By the Mast Divided

by David Donachie

  ‘The captain wants to see you, Pearce,’ said Lieutenant Digby, who was now confirmed as acting Premier.

  Pearce looked up from his mess table, where he was once more obliged to take his ease, doubly uncomfortable because he was forever put to the blush with Taverner, Rufus and Michael singing his heroic praises, conscious that such praise had Gherson seething.

  ‘Am I allowed to refuse?’

  Digby had to suck in air – hard and audibly – through clenched teeth. Being acting Premier meant if he had no way of imposing discipline by dint of personality, he had no recourse to anything other than the Articles of War. Pearce should have leapt to his feet as soon as he addressed him – that he had not done so was in itself a punishable offence, but looking into those defiant eyes he knew that even that threat would not wash.

  ‘Would you believe me if I said that it might be in your favour to do so?’

  Pearce was aware that the exchange had not gone unnoticed by the rest of the crew, just as he knew how much he had challenged Digby’s authority by staying seated. Given that Digby was the only officer who had remotely shown any kindness, Pearce knew that the man did not deserve it. Slowly he stood, and lifted his hand. Breathing stopped on the whole maindeck then, with men wondering if he was going to hit the acting Premier – the bugger was mad by all reckoning, so anything was possible – but Pearce put his fist to his forehead and gave him the required salute.

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  ‘Follow me,’ said Digby, turning away to hide his relief, quickly enough to see the eyes of the crew diverted.

  Having sent for Pearce, Ralph Barclay had the task of asking his wife to leave the cabin, including the coach, where she was wont to spend her time. It was a delicate task because by doing so, he alluded to the notion that she might eavesdrop.

  ‘I plead, my dear, the interests of the man himself, for we have seen that this Pearce has a high opinion and few manners. I fear he may say something untoward, and if it is overheard by you I would have no choice but to react.’

  ‘I will happily take a turn on the deck. With your permission I may ask my cousin Mr Burns to join me. I am agog to hear of his adventures.’

  ‘I shall send for him,’ Barclay replied, thinking that to eavesdrop on that exchange would be illuminating.

  Emily was on the windward side of the quarterdeck by the time Pearce came aft, barefooted and coatless again. That part of the quarterdeck was the preserve of the ship’s captain, a place where he – and his wife – were allowed to walk undisturbed in the freshest air available. That her eye was on the man of the hour was not to be remarked upon; everyone on the ship was looking at him. All she got was a flick in her direction as Pearce crossed the divide, passing the mainmast towards the officer’s preserve. She tried to respond with an expression of reassurance, sure as she was that her husband, faced with her disapproval, was about to mellow. Burns came trailing in Pearce’s wake, but Emily Barclay did not observe the looks he got from the crew, which could hardly be said to be flattering.

  ‘Mr Burns, come walk with me and tell me what you have been up to. I am sure now that you are a hero Captain Barclay would not mind.’

  Burns still hesitated, for the windward side was sacrosanct when the captain or his lady graced the deck. It was Digby, turning from having delivered his charge, who saved his face, being one of the people aboard yet to be told the whole truth about the cutting out of the Lady Harrington. He said, ‘Carry on, Mr Burns. I am sure the captain would have no objection.’

  ‘Now, cousin,’ Emily whispered, ‘from the very beginning.’

  Toby Burns had had time to think, had talked to the captain, heard himself referred to in heroic terms and faced and boasted to his fellow midshipmen. So he now had a story to tell that put him in a good light, from the very moment he had warned Lieutenant Thrale that he was off-course. Cousin Emily heard how his action had saved some of the crew; how, reluctant as he was, he had had to take command. She heard of the difficulty of one so young as he ordered about grown men to get them to act for their own sake in the face of their natural lethargy and their sense of despair. His role in the freeing of the prisoners was central – and he was working off what Pearce and O’Hagan had reprised of that affair – he being the only one small enough to slip through a skylight at the top of a securely locked door and attack the guard.

  ‘He was asleep, cousin,’ he added hastily. ‘So it was not a difficult thing.’

  ‘Were you not terrified?’

