It had been hard, when giving Hotham instructions, not to hector him, to keep his orders strictly professional, for Hood was not a fool: he suspected they would be disobeyed as soon as his topsails disappeared over the horizon. For that reason he had his clerk present, as well as Admiral Parker, writing a verbatim record of the conversation.
A copy of this, once neatly written up, would be delivered to HMS Britannia along with the papers Hood had accumulated during his tenure in command. Hood had struggled to keep out of his voice the disdain he felt for his second in command, for his tactical appreciations as well as his manner of going about his duties, an area in which, to the thinking of Admiral Parker he had signally failed.
‘It would be worthwhile to hold to it, Sir William, that you have the overall command out here, and while you cannot instruct the likes of General Stuart to undertake operations which he declines to support, you have the right to apply a great deal of pressure, as I have, I think, demonstrated. I have set a policy of taking control of Corsica, on behalf on the indigenes, of course, and I expect that to be followed.’
Ignoring the hands and looking into that smooth face and those, to his mind, shifty brown eyes, Hood wondered if the sod was paying true attention. As it was he himself was distracted by the knock at his door.
‘Enter.’
‘Captain Knight’s compliments, milord, but HMS Lutine is approaching under full sail and flying the signal, enemy has struck.’
‘How long before we have their boat alongside?’
‘Half a glass, sir.’
‘Very well, signal the captain to repair aboard and let me know when his barge is in the water.’ Hood began speaking again as soon as the door closed. ‘Now we must discuss the French fleet and what you must do about it.’
‘I find it insulting, milord, that you think I do not know.’
‘As if I give a damn about that,’ Hood snapped. ‘You had a chance to stop them while I was occupied at Bastia and missed it. It would pain me, Sir William, as well as the British people, if that were to happen again.’
Hotham reddened at that reminder and his voice went lower in tone as he defended himself. ‘I took cognisance, milord, of the facts as I saw them, not least the state of our ships.’
‘It has ever been my policy,’ Hood replied, with a weary tone that was all the more insulting for being so, ‘to take more cognisance of the state of the enemy’s ships.’
‘Yet I think you will agree, milord, that we are short of overwhelming strength and our vessels have been at sea for at least a year, some for near eighteen months, with the concomitant wear that implies. Our allies choose to stay too far off to give us immediate support, while we are ill placed to sustain any losses. It is an undeniable fact that every vessel in the fleet is short on hands.’
‘That is so, and many of our ships may be in need of a dockyard, but the French are not worked up as we are, having barely been at sea. They will not sail their vessels with a proficiency that can match our own, added to which they cannot handle their guns with anything like the skill our fellows can bring to bear. Cease to worry about the state of your timbers, Sir William, or the whereabouts of the Spanish fleet and put yourself and my fleet alongside the enemy should the opportunity present itself, and that, sir, can be taken as a direct order.’
Hood looked at his clerk to make sure that was noted, gratified by the nod.
Parker, hitherto silent and not entirely lacking in sympathy for Hotham, spoke up in order to bring an end to what was beginning to sound like a baiting. ‘I think we can assume, milord, that Lutine brings us positive news from Calvi.’
‘Very likely, Admiral Parker,’ Hood replied, with a wicked twinkle in his eye, added to which came a twitch of those straggly, prominent eyebrows. ‘Perhaps it calls for a toast to celebrate, one in which Sir William will no doubt join us, given he was so positive in his support for that particular operation.’
If Hotham was furious, and to Parker’s mind he had a right to be, he hid it well, the only sign a clenching into fists of those fidgeting hands. It had to be admitted, though, that if he carried questionable ability as a fighting sailor he had never lacked the skills of the natural courtier. He stood and smiled, as if he had not just been reminded of his real position on Calvi, and spoke with an even voice.
‘Settle for my congratulations, milord, if indeed such news is in the offing, but do not let me dampen any high spirits that ensue. Also, before I return to my own ship let me offer you my hope that you have a safe passage home and a good and fruitful period of leave.’
