There were temptations: he worked with flashy topmen not much past his age who seemed to have lived a hundred years given the depth of their knowledge. Occasionally, because he liked them as people and admired them for their skill, that, added to his own naivety, sometimes led to an invitation. Mostly hints, sometimes actually tactile, couched in gentle terms to persuade him that what hadn’t been tried should not be gainsaid. He always declined, without anger, then wondered, as he tried to get to sleep, if he had done the right thing.
As to the scratching off Trincomalee, that had been an allusion to the activities of Grimface Adams. Ugly as sin, near toothless and textured, he could fold his face into half its true size, which, with a lantern below his chin, made him look like a true ghoul. His other sport was to take money off his mates in the cable tier, giving them the gammeroush to ease the tensions that could find no other relief aboard a near female-free vessel.
He did a brisk trade, at times when officers were thin on the decks, visited in near total darkness by dozens of his shipmates, not one of whom would admit to having been a customer. That common secrecy had been severely strained by the itching that had seized the ship south of Ceylon. Half the crew were at it, all ages and sizes, including the oldest midshipman, scratching away with their backs turned, or earnestly finding a quiet spot for a personal examination to see if they had somehow become poxed.
Grimface Adams might be the likely culprit but no one could openly accuse him of anything. However, the general suspicion soon surfaced, given that he was known to be less than fussy, that he had had himself a monkey at the Cape. Whatever disease he had picked up there he had passed on wholesale. When the truth emerged, only those who never went near him could laugh at it. Grimface, with no more than five teeth in his whole head, had, chomping on a ship’s biscuit, chipped a splinter off the remaining front one. In carrying out his service in the dark cable tier, he had scratched half the cocks on the ship.
Thinking back to Raisonable Nelson was aware of just how much he had missed. Rivers’s rumblings had been nothing, and it was probable that a goodly portion of those who had sided with him had done so to protect themselves from the same abuse. But that was nothing to what had been kept from him by John Judd. This long commission had opened his eyes, but it had also shown him that there were times to keep them closed. He had observed as much as the next midshipman what went on aboard. He heard the clacking of dice, had seen shadowy shapes creeping around on his night time watches. His duty as an aspiring officer was to interfere, to clap a stopper on all illegality. But the other thing he learnt was this: that on a dark night, anyone, even the most brutal bully, might go over the side without so much as a cry for help. Captain George Farmer set the tone; Midshipman Nelson abided by it.
A shout from the masthead told those below that the lookout had spied the first of the ship’s masts that would fill the Calcutta roadstead. That brought the new premier, Mr Stemp on deck, speaking trumpet at the ready, his task to beautify the already perfect, to make his captain proud of the ship as it sailed past the Port Admiral’s residence and fired off the customary salute.
All the facilities of the Calcutta dockyard were thrown open to them, and an abundance of spars, sails and cordage to replace that which had been worn through or lost since the Cape. War, for the King’s Navy, was always on the horizon. If it came there was an enemy at sea in the eastern waters: the French Admiral Suffren, well equipped with a strong squadron to threaten the China fleet and the East India convoys. So there was no shore leave. Instead they worked as hard as the Lascars the Port Admiral employed to get the squadron ready for sea. Once that was achieved, they could look to relax.
The captured Chasse Marées were bought into the service, so there was a small pay-out of prize money on the day that leave was finally allowed. For the officers, commissioned and warrant, that meant going ashore. For the hands, confined to the ship for fear they would desert, it meant that the boats full of women and trinket traders that had lain around the anchored ships might now disgorge their occupants on to the lower decks. These soon became so full it was impossible to walk from one end to the other without tripping over recumbent bodies. There was music, a strange amalgam of east and west, much dancing and, on that first day of relaxation, an excess of debauchery as each trader or whore worked to relieve every hand of his share of the recent captures.