  Chest puffed out, Burns replied, ‘Petrified is a better word, but I knew I had to do my duty. So many men’s lives depended on it.’

  ‘And the taking of the ship, the destruction of the privateer, Toby?’

  ‘The men must take praise for that, for I am only one; they fought like demons, outnumbered too. But I have a small hope that they would acknowledge that my plans and my instructions, plus the encouragement I gave them in battle, played some part in our success.’

  The kiss that Cousin Emily planted on his cheek, the words that he was indeed a hero, were music to his ears.

  Barclay kept Pearce waiting, going over the thoughts he had harboured earlier. The concern that was uppermost was not of his wife’s disapproval, but the attitude of his crew when he had flogged the man; then, that moment on deck when Pearce had nearly struck him. He was aware that his men were not, on either occasion, with him. Sensitivity to the feelings of a crew was a paramount part of being a good commander, and Ralph Barclay had no doubt he was that.

  ‘Fetch him in,’ he said to Shenton, ‘then I want everyone out of earshot, so make sure you tell Mr Digby to clear the poop.’

  Both sets of eyes lifted to the skylight above Barclay’s head, a fine place for a senior member of the crew to listen in on cabin gossip. There was a pause while this order was carried out, then the marine sentry showed Pearce in and escorted Shenton out. Still scruffy from his adventures, unshaven and his ducks streaked with everything from gunpowder smoke to mud, Pearce did not look like much to trouble a Post Captain. But he did trouble him, and in a way that undermined both Barclay’s domestic and professional well being. There was no invitation to sit, just as Pearce gave no salute, keeping his balled fists firmly by his sides.

  ‘Mr Burns told me you behaved well.’

  He nodded slightly, unblinking; the man had presence – there was no doubt of that, but Barclay had dealt with people of greater merit than this rogue and was not about to be put off his stroke.

  ‘I would be obliged if you would tell me how he behaved?’

  ‘I think whatever he told you would be as close to the truth as you need to know.’

  ‘Do you have any reason to feel that you should not be aboard this ship?’

  ‘No more than ten or twenty others, and as to reasons I think you know them all.’

  Barclay tapped his fingers on his desk, holding Pearce’s look with his own. ‘I am minded to show you some favour, for you and your fellows have helped Mr Burns to deliver to this ship a valuable prize. But I must warn you that insolence is not likely to aid that.’

  ‘Let us just say then that I am not bred to the sea.’

  ‘I am curious to know what you are bred to.’

  ‘The freedom to choose my time of waking and sleeping, eating and washing.’

  Ralph Barclay was getting nowhere. He was going to have this man off his ship, for reasons that had nothing to do with kindness, but he wanted Pearce to hint at some gratitude.

  ‘I am minded to grant you that for which you ask.’

  ‘That also applies to the men brought back aboard with me.’

  Barclay laughed. ‘You’ll be asking me to free them too?’

  Pearce stiffened then, though he tried to hide it. Was what Barclay said a slip of the tongue, or did he mean it? ‘I speak of men who did just as much as I, maybe more, to retake the Lady Harrington.’

  ‘I fear you must leave them behind.’

  ‘No. If I go, those in my mess must go
too.’

  Inwardly Pearce was screaming at his own foolishness. He was being offered what he wanted most and turning it down.

  ‘Am I to understand,’ Barclay demanded, leaning forward with a smile of disbelief, ‘that you would forfeit your own chance to be out of the Navy for them?’

  God, thought Pearce, I’m as much of a gambler as this bastard before me, and just as likely to be a loser.

  Had Pearce been able to see inside his opponent’s mind, he would have found a confused train of thought added to a tinge of jealousy, which led inexorably to a clear conclusion for Ralph Barclay. How would the freeing of Pearce look to Emily? There was a nagging suspicion that she had taken a shine to this fellow, hence the jealousy. Then there were his officers and the crew. How would the discharge of one man, whom he had flogged for paying attention to his wife, be perceived, let alone the release of several when he was short-handed and clearly could not spare any men?

