would remind him of that which had caused his father’s death, whatever name he chose to expire under. The curse of a French Revolution that had gone from high hopes to chaos would remind him of his aim to see those who had taken it in that direction brought down. There was nothing else he wanted from that chest. The outer garments were those in which he had come ashore after the battle, cleaned of course, but still shabby. Second-hand and ill-fitting when purchased, they also bore the faded marks of that engagement, including the blood of friends and foes, and immersion in the sea water.
Ordering a sedan chair to take him to Whitehall and leaving behind him most of the things with which he had arrived, he departed the hotel, sword at his waist, heading for the Admiralty and the swearing of a series of oaths of which, like his father before him, he was deeply sceptical. With no time to waste, he tipped the doormen two shillings, which he soon learnt from the growling acceptance was not much more than the bare minimum they expected, just enough to get him into the building. That was followed by a long wait in a warm and crowded anteroom till the necessary official could be found to administer the pledges of loyalty to crown and religion. That completed and the requisite fees paid, he was given his orders, which were to proceed with all despatch to join the packet preparing to sail from Portsmouth.
His next port of call was again at Downing Street. Directed to the office of the Pitt’s secretary, he was given a thick oilskin pouch with instructions, gravely imparted, that it was to be delivered into the hands of Lord Hood, and him alone. He was then, to his surprise, directed into a government carriage for the journey.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘Well, O’Hagan, I had you beat there for a moment, indeed I had written off my wagered guineas, but the way you rallied in the last three minutes was magnificent.’
‘Mr Taberly.’
Michael replied to the officer, though not with any clarity, for his lips were swollen and his jaw aching from the numerous punches it had been forced to absorb, and even nodding his head occasioned a degree of pain. He winced as Charlie Taverner pressed an alcohol-soaked piece of tow onto his cheek, a cloth which came away carrying traces of red. Rufus Dommet stood by with a bucket of sea water, said by many to be efficacious in the treatment of flesh wounds, though the squeamish youngster showed a marked reluctance to wash the streaks of blood off his friend back, arms and chest.
The opponent in the fight, a barrel of a fellow called Clipe, had been a very tough customer indeed, a really long-serving naval hard-bargain, immune to the kind of fighting wiles that were Michael’s trademark way of winning a scrap. Clipe was the kind of man who ignored such subterfuge, who stood up rock solid to the heaviest blow, so it had therefore come down to a contest of sheer determination not to give in, a toe-to-toe slugging match. Taberly, the lieutenant in charge of his division, had been the only officer aboard HMS Leander to back him – all the others, commissioned and warrant on the 74-gun ship, had gone for the other man, who had a reputation which made him well worth a wager, thus the odds the lieutenant had managed to extract were showing him a handsome return. With crew it was mostly not money, but grog and tobacco that were used to bet; few of the original crew had any coin after weeks spent at anchor in Spithead, and the Griffins had been fetched aboard without being paid.
‘I will see you are rewarded once I have collected my winnings, O’Hagan. There’s a couple of gold coins coming your way, and I have the power to excuse you from duties for a few days to recover. See the surgeon, if he’s sober and you feel the need, and if the sot seeks to charge you for palliatives and the like, I will pay.’
Taberly probably thought that Michael dropped his head in gratitude, but in fact he had done it so that the officer would not see the anger in his eyes, the desire to do to him what he had done to Clipe, whose partisans were around him trying to revive the poor sod. Charlie, who knew only too well what the Irishman was thinking, for he talked enough about it beforehand, dabbed harder with his piece of spirit-soaked tow than he should, which got him a curse in the Erse tongue. But he had done it for the best, for they had seen the grating rigged from the first day of coming aboard this ship, and Charlie knew that half the floggings witnessed had come from acts of common seamen talking without due respect to their officers.
The fight need never have happened; sure he and Clipe had eyed each other on first acquaintance, as those of a certain ability with their fists always do, but the man was no more of a fool than his Irish counterpart. Michael was big and broad of shoulder and had the air of confidence that went with skill. Clipe could see an opponent that would hurt him, even if he was the victor in a contest, and with the wisdom of someone with nothing to prove he had been warily friendly. But those denizens of the wardroom, led by the Premier, who seemed to take pleasure in seeing a man flogged, had grown disputatious regarding the abilities of certain crew members. One of the marine lieutenants knew Clipe from a previous commission, and the man had reputation enough to suggest that none could stand against him. It had been Taberly who had demurred, and suggested that there might be another aboard in his very own division who could more than hold his own.
After only fourteen days at sea, and not so much as a sniff of a sail, friend or foe, many of the occupants of the wardroom professed themselves bored, fed up with cards, word games and the tunes played on the marine officer’s flute. A boxing bout, in the absence of dogs, bears or spurr
ed cocks to set against each other, was just what the doctor ordered. Notwithstanding the fact that they were breaking half the rules laid down in the Articles of War, for both fighting and gaming were forbidden, they wanted a chance to engage in a spot of the latter too, as Taberly had explained to his chosen champion, experience a bit of stimulation.
Reluctance on behalf of the principal meant little; the Premier ran the ship, for Captain Tucker was an indolent, if compliant, commander who might stir for an enemy warship or an admiral’s flag but not for much less. He kept to his cabin, his books, and his collection of rare butterflies and appeared on deck for no more than a quarter of an hour, twice a day. So when the First Lieutenant let it be known that a fight was required, the whole ship was pressed into the goading of the pair, for the crew, landsmen to top rating, were as fond of a bout and a bet as their superiors. So the following Sunday was chosen, and luckily the sea state was, for the waters off Cape Ortegal at the northern tip of Spain, relatively benign. With the boats over the side and towed astern, and replacement spars shifted, a space in the waist was chalked off for the contest, and it being a make and mend day, when after Divine Service and dinner the crew had few duties, most of them were free to line the gangways as spectators.
It was, in every respect, just like a boxing match ashore, except that no cheering could be permitted lest it bring the Captain out of his quarters for a look. Not that he could be in entire ignorance of the event, but it would not do to force from him a decision he would be obliged to make. It was the old blind eye; what he did not see, did not happen. The Chaplain had a watch to time the contest, and so a very good place from which to observe, while the ship’s boys earned themselves a few pennies or favours by relaying the state of matters to those who could not be spared their duties, the Officer of the Watch and his two midshipmen assistants, the Quartermaster and his mates, conning the ship, the marine sentries on duty at the various fixed posts and the lookouts aloft who had to remain in place in case a Frenchman, coming in or out of the Gironde Estuary, crested the horizon.
An Awkward Commission Page 6
