John Pearce was a man who found it easy, sometimes too easy, to feel sanguine. He was also prone, once he had settled on a course of action, to see it as natural and obvious. HMS Larcher would overhaul that lubberly merchant ship and he would go aboard and make his case to her.
‘Deck there, sail ho, dead ahead.’
They had to wait for what seemed an age until the lookout added that it was square-rigged and even longer to identify it, by its broad beam and steep tumblehome, as a merchant vessel.
‘We’ll know if it’s Sandown Castle within two bells, Your Honour, and overhaul her before the sun starts to dip.’
‘Thank you, Mr Dorling, and can I say, if I was short with you this morning, I apologise.’
‘Two more sail, on deck – two-masted, ten points off the larboard beam.’
Pearce had his coat off anyway, it being too hot to wear, so in a flash he had grabbed a telescope and made for the shrouds, his actions in climbing and the pace at which he achieved it getting approving nods from a crew proud to have a man in command who did not see it as beneath his pride to act so or to apologise, which had been overheard.
The man aloft moved so his captain could get a purchase on the crosstrees and begin to employ his eyeglass, then there followed that natural hiatus until certain matters became clear. The two ships spotted had their prows aimed in the same direction as him, towards Sandown Castle, albeit they were closer, which naturally raised the spectre as to their purpose, and they were, from what he could make out, brigantines. Were they the same vessels he had seen on the way to Naples, for it was a common vessel in these waters? It was highly possible since they flew no flag that he could see.
As the hulls became visible on the swell it was possible to make out their gun ports, five a side and very likely there would be bow and stern chasers too, though that did nothing to indicate their calibre. The next thing to calculate was, if they were hostile, how quickly were they closing on what might be their quarry, and then what effect the sighting of HMS Larcher would have on their intentions.
Had the captain of Emily’s vessel spotted them, merchant vessels, with their crews the bare minimum in numbers, being notoriously slack in that department? From what he could discern, and it was far from positive, Sandown Castle was sailing easy. There was a fair amount of canvas aloft but not the suit of sails that would indicate they saw danger and needed to press on; that at least he could change.
‘Deck there, get one of the cannon loaded with powder and fire it off.’
He was half talking to himself as well as the lookout when he said, ‘If the sight of three unknown vessels in his wake does not get him spurring on, then nothing will.’
The sound of the booming cannon was faint but unmistakable and Captain Fleming, florid of face from having consumed a fair amount of wine, lifted his head slowly to register it. His guests, passengers being entertained to luncheon, looked at him if not with alarm, certainly with curiosity, and seeing it as his duty to ensure that nothing troubled them, he spoke soothingly.
‘Nothing to concern ourselves with, I am sure.’
Only Emily understood, she being the sole fellow national aboard. The rest were either Sicilian or Neapolitan, people who sailed the route between the two main cities of the kingdom for a variety of reasons and by whatever means presented itself. Their looks of incomprehension were total; it would not be too much of a stretch to say that being from the part of the world in which they lived they would probably struggle with Italian.
‘Does anyone speak French?’
Emily asked the question in that language and one elderly fellow responded. That allowed her to pass on the captain’s message and the interlocutor spoke of it in some local dialect, not that it served for everyone. Soon the table was a babble of unintelligible shouting, for being natives of region, no conversation could be carried out in any other fashion. That was still pertaining when the first mate, to whom everyone had been introduced, entered and whispered in his captain’s ear.
‘I fear I must go on deck, Miss Raynesford, there are some ships in our wake and they require identification. I would ask that you pass that message on to your fellow passengers, as you have been good enough to just do, but I would also request that you do so in such a fashion as to reassure them it is again nothing for which they need to be concerned.’
‘Of course,’ Emily replied, wondering why he had made such a point, her expression bringing out the explanation, delivered with humorous gravity. ‘You see how excitable as a race they are, Miss. Let us not stimulate their passions any more than need be.’
Pearce was back on deck questioning Michael O’Hagan, who had not been paying enough attention when he went aboard to tell Pearce the number of guns carried on Sandown Castle, only that he had noticed some, certainly two, their calibre being unknown. But there had to be more, given any ship sailing the waters between England and the Levant needed to be able to protect itself from small-boat raiders even in peacetime. They could never carry enough to ward off a warship and licensed privateers – letters of marque – were an ever-present danger at times of conflict.
Pearce looked over the starboard rail, having articulated that very point. ‘I think our friends yonder are of a different hue to the odd felucca, Michael. They are not the kind of ships to bear cargo, from what I can see, and I would not like to state without equivocation that we can outsail them.’
‘If I’m going to keep serving you, I am going to need some schooling. For the love of Christ speak plain.’
‘Deck there, ship dead ahead is raising more sail.’
Pearce looked up at the flag streaming out towards the prow, for the wind was near dead astern, wondering if the man in command of the merchantman could see it. Perhaps he was thinking he had three ships in pursuit.
‘It might all be innocent, of course,’ he murmured. ‘This has to be a well-worn and busy route.’