He might as well have said, ‘I hope you damn well drown!’
‘Mr Burns,’ Horatio Nelson cried, his normally high-pitched voice made even more so by his obvious delight, ‘you have no idea how it pleases me to see you alive and well. We were sure you had made the sacrifice.’
Greedily drinking from a butt, Toby Burns had water dripping from his chin as he looked up and responded, his glance automatically taking in the half-closed right eye, still showing signs of bruising. ‘You did not know I was captured, sir?’
‘No we did not, young sir, for our French friends did not see fit to tell of anyone they had taken, although we forbore to pronounce you were definitely dead as we were lacking a corpse. But let us say it was assumed to be true and I was mightily cast down by the fact, blaming myself entirely.’
There was a moment then, a flash of a thought – that, had he known, he could have just disappeared – one that had to quickly be buried regardless of how it momentarily lifted his spirits. That was replaced with one of annoyance; he was indeed being hailed by the very man who had put him at risk of being killed. If Nelson observed the look that crossed Toby’s face it did not register; he had come closer and as he did so his nose twitched, followed by a look he made no attempt to hide, one that took in the state of the midshipman’s clothing.
‘I see that the French adhered to their normal standards of cleanliness.’ Nelson turned and called to another officer. ‘Lieutenant Farmiloe, be so good as to escort your old friend to a place where he can certainly wash and get his breeches cleaned, and on my purse let us advance him a new shirt.’
‘Lieutenant, Dick?’ Burns asked, as an arm shepherded him in the direction of Farmiloe.
‘Newly minted this very month,’ Nelson responded, his good cheer once more evident, ‘and very deserving of his elevation.’
‘Might I point out, sir,’ Farmiloe said, ‘that Mr Burns missed his examination through his incarceration.’
‘Bless me, I had forgotten that, which makes me doubly sorry for the troubles with which I have assailed you. On my word I will speak with Lord Hood and see if we cannot make amends.’
‘Do not go to any trouble on my behalf, sir.’
‘Mr Burns, once more your reticence does you credit. Now go with Mr Farmiloe, get busy on your return to the human race and do not keep him too long – I need his aid in getting my guns back aboard Agamemnon.’
‘If ever there was a duty to avoid, it is that one,’ Dick Farmiloe whispered, as they moved away, past the tars toiling to move cannon that had been in place for a month and had trunnions well sunk into the soil. ‘Do you recall what it was like getting the damn thing up here in the first place?’
‘I do,’ Toby murmured, though he was not really thinking on that. ‘How hard was the examination?’
‘I was sure I had flunked it. If I replied to any of the questions without a stammer I cannot recall it, in truth I would struggle to remember anything that happened clearly, except that my knees were shaking so hard it must have been visible, even seated with hands seeking to hold them steady.’
‘And yet you managed to study your books, I suppose, during the siege, I mean?’
‘As much as my duties here allowed, Toby, and it is to be thankful that night falls early in these parts, for if it had stayed light as it does at home in summer, we would have been plying those cannon until ten of the clock.’
‘The to
wn is totally destroyed, I saw it as we came out from the citadel.’
Toby was guided into a building that had once been part of a monastery, the interior cool after the heat of the open, to find and pass the servants of the military officers busy breaking down campaign cots and packing the chests that lay beside them with the possessions of their masters, finally stopping next to a series of hammocks slung from the roof beams, with a battered chest below picked out with Dick Farmiloe’s initials.
‘This is my berth, so strip off your things, Toby, and I will see to your breeches.’ The question being implicit in the look he got as he removed his blue coat, Farmiloe added, ‘We have local women who clean them up amazingly well and in this heat they dry in an hour. There is a place to wash in that little room over there, though it’s damn cold, being spring-fed. I will see about some stockings and a shirt, for those you have are beyond saving.’
‘Are such things to be had here?’ Toby asked as a block of soap was placed in his hand.
