He had been surprised on coming home to receive a letter from such a source and to wonder how she had got the address. As with the creature now lording it in Newgate, it came from someone whose name had been known to him for an age, while likewise being a person he had never actually clapped eyes on.
Here she was asking to meet with him, a proposition which, despite a high degree of curiosity, he saw as perturbing. He pursued a profession in which deduction equalled both persistence and information. Therefore he had, sometime past, come to see both Gherson and Emily Barclay as part of the same entanglement. Exactly how much so remained in the realm of speculation.
That she should write seeking his help, without naming in what capacity it would manifest itself, took the latter from deduction to certainty: she had to be the lady Gherson had alluded to in Newgate. After all, the name Barclay was common to both cases. In reflecting on that, he came to realise a deeper reason for avoiding Edward Druce.
It was a feeling of manipulation, of being involved in matters where he was being fed only what the prize agent wanted him to know: there had to be so much more. Given the gravity of the crime and the feeling of matters not being straightforward, he could not put out of his mind such a situation could leave him exposed.
Could talking to Emily Barclay fill in some of the gaps? Was it worth the risk of such a meeting becoming known to Druce, who would surely not welcome it? If done at all, it had to be carried out discreetly, and the Harley Street address, to which he had been invited to reply, looked to be the best for the purpose.
Taking his supper in his local tavern, he decided an affirmative reply was a good idea. He took out and looked at his drawings for the umpteenth time and an odd thought did surface. Would it not be remarkable if the person to put names to these images turned out to be Emily Barclay?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
No advantage would come from waiting in Chatham, so John Pearce boated out with a portion of the stores he had purchased, knowing the rest would follow. He had, the day before, examined Hazard on approach, but it had been cursory, he too anxious as to how he would appear on coming aboard to give it the attention it deserved. Now, to save time, he had himself rowed around the ship, partly just to look at her lines, but also to check on her trim. If he needed to shift stores or water to correct that it was going to be quite a task.
Thankfully Milton had kept such matters well in hand, which left just the ship and that which he had learnt regarding her in the brief time he had been aboard. A Cormorant class ship-rigged sloop, she was in prime condition. Her timbers looked sound, while her cordage would, by now, have matured to taut perfection. One hundred and eight feet long in total, her beam was just shy of thirty feet, over a hold of nine foot in depth. An examination of the ship’s logs had her service record, this mostly in support of the North Sea fleet blockading the Dutch ports under Admiral Duncan.
Requiring little water under her keel, she would have been very useful as an inshore observer, keeping an eye on the preparations of the Dutch fleet. With her sixteen 6-pounder cannon, Hazard had the means to defend herself should trouble appear, but the greatest asset of her class was speed.
Three-masted, her type could generally show any pursuit a clean pair of heels. Slowly being rowed around, he felt a craving, of a kind he had not felt since leaving the Mediterranean. There was real beauty in her lines; she looked sleek, especially with a full set of canvas clewed up on her slightly raked masts. HMS Hazard was his and he could imagine himself and her carrying out the kind of duties for which she’d been designed.
Finally aboard, while his purchases were being fetched on deck by the Pelicans, Pearce did that which the previous day’s requirements had rendered impossible; he interviewed his warrants and standing petty officers. Not only did he quiz the master, Mr Williams, on her sailing qualities, he wished to be told of her quirks, for every ship had some peculiar to herself. It was necessary to know them in advance of their being demonstrated. Action left no time for education. Conversation with Williams left Pearce with the impression the man was competent, without being inspiring.
The cannon was inspected in the company of Mr Low, the gunner, Pearce first having been introduced to the man’s wife, a woman of square build with a rubicund complexion and a ready and permanent scowl. She had the task, amongst others, of looking after the younger midshipmen when and if they arrived.
That done they moved on to the dozen half-pound swivels, set at various points along the upper deck. They were designed to fire small ordnance at close quarters, with the kind of telling accuracy that could clear an enemy quarterdeck. The quantity of shot in the lockers was checked too and the state of rust on the balls noted for later chipping.
Shoes exchanged for leather slippers, the magazine was next for a visit, the powder room too, with assurances being received that no evidence of damp existed. Likewise, Pearce was informed the powder barrels had been turned only two weeks before. This, carried out on a three-monthly cycle, ensured the various elements did not separate and render the whole ineffective.
Pearce let it be known he had been in action many times and had often worked and personally fired more than one cannon. To begin with, Mr Low’s mood had been punctilious to the point of seeming stand-offish. Yet he was a gunner to his fingertips, a man who revelled in the position he held and the deep knowledge of his trade, acquired over years. Given a shared interest, he warmed to this new commanding officer, who knew enough on the subject of ordnance to provoke a lively debate on ballistics.
Crocker, the bosun, properly termed boatswain, came across as a real misery, the impression given of a man hoping for a better appointment. Had he been like that with Milton? There was no way of knowing and it mattered not. He was obliged to confirm the state of the stores and the condition of the rigging, blocks and sails. This included those in the locker in terms of quantity and weight of canvas, with a check on how regularly they were aired. Damp sails left too long could spontaneously combust and endanger the ship.