Spared a daylight watch, the trio of midshipmen went sightseeing. To be untroubled by the exotic was de rigueur amongst those who had never been outside England. But Nelson, slightly older than his companions, had seen the West Indies and the polar ice, so could withstand any jibes directed at his enthusiasm. He was openly agog at what he saw in the teeming streets and bazaars of the Indian city.
Every spice was on sale, at a cost that would yield a handsome profit if taken home. Gold wrought into fantastic shapes filled shops that stood next to others overflowing with gaudy silks. The food markets were bedlams of excess, none more so than the fish quays, lined with stalls, produce piled high, and the traders yelling that they could not be beaten on taste, freshness or price. Anything bought was immediately cleaned and prepared by the boys who hung around the market, eager to earn a few annas for their labours.
The temples, even though the sailors had been told about them in advance, were a revelation, with their amazing sculptures of unknown and powerful heathen gods, the sight of which had Nelson crossing himself. Stone and wooden carvings of men and women in every carnal position, quite a few incomprehensible to those who gazed on them, even after what they had so recently witnessed on their own maindeck. They were boys, who, beneath the braggadocio and jokes, still blushed. Each saw fit to suggest a visit to a brothel; each was equally unwilling to press the matter when his companions suggested delay. And, in truth, there was too much to see, as well as their social duties to perform.
There were a few European women in the busy ballroom, but they were in the minority. Some were the wives of the guests, others disreputable creatures who had travelled to India to escape their reputation at home, and perhaps to snare a husband. In such a small, incestuous society, everyone in Calcutta passed on scurrilous details of everyone else. Those prowling for matrimony didn’t suffer in this, since the wives were carved from the same block.
Most of the women present were Indian, concubines of East India Company officials colourfully dressed in delightfully revealing saris, possessed of flawless, pale olive complexions, with jewels in their noses. They also wore a great deal of gold, either in bangles around their wrists, or in elaborate buckles and pendants. Close to, they sent out the odour of strong, seductive perfumes, and their laughter was loud enough to echo off the high ceiling. Given the choice, Horatio Nelson would have sought their company, but to an aspiring gentleman that option was not available. He had to move among his own kind, drinking claret in a quantity that seemed excessive to him but perfectly normal to his hosts.
Everyone Nelson spoke to was keen that he should know the depth of his or her connections. He was assailed by the information that their presence in India was a mere sojourn, a pause for breath before they returned home to re-enter the busy social whirl that was theirs by right of birth. Good manners demanded that they enquire of him, just as they obliged him to respond.
The name Burnham Thorpe required that he locate it on the northern shore of the county, his father’s occupation earning a sniff of indifference only eased by the added information that the Reverend Nelson held three livings rather than one. He was too young for the pastime of social gaming that was the bedrock of these conversations, too eager to describe his rural pursuits and the qualities of quiet charm and good humour of his siblings. But the disdain with which such snippets were received dawned on him eventually. As each conversation progressed Nelson realised that he was being condescended to, that those with whom he talked were inclined to look down on him socially. They saw before them a young fellow, the son of a mere parson, with few prospects and little in the way of int
erest to advance him in life. And the knowledge of how he was perceived hurt him deeply.
Just as painful was the sense of his own inadequacy. He lacked experience of adult company, excepting that of his naval superiors whose conversation tended towards the nautical. Horatio Nelson felt himself exceptional, from a family that while not grand was to be admired. It galled him that these people were unable to see that he was not just some Norfolk ragamuffin.
‘I know Norfolk well, sir,’ a pregnant lady said. ‘My cousin Lord Lychett has estates there.’ The pause was timed to perfection, before she added, ‘Substantial estates.’
‘Quite,’ added the red-coated officer, her husband and an East India Company major, who stood to her side. He had a bright red face to go with his coat and wispy carrot coloured hair to set it off.
‘Lord Lychett positively plagues me with requests to call,’ his wife added, with a gesture designed to demonstrate how shocking her reluctance was. ‘I fear my endless refusals must vex him.’
