A Close Run Thing

by David Donachie

  It came as no surprise when she spoke of her late husband in a detached tone, one lacking in any hint of deep grief. Had she not run away from him? Not that she wandered into anything in the personal line; it was more to do with his taking on Gherson as his clerk and the duties that fell to him.

  All the time she was talking, one fact she had imparted troubled Hodgson’s already uneasy mind. ‘Mrs Barclay, if I may, I would like you to go back to where you began. That is how Gherson came to be aboard your husband’s ship.’

  ‘An absurdity, really.’

  Hodgson listened intently, though there was no change in his demeanour that she would see. London Bridge, a push claimed, not a fall. The pure luck of landing in the torrents, which roared through the bridge arches on a receding tide, hard by a passing naval cutter, which by pure luck contained a fellow both quick and strong enough to haul him out. Told in the manner of a tale often repeated, it still had the power to amuse her. That was until Hodgson thought it might be a wry reaction to a strong belief. It would have been better for all if that quick and strong hand had been absent.

  ‘He was inclined to deny he was thrown over the parapet, but no one aboard Brilliant could accept he sought to do away with himself. He was too obviously a coward.’

  ‘An accident, perhaps.’

  Unknown to her, the question was only posed to seek denial, which was swift in coming, for Gherson had never claimed it to be so. Hodgson gently probed a few of the salient points and, as he absorbed those particulars, the facts which had troubled him at Lady Barrington’s bagnio seemed to gel, which prompted the next question.

  ‘If I may, Mrs Barclay, I wonder at your reasons for seeking to oblige him in the provision of a private cell, since I sense no great affection.’

  The green eyes that fixed him were steady, and the look in them was designed to challenge Hodgson, who had the uncomfortable feeling he had landed precisely where she wanted him to be.

  ‘Perhaps, Mr Hodgson, you should ask the person on whose behalf you are acting?’ It was politic not to respond. ‘Let me tell you of the relationship between my late husband and his clerk.’

  Another lengthy explanation followed, to be given the same level of attention as before, until she came to the nub; the fact that Gherson was engaged in cheating Ralph Barclay.

  ‘But he was not doing so in isolation. He sent me a note from Newgate to say he had information that would nail the other guilty party. I visited him, he provided me with a clue as to the direction of enquiry and that I acted upon. The manner of response hinted at accuracy, thus I felt it would be to my benefit to accede to his demands.’

  ‘Even to the point of his being innocent of the crime?’

  ‘I sense you do not know him very well, Mr Hodgson. I do, but I also have people who know him even better, men who sailed with him and have seen how he acted when the ship was engaged against the enemy: a fellow who sought to hide somewhere safe and gibbered like a madman. If there is a man more cowardly, they have yet to meet him.’

  ‘That does not answer my question.’

  ‘Is he innocent? I don’t know. Perhaps you could be engaged to find out.’

  ‘You’re offering to employ me?’

  ‘If you are free to act for me, yes.’

  She knew about Druce, which was obvious. When thought on, Hodgson realised the connection was not difficult to make. Either in his note, or in speaking to her, Gherson had used the name. If it was easy to come to that as a conclusion, it was less easy to work out how to act upon it.

  ‘Would you permit that is a request which requires a degree of reflection?’

  For the first time the smile was genuine. It was as if she could read,not only his thoughts, but his dilemma. ‘Would you believe me when I say the lack of an outright refusal is something I take as encouraging? But I would remind you that time is a problem. The Court of King’s Bench sits in less than two weeks.’

  ‘There is a backlog of cases; Gherson will not be in the first batch. A day or two, no more.’

  ‘Are you sure I can offer you nothing to eat or drink, Mr Hodgson? Or perhaps order you a cab to take you back to your lodging?’

  ‘Forty-eight hours, Mrs Barclay.’

  She took well the fact that he had yet to make up his mind, standing and indicating the door, before holding out a hand. ‘Till then.’

  ‘Captain’s barge approaching, John-boy,’ Michael O’Hagan hissed. ‘And the man in command, a captain, is in the thwarts.’

