A Close Run Thing

by David Donachie

  ‘Would I be allowed to say, have a care of these fellows. They will write to their parents who are, to a man and a mother, beholden to Dundas for their placement. Anything detrimental imparted to them will go straight to the devious sod.’

  ‘How little you know of midshipmen, Oliphant, if they are indeed such creatures. They only write home when a superior is standing over them with birch cane in hand.’ He looked at the names, then added, ‘But I take your point. Now, it’s fitting that I’m by the gangway to welcome them.’

  Out on deck a few souls were wandering about, as if lost, which Pearce suspected they must feel, everything being strange and, as yet, no sense of discipline or order in place. If, having been in the same situation himself, he had some sympathy, he dared not let it show. Happy or confused, dragooned or volunteers, these fellows were in the King’s service for the duration of the present conflict. The only place they could go until the peace came, barring desertion, was another warship.

  Perhaps in time they could be allowed ashore, but that would depend on how they behaved and the degree of trust. He would need to get to know them, not just as a crew, but as individuals too. Likewise, they had to have as much faith in him. They needed to meld into a group, who could work together until they acted as one at all times. There was no other way to sail a ship and fight it. The prospect, given where he was now, was daunting.

  He made the gangway as the boat bringing his mids hooked on, their designation called out to him, responded to by an order to come aboard. He watched with a degree of quiet amusement as they made their individual efforts to climb the man ropes and battens. There was no cruelty in this and nor did he offer advice; if the common seamen had a great deal to learn, these young gentlemen had so very much more, if they were to progress to officer rank.

  If he failed to recruit a schoolmaster, it would be him, with the help of the master, doing much of the teaching. The basics were mathematics and manners, but then came navigation, the use of a sextant, the ability to set a course by starlight, what was the proper sail plan to get the best out of the ship on any given wind.

  In time, they would absorb the collective wisdom of centuries of sailors, information passed down generation to generation, regarding a reading of the weather, both as it existed and what it was about to become. The run of the sea and the depth of the swell, added to the formation of the clouds, would become a map to them, as it was to their forbears.

  They must go aloft and be as nimble as the best topmen, able to reef or let fall the heavy canvas as required, in fair or foul weather, while keeping a precarious footing. The likes of the Pelicans would teach some of what everyone needed to know: how to maintain and repair the complex mass of rigging, the application of the correct knots, to be able to carry out rope work as the most adept splicer of hemp. To have a knowledge of the blocks and tackles on both the standing rigging and any temporary rig.

  Likewise the hands, which brought Pearce back to his lack of numbers. Some would be allotted to the gunner and carpenter as mates, to specialise in those activities, which did not exclude general competence. Those seconded to work with the bosun would learn from Crocker all the skills needed to undertake the tasks he would oversee, from care of canvas to the proper storage of stores.

  Likewise, the master required a coterie of master’s mates to assist him in his duties and they would have to show some ability at maths. Application could bring advancement and that had to be stressed; every junior aide to a warrant or seaman of standing rank could one day hold a similar office on another vessel.

  In addition, they must be ready to fight. The best of the midshipmen would command a section of cannon, which meant knowing as much about the guns as the men working them. They had to earn their respect, so that when the time came to board an enemy deck, their section would zealously follow them. And swordplay, plus the proper loading and discharge of pistols? Instruction in that could fall to Pearce alone.

  With the hands, it would be musket, pike, tomahawk and cutlass. They must learn to employ them as well as to follow commands, in a situation where confusion was more likely than clarity. Good boat work was essential too, for often the task would be the cutting out of an enemy vessel. Added to that, they must learn to kill if required and to grant clemency when that would serve better.

  All that ran through their captain’s mind as the newly arrived young gentlemen struggled to make the deck, eventually succeeding, to stand nervously uncertain. As their brand-new sea chests were being hauled aboard, to be taken care of by Charlie and Rufus, he invited them to his cabin, where they lined up, in their new and pristine short blue jackets and naval hats.

