The Devil to Pay

by David Donachie

  It came to Pearce then, what Digby had done, nothing more than a written condemnation of Hotham and his inexcusable actions. If he were killed the words of a dying man would carry great weight; they might even scupper his adversary. Pearce got in another admonition to Tilley, this time more emphatic, to mind is captain.

  ‘All ready?’ A murmured reply from men in boats alongside. ‘Haul away.’

  As they began to row HMS Flirt disappeared, to take up station just to the south of the narrows but just too far out to be visible. There she would wait until it was time for her to take part. The boats were rowed in with great care and at no pace, with nary a word spoken. They hit the same stretch of beach at which Pearce had landed previously. This time it was deliberate and calculated by Dorling.

  They were again run ashore to be dragged up into the undergrowth. When the light from the stars permitted, sharp cutlasses were employed to create a path, no axes for they were too noisy, this while Pearce checked with Grey that his men were assembled and to run over once more what they had to do.

  This got an exasperated whisper in reply. ‘I know my orders, Mr Pearce.’

  ‘Mother hen, Mr Grey, can’t help it.’

  It took at least an hour to get the boats over the spit and into the anchorage, time in which Grey and his Lobsters crept towards the southern battery with he going forward to reconnoitre; there were no lights and no sign of activity but he was sure that even if he was asleep, someone had been left to keep watch.

  Pearce waited – Digby was still silent – until the sky cleared enough to show the two merchantmen and, with all three boats in a line, he ordered them to shove off and dip oars. Those still in the shallows pushed to give the craft initial momentum before clambering aboard to hushes from their mates to stow the racket.

  ‘I’ll stow my boot up your arse,’ hissed one dripping wet tar, who got a gentle clout from Michael O’Hagan with an order to stay silent, one a smiling Pearce was certain would be obeyed. His friend was no bully, very much the reverse, but few would question him if he advised anything.

  Several times there had to be a whispered command to stay the boats with dipped oars. Enough light was needed to pick their spot for boarding, using the chains in the bows where there were aids to clambering, bowsprit rigging and holds in the hull. When they came alongside it was without a tell-tale bump of wood on wood. Bare feet make no noise and Pearce got ten men aboard the first Frenchman before their commander and they were thus able to aid him in his climb, helped by another half dozen following, something Digby did with more alacrity than he had demonstrated for days, which had Pearce wondering if it was the prospect of success or of his demise that animated him. Whatever, there was nothing he could do, he had his own Frenchie to board.

  Again the movement was carried out with care and if the distance was not great it took time to cover. In his mind’s eye he saw Digby’s party silent and hidden as best they could be in the merchantman’s forepeak; they would not move until he did and his party would have to adopt the same tactic to give the now lightly manned boats time to get into position.

  ‘Lantern?’ he demanded.’

  ‘Got it, your honour.’

  ‘Unshade twice, yes.’ The positive reply was of the same ilk as that previous given by Grey, slightly irritated: Pearce did not care, he was not going to fail for a want of worry. ‘Haul away as soon as the boarding party is clear.’

  Michael O’Hagan had been the first man aboard their target vessel and it was his hand that hauled Pearce aboard, to step gingerly onto the deck. He could not help looking aloft as the cloud cleared for a moment, to see the silhouettes of those hung bodies still in the rigging. Then he ducked down so that his shape was invisible against the bulwarks, with only his head up high enough to look across the anchorage and wait for the signal to tell him that his boats had taken up their station.

  A sudden commotion across the water had him standing up and peering. That muffled sound did not last, it turned to a shout that told Pearce his comrades on the first Frenchman had been either spotted or had moved too quickly; there was a fight going on.

  ‘Move, lads,’ he called.

  Pearce hauled out his sword and one pistol then began to run along the deck towards the stern and the captain’s cabin, where he was as sure that whoever was holding the command for Mehmet Pasha would have laid his head; to neutralise him was the Pearce task. Others made for the companionway that led below to seek out and capture or kill any enemies they could find.