‘Very vexing indeed,’ the Major added, puffing himself up slightly. ‘We should really make the effort, my dear.’
‘I accept when my diary permits, of course,’ his wife added hastily, lest the impression of grandeur she was determined to create led to overstatement. Then she gently touched her swollen belly. ‘Perhaps when the child is born. Lord Lychett will positively demand godparentage.’
The climate had not been kind to this lady, the third with whom Nelson had conversed in the space of ten minutes. Her skin was lined as though the heat, or her forthcoming child, had sucked out every ounce of its moisture, making her look older than her years. The other pair had been so over powdered it had been impossible to tell their age.
‘I know the Lychett name, madam,’ he said suddenly. ‘I believe their estate abuts the property of my cousin the Earl of Orford.’
Those words produced confusion in the female face, but deep interest from her husband. ‘You are an Orford relation, sir?’
Suddenly Nelson was granted a vision of his father, forever harping about his late wife’s relations in monologues that had bored his son rigid. Perhaps they had a value, after all. ‘The present Earl is my second cousin, sir, the consanguinity coming to me through my mother’s family. We share a great grandparent.’
‘I have never had the honour of his acquaintance,’ the Major said, clearly impressed.
The question loomed, even if it hadn’t been asked. Nelson lied with surprising ease, pleased that it had the desired effect. He had made one visit to the Orford estates, memorable, as young as he had been, only for the chilliness of the reception. A blood tie to the family of an impecunious parson was not something the noble Earl had sought to encourage.
‘He calls often upon my father, sir, when they are both in Bath, which is frequent.’ The Major’s eyes lit up, and Nelson plunged further into deceit. ‘At other times he has travelled to my family home at Burnham Thorpe.’
‘The Earl calls upon you?’
‘He is very attached to my father, sir, as he was to my dear mother before she died. He makes the case that it is easier for him to come alone to us than that my overburdened parent should drag his large brood all the way across the county.’ One of the Major’s eyebrows moved enough to make Nelson add hastily, ‘We do visit, of course, as often as we wish.’
The leather-skinned wife had been listening to this exchange with increasing wonder. Finally she found her tongue. ‘A mother lost and a father needing the Bath waters. Why, the boy’s practically an orphan, Major Higgins, in need of maternal care.’
‘So it seems Mrs Higgins, so it seems.’
‘You must, young sir, treat our home as your own while you are here in Calcutta.’
‘That is most kind, Mrs Higgins,’ he replied, suppressing the alarm the invitation had induced in him.
‘I think you might find it tolerably comfortable after the rigours of a ship.’
‘Quite, my dear! Anything will seem palatial after a ship,’ said Higgins, reaching out to take Nelson’s arm in a fatherly way. ‘Would you care to make the acquaintance of some of my fellow officers, Mr Nelson?’
‘That would be most gracious of you, sir.’
‘If you will excuse us, Mrs Higgins?’
‘Most certainly, Major Higgins,’ she replied, looking far from pleased. ‘Do remember, Mr Nelson, our house is yours. I would be distraught if you did not call upon us.’
‘Rest assured, madam,’ he responded, with a bow deep enough to hide his expression, which might reveal his amusement at the way their opinion of him had altered, ‘I will undertake to do that as an act of pleasure, not of duty.’
Once away from his wife Major Higgins began a series of noisy introductions, all to red-coated officers, many of whom seemed to be Scotsmen, and each one treated to an allusion to Nelson’s high-born relations. It was gratifying to see languid boredom switch to interest.
‘Do you play, sir?’ asked Higgins, as they reached a table of men at the back of the room. They were playing whist, and clearly, given the degree of concentration, the game was a serious one.
‘I have taken a hand in the wardroom, sir, at the premier’s bequest, but I am no real player.’
The rubber finished as he replied, and two of the players rose from the table.
‘Come, sir,’ the Major exclaimed, moving towards an empty chair and inviting Nelson to follow. ‘I’m sure that a fellow of your parts is only indulging in modesty. I am a judge of character, young man, and I think I can perceive a sharp mind as well as anyone. It is a skill upon which I immodestly pride myself.’