  Pearce was looking hard at Barclay, trying to guess what he was thinking, when the captain suddenly smiled, then nodded, and said. ‘Very well, you may go and tell your mess to collect their possessions. Please be so good as to ask Mr Burns to join me.’ Barclay picked up a quill, looked at Pearce, looked down again, and said, ‘That is all.’

  ‘It’s our reward for taking that ship,’ said Pearce, when word came to get their dunnage together, ‘and I think he sees us all as trouble.’

  ‘I care not,’ cooed Gherson, which earned him an old-fashioned look from Pearce, who when he had said his mess, had somehow forgotten that Corny was part of it.

  Michael just beamed and said, ‘I am going to go and kiss that bastard Devenow on his one good cheek.’

  Charlie Taverner was speechless but happy, Rufus doubtful. The one who stuck was Ben Walker.

  ‘I’ll stay, if you don’t mind.’

  Charlie was shocked. ‘We started together, Ben, we should stick together, mates.’

  ‘In misfortune, Charlie,’ Ben insisted, his eyes slightly wet. ‘What are you going back to when you get ashore? The Liberties, or a life outside dodging tipstaff warrants?’

  ‘I am not going back to that, Ben, I swear, nor to London. I’ll find a place where I’m unknown. Time I put my back into some work, made a bit of myself. Maybe together it would be easier to prosper.’

  ‘I wish you joy,’ Ben replied, slowly shaking his head, a look of determination on his face. ‘I’m staying.’

  Dysart, now with his arm in a sling, called from the steps to the lower deck. ‘Trunks are out of the hold. Come and get yer dunnage. And Pearce, Mr Lutyens says he wants a word.’

  They made for the companionway, all except Pearce and Ben Walker. ‘You’re sure, Ben?’

  ‘I am, Pearce. There’s nowt for me ashore.’ He let his eyes drift round the maindeck. ‘Maybe if Abel was still alive, I might go, for he was wont to see to our care. Charlie, well I like him but he’s no fellow to go relying on. Who knows, there might just be something here.’

  ‘Ben, I have to ask you.’ He put a hand up as Walker stiffened. ‘And I know I have no right. But it would grieve me to go through life knowing you as I have without any inkling as to what kept you in the Liberties.’

  ‘I have a notion to know what brought you there.’

  ‘It’s a long story, Ben, but I do face arrest. You?’

  It took a while, a degree of thought, before Ben said, ‘Twixt thee and me?’

  ‘On my life, Ben.’

  Walker’s shoulders drooped, as if disclosure added a weight to his conscience rather than relieving it. ‘A girl, Pearce. Love – another blade, handsome cove, tall like you and blue-eyed, a charmer. Then betrayal. I went too far to right matters, made them worse.’

  Pearce didn’t have to ask how far was too far. It was all in Ben Walker’s slumped posture. ‘Someone died?’

  ‘Someone dear.’

  ‘If Michael’s God exists, I’m sure he will forgive you.’

  ‘He’ll have to, Pearce, for as sure as hell is hot I will never forgive myself.’

  Lutyens looked out of his little surgery to ensure no prying ears before he spoke to Pearce.

  ‘Here, take this letter.’ Pearce made no move to accept the folded paper being proffered. ‘If you don’t, you will most certainly regret it.’

  ‘Will I?’

  ‘Damn, you’re a hard man to help,’ Lutyens replied, in an exasperated tone. ‘This is to my father, and is about your father.’

  ‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that.’

  ‘You will when I tell you that my father is the Lutheran pastor of the Deutschkirke in London. You will be even more pleased if I tell you that Queen Charlotte, particularly, worships there often, the King less so. My father is highly regarded by both. Perhaps you will even mellow if I say that a plea can be made directly to His Majesty on your father’s behalf from someone he trusts, which I hazard would be more effective than the same from some of his old radical friends.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Pearce, holding out his hand for a letter that was pure gold. Farmer George only had to click his fingers to get a warrant lifted.

  ‘I mention you as well,’ Lutyens added, turning away, ‘and I have asked that he extend to you both hospitality and his protection.’

  ‘Why?’