  ‘Gentlemen, your names, your ages, please, and from where you hail?’

  A tall and skinny youngster, with very fair hair and bright blue eyes, named himself first. He was called Maclehose, aged fourteen and hailed from Perth. If he stumbled slightly, that did not detract from the fact of his primacy in speaking, so Pearce marked him as perhaps one to lead the others.

  Next came an eleven-year-old called Livingston, from Bathgate, who was in terror, looking to be on the edge of tears when he named his hometown. It was to be hoped Mrs Low, the gunner’s wife, with whom he would certainly berth for a year or two, was more compassionate than she appeared.

  Mr Campbell, from Argyll, was between them in age, well into puberty, judging by the eruption of red spots on his face. He looked to have something of a pot belly on him, added to a chubby face, which would not last; home comforts did not exist on a ship of war and neither did idleness.

  Last came a twelve-year-old youngster from the borderlands, Tennant, a son of the Jedburgh kirk and with a minister father. His voice in reporting was broken, and also low-pitched with nerves, so Pearce could barely hear him.

  He had to address them like a surrogate father-cum-tyrannical tutor, with instructions regarding their forthcoming duties and the manner in which they should behave. In doing so he felt like a total fraud. What did he know about midshipmen fresh to the service? The one he knew best from his own past was a poltroon called Toby Burns and he was no example, being a coward and a perjurer.

  Others with whom he’d sailed, like Richard Farmiloe, now a lieutenant, had served sea time before he ever met them and was thus experienced. There had been mids on every vessel in which he’d sailed and at every shore function he’d attended. At one end they were intelligent, brave and active, sometimes a danger to themselves as well as the enemy.

  Others were dull to the point of stupidity and he had come across sloths who’d been in the same berth for time measured in decades. They were so useless they’d remain there so they would be fed, something not vouchsafed ashore. Which of the two kinds would these lads turn out to be? He was now responsible and the knowledge did not bring much cheer.

  ‘Tonight you will berth in the gunroom with a Mrs Low. She and her husband will see your hammocks rigged and show you how to get in and out of the article without disgrace. It may be you will shift in the coming days, but that will depend on how you take to your new home.’

  As he surveyed them, only Maclehose would hold his gaze.

  ‘I have been in your place and know how it can be for good or ill.’

  Words meant to reassure, Pearce was aware of his stretching of the truth. He had held the position of midshipman, but in circumstances far removed from the norm. Still, he wished them to behave in a way he knew to be uncommon in most ships.

  ‘I will tolerate no bullying and, if I hear that the contents of anyone’s sea chest have been taken without permission, I will have the perpetrator kiss the gunner’s daughter and with ferocious application. I doubt I need to spell out to you what the expression means.’

  A pause, then a call to Michael O’Hagan to take them below and return with his two companions.

  He knew he had to be honest about how difficult it was going to be with this trio of friends. Buckner might send him what he’d asked for, but it was necessary to act on the basis he
would not.

  ‘Michael, you will have to take on the duty of master-at-arms. Not how it should be, according to statute, but there’s no choice. At least I know, when it comes to keeping order, I can rely on you to impose it without oppression.’

  The Irishman nodded as Charlie chipped in, ever ready with a quip. ‘There goes the easy life, Michael. No great cabin servant and as much quality grub as you can swallow now. Happen it will slim you down.’

  That got Charlie a jaundiced look as Michael spoke to Pearce, his own tone sarcastic. ‘Would it be possible, John-boy, that I can try a little oppression, to see how it feels?’

  That was ignored. ‘Charlie, you and Rufus will have to act as watch captains for now. I need you to find out who is willing and who is slack. I want regular reports on the men you will command, with recommendations as to what useful skills they have and what they might best acquire. I know you didn’t sign up for this and I have to offer you the chance to decline. That said, I can carry no passengers, so if you do refuse, I will ask you to vacate the ship.’