  Both the bosun and Pearce were on deck, properly dressed, by the time the approaching coxswain yelled ‘Bedford’. They were soon joined by Moberly and his marines, who dressed into a straight line, ready to present arms. Their officer had his sword ready.

  ‘Michael, get those men idling below. And tell Charlie and Rufus to ensure the men they’re instructing keep to their task. I want no gazing or gawping.’

  The ‘Aye aye, your honour,’ was as it should be: crisp and loud.

  The well-handled barge swung in a wide and even arc, to hook on right under the gangway, the officer already on his feet and moving through his oarsmen to clamber aboard. The man ropes were grasped and the fellow made his way up the battens with practised ease, to step on to the deck and raise his hat, this as the marine footwear hit the deck and their muskets were raised before each face. Moberly saluting with his sword.

  ‘Captain Sir Thomas Byard, at your service, sir.’ This was delivered with a definite middle-of-the-country accent. Pearce in his travels had something of an ear for placement and he had this officer hailing from Staffordshire. ‘I assume I’m talking to Lieutenant John Pearce?’

  The look was direct, the smile seemingly genuine, on a fellow Pearce put at about fifty years of age and several inches smaller than himself. His face was thin, the skin sallow, which belied his hearty greeting.

  ‘Master and Commander of HMS Hazard, sir.’

  ‘Then I have come to the right place.’

  Byard said this, with a slight jerk of the head, to indicate if he was going to talk more it should be in private. Pearce was quick to invite him to his cabin and, watched by all on deck, despite the strictures regarding gawping, they made their way aft.

  ‘Damn me,’ came the remark on entry, to an officer bent over in an exaggerated fashion, the deck beams far from touching his head. ‘I’d forgot how small the cabin on a sloop is.’

  ‘No patch on a seventy-four for comfort, sir. Please, if I can offer you a seat.’

  ‘Obliged.’ Byard sat, after removing his scraper and gazed about him at what was a sparsely furnished space. The eyes were brown and seemed large, under a pair of very noticeable bags. ‘I see you’re not properly settled.’

  Pearce was by the wine cooler. ‘I’ve had no time to furnish the cabin properly.’

  That got a rather braying laugh and a nod to the cooler. ‘Seen to the essentials, though.’

  ‘Some wine, sir?’

  ‘Not blackstrap I hope?’

  ‘No, sir. I made sure of a visit to the Chatham vintner.’ Pearce extracted and held up a bottle of Burgundy. ‘A stint in Paris made me particular in the article.’

  ‘Paris, eh?’

  ‘Before the outbreak,’ was imparted, as he removed the cork.

  That got a look at the bottle, which was accompanied by a twinkle in the captain’s eye. ‘Now it strikes me that a bottle, instead of being sealed with wax, is one with those new-fangled corks. Might have come over the Channel after we went to war, what?’

  Pearce poured the red wine into a pair of crystal goblets, thinking this visitor must know corks had been increasingly used in the last decade. It was therefore an attempt at humour.

  ‘I did not enquire.’

  ‘Very wise,’ Byard said as he took the goblet. The nose went into it first, to get an appreciative sniff, before he took a sip to pronounce it very acceptable ‘You will be wondering at my calling upon you, without I put in a request.’

  Pearce had been wondering that
since he was told of the approach, but it was impolite to say so. ‘Can I say you’re very welcome, sir. You are the first of my fellow commanders to call upon me, which makes your presence very special.’

  ‘Then let me wish you good health.’ That was accepted, with Pearce thinking, before he spoke again, not many of Byard’s peers would share the sentiment. ‘I had a letter from Sir Peter Parker.’

  ‘Really!’ was all that could be got out in response.

  ‘Him and I go back a long way, Mr Pearce. Got my step from him during the American nonsense. Any road, he tells me you’re having some difficulties. Didn’t get much detail, but knowing I was due to be in to revictual, he dropped me a line and asked me to find out.’

  Pearce was now behind his desk, wondering where this was leading. ‘Did he tell you anything else, sir?’

  That got him a hard look. ‘’Bout you. No need, Pearce. You’re quite well known in the service.’