‘Oh, yes. The possessions of those who have perished are for sale. I will try to get you a shirt that belonged to a fellow sailor, but I fear you might have to settle for a bit of cambric that was once in the possession of a bullock, or even worse, Frenchman.’
‘Did many of our own perish, Dick?’
‘No more than was necessary, Toby, and if I have not yet made it plain I am glad you were not one of them.’
‘Despite my worries?’
‘Yes!’
The two young men exchanged a look then, regarding the knowledge they both possessed but had no need to openly discuss. Richard Farmiloe too had been a midshipman on HMS Brilliant, indeed he had been with Toby’s Uncle Ralph on that ill-fated night when they pressed those men, John Pearce included, from the Liberties of the Savoy. Farmiloe had likewise received a letter from Gray’s Inn, couched differently from that to Toby Burns, merely asking him to confirm his presence at the incident, plus one or two salient facts that were required to be established, careful to point out that whatever else, given his lowly rank at the time, he bore no responsibility for what had occurred.
‘I take it you wrote a reply,’ Farmiloe asked, ‘as I advised?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Then you have cleared your conscience, Toby, and no man, or even God, can ask more of you.’
‘How I pray that you are right, Dick, and I know that should matters take a turn to the bad I can rely on you to support me.’
‘Make yourself presentable, Toby.’
In that reply Farmiloe succeeded in keeping out of his voice his true feelings: he had no desire to get involved in the troubles of his one-time fellow midshipman. Toby Burns seemed to have latched on to him as a bosom friend, which was far from being the case; Farmiloe found the younger man an awkward companion at the best of times and a bit of a nuisance at the worst. If there was sympathy for his plight it came from the kind of fellow feeling that could be extended to anyone with whom he had once shared a berth and not come to actively dislike.
Added to that, Farmiloe knew Burns was not the hero he had been acclaimed; knew the truth of what had happened on the coast of Brittany and who it was responsible for the actions that underpinned that false reputation. In being honest about his lying at his uncle’s court martial, Toby had not seen fit to be open about the previous misrepresentations that were the bedrock of his reputation as a brave and resourceful young fellow who had been hailed as an example to follow.
‘Put all that out of your mind for now, Toby,’ Farmiloe said finally, ‘and get yourself decent. Then I will take you aboard Agamemnon where you can dine as my guest in the wardroom.’
The cheering, which resounded around the whole fleet, finally brought Sam Hood onto the quarterdeck of HMS Victory, a raucous cacophony that assailed the ears of Admiral Hotham as he barged back to his own flagship. Not every captain had seen fit to man his yards, but none, even those who saw Hood as a bar to their own personal prosperity, had sought to stop their men from letting their commanding officer know how heartily he was regarded and how the success at Calvi added lustre to his reputation.
Aware that on every vessel, every telescope would be employed for a sight of him, Hood, several times, raised his hat and it was a demonstration of the clear-sightedness of those he commanded – young men in their prime mostly – that such an act raised the hurrahs to a crescendo.
‘Damn me, I will miss this, Parker.’
‘I too, milord, since I will be returning with you.’
‘Aye, Hotham will want his own captain of the fleet, but I am sure he will give you a ship and command of the rear squadron if you ask him.’
‘Let us just say, milord, that after so long at sea, I too could use some respite.’
Hat in the air, Hood replied, ‘Best get Pearce away quickly, Parker, I don’t want Hotham to get any inkling that his position is anything other than temporary.’
‘With respect, you are not the only one who receives letters from home.’
‘True, no doubt the likes of Portland will be keen to tell Hotham he has nothing to fear from my return. But I have made it plain that I intend to cause trouble, Parker, and that is also something I will make just as plain to Billy Pitt. Politics is the game that has led to my present position and it will be politics that will reverse it.’
‘A very different kind of battle, milord.’
‘Yes, Parker, but once home I will be a participant, which will make all the difference. Get Pearce away to Leghorn.’
