Now the forces of the French Revolution had overrun the Low Countries, to create what they chose to call the Batavian Republic, the importance of the Nore had been raised once more. This gave the Revolution not only the North Sea ports, but the warships and the seafaring men of the region, reckoned by their British counterparts to be a match in both skill and fighting ability.
As the coach dropped down toward the King’s Ferry, Pearce, while reflecting on these facts, could reckon on one certainty: he had rarely suffered a less pleasant journey, this entirely due to his companions. Not that being rattled around in a coach was ever agreeable, but at least, in normal times, jests regarding the state of the springs and the roads would ease some of the discomfort.
The tone having been set in Shoreham, both sobriety and being crammed together had done nothing to make friendly a quartet who’d got off on the wrong foot to begin with. It was no good just blaming Oliphant, although he was the prime culprit. Pearce wondered if he saw sharing, with common tars, the inner seating of the various coaches in which they had travelled, demeaning. But his Pelican friends had made no effort to ease matters and had positively stymied any of his own to lift the mood.
Under normal circumstances, he would have engaged Michael, Charlie and Rufus on the aspects of the forthcoming mission, not that there was much to tell. But the presence of the other man precluded that; it was supposed to be secret, though Pearce, for the life of him, could not but wonder who would benefit from the knowing of it.
The King’s Ferry provided the only route to the island for coach-bound passengers. The toll paid, the conveyance was run on to the low flatbed raft by hand, to save on extra payment for the equines. It was then to be lashed to the deck, the passengers grateful for the lack of anything approaching a wind. Even on a short crossing, a real blow would make it decidedly uncomfortable.
Back on land the coach required new horses, which entailed a wait while they were harnessed, Oliphant staying close to John Pearce, while the Pelicans stood apart and muttering.
‘I cannot say the journey has had me take to your companions.’
Pearce, having been dying to say something for three days, took his chance to be forthright. ‘The feeling is mutual.’
‘Yet I gather you will depend on these fellows to help you sail your ship?’
‘Them and a hundred others.’
‘I am not an expert on naval discipline, Pearce, but do you not fear your familiarity undermines the need for efficiency?’
‘I have told you, they are punctilious in public. And they are also what the navy calls prime hands. Be assured you too can depend on them, even if they do not show you much in the way of regard.’
The horses now hitched, the signal came to get back aboard, the well-maintained surface taking them along the coast road, past Queenborough, and on to the tip of the island. Pearce wondered, as they approached Sheerness, if his Pelicans were thinking the same as he: this was where HMS Brilliant had been berthed when they were first dragged aboard as pressed men. If one seascape looked much like another, it could not help but invoke unpleasant memories.
The temptation to hurry aboard his new ship had to be avoided; there was another in command, a Lieutenant Milton, and courtesy demanded that he be given some leeway as to when to hand over his ship and crew. So it was to the Three Tuns they repaired, to bespeak a place to lay their heads and eat, Pearce immediately penning a note to Milton advising him of his arrival.
There was another communication to write, to the senior officer on station, a Captain Laidlaw, asking permission to call and pay his respects. The reply to that was swift; Laidlaw was fully engaged and Pearce was told to repair aboard HMS Hazard as soon as his situation permitted.
‘Truth or disdain?’ Oliphant enquired, when told of the response.
‘To you, it makes no difference and nor, once we get to sea, will it have any effect on our mission.’
‘Where are your so-called friends?’
‘Doing what tars do when they know they will soon be confined to the innards of a ship of war for an unknown length of time.’
‘Drinking and whoring?’
‘Very possibly, which will at least spare you their company.’
What he meant was the precise reverse.
The drinking mentioned was being indulged in and, in the case of Michael O’Hagan, at pace; Charlie and Rufus were imbibing more slowly. The other thing mentioned was far from tempting in a place like Sheerness. As a naval station it was out on a limb, lacking the kind of entertainments to be had in the likes of Chatham or Portsmouth. The town did boast Assembly Rooms, where the officers and local worthies mingled, but it was short on the more raucous entertainments beloved by tars.