  ‘Do I sense disapproval?’

  ‘Got your elevation from His Majesty, did you not? Personal, too.’

  ‘I was lucky in that regard, yes.’

  ‘Same fellow who knighted me.’ Out came that braying laugh again. ‘So we can’t reckon him mad, can we? All I did was take personal charge of the tiller on the royal barge at the fleet review. Old George likes the common touch and he saw that in me, didn’t smoke I was damned terrified one of my mids would balls it up and tip us all into the briny.’

  ‘More wine, sir?’

  ‘Don’t mind if I do.’ Byard leant forward to have his goblet refilled. ‘So, are you going to tell me what your troubles are?’

  ‘You’re sure you want to know?’

  ‘Damn me, Pearce, I wouldn’t have crossed half the Nore if I didn’t.’

  Byard required a couple more refills as Pearce listed his difficulties, nodding all the while to show he understood.

  ‘In short, sir, I have no more than half a dozen people to teach some sixty quota men their duties and, as of this moment, I am in ignorance of any skills they may have.’

  ‘Best assume none. No town is going to ship you its artisans. Felons and beggars are more likely.’

  ‘I asked Admiral Buckner to make good my needs, but he refused.’ There was a temptation to mention Dundas, but it was soon put away. It would probably do more harm than good and, anyway, it would only beg the question as to why he was involved. ‘For reasons unknown to me, he declines to oblige.’

  Byard was quick to respond and not in a pleasant tone. ‘Don’t do to treat me as a fool, Pearce.’

  ‘If I have done so, Sir Thomas, it is inadvertent.’

  ‘Forget Buckner. Sir Peter asked if I could help and I am minded to oblige him. Bedford is not that well found in that in which you are deficient – I am short over thirty on my muster, but my crew is fully worked up. So, what do you say to me sending over my better midshipmen, as well as my yeoman and master’s mates, to teach your lubbers a trick or two?’

  To reckon Pearce surprised bordered on understatement. Yet he felt he had to warn Byard there might be consequences, like official disapproval from Buckner.

  ‘I don’t sail under his flag, Mr Pearce, but that of Admiral Duncan, who will expect me back on station off the Texel once I am fully victualled. I daresay no harm will come from a delay of a day or two, perhaps even a week and, as for censure, do I not have the ear of Farmer George?’

  The braying laugh was really loud now and went on for some time, evidence that the wine consumed had affected Byard’s behaviour.

  ‘Then sir, I can only offer you my deep gratitude, while I wonder what I can do to repay such kindness.’

  ‘If Peter Parker rates you, Pearce, that is good enough for me. I will have my people boat over in the morning and we will see what needs to be done. Now, do you have another bottle of this fine Burgundy?’

  ‘I do, sir. It’s in the cooler.’

  ‘No damn good in there. Fetch the bugger out.’

  If Byard staggered on his route to the gangway, Pearce, following, was in a not much better state. There was no way the man could leave the ship in the manner in which he had arrived, so he had the Pelicans lash one of his new captain’s chairs to a whip from the yard, this with a cat’s cradle of rope work around the legs, to see the captain of HMS Bedford raised in the air then dropped over the side and into his barge.

  Not a single man on an oar looked away from their duty, which led Pearce to suspect his visitor was no stranger to the bottle, while his barge crew were not unfamiliar with this condition. Byard began to sing as the oars were dipped, and the words that floated back to the sloop made sure everyone knew the song was filthy.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Byard was as good as his word. By midmorning the deck of HMS Hazard was alive with activity and it was not confined to the ship. His barge crew had come over as well and were in the water, mixing in with the quota men and midshipmen in matching numbers, teaching them how to row and steer the various ship’s boats, which looked simple but was a skill not easily acquired.

  Timing on the sticks was the key, the rise and fall of the oars as they dipped and left the water, the combined pull, which meant moving men until the force of their muscular ability was balanced. For the mids, steering required a light touch, not excessive turns on the rudder, plus the ability to call for a raise on either side, depending on the direction chosen. If the command was to stop, it required the oars to effect that.