‘But?’
‘Aloft, are they closing quicker than us?’
‘They are, Your Honour, but not by much.’
Having observed them that did not come as a surprise, but what was required now was a touch of trigonometry.
‘Mr Dorling, I need a calculation on that, just in case they are hostile. I need to know how long our merchant friend must look to his own defences before we can come to his aid.’
His master nodded, took what he needed and made for the shrouds. He did not give Pearce the look he might, for which his captain was grateful: the reckoning that a man who had been brought up in the navy from midshipman to command, would have done the sums himself.
‘Pass the word to clear for action, though Mr Bellam can keep his coppers boiling for a while yet. Mr Kempshall, I will have another blast of powder, which will perhaps let our merchant friend know that at least one of the vessels in his wake is a comrade.’
‘Odds, John-boy,’ O’Hagan whispered, not that he needed to with the noise of the ship being prepared for battle, ‘them being two?’
‘Depends on the captain of what I reckon to be the ship carrying Emily. If he can fight, the case is equal. If not, it will be a hot engagement.’
Many too overheard that; but there was not even a look that indicated it was not a fight they needed to get into.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Noon allowed Pearce to establish his position and to then calculate, with his master, how much sailing time, if the wind held true, the merchantman would need to raise the harbour of Palermo. The best guess, and luck would play a part, was at or near first light, which meant she would be required to fend off an attack, there being no alternative. Larcher being dead astern made it impossible to calculate what kind of fight the British ship could put up, so how long that could last was a mystery.
Dorling had calculated there would be a decent gap and some hours of daylight between the brigantines closing and Larcher coming up; thus it was necessary to work on the assumption that she might suffer some damage and worse, could be boarded, which woul
d be a stymie. Even holding them off, Sandown’s captain would be fighting against two vessels if not better armed than him, certainly with cannon more competently handled.
The man had everything set that he could and had eased off his course somewhat, yawing and jibbing to let the wind play better on his sails and that was the only thing of interest for a long time. As usual at sea, there was the feeling of standing still and no certainty, either, of what was unfolding; it was perfectly possible that what Pearce saw as potential threats, much as he doubted it for the lack of identifying flags, might be on an entirely innocent voyage of their own.
‘Seems to me, Your Honour, they are the same we saw two days past.’
This information came from the man who had just been relieved from his duties aloft and Pearce did not trouble to ask him how certain he was; if he had been that he would have said so. All he could do was advance the time of the crew’s dinner so that should they get into a battle they would at least do so with contented bellies.
Yet there was one fact he wanted to make clear, which involved calling both watches to assemble in front of the binnacle before they, with a few exceptions, were allowed to get to where their tables would have been; with the ship cleared for fighting they would have to eat sitting on the deck.
‘We may have got to where we are for one purpose, which I know all of you can guess. But I must tell you that from what I can see around us I would close with the Sandown Castle regardless of any personal interest. She is a British trading vessel and therefore entitled to our protection, and what is closing on her stern means, if they are hostile, we must act as if we are where we are by pure accident.’
The faces before him, assembled in a fashion that only pertained on Sundays, looked different from those on the sanctified days. There was no piety in their expressions – many, like Michael O’Hagan, said their own prayers while he read out the Articles of War – and no fear of the laws of the navy he read out on those occasions, which promised much punishment for numerous offences. They were looking belligerent now, as if trying to tell their captain they were with him.
‘The task is to get that merchant ship into a safe harbour and if needs must we will suffer to gain her the time. But as soon as I feel we have given her the space to achieve that I doubt the action, should there be one, will continue. The odds are too great so be prepared to run and get out of our ship a speed we have never previously achieved, for I fear we will need it.’
If he sounded full of certainty John Pearce, once he had sent them below, was far from that; he knew there was no disgrace, even in such a fighting fellowship as the Royal Navy, to shy away from an obviously unwinnable battle. It was never acceptable to just sacrifice your ship for what could be seen as personal glory, and stories he had heard of courts martial told of a number of commanders roundly condemned for doing so.
This might be that very kind of occasion and though he cared not for the risk to himself if he declined the action or pursued it, he had more of a concern for those who might suffer if it did come to a fight. This obliged him to gnaw over his reasons for proceeding, given the outcome, even if Sandown Castle turned out to be a terrier, was on the very cusp of uncertainty. Would he really have continued without the love of his life being in danger?
The die had not yet been irrevocably cast, so he had the luxury of considering possible outcomes and the varying factors needing to be assessed. It was moot if the armament of his potential enemies were much greater in calibre than his own; it was the number that counted and there he was on the losing side of the ledger, for he only had eight cannon to set against their twenty combined. What he would not give for a couple of carronades!
Having accepted that, it was not all in the other vessel’s favour. HMS Larcher was of a design, fore-and-aft rigged, with that damn great bowsprit close to half again her own length, that made her more manoeuvrable than a brigantine and certainly more so than a full square-rigger; added to that he had a fine and fully worked-up crew.