It was also the case that the trio were in a pensive mood and the subject was Oliphant, the question to which there was no answer being why was he included in their party and where in the name of Christ risen were they going?
‘He’s a rum cove, an’ no error,’ was Charlie’s opinion, that not gainsaid by the others. ‘It’s drivin’ me mad trying to place him.’
‘Happen we’ll find out what he’s about when we’re aboard,’ Rufus suggested. ‘It’s up to you, Michael, you’re closer than we are to John and he will allow you the question.’
‘Rufus,’ the Irishman insisted, ‘if John-boy had wanted us to know, he’d have let it out already. If he has not, it’s furtive an’ like to stay as such.’
‘Don’t like the smell.’ Charlie sniffed. ‘That uppity bugger best stay in the cabin on a dark night, or I might just see him into Davy Jones’ locker.’
The others didn’t respond to the statement, seeing it for what it was. Idle talk.
‘We don’t have to go aboard,’ Rufus pointed out. ‘I’d not be happy letting down John after all he’s done but it might be we has no choice. We could boat up to London and take service on a merchant ship, maybe an East Indiaman.’
An obvious reference to their being in possession of exemptions, the suggestion was sneered at. The aforementioned vessels were certainly large and spacious, but not for the crew, too much being given over to the passengers and the freight. The pay might be above that of the navy, but not so much as to tempt tars away from the prospect of prize money.
Added to which, the provision of food was down to individual captains; some would see their men well fed, others would skimp and pocket the money saved. On a King’s ship the food was laid down by statute and it was regular, unless the vessel was on short commons by dint of time at sea and no chance to revictual. But in truth there were navy men and merchant seamen and they were rarely happy in each other’s hammocks.
‘We’s got company.’ Charlie was facing the door to the tavern, so was the first to see those entering, albeit Rufus and Michael felt the draught of cold air. ‘And not charmers. Far from it.’
‘Impress?’ Michael asked, to get a slow nod.
It came as no great surprise to find such creatures in Sheerness. It was the kind of station from which they would operate, allowing them to roam up and downriver. They could raid in the docks of London, as well as both banks of the Thames. The estuary was a good place to pick up hands from incoming vessels returning from foreign climes. Charlie made a point of staring at his companions, which was the best way not to catch the eye of people of which it was wise to be wary.
‘How many?’ was the next question from the Irishman, to which Charlie spread four fingers on one hand.
They were noisy enough for twice that number, a testimony to their confidence. A home for the natural bully, the manner went with their inclinations, loud and vulgar jests mingling with demands for ale and food.
‘Should we sup and leave?’ Rufus asked.
There was no fear in the query, more what he saw as common sense. There were tales aplenty of men in possession of exemptions ending up in the bowels of a warship, one heading out to sea on a voyage of unknown duration. Only a fool would place absolute faith in a piece of paper, which could e
asily be stolen or destroyed.
‘I’ll not be shifted by turds,’ was O’Hagan’s slurred response.
It was a bit too loud, a consequence of the amount of ale he’d consumed; not that he was drunk, just far enough over the edge of sober to loosen his tongue. The look, warning him to be cautious, came from Charlie, who knew what Michael was like in drink. He was now wishing he’d shown him ten fingers.
‘You fellow, did I hear you aright?’
‘If you did,’ Charlie said, ‘it was on another subject, one unknown to you.’
‘Best be.’
‘Be still, Michael.’
It was wasted. The Irishman swung round to address the Impress man, a rough-looking cove with numerous scars. Unknown to his companions, it was not just ale that was making him act as he did; too much time with Oliphant and the frustrations of not being able to put the sod in his place was part of his resentment. Nor could he understand why John-boy did not do it for them.
‘Sure, if you listen into the talk of others, being who you are, don’t you go getting surprised at a bit of truth?’
‘You angling for a pasting, Paddy?’