  HMS Bedford’s yeoman of the sheets was aloft with the men who had shown no fear of the climb, instructing them on moving out onto the yards and the portioning required to let loose the sails. The canvas was left alone; this was a mock drill to get them used to the foot ropes and body positions. Below, Rufus Dommet was working others up and down the ratlines, only as far as the mainmast cap, they being permitted to use the lubber’s hole to get a feel for the height, without the fear of a fall.

  It soon became clear that some souls were not cut out for duty as topmen, so they were taken below by Mr Crocker to be instructed in the use of the capstan for the shifting of the stores, water and meat in the barrel, which did not require all hands. Michael O’Hagan was in company with Mr Low, teaching a group how to run out a cannon, which came down to a common heave.

  Likewise, Moberly was working his marines in the same skill and they showed commendable speed, clearly having done it before. There were times when Lobsters worked the guns and at others acted as sharpshooters or took the lead in boarding. In both cases the more complex act of loading would have to wait, and it would be a long time before powder would be expended on firing.

  As the day went on, the senior mid from Bedford, in company with Moberly, took Hazard’s new quartet to give them lessons in fencing and Pearce joined in when it came to cutlass, axe and pike work for the common hands. Up till then he had been pacing the deck to both encourage and observe, making a mental note where he saw enthusiasm, added to another where he observed slacking.

  This happened with a party laying out sails for drying, which was being supervised by Mr Williams, the master, he having no real duties unless they were at sea. In addition, he was lecturing to a confused group about the differing weights of canvas and under what circumstances they were employed. It was the one hanging back and seeking to hide behind another that Pearce approached.

  ‘Your name, fellow.’

  ‘Teach,’ came out like a spit.

  Pearce ignored the lack of respect, both in the reply and the defiant look that accompanied it and, having eased him away from the others, enquired of the first name.

  ‘Well, Harry Teach, let me tell you there is more satisfaction to be had in a task well executed than work avoided. The latter cannot be disguised, as you will now know, for I have seen you seek to avoid effort.’

  ‘I have rights.’

  Charlie was by his ear in a flash. ‘You has duties, matey, an’ one of them is to show respect to the captain. You may choose “sir”, or “aye aye”, but you will use one
or t’other.’

  ‘Your fellow hands have rights, Teach, and one is that all pull their weight in equal measure. For it to be otherwise is to endanger the ship.’ Pearce smiled to take the sting out of his next words. ‘It would displease me to have to notice you again, even more if I was forced to act upon it.’

  The glare aimed at the back of John Pearce, as he walked away, lasted only for half a second, before Charlie pulled him round by the arm. ‘Hark to it, Teach, for if he is not one for the cat, he might make an exception for you.’

  The fierce response took Charlie off guard, as Teach pushed his face close and snarled at him. ‘Get your hands off me, you sod, or you’ll feel my fist.’

  Recovery was quick, for Charlie Taverner was far from content to be on the back foot. ‘Happen you’ll make that error, but it’ll be once and no more. A week on bread and water, with the rats eating your toes, will teach you manners.’

  In his perambulations, in which he sought to stay out of instruction, Pearce was very much aware of the depth of ignorance with which he was faced, worse than he had imagined. Compared to his other commands, or indeed any other vessel in which he’d sailed, this lot looked more set to embarrass him than excite the admiration afforded a crack vessel. And that took no account of what it would be like in a fight.

  Considering that and conjuring up a worrying scenario, he reckoned if he spotted trouble, an armed enemy, his only option would be to run, while the thought of a real blow, with a crew so inexperienced, gave him serious worry. As usual, such gloomy peregrinations were assuaged by activity, which is why he took pleasure in the mock fighting taking place on the foredeck, not that it was always pretend.

  ‘Bugger near took my arm off.’

  This was claimed by one of the participants, who vigorously rubbed the offended body part before he sat down to his dinner at an overcrowded mess table. Other tables were occupied by the Bedfords, being fed at the expense of the ship, which had raised a complaint from Porlock regarding how it was to be justified in his accounts.