That surprised him but he did not speak.
‘Heinrich convinced me … perhaps “persuaded me” would be a better expression, of how I should deal with the circumstances in which I find myself, deal with you, my husband and his threats. If indeed he did cause the offices of Mr Studdert to be broken into and burgled it argues that he will, as you say, stop at nothing to get me back.’
‘It is not for love of you, Emily.’
‘No, his pride is deeply wounded.’
‘Hurt one man’s pride or break another’s heart.’
‘Tomorrow I will reply to his letter and in it I will say that his attempts to ensure my return will not succeed and I will allude to that theft, while adding that it was a failure and that I still have the documents that will see him in court on a charge of perjury. I will then go on to tell him that my heart is spoken for elsewhere and though I do not mean to cause him pain, he will soon, no doubt, learn that I have taken up residence with you and observe that I intend to do so openly.’
Pearce reached over and took her hand. ‘I will try to make you happy.’
‘That is what Heinrich said, John – that only you could do that.’
‘A noble sentiment from a fellow who carries a torch for you himself.’
The rap at the door of the private dining was unwelcome, the face that appeared even more so, it being Didcot bearing a letter, which got him barked at.
‘Has anyone ever told you, Didcot, that your timing is appalling?’
‘Can’t be helped, your honour, not when a messenger comes from the Houses of Parliament itself, and I take leave to guess what he fetched will not brook delay in the reading.’
‘Leave it.’
Emily laughed. ‘You might as well open it, John, we are only halfway through supper.’
‘Very well, give it here.’
Handed over, Pearce was breaking the wax when he realised Didcot had not departed, which got the crook-faced servant a hard look that had him withdraw, a sour expression on his chops.
‘He probably knows what it says,’ Pearce whispered loudly before the door fully closed, pleased to see it jerk; then he began reading. ‘My God, they have a damned cheek these politicos.’
‘Am I going to have to get used to that kind of language?’
Still looking at the letter Pearce’s reply had a vague quality. ‘I daresay, Emily, but you would wonder at someone sending me a missive demanding my immediate presence at Westminster and at this time of the evening. Dundas can go to the devil!’
The door swung open again. ‘Will you be sending a reply, your honour?’
Pearce looked at Emily as he answered Didcot. ‘I will, to tell them that tonight I am otherwise engaged.’
Had she not had her back to him, Didcot would have seen her blush.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The shell from Fort Monteciusco could be seen and it was heading towards the redoubt set up to enfilade it from the western heights, yet no one moved or sought protection because this had been happening for weeks now, and since that included a pair of senior officers, a captain and the commodore, who stood rock still hands behind their back, it behoved everyone else to show the same indifference to potential danger. As a rule the fire from French cannon, required to elevate their guns to account for the marginally higher position of their British counterparts, landed just short, the odd one catching the rock face in the right way bouncing up to threaten the protective breastwork. This one was different; it grew and grew and did not even show any sign of dropping in its arc as it lost velocity.
‘They’ve doubled the charge!’
That shout came from Captain Staunton, the man at present in command, and he turned to tell everyone to get down. The missile hit the top of the stone-built part of the rampart and sent the carefully arranged rocks flying in all directions, one of which, a large object, struck Staunton in the back. Others clanged into the quartet of 24-pounder cannon, dislodging one and setting off a noise like demented church bells with the others. Another rock seemed to bounce in the air before coming down to land not very far in front of Commodore Nelson, sending up from the ground a salvo of loose stones made too hot to touch by the sun, many of which struck him in the face.
From being an orderly location the battery redoubt was reduced to a place of seeming carnage. Staunton was face down and still, his hat a yard away from his outstretched hand, his back and side a mass of bright-red gore. The gunners, being the furthest forward and working the guns stripped to the waist because of the heat, had suffered badly from ricochets and a goodly number of the wounds seemed serious. A cacophony of shouts mixed with cries of distress filled the air and it was those that made Toby Burns move, but not before he had checked his body to ensure he was unscathed.