‘If I were, you’d not be man enough to hand it out and nor would your fellow turds.’
It wasn’t one angry Impress man now, it was all four getting to their feet at the same time as O’Hagan and they were up for bloody chastisement.
‘Remind me, Rufus,’ Charlie hissed, as he eased himself out from the back of the table, ‘to never venture out to an alehouse with Michael, unless I have a barge crew in tow.’
The next words came from the one who’d overheard Michael’s insult. ‘It’s the receiving hulk for you lot, once we’ve had our pleasure, an’ then maybe we’ll find you a flogger for a captain.’
The words were barely out of his mouth before the Irishman moved. He closed in to land him a blow to the cheek. Not that he stopped there, carrying on to spread his arms wide to take the other three backwards before fists flew. What followed was a melee in which it was far from easy to tell who was harming whom.
Rufus, who followed O’Hagan, was knocked backwards and obliged to roll away. He then picked up a solid-looking chair and used it to good effect, crowning the first man Michael had punched. He dropped onto his haunches, to get another clubbing, which took him out of the game. Not that Rufus got away free; a haymaker from one of his victim’s mates took him on the ear so hard, it split open.
Charlie was using his feet – he knew he lacked a punch – seeking the sensitive parts of anyone who came within reach of his toes and his aim doubled over the fellow who’d clouted Rufus. No longer the callow youth of yore, Rufus stepped in, ignoring his wounded ear, and felled the sod, raining blows on him to prevent him getting back to his feet.
But it was Michael O’Hagan who was doing the real damage. There was no flaying of arms from him, he being a man who could take a blow and withstand it. His concentration was as sharp as it would have been in a bare-knuckle one to one, huge fists used to land blows that counted. If he sought the chin, a nose would do, for it bled copiously once smashed, or a belly easy to wind.
He had the ability to keep moving forward, even in receipt of punishment, as if he felt no pain, until the two remaining Impress men, sick of being pounded, found refuge in retreat. The fellow still being repeatedly punched by Rufus was obliged to crawl away to safety. The one comatose on the floor was lifted bodily by O’Hagan and thrown out of the door, this being held open by Charlie Taverner, to land on the cobbles outside.
‘Jesus,’ Michael cried, his chest heaving as he went back to his tankard of ale, any pain he felt, as well as the slow bleeding cut above his eyebrows, ignored. ‘I feel better for that.’
Rufus, a hand clasped to his bleeding ear, was glaring at Charlie Taverner. ‘How come you’re the one free of blood?’
If he’d hoped to shame the man, it was not to be. Charlie grinned and claimed superior guile, before calling to the girl who had served them their ale, now cowering behind the serving hatch, to fetch some hot water, towels and refills.
‘I hope this goes no further,’ was the angry response of John Pearce, faced with the bruises and injuries of his friends, the remains of his dinner still on the table. Michael had two fresh scars above one eye. The skin on both sides of his nose was yellow and that, Pearce knew, would soon turn to black. Rufus had a bandage round his chin and ear.
‘Thank you for the shaming of our ship, before I even set foot aboard. I doubt I’m in good odour with the officers on station, without you lot adding to my burden.’
‘Got to have a bit of sport, John-boy,’ Michael said, through swollen lips.
‘Sport you call it. What would have happened if you’d lost?’
‘Weren’t likely, given the odds.’
Pearce shook his head slowly; there was no shaming this lot. ‘At least you were wise enough not to hang about. I should think the whole of the Impress service round these parts is out on the hunt for you and in numbers you can’t contest. Luckily, I have heard from Lieutenant Milton. I take over command of HMS Hazard tomorrow, at two bells in the forenoon watch.’
‘A fine sight coming aboard they will be,’ Oliphant sneered.
Pearce was annoyed with his Pelicans, so his mood was fragile. He’d had enough of Oliphant sniping and for once his anger boiled over. ‘If you don’t button your lip it will be you who’s black and blue and I’ll be the one administering the punishment.’
‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘Recall what I said to you once about the powers of captains at sea.’
The morning saw a stiffness in both Michael and Rufus that had not been there the night before, one that encouraged Charlie to guy them; that was until the Irishman, and not for the first time, put a fist under his nose. Pearce, having got his sea chest, Oliphant’s trunk and the Pelicans’ dunnage onto a cart, ensured there was nobody waiting to waylay them before he called them out to join him. The group, eyes peeled for an ambuscade, made their way towards the jetty, to take the boat that Milton would send for them.
There was no sign of such a craft, which at first confused Pearce. But, as time went by, it began to seriously irritate him. HMS Hazard was surrounded by boats, but none were heading their way, quite the reverse; they seemed to be filling with men and heading for the River Medway. In the end he had to bespeak a privately owned wherry to take them out, one that was somewhat overcrowded for the numbers and possessions it was obliged to carry, five souls and the two oarsmen.
A number of boats were still standing just off from the side, more than double the quantity belonging to Hazard, rendering Pearce deeply curious. But he was obliged to put that to one side, as well as pass up a chance for a close-up examination of his new command. He needed to compose himself, given he wished to come aboard with some dignity. To look less than competent in front of the crew would not do, men who would be just as curious about their new commanding officer.
Not that they were singular in that; every member serving on a man-o’-war, when it came time for a change of command, speculated on the nature of the fellow who would lead them. In the navy, a closed community for all its numbers, reputations and opinions were bandied about, rarely being far from the truth.
Tars were quite prepared to serve under a hard taskmaster, as long as he was fair. Yet it was not unknown for a crew to refuse a new appointment if the proposed captain was known as an overflogging martinet. The Admiralty could huff and puff, the senior officers on station could threaten all sorts of retaliation, but if the men remained unmoved and held to their guns, the appointment would be rescinded.
How much would these fellows know of him, for they would surely have been prewarned of whom they were getting? Probably only how he had been promoted, for none of his Mediterranean exploits would have made it back home yet. He reckoned, at best, to be an unknown quantity. It mattered not; their trust he would have to win if his tenure was to be a success.
It required the others to shif
t so Pearce could get into position to catch the man ropes and haul himself aboard. The officer he was replacing was stood just inside the gangway and had been visible for some time, as were the marines lined up behind him. The bosun was standing by, pipe in hand, for that familiar refrain accorded to captains and above coming aboard.
It all went smoothly; the pipes blew as he made the gangway, for him to raise his hat to the quarterdeck. He and Milton exchanged the required courtesies, Pearce deciding there was no point in raising the lack of a boat to meet him on the jetty. Two men emerged from the cabin carrying a sea chest, which was placed on the deck and a whip from the yard lashed on. It was then raised, swung over the side and lowered into a boat. He waited for an unsmiling Milton to invite him to his cabin, where they would no doubt share a glass of wine; he waited in vain.
‘I ask that you step away from the gangway, Mr Pearce,’ Milton said. ‘If you do not, you risk being jostled.’
If he was even more curious, Pearce obliged, to hear orders shouted that brought a clutch of some two dozen men onto the deck, all carrying ditty bags. In a line they approached the gangway and exited, dropping down with practised ease to the boat which, without any orders, had come in to fetch them. As soon as one boat was filled and heading for the Medway, another took its place, it too soon filled and rowing away.
‘What in the name of the devil is going on, Mr Milton?’
‘Going on? I think I’m entitled to my barge crew and my servants.’ Seeing Pearce still confused he added, ‘I’m told you were given this ship on orders from the First Lord of the Treasury. If it is true, you should have asked Mr High-and-Mighty Pitt to provide you with a crew to go with it, for the navy declines to do so. If you doubt my word, ask Admiral Buckner.’
Milton lifted his hat but there was, judging by his sneer, no courtesy in the gesture. ‘Now sir, if you will excuse me, you will observe I have a boat waiting. I will not request the use of what, until a very short time ago, was my barge.’
A Close Run Thing Page 15