  The yells from Digby’s merchantman were now ringing round the anchorage, seeming to bounce off the water and be multiplied by the effect. As Pearce approached the great cabin door it swung open to reveal that the interior was crowded; there would be no men below, they were all in front of him. Worse, they were greater in number than those following him.

  ‘Someone, get below and bring up our men,’ he yelled, before discharging his pistol into the face of the leading enemy.

  Well to his rear Lieutenant Grey had heard the faint sounds. His orders were to wait till he was certain that the attack has been discovered but then he also knew that orders sometimes had be adjusted. He called to his marines to move forward which they did, muskets at present and bayonets gleaming as they caught the light.

  The pace was steady and by now the gap to be covered no more than thirty yards, while the wall at the rear of the redoubt presented little problem if it was undefended. With cupped hands one man aided another up onto the parapet prior to leaning down to first retrieve his weapons before hauling up his mate. By the time Mehmet’s gunners emerged from their stone hut they were obliged to face a line of marines who were immediately ordered to charge.

  Pearce could only hope for that to be so, he was too busy with his sword trying to prevent any of his enemies getting out through that cabin door, for if he could keep them bottled up his men, once they were a whole party, would have the numbers to win. Nor could he do anything about Digby and his men; they must fend for themselves against what he assumed would be the same numbers as he faced.

  The men still in the boats of HMS Flirt had got into the position Pearce had designated for them, lined up off the bows of those two brigantines, vessels quickly coming alive as the reverberations of three battles filled surrounding anchorage. The decks came alive with bodies, all peering into the gloom to try and make out what was going on.

  Tilley had, as instructed, not only kept an eye on his captain but stayed right by him, yet had been unable to prevent him from moving before the signal came from Mr Pearce to seek to take over the ship. Digby moved forward well before he should have, ignoring a whispered admonition for his coxswain that was decidedly insubordinate. He made no attempt at silence, his shoes rapping a tattoo on the planking. Tilley had no option but to follow and have the rest of the party do likewise. Within a blink they were fighting a desperate battle.

  Nearly every man aboard those brigantines was now on deck and the men manning the boats heard the first set of orders being bellowed out. If they did not understand the language they understood the nature and after a call to each other so their actions would be coordinated those manning the swivels pulled the lanyards attached to the flints.

  The roar of the guns was in direct disproportion to their size but the effect was deadly; the grapeshot swept the side of both brigantines and, judging by the noise that followed, did terrible mutilation.

  Pearce was now surrounded by his own men and with an arm aching from use was able to step back and let them deal with his foes, still in the main trapped in the cabin and only able to engage one at a time. That was when he discovered a few had slipped out of the casements and up onto the poop. Luckily he saw the movement at the top of the twin stairways and could counter one while alerting his men to the other.

  Grey’s marines had done terrible duty; there was not a single one of Mehmet’s gunners still alive; if they had not taken a close range musket ball they had been bayoneted multiple times. Now he had two of their
cannon hauled from their normal embrasures and set to fire at the parapet wall, both loaded and fired on long lanyards, he and his men taking in shelter in the casualty filled stone hut. The blast removed masonry that had been in place for centuries and it came apart like chaff, stone splinters flying in all directions.

  ‘Right, reload,’ Grey ordered almost before the noise had died down. ‘The range is seven hundred yards precisely as dictated by the charts. Let’s give those sods over the narrows a present they were not expecting.’

  ‘Axe men to cut the anchor cables,’ Pearce yelled, as the heat of his battle began to wane. He looked over the side to see his boats returning, they having fulfilled their function, which was to slow the unmooring of those brigantines.

  ‘Topmen aloft and get some canvas showing.’

  A rush to the rail showed him that was already happening on the other merchantman and that was the point at which Grey’s wall-destroying cannon spoke, the crashing sound echoing right across the water like a wave of air.