‘He cannot stay there for ever, milord.’
‘We need not issue any order for his return and, who knows, perhaps Hotham will forget about HMS Larcher, for I cannot think either the vessel or the person who commands it are of much import to him.’
Hood replaced his hat and looked at the somewhat pinched face of his executive officer, his face breaking into a wide grin. ‘No need to look like that, Parker; if anyone knows me for a devious sod it is you.’
‘There, milord, I cannot but agree.’
The grin settled into a frown. ‘No need to be so hearty in that, is there?’
CHAPTER SIX
Quite unknown to Hood, his second in command had asked that HMS Larcher be kept under observation, an instruction seen as odd by the ship’s officers, but not one to ignore with such an irascible superior. When the deck of the armed cutter turned from celebration to the kind of activity that preceded departure, Hotham was informed and was on deck with a telescope to his eye as she was hauled over her anchor.
In the glass and at no great distance the admiral could examine quite easily the face and features of John Pearce standing by the binnacle. He was certain he could see endemic malice and rank self-interest, this against most folk – there were some very notable exceptions – who took him to be a fellow who could be termed handsome and, if they had dealt with him, fair of mind.
Pearce was tall, which to a man of truncated height like Hotham, was enough alone to induce a degree of resentment, but harbouring such feelings would not answer the pressing question of what to do about him. And why, having just arrived, was he being sent away? There seemed no apparent reason for his not remaining in San Fiorenzo, yet, flying a flag that identified Larcher as now being part of the fleet Hotham was about to inherit, he was preparing to weigh.
Hood had employed Pearce in some questionable undertakings before and seemed to repose some kind of trust in his abilities. Hotham wondered if he was on some kind of mission and, if so, could the purpose be detrimental to him? Such a possibility had him call into his cabin, once he had returned, his clerk Toomey.
‘I have a need to know where Pearce is going and, if possible, why.’
Toomey needed no telling of the kind of trouble Pearce could cause and his presence here was just as unwelcome to the clerk. But he was quick to tell the man he served, and on whose good fortune his own prosperity depended, that he had less to be concerned about than he thought.
‘Without Burns, and with the reply I se
nt on the young fellow’s behalf, there is good reason to hope that the matter will be closed.’
‘And if not?’
‘The case requires a willing witness.’
‘You do not see the possibility of others coming forward?’
‘Might I remind you, Sir William, of your rank and station, soon to be enhanced by the titular command of the fleet—’
‘Once in my hands, Toomey,’ Hotham growled, ‘it will not be wrested back, take my word upon it!’
‘And I heartily hope that to be the case, sir, and much honour to follow. But to continue, now Burns is no longer with us the only credible witnesses Pearce could call forward have to be serving officers and ones with no known bias, for who would believe any of those lower-deck fellows that he calls his Pelicans? A cursory examination would show their attachment to Pearce personally and thus render their testimony suspect. Now, for a serving officer to risk traducing the name of an admiral—’
‘Hold on, Toomey, it is Barclay who is at risk here!’
The clerk had to suppress a sigh; his master was a sailor and confident in his nautical abilities, about which the clerk was willing to admit to ignorance. In Toomey’s experience sailors were, as a breed, less secure once they let their feet touch land, and the case being outlined fell into that category.
‘And he, Sir William, is a client officer of yours and known to be so. To seek to impugn Barclay is to do the same to you.’
‘They would fear to risk it?’
‘If they care about a career in the service, they most certainly would, especially if the risks they were embarking on were pointed out to them. I would also add that the only two we need be now concerned about, Lieutenants Digby and Farmiloe, are both serving in what is soon to be your command.’
‘You’re sure they can be silenced?’
‘It is my business, Sir William, to be diligent on your behalf, so yes, I am sure.’
Hotham nodded slowly as he digested that and it was pleasing to Toomey that he saw the sense of what was being advanced; he was in little danger now. ‘I still wish to know what Pearce is doing.’
A Divided Command Page 6