  ‘What, John,’ Rufus exclaimed, for once to the fore, ‘and leave you to try and manage on your own? Might as well save time and send the barky to the bottom right off.’

  Agreement followed from the others and Pearce reacted well to that. ‘Rufus, it gives me no pleasure to say you’re probably right. Now can you assemble all hands, so I can read them in?’

  On a well-manned ship that would have happened in half a minute. Here it took an age of cajoling and in some cases shoving to get them all up from below and facing the quarterdeck. They were not silent until Michael shouted that they should be so, in a voice stentorian enough to command attention. Pearce was stood, marines lined up to his rear with bayonets fitted, on the poop: a figure in a blue coat, a total stranger, who had their lives in his hands.

  ‘By the power vested in me by the Lord Commissioners of the Admiralty, I, Lieutenant John Pearce, do take command of HMS Hazard and all who sail in her …’

  As he read out the terms of his appointment, he was looking out at a sea of faces, every eye on him, the ship’s boys at the front and his Pelicans, warrants and standing officers, who had heard all this many times before, at the rear. For most, there was palpable concern at this strange new world. An air of false indifference came from one or two.

  The Articles of War came next, thirty-six specific regulations and laws with their concomitant penalties; failure of duty, disobedience of orders, drunkenness, espionage, desertion, not pursuing or cowardice in the face of the enemy, false muster and the wasting of stores.

  ‘Article Twenty-Seven. For murder, as on land, death.’ That was followed by a long pause and hard look and he saw men swallow hard at the thought. ‘The unnatural and detestable sin of sodomy, with man or beast, will be punished by death following a court martial.’

  Another fraudulent glare. ‘Robbery; punished with death or otherwise, upon the consideration of a court martial.’

  On he droned until he had reached the last, by which time many looking at him were clearly fearful. ‘You are entered and landsmen at present. But in time that will alter and quickly, for those who put their mind to improvement and learning. You will try things new to you and fail to carry them out correctly to begin with. This I know, for I have been in your place. Some of you, the youngest and most nimble, will find terror in climbing the shrouds and moving out on to the yards. But that will ease with practice. This too I know from experience.’

  Pearce talked for another twenty minutes, advising this bunch of novices on watches and how they operated, on how they would be fed as each week progressed, for it was unvarying except in exceptional circumstances. They were told of the allowance of small beer and their daily right to a tot of grog, plus dozens of other factors that would govern their new life, until his voice was hoarse.

  ‘Tonight you may sleep, for the anchor watch will be covered by the men I trust. Tomorrow you begin life as a sailor in the King’s Navy. Embrace it and you will come to love it. Fight it and it will consume you.’

  Another long look, followed by an order, which underlined he still had no lieutenants. ‘Master-at-arms, you may dismiss the men.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Hodgson walked up the wide stone pavement of Harley Street, Beleau’s drawings under his arm, noting it had that luxury which cut off horse traffic from those walking. Such a thing did not exist in most of the streets he traversed, which meant a fellow had to be both watchful and nimble, lest some overexcited coach or cart driver, impatient to progress, paid no attention to the presence of human feet.

  In his hand he had Emily Barclay’s letter, which gave him the number to look for. That too was so very recent, the numbering instead of naming of dwellings, the latter of which, in any case, was truly haphazard in the rookeries, alleys and narrow backstreets that abounded around the City and Westminster.

  Much thought had gone into what might come from this meeting, prior to setting out as well as on the way, yet it had not formed into anything definite now he was close. The brass, highly polished bell pull had the weight of the newly installed, while the ringing was audible through the substantial front door. It was opened by a fellow in livery, who enquired sonorously of his business and, given he was expected, stood aside and begged him enter when that was stated. His hat and out coat were taken, before he was shown into a well-appointed room on the ground floor.

  ‘Mrs Barclay will be with you presently, sir.’