Crocker showed real surprise when, back on deck, his new captain threw off his blue coat and began to climb up the ratlines, eschewing the lubber’s hole as he passed the mainmast cap. Pearce made his way out on to a couple of the topmast yards, sliding along the footropes to inspect matters, before continuing up to the very crosstrees, not something commanding officers, careful of their dignity, were supposed to do in Crocker’s estimation. Pearce stayed aloft for a while, surveying the anchorage as well as the shorelines of Essex and Kent, before returning to the deck by sliding down a backstay, there to face a disapproving look.
‘Wouldn’t shame a skylarking mid,’ was what Crocker later said to his confrères and it was not meant as praise.
One of those confrères, the carpenter, came next. Together they went from top to bottom of the ship, inspecting everything from mainframe timbers to the hanging knees, even the seating of the masts. He was required to list his stores of wood and the special tools needed to ply his trade, before they eased along the carpenter’s walk to inspect the inside of the hull, which thankfully showed no sign or smell of rot.
Likewise the bilge was not malodorous, which could affect the health of the crew. Mr Towse, a former shipwright from Whitby, for that was his name and birthplace, had checked the level of water in the well once that day already, as was his duty, but was happy to do so again and to show the pumps, which he had the responsibility to maintain, were in good working order.
In all, the inspections were satisfactory, telling Pearce he had a competent set of inferiors who would do their duty and some might even smile in the activity. If they were not happy at his appointment, it mattered not one jot. They had tasks to perform and would carry them out diligently for the sake of their careers, if not his. The whole vessel had been properly cleaned by the now departed crew and the odour, as is should be, was a mixture of wood, resin, tar, hemp and diluted vinegar.
The purser, Pearce suspected, had stayed aboard to protect his investment, e
ven if he could have applied to shift in the advent of a new commanding officer. Porlock, a Manxman, came to the cabin with his ledgers, to be offered a glass of newly purchased wine. His books were examined with what appeared to be an eagle eye, one that could not but make the man feel uncomfortable. Head down, John Pearce was thinking it would take a genius to find discrepancies: every purser known to man was adept at hiding anything that would make questionable their figures.
Responsible for victualling the ship in all respects, from food to tallow and candles and hundreds of other goods, he had as a basis of his income some twelve and a half per cent, this being the difference between what the Navy Board charged him for the provisions of the ship, as against that for which he billed the Admiralty. His private trade was in the provision of hammocks and bedding, slops and, most profitable of all, tobacco.
‘Your weights comply, Mr Porlock, I trust?’
‘A true sixteen ounces to the pound, sir,’ came the confident reply.
Pearce could only hope that was the truth, though he would contrive a way to find out if Porlock was lying. Having acted as his own purser in the Mediterranean, he knew how suspicious tars were of being cheated over less-than-honest weights. Many of Porlock’s breed used fourteen ounces to the pound as their measure, thus short-changing on everything they supplied. Pearce also knew the endemic risks of the purser trade. Get the figures wrong and you would soon face bankruptcy.
There was provision for the sloop to muster both a chaplain and a surgeon. Pearce would do without the former, but possibly find room for a schoolmaster and one willing to take Divine Service on a Sunday. This was a task all captains were obliged to perform, but one which went against the grain for him. He had no wish to deny another his faith, but his own doubts made him feel a hypocrite. He would certainly seek out a sawbones, plus an assistant, which would require a written application to the Sick and Hurt Board.
There was the question of junior officers and midshipmen, Milton having removed his with the rest of the crew, no doubt the whole going to a new vessel. He needed a marine officer and a party of a dozen bullocks, including corporals and a sergeant. Oliphant had been given a list of the ship’s requirements, which included those vital elements.
Lieutenants and midshipmen at least should prove possible; there were any number of the former unemployed and on half-pay, as well as a queue of youngsters begging for a place on a ship. He had left notice at the Royal George saying what his needs were. That said, a crew – full if possible – was the prime requirement and that had to include a number of ship’s boys, to carry out the functions of nippers when weighing and act as powder monkeys in battle.
Oliphant had presented the demands to Dundas; it would be up to him to involve William Pitt if it was deemed necessary. If Pearce was confounded by what had happened, his messenger was less so, being more conscious of the perennial infighting which characterised government. Pitt, a Tory, led a coalition which included the so-called Portland Whigs, with those of that persuasion who had stuck with Charles James Fox providing a very vocal opposition, not least in the way they diverged on the whole notion of the war.
To stay in power Pitt relied on the Duke of Portland and he had extracted a high price for his support. The King’s First Minister had been forced to remove his own older brother, the Earl of Chatham, from the Admiralty, so the place could be given to Earl Spencer. It was therefore a truism that applying pressure to Spencer was fraught with risk. Dundas decided to bypass him and go directly to the recently appointed First Secretary, Evan Nepean, with a request-cum-demand that the needs of HMS Hazard be met.
‘Spencer will hear of it, of course,’ Dundas opined. ‘But he’s an idle sod, so I’m hoping he will leave it to Nepean to deal with.’
‘With respect,’ Oliphant replied, ‘the order to strip out the ship must come from the same source as the proposed remedy.’