Nelson was shouting, one hand over an eye, with blood streaming through his fingers, ‘Get any medical men up here, and stretchers too. Mr Farmiloe, man those cannon and fire off any that are primed and ready, we do not want Calvi to know we are hurt.’
‘Sir, you are wounded,’ Toby said, rushing over to him.
‘I am ambulant, Mr Burns, see to those more in need.’
A voice called out. ‘Captain Staunton’s dead, sir.’
‘Poor fellow, a loss to the service,’ Nelson replied, removing his hand to show a mass of nicks around his eye, which was already looking flaming red, and above that a deep and copiously bleeding cut. ‘There is a bit of linen in my right-hand pocket, Mr Burns, be so good as to fetch it out and tie it over my face.’
‘The major wound will need stitching, sir.’
‘Which means Surgeon Roxburgh and his damned needle,’ Nelson hooted. ‘Now there’s a man who would struggle to make a living as a seamstress.’
That was Nelson all over and it irritated Toby: how can he make jokes at a time like this? There are men groaning and badly hurt, the French have humbugged us by using a double charge, which no one expected given they were as likely to blow apart their cannon as harm us, and now we are in mortal danger of a repeat blow. These were the thoughts that ran through Toby’s mind as he did as he was asked, equally aware that two of the 24-pounders had been fired as ordered and they were being reloaded, this while the last one was inspected for damage.
Farmiloe, unbidden, was allocating men to fill the gaps and form as many complete gun crews as possible and one was short of a commander. ‘Toby, take charge of one of the remaining cannon.’
The reply was automatic. ‘Aye, aye, sir.’
‘Dick will do, Toby, the lieutenant’s exams are not yet sat and who knows, you and I may have our pass dates on the same day.’
God, Toby surmised, he’s looking forward to the damned examination, which prompted an outburst of truth.
‘I’m sure I am not yet ready and I cannot fathom Hotham’s reasons for pushing me forward to take them. He admonished me to study hard, and I have, but nothing makes enough sense to give any confidence at all. And how can we sit for lieutenant in the midst of a siege anyway?’
‘But that’s the point, Toby,’ Farmiloe said, when the artillery duel had ceased and, sat in the shade, they were studying the books, mainly that fount of all nautical wisdom, The Seaman’s Vade-Mecum. ‘I admit we have to study for the technical aspects of the exam but I am reliably told by Captain Nelson that every candidate is expected to know their stars, mathematics, spherical trigonometry, sail plans and knots, as well as log keeping for stores and stowage. The vital part is the emergency, how we will cope when suddenly required to act on a situation of which we have not been forewarned.’
‘They were forever setting exams at the school I attended,’ Toby responded, gloomily. ‘And I never did well.’
‘Lord in heaven,’ Farmiloe hissed, ‘Captain Nelson has returned. I bet he has a corker of an eye under that bandage.’
‘He’s lucky he’s got an eye at all, Dick, from what I saw.’
‘Gentlemen, I see you about your labours.’
‘Boning up, sir,’ Farmiloe repl
ied.
‘Then I must ask you to bone less, for we cannot allow that battery yonder the freedom to do to us tomorrow what they did to us today.’
‘An attack, sir?’ Farmiloe asked, his face eager.
‘To spike the cannon, not to hold the fortress, to seek to that would only invite a counter-attack we would find difficult to repel. I have asked Captain Walker to provide a party of marines for the assault but I need you two to ensure their cannon are rendered unusable.’
It was fanciful, on an early July day in the Mediterranean, to think that a chill hand had gripped the heart of Toby Burns, but that is what it felt like to him and he was back in Hotham’s cabin as the old scoundrel explained to him that he was once more being sent to serve ashore under Commodore Nelson, his face as usual full of apparent concern, to mask what Toby was certain to be his insincerity.