  ‘Mr Pearce, we have found the French crewmen.’

  ‘Then let them out and I will get them to work, the more hands the better.’

  Lieutenant Grey was in ecstasy, preparing to fire over what was at minimal range at an enemy whose guns could not reply, for they either faced out to sea or covered the inner anchorage. That there was panic across the water was no in doubt but that was multiplied after his first deadly salvo, which turned parts of their protective stonework in into stone nuggets.

  Dorling had raised sail as soon as the commotion broke out and now HMS Flirt raked the opposite redoubt with a full broadside, this just before Grey put in his second salvo. The marine lieutenant was standing on what was left of the parapet, now in his scarlet coat, a telescope to his eye as he examined the effect of his shot; the redoubt opposite was deserted, the gunners had run away.

  ‘That’s a damn tempting fortress yonder,’ he said, languidly. ‘I think we have time to put a few balls into her stonework.’

  Both merchantmen were now hives of activity. They were still fully rigged for sea albeit that was damaged, but they had sailed in and they had the ability to sail out, now aided by a crew of French sailors to whom Pearce had pointed out their swinging in the rigging comrades. Nothing more was required to get them working like men possessed.

  ‘Brigantines are unmooring, your honour.’

  ‘Nip and tuck it will be. I never reckoned otherwise.’

  The groaning of timbers told him his vessel was moving and a glance over the side showed her consort was just ahead, which would have her our first.

  ‘Michael, see if there is any powder and balls aboard.’

  The merchant vessel did not have more than four useable cannon, but that might just be enough to deter those brigantines, with very little way on them, to come too close. The booming sound of cannon fire had him looking to Grey’s bastion but not for long; a ball he had fired demolished one of the houses set against the walls of Mehmet’s fortress, which had Pearce wondering where the larded sod was, for in his heart and he was not ashamed, he harboured a desire to slice open the bastard’s gullet.

  ‘Anyone spare, cut down those poor sods hanging in the rigging and put them below.’

  The wind was billowing in the canvas, the outflowing current driving both hulls. Ahead were the trio of boats rowing fast to get outside the anchorage, there to take off Grey and his marines once their task, not yet completed, was done. The first Frenchie entered the narrows which had Pearce holding his breath; was the deep water channel where he had hoped it would be for if the first merchantman ran aground there was precious little room for him to get by.

  A glance over his shoulder showed both brigantines on the move and they would sail twice as fast as any lumbering trading ship. Then they fired their forward cannon, which must have been hauled right round to bear, the case shot flying through the rigging in an attempt to disable Pearce’s ship. It might have worked without the current for some of the sails were holed. Luckily no one was hurt.

  The blue lights burst above to hang in the sky and illuminate the whole anchorage, which showed people running in all directions ashore. It also lit up the fortress battlements and there was the man Pearce thought to be Mehmet Pasha.

  ‘Fetch the bodies of those we have slain and toss them overboard so that swine can see them.’

  Just then Grey fired another salvo at the fortress and having adjusted his range, this time he hit the upper walls. When the dust cleared there was no sign of Mehmet Pasha or any of the entourage who attended upon him.

  Digby’s ship was through the narrows, though he could see no sign of his captain. That mattered not, now it was for him to follow, which he did, all the time under fire from those brigantines who now had only their bow chasers to use and his wide stern to aim at. As he passed Grey, still on the parapet looking studiously untroubled, Pearce raised his hat, to have his salute returned with a rousing cheer. Now he did wish for a speaking trumpet, to both congratulate and encourage.

  As soon as his stern was clear of the cannon facing into the anchorage the marine gunners blasted out at the chasing brigantines and if they did not strike the great spouts the balls threw up was enough of a warning to haul their wind or face being holed below the waterline. Their thin scantlings would shatter with one shot from a thirty-two-pounder cannon, land based and well able to alter its range.