  Lutyens turned back, his voice thick and the strange consonants more pronounced, nailing what Pearce had thought at first, that English was not his native language. ‘You are a strange fellow, Pearce, singular in fact. There are far too few like you. And no man should suffer merely for his bloodline, nor might I add for his beliefs. You should be free to do and say as you like, for if we are fighting anything we are in conflict with a tyranny in France that will not accept the right of any man to that.’

  ‘That’s sounds remarkably akin to the American Declaration of Independence.’

  ‘That may be so. But it is what I have always believed. Now go, before I regret my altruism.’

  ‘Here are your orders, Mr Burns, and a despatch for the Admiralty. You are to take our Indiaman into port and hand her over to whichever senior officer has the command on that station. Then you will deliver this packet to Whitehall.’

  Barclay grinned, Pearce’s letter was inside his own, and it would go into hands that knew how to exploit it; let the arrogant sod suck on that!

  ‘To you will go the glory of the capture, as well as the complete destruction of an enemy privateer. Who knows, you may even get a Gazette to yourself and your exploits. Here also is a sealed request to any naval captain you encounter to leave your crew be – in short, not to press them. I have also enclosed papers of discharge for those in Pearce’s mess, but I abjure you not to open them or hand them over until the fellows you will take with you are on dry land.’

  Burns was not sure how to react. He was being given a ship to sail and he had no idea how to do it. Then he brightened. The crew of the Lady Harrington did – Twyman had shown that already – all he would be obliged to do was have a cruise.

  ‘I have asked Mr Collins to allow you one of his senior master’s mates to get you home.’ Barclay stood up, and held out his hand. ‘I will of course accompany you to the ship, but I would like to shake you by the hand now, a sort of private farewell.’

  Burns’ podgy mitt was sweaty, his grip fish-like, which made Barclay glad of his masterstroke. If Emily could be brought to show pity to a cove like Pearce, what would she do if young Burns got into trouble, which judging by his lack of both courage and ability was only a matter of time? And by sending him back to garner the credit for the capture of a British ship and the destruction of an enemy he was doing the best he could for a relation by marriage by way of advancing his career.

  The numbers that came to see them over the side touched Twelve Mess; Barclay had Toby Burns and the ubiquitous file of marines sharing his transport, while Pearce and his fellows were allotted the jolly boat. Martin Dent came close to Pearce, grabbing his coat and pulling at it, looking at him in a strange
way before running for the rigging. It was only when he moved that Pearce felt the bulk in his pocket, and an investigative hand clutched at his missing purse. How the boy had got it mattered not – it had been returned, and he was sure contained the same near fifty guineas as when he had come aboard.

  Dysart waved his one good hand as the boats pulled away, shouting, ‘Scots wae hae,’ and much to Cornelius Gherson’s embarrassment Molly loudly called his name, and then blew him a kiss. Ben Walker did not show, which disappointed four in the boat, but Martin Dent was, by that time, in the very height of the tops, legs entwined round the crosstrees, both arms swinging a farewell.

  On the poop, Emily Barclay, standing with Lutyens, had to stop herself from giving a parting wave to the pressed men, the same kind as she had given to her cousin. And she was proud, not for the fact that her views had prevailed, but because her husband, too long a bachelor, too long in the Navy, had come to see sense and to begin to act like the kind soul he truly was. At that moment, she was looking to the future, to marriage and life aboard ship, with great confidence.

  ‘Right, Mr Twyman, I am putting aboard Mr Burns in command of the prize, and master’s mate to sail her home.’

  ‘You can do as you wish, Captain Barclay, it will make no odds. This vessel is salvage and that is that.’

  ‘As I have said, a matter for the court.’ Behind him Pearce and his party were coming aboard. Twyman had seen them approach, but was surprised to see them bearing ditty bags, for he had heard from their lips that Brilliant was short-handed. ‘Here, I have gifted you five hands, not the best I grant you but good enough to haul on a rope. Plus a master’s mate to undertake navigation, six men in all. You will oblige me by selecting the same number from your crew to take their place aboard my ship.’