‘I admit to ulterior motive this time, Mr Burns, for it has been decided by Lord Hood, given the shortage of officers brought on by wear and tear as well as casualties, to hold a set of examinations for a lieutenant’s commission. Naturally, all of those acting the rank, and there are quite a number after so much action, will sit, but so will those who have served a goodly time in the mid’s berth, and you … well, with what I have seen despatched to other vessels you are near the top dog of that particular berth.’
He was not; in fact Toby knew he was far from admired and the cause was jealousy. ‘I hardly feel I am ready, sir.’
Hotham came over avuncular, even to the point of a glistening in his pale-blue eyes, as though his memories warranted tears. ‘Never met a mid who thought otherwise, but I have seen the same fellows pass with flying colours.’ Then the voice became more brisk. ‘Hence the transfer to Agamemnon for I know that when it comes to a siege Commodore Nelson will not oversee it from his deck. He will be ashore and in the thick of it and so will those who accompany him. Be assured the captains who sit in judgement on those who aspire to promotion will have in front of them the service activities of the candidates and, in your case, that can only do you good. To volunteer once is commonplace, to do so continually, as you have, is exceptional.’
For a midshipman who had never volunteered since he first set foot on a ship’s deck that was a comment to which it was hard to avoid reacting, and that with plain disbelief.
‘Mr Toomey has a letter for Commodore Nelson, so as soon as your dunnage is gathered I suggest you make haste.’ That was followed by a grin Burns saw as wolfish. ‘Be a damned shame if it was all done and dusted afore you arrived.’
‘Sir.’
‘Good day, Mr Burns, and good luck.’
He had taken the letter from Toomey as requested, wondering at the look in the clerk’s eye, which seemed to contain a degree of revulsion. Of course he was Hotham’s man, heart and soul, but Toby could recall no event that would have made his reaction to his presence one of personal affront.
‘Mr Burns, are you with us?’
‘Sorry, sir.’
‘I daresay it is the heat that has your mind wandering. Did you hear what I said?’
Toby Burns had been aware of the piping voice, but lost in his own concerns and sure Nelson was talking to Dick Farmiloe he had paid insufficient heed. ‘I am forced to admit I did not, sir.’
For once Nelson showed a hint of exasperation, which was not generally in his nature, no doubt brought on, Toby surmised, by the pain of his wound, which must be acute.
‘Then I would ask you to concentrate, young sir, for this is important. Fort Monteciusco mounts a battery of six heavy cannon, yet I assume, given they are of an age and have been plied much these last days, that there is only a single piece that they dare double-charge and that is the vital one, which must be destroyed.’
‘Surely we should spike them all, sir.’
‘Bravely advanced,’ Nelson replied, in a tone of voice more common to his nature, ‘but I doubt that practically you will be given time to do so. As soon as the marines assault the walls there will be flares aloft to tell Calvi that their south-western fort is under threat. That will bring out the French reserves to repel the attack and we will have limited numbers to hold for any length of time.’
‘How will we tell, sir, which is the one to destroy?’
‘Why, Mr Burns, each cannon I have ever seen is stamped with its date of casting.’
‘Hard to see in darkness, sir,’ Farmiloe said.
‘Failing the ability to see the date of manufacture, the best cannon will take its ball tightly, the older long-fired ones will be loose.’
‘Am I allowed to say, sir, that is not very scientific?’
‘You are, Mr Farmiloe, and you are right, but it is all the indication we have.’
‘Will the Bullocks not support us, sir?’ asked Toby.
‘Not in this lifetime; I have never known a body of men who take so much time to plan an attack, never mind execute it. Were we to rely on them it would be next week before we saw any attempt to give us succour and they would want a full frontal assault, no doubt.’ Feeling perhaps he had been too harsh on the soldiers, the voice softened a little. ‘General Stuart is having to cope with much debilitation in their ranks also. Bullocks are never as healthy as tars.’