  Surely she had been waiting for him, the time having been arranged and he punctual. He decided, as he gazed out of the window at the world passing by, it was a gambit, to imply he was the supplicant and she the benefactor, which he suspected might be the very opposite of the case. When she did arrive, it was with a footman in tow.

  ‘Mr Hodgson,’ came with a nod, but no smile.

  His greeting in response was delivered with a cool appreciation that he was in the presence of a very beautiful woman. Added to which, she appeared to have poise; there was nothing nervous or timid about the way she was examining him. Had he been able to see inside her head he would have changed that opinion. Emily Barclay was as tense as a freshly wound clock.

  ‘You came by hack?’ was no more than common politesse.

  ‘On foot, as is my habit. Very little can be observed from within a coach.’

  ‘You see a need to observe?’

  ‘Mrs Barclay, it is the kernel of my trade.’

  She seemed to take a moment to reflect on that. ‘Can I offer you anything in the way of refreshment?’

  When he declined, she dismissed the footman, offered him to sit and did so herself, to elegantly perch on a chaise. What followed was a brief period of silence, maybe twenty seconds, which seemed longer. It was one Hodgson was determined not to break. Finally, it was done for him.

  ‘You must wonder why I asked you to call upon me.’

  ‘Not really. I suspect you wish to discuss Cornelius Gherson.’

  You had to be a keen observer to see how she stiffened, it was so marginal; a slight retraction of the jaw and shoulders seeming to rise a fraction. This indicated to Hodgson she had not expected him to know of the connection between them.

  ‘I assume Sir Jerrold told you of my interest in the case.’

  ‘No, Mrs Barclay, I deduced that myself.’

  Finally, her gaze dropped away to the side, as she seemed to be seeking to absorb this. Hodgson was wondering, as had Sir Jerrold Crossley, if there could be some kind of romantic attachment between her and Gherson, only for the thought to be dismissed. Quite apart from what he knew, which was partial and incomplete, he could not see a woman of the composure she possessed having anything to do with such a creature.

  ‘I was told you were very good at your profession.’ When he looked quizzical, she added. ‘Sir Jerrold told me so.’

  ‘And is it that which has caused you to invite me to call upon you?’

  ‘In part. He also told me you were the one who bes
poke a private cell for the person just mentioned.’

  ‘Would I be right in assuming that was your intention too?’ The look in response was one that indicated she had no desire to answer. ‘When first I met him, he implied there was a lady willing to do likewise.’

  ‘Mr Hodgson, can I enquire if you were asking on your own behalf?’

  That was a hard question to deal with. To deny the query on the grounds of confidentiality would be an admission it was true. Yet to say he was Gherson’s benefactor did not sit well with his pride, so he applied the well-known ploy of answering a question with a question.

  ‘I’m curious, Mrs Barclay, as to why you would think that to be the case.’ For the first time Emily smiled and Hodgson knew he had failed to spot a snare. ‘What did Sir Jerrold say?’

  ‘That agents for the powerful were not uncommon. He imparted it in such a fashion as to more or less name you as such.’

  ‘More or less?’

  ‘The provision of such accommodation is costly, is it not? Would it offend you if I say your manner and profession are unlikely to mark you out as one who could run to such a bill?’

  ‘Even with a soft heart?’ was delivered with the slightest of smiles, no more than a twitch of the thief-taker’s lips.

  Her smile was more engaging; what he implied was being taken as intended, a jest. ‘Perhaps it would be best if I explained to you my motives for seeking to aid Gherson.’

  ‘I would be glad to hear it.’

  ‘Would there be a quid pro quo?’

  ‘My Latin is not good.’ For which he meant – and was sure she would get his meaning – expect silence until I decide it is wise to be open.

  As she began to speak it soon became apparent there was no intention to allow for assumptions. Hodgson was taken back to the way she had first come across Gherson, as one of her husband’s crew, the odd manner in which he had been pressed, moving on swiftly to describe their challenging relationship. Even circumspect, he could discern the deep dislike bordering on hatred his presence had generated.