Yet some of that advantage in manoeuvre disappeared when in combat. It was dangerous to have a full suit of headsails set when guns were going off. Added to that area of canvas, the risk of setting it alight himself notwithstanding, the rigging and bowsprit that supported it represented a target to anyone seeking to disable him. There was the chance, his vessel being a large version of the designated rating, to raise some square sails if he had to come up into the wind, but to do that as well as fight was asking for a lot from his men.
‘Activity on deck, Your Honour,’ came the cry from the poor soul aloft who would have to wait for his victuals and probably consume them cold. ‘Looks to me as if they are clearing away their guns.’
Given their twin masts were in plain view from the deck, Pearce put a telescope of his own on them and that allowed him to see something which made his heart near stop and fixed his determination to proceed. He did not need the man aloft to tell him that flags had broken out on both mastheads, nor that they were black with four white crescents surrounding a two bladed sword. That was the pennant of North African pirates and the thought that Emily might fall into such hands meant he would see every man aboard Larcher dead rather than let that happen.
‘Damn me, where is the navy when you need them?’ Captain Fleming demanded, to no one in particular; the only person on the poop with him being his first mate. ‘And why was I told that ships such as these were paid our English gold to stay in port?’
Behind him his crew were working to clear the decks of hen coops, barrels, spare hatch covers and untidy coils of rope, for a merchant vessel was not navy and a clear deck was far from a prerequisite. They would have to load the cannon soon, a half-dozen pieces, twenty-eight pounders that were likely to be of a heavier metal than his trio of pursuers. Not that size would avail him of much, for he had a crew ill trained to employ them.
They would have to be prepared, loaded then run up against the ports, and when it came to firing them off it was one side or the other, for they would need to be immediately reloaded and he lacked the crew numbers to service both. Fleming had already calculated that nightfall would not save him and anyway, with a wind coming in a few points off due north it would be a clear night with both starlight and a moon to contend with.
‘Captain, forgive me for troubling you, but your guests are being made anxious by the activity.’
‘Miss Raynesford,’ Fleming replied, raising his hat as he wondered by what right she thought she could just ascend to his poop without permission. ‘You should not be here, it is not your place.’
His tone, which unknown to her was partly brought on by worry, caused some irritation and a sharp response.
‘I do not recall when booking my passage being told there were parts of the ship barred to me, and I would point out to you that I have many times had the freedom of King’s ships.’ Seeing that left an explanatory gap, she added, ‘I am betrothed to a naval officer.’
The lie about betrothal seemed to come easily, but Emily was wondering if she was blushing for it. Just then Larcher fired off another blast of black powder, which distracted Fleming and his first mate, then had his passenger asking the purpose.
‘I do not know, Miss, only that it has happened more than once. If it is a demand to heave to, it is one I intend to ignore.’
Emily had moved from the top of the steps to the taffrail and looked out, her hand shading her eyes, in the process ignoring a hiss of disapproval from Fleming. She did not recognise the vessel, never having seen Larcher bow-on and in full sail. Besides, with all its canvas set and stiffly drawing, the hull was well hidden. A swift turn of the head showed to her the other pair, somewhat closer even to an untrained eye, and being off the larboard quarter their flags were just visible, if mysterious to her.
‘Do you know of these fellows, Captain?’
‘They are nothing with which you need concern yourself.’
‘Then why, pray, are your crew unloosing the cannon?’
‘A precaut
ion, no more,’ he lied, for those black flags were no more a mystery to him than any other sailor who traversed these seas: they signalled murder for adult men and hell for the women and young boys.
‘Captain Fleming, if I am in some danger I would be better off if I knew, and that, I would suggest, might apply to the rest of your passengers.’
‘You want them running around like headless chickens. Panic will not aid us.’
If it was not a shout, Emily’s response was close to one. ‘Panic will not aid what?’
It was the first mate who noticed that this female passenger was able to stand without a handhold on a rising and falling deck, which was singular: most could barely take a step without a stumble and he whispered this fact in his superior’s ear, which changed the angry look on Fleming’s face. That countenance was typical of the breed: full weather-beaten cheeks, a purplish nose that attested to his drinking habit and a voice that betrayed his origins as a West Countryman.
‘We have three vessels in our wake, and we are unsure of their purpose. On such a busy route as this, sailing in company is not unknown, but from what I can observe none of the vessels is of a size to be a bearer of cargo. Certainly the fellow firing off blank shot is way too small.’
Still at the taffrail Emily looked aft, and far from reassured – she had the impression Fleming was seeking to evade the truth – she mentally reversed what she had seen many times from the deck of HMS Larcher, acres of arched canvas, which led to an obvious conclusion.
Emily imparted what she suspected as softly as the wind would allow. ‘One of them may be in search of me, sir.’
About to ask why, Fleming stopped himself; a beautiful young woman such as she, in flight, had to have as cause a crisis of the heart. ‘Look closely and see if you can name her for me.’
A Divided Command Page 25