‘Without a doubt, but I’m hoping that having made their point …’ Seeing the look of curiosity on Oliphant’s face, Dundas broke off to explain. ‘They are telling me, in no uncertain terms, and not for the first time, that the navy does not come under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of War.’
The face clouded. ‘I can’t tell you the arguments we’ve had. The salts think that they can do as they wish with no recourse to cooperation. How can I despatch troops in their thousands to places like the Caribbean, without I have some say in who is to be in command of the expedition?’
The look of innocence on Oliphant’s face was there to mask one fact: he knew very well why such disputes occurred. Command of a fleet was not within the gift of Dundas, because his choices were always overtly political. Military competence, to this minster, came second to loyalty to the Tory and monarchical cause.
The conception and planning of such expeditions emanated from his office, the navy then being tasked to get the designated forces to where they were supposed to be. Quite naturally, given it would be their ships that would be at risk, they insisted on the right to appoint a competent commander.
Trust, never high, was not aided by results. The Caribbean, and more recently the expedition sent to Quiberon Bay, had turned into expensive fiascos. In the West Indies, the soldiery had been decimated by yellow fever; at Quiberon they’d failed, once landed, to even get to their objectives.
Recriminations naturally ensued, but Dundas was like an eel when it came to responsibility, thus the ensuing censure was ever laid at another’s door. The generals got the blame for failure in the Caribbean. In the case of Quiberon, it fell on an aggrieved and furious navy.
‘If Nepean will not play, then I will have to bring in Billy.’
The look accompanying that demonstrated how unwelcome such an act would be, so Oliphant asked what, to him, was an obvious solution. ‘Why not advise them of the mission and its importance?’
Dundas growled and shook his head. ‘I might as well send a letter to Paris and tell them myself. Inform the Cabinet and it will be the talk of every club and salon within the day. Now, what does Pearce want exactly? I need to know what to ask for.’
The list was passed over to be scrutinised, Dundas nodding as he read it.
‘Some of this I can satisfy myself, certainly in the article of a quartet of midshipmen. I’m plagued daily with pleas to find places for the sons of friends, those who cannot run to the cost of an army commission.’
The sons of political adherents of the Scottish vote, was Oliphant’s conclusion. Pearce would no doubt be in receipt of a number of lads whose brogue could be barely comprehensible to an English ear. Still, the man was a Scot himself, so he at least should understand them.
‘Lieutenants?’ was expressed with ministerial doubt.
‘Pearce reckons, if word gets out, both he and the Admiralty will be in receipt of endless pleas and, I’m informed, any appointments have to come from there.’
‘Nepean should be happy to oblige, just to get some peace, if his post is anything like mine. Leave this with me, Oliphant, and I will deal with it as soon as I can.’
‘Lieutenant Pearce did wish me to say the matter is pressing.’
‘To which I would respond that Rome wasn’t built in a day. Dealing with Secretary Nepean will require a degree of delicacy.’
It occurred to Oliphant, as he departed, that either the fellow mentioned was in pursuit of some favour from Dundas, or that one had already been provided and thus payment was due.
‘It would do you well to know, Pearce,’ he muttered to himself, ‘that is how government works.’
There was little doubt the news of what had happened to Hazard had become common knowledge. She was anchored in amongst a number of other naval vessels, from 100-gun ships of the line and seventy-fours, all the way down to variously sized frigates, brigs and bomb vessels. It seemed that every boat setting off from another ship saw the need to row close to the sloop and cast an eye over her. What they hoped to see was a mystery, there generally being a true lack of activity on deck. Few of the com
mon undertakings could be carried out without a crew.
Over a few days, of a morning, they would have observed the same quartet swabbing the decks in shirtsleeves, without realising that one of their number was the man in command of the ship. They would also not realise the duty was being carried out with much banter among the four souls, who had bonded as Pelicans over just such duties when newly pressed.
The warrants Pearce had dealt with reacted in different fashions; Crocker and Porlock saw it as demeaning that a man of rank should act like a common tar. Towse, as a carpenter, known by the soubriquet, Jack of the Dust, seemed unsure of how to react. Only the gunner was on hand to join in the jesting, though Mr Low refused the invite to swing a mop for fear of what his wife might say.
Later in the morning they would have observed the same quartet in the ship’s jolly boat, heading for Chatham, Pearce in uniform but still on an oar. He had written yet another letter to Sir Peter Parker in what seemed to be a daily bulletin of his travails, the one reply he had received evincing much sympathy and understanding, while also detailing what he saw as the limitations of Charles Buckner.
But his main purpose this day was to seek out nippers-cum-powder monkeys and servants, the former from the sons of the common dockyard workers, who could not get them into a trade like their own. As in the navy, there were more applicants than places in the highly paid royal dockyards.
For captain’s servants, even if they may never carry a tray, the requirement was different, an appeal to parents in the more elevated dockyard occupations; shipwrights, ironmasters, sailmakers and the more responsible storekeepers. With aspirations that their sons should rise to be gentlemen, they would be keen to see their offspring given a place aboard a warship.
A Close Run Thing Page 17