Overheard by the sailors manning the battery that was greeted by much growled yet wholehearted agreement about the first part of Nelson’s complaint. To the men who had slaved to get these cannon into position and done so over terrain the defenders of Calvi thought impossible, the tardy behaviour of the army, who seemed to envision obstacles rather than possibilities, had been a running complaint. Officers and men alike of the fleet thought them scrimshanks and bellyachers. When he added his rider about sickness in the ranks there was none of the sympathy so evident in the commodore’s tone.
Books were put aside and preparations made, blades sharpened, pistol and musket flints checked and the weapons themselves cleaned and oiled. There was no shortage of cork trees and that burnt was used to blacken the faces of those taking part; each mid would lead a party of sailors who knew their guns, while the marines dulled the shiny parts of their weapons, discarded their white webbing and removed from their person anything that might make the kind of noise when moving to alert the enemy. Night came early and noisy with insects in the Mediterranean and since every bastion, French and British, was torchlit, the exit through the besieging line had to be made from a point away from the battery position.
Toby was afraid, but felt more calm than he had ever been going into action, almost in the mood to let whatever would happen take place, though he had a mind to wait till everyone else was over the walls opposite before he ventured to join them. That still left a risk and he accepted he had no choice. If it was not bravery it was indifference, for the man who held power over his future existence seemed determined that he should not have one. The night was hot and sticky for those crouched in the thick scrub that coated the island and everyone was looking forward to moving for one very simple reason – the breeze that would cool their perspiration-soaked clothing as they stood up. Above the sky was a carpet of stars, but the moon was new and no more than a sliver, high in the sky.
‘Ready?’
The hissed demand was answered in like fashion and when Captain Walker was sure all had responded he gave the signal to move forward into the deep valley, rock and wood strewn, that separated the two batteries, leaving them unavoidably slithering downhill on screed until they reached the bottom. There Walker halted to allow the stragglers to catch up and so he could ensure that, when they moved again, they were doing so in the right direction, not easy, as surrounded by trees, there was practically no light.
That made more fiery the flash of the first musket and so disoriented were the assault party that there was no assurance it was not coming from behind rather than in front. It was Walker who shouted but he could not know if his command to get down was being obeyed because he could not see, this as an order roared out in French and a line of flashing musket pans and the flaring
discharge indicated that they had perhaps walked into a trap; had the enemy suspected that an assault might be attempted to spike such a dangerous weapon?
‘Mark those flashes, lads,’ Walker yelled. ‘Pick one out and aim for a foot below.’
Lying flat on the pine needles that covered the forest floor Toby Burns was aware, first of the musket balls cracking through the trees to eventually create a thudding sound as they embedded themselves, then of the illumination of the immediate area round him as the marines replied, then of the smell of spent powder mixing with the odour of human sweat, or was it fear? He could hear the man closest to him as he went though the mantra of reloading, which had to be slow and by touch and experience in the darkness.
‘Bite charge,’ that followed by a spitting sound, ‘hammer back, prime the pan, ground weapon, powder in, ball in, ram home, cock the hammer, take aim, fire.’
That brought a long powder flash from the muzzle and another in the pan. Toby was crawling backwards as that was being repeated all around him, seeking to get deeper into the undergrowth so as to avoid what must surely follow, hand-to-hand fighting in the dark with bayonets, knives and clubs, combat at which he knew he would be useless. The forest was full of shouting, screaming and fusillades but he had no notion beyond that of what was happening and that went on for what seemed to his ears an age. Then it began to fade, the voices becoming, if not faint, more distant, the sound of discharged muskets beginning to echo all around rather than close, and thankfully no more balls cracking overhead.
Silence was slow to descend and he lay there, feeling the rivulet of fluid running down his spine and wondering whether it was safe now to move. About to get to his knees he heard a rustling sound and that induced near panic, for this Corsica was a strange place and who knew what demons and bloodthirsty creatures resided in these forests? To stay still was to face whatever was making the noise; to move might mean pursuit but it was the lesser evil so, on hands and knees, Toby began a slow crawl, he thought back the way he came, reassured when the ground beneath him began to slope and the treetops opened just enough for him to see the star-filled sky.
A Sea of Troubles Page 18