‘If you will permit me to decline, Major Higgins.’
‘Never in life, sir. Partake of a seat at the table of good fortune.’
‘My present resources are limited.’
‘Never fear,’ Higgins replied, loudly and encouragingly. ‘These fellows will not decline to take a note of hand from the blood relation of a belted earl.’
Horatio Nelson quietly cursed his big mouth.
CHAPTER 15
In a game of skill and chance, there was space for beginner’s luck and it operated now. Nelson wasn’t a complete novice, but the noisy card school of the mid’s berth was very different. Garrulous Major Higgins was quiet now, all his concentration going into the cards, and after the introductions the other two men, another East India company officer and a civilian contractor called Colbourne, behaved likewise. Nelson struggled to recall what little knowledge of the game he possessed, but the state of his head was of no help, the claret he had consumed earlier addling his judgement.
The gasps that greeted some of his leads, as well as the cards he produced to follow, came as proof positive that his game displayed a want of finesse. But he made up in brio what he lacked in the finer points, which led to a steady accumulation of golden guineas, as well as promissory notes by his right hand. Higgins lost steadily but unspectacularly, the other officer held his own. But the civilian endured a cascade of failure, mainly because he thought himself an expert, whereas he was in truth some way behind the main winner. It was some indication of his wealth that when he finally called a halt, he accepted his losses with equanimity, enquired for an address and promised to send a servant to redeem his notes first thing in the morning.
‘He’ll make that up in a day,’ Higgins explained, ‘if not in half a morning, from his trading enterprise.’
There was anger in the Major’s tone. His own losses clearly rankled. ‘Nothing but a damned tradesman, with manners to match. I’d not be surprised to learn he’s made more than his losses while sitting at the table.’
‘There are notes here in excess of three hundred pounds, as well as a pile of guineas.’ Nelson blushed. Most of the cash had been the Major’s.
‘A trifle to a man like Colbourne.’
‘Your own losses, sir?’
‘Of no consequence, young sir,’ the Major boomed, as if determined to tell not only Nelson but every other card player in the room. He drop
ped his voice though when he continued, bringing his bright red face closer to Nelson’s, the grin he employed displaying his very yellow teeth. ‘Though I won’t say I’d be ashamed to take supper off such a handsome set of winnings. A proper supper fit to set up the belly of a fellow fighting man.’
Nelson wanted to go back to the ship. He had drunk too much, his tongue felt like sun-bleached sailcloth and his head was aching. A bottle had stood available throughout the game, yet he had not touched it. But, having won money from this man, could he in all conscience refuse?
‘I am at your disposal, sir,’ Nelson pointed to his money, ‘and so, sir, are those.’
‘Splendid!’ cried Higgins, picking up the claret and charging both of their glasses. ‘And handsomely said, sir, the kind of sentiments I want to hear from my own son, should the good Lord be so disposed to favour my wife and me with a boy.’ He pushed a glass into Nelson’s hand. ‘That is something we most earnestly desire. A toast, sir, to the good Lord looking kindly on the provision of an heir to the name of Higgins.’
‘The name of Higgins,’ Nelson replied reluctantly. The Major had emptied his glass, and participation in the toast demanded that he do likewise. Yet as he drank, the wine revived him.
‘Another bumper, sir, at our host’s expense, before I take you out and show you what the fabulous East has to offer.’
It wasn’t one but three bumpers that Higgins took, all of which seemed to increase his jollity. Nelson, however, was beyond the state he had been in earlier, so when the Major took his arm to sneak him out through a side entrance he made little protest. But before they left the premises, Higgins requested a servant to inform his wife that he had been called away on urgent business. ‘Company business. Mind you tell her that. Company business.’ Then he turned to include his young companion in the subterfuge. ‘Best not to let on about the cards, eh?’
On a Making Tide Page 20