  Pearce was out in the open sea now, with Dorling manoeuvring to cross his stern and close off the narrows to any vessel which sought to follow. Grey fired one more salvo at the brigantines, which removed part of the bows of the leading vessel, rendering unfit for sea, before spiking the guns and heading for the beach where the boats were waiting to take him off. That was when the real cheering started, and it spread to all three ships.

  EPILOGUE

  It was not until well after dawn and transfer back HMS Flirt that Pearce found out what had happened with Henry Digby, related to him by Tilley.

  ‘It was as if he wanted to take the blade, your honour, and if we had been one more step behind he would have been skewered more’n once and I doubt still having a breath. As it was we had to fight them swabs over his body and it were close run.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Laying in the cabin of the Eliza or somewhat, which is the name of the ship we brought out. One of the crapauds had a bit of training in barber work and has bandaged him up.’

  ‘We must, if it is possible to move him, get him on board Flirt.’

  The look that he got told Pearce Tilley was not going to recommend it, which had him back in a boat and crossing to examine the casualty, having first spoken with the French crew of what was L’Elize to tell them the same message he had given to those aboard the vessel he had brought out, Le Jeune Eugene; they would not be harmed if they behaved and that they could go ahead and arrange the funerals of their less fortunate mates. Then he went into the cabin to find the man who had tended to him nursing Digby.

  ‘Le capitaine, il et dormir?’

  The fellow nodded and responded in a soft voice while Pearce questioned him as to what state the patient was in, which was something of a bad way. Digby had a deep wound to his body which had gone through his upper chest, with the tip of the sword exiting by below his shoulder. If there was an indication that no vital organ had been damaged there was no certainty, added to which he had lost a lot of blood until the wound was stemmed, that not having been applied until the merchantman was well clear of the narrows.

  Asked if he could be moved the response was a firm shake of the head. Whatever else Digby required, he needed the services of a proper physician. The fellow tending him was quite clear he lacked the skills to properly care for him. What that implied was simple; it could not wait until San Fiorenzo Bay and that probably meant Naples as well. Boating back to Flirt he went into conclave with Dorling and it was decided to change course from the toe Italy and head for Brindisi, the nearest major port on the mainland.

 
Progress was not and could not be swift with the two merchant vessel setting the pace and weather that was far from clement, heavy wind and a swell with constant bouts of lashing rain which had them wallowing along. It also had Pearce regularly soaked as he boated from one vessel to the other, finally rewarded when Digby came round and was able to talk, feebly but with enough sense to admit that what Tilley had said was true. At least he could assure Digby there was no sign of a pursuit; either through losses of manpower or damage to at least one hull by Grey’s cannon those two Brigantines had been dealt with. It was the melancholy that was the problem and the reasons that lay behind it.

  ‘Let us not examine the ins and outs of that now, best get you well and then you can see that it was not the right course to follow.’

  ‘I know you think you have another, John,’ Digby said with breath that was gasping. ‘But I am not sure I am so sanguine.’

  ‘I have only one question to which I need an answer, Henry, am I free to act as I wish in the matter of these two merchantmen?’

  ‘You are in command now.’

  ‘This has nothing to do with command. I am not inclined to seek to sail these vessels all the way to Corsica so that Hotham can dispose of them. The only other destination is Gibraltar and the Prize Court there, which means fees to pay and no doubt a bit of chicanery in the final assessment of value.’

  That got a wan smile; Digby would naturally mistrust Prize Courts in general and especially those outside England, staffed as they were with placemen who saw their prosperity as riding very high above that of sailors.

  ‘In addition we would have to crew them and with enough men to ensure the French do not have the strength to retake them, which leaves your ship so short of hands as to be emasculated.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I propose to sell the prizes in Brindisi and make a distribution right away.’

  ‘Which will delight the crew.’

  ‘It will infuriate Hotham, given it is sailing pretty close to the wind to act in that fashion, it may be illegal in fact.’