‘Why?’
Pearce asked the question because it was an outcome that had surprised him. In all his imaginings – in all those extrapolations of possible scenarios he had conjured up as a means of getting safely ashore, this one had never even been considered and it was clear that Colbourne knew it, for he was now grinning like a Cheshire cat.
‘I thought I had explained, Pearce. I have a choice. I must, for my own sake, not yours, either beat you into submission or get you off this ship. You have been trying to get me to flog you for your minor infractions almost since you came aboard, so to do so would only play into your hands and alienate an already disturbed crew. If I remove you to another captain will that magic away the harm you have done to relations between them and I? No, it may even make it worse. It would be seen as unjust and you know how much sailors love to dwell on such things, be they real or imagined. We have taken a prize, we are coming into harbour, and right now the men are less disturbed but I have no illusions about the Griffin or her capabilities. It may be sometime before fortune favours us with the chance to catch another enemy vessel. I do not, therefore, anticipate, a contented crew.’
Pearce could not help himself, he had to ask. ‘Did Gherson come to you, or did you engage him to spy for you?’
‘I needed to know about you and your motives, he is by nature curious. Let us say that our needs combined.’
‘And his reward?’
‘Oddly enough, he did not ask for one.’
‘That is against his nature.’
Colbourne gave him a knowing look. ‘Can you not contemplate the notion that he hates you, Pearce?’
There was no arguing with that, even if he suspected it was not enough. ‘I wonder if he will be surprised at the outcome.’
‘Why should he be surprised. He has no idea of what is in your letter.’
Pearce was sure Colbourne was lying now. Gherson was not the type to meekly hand over such a thing and not want to know the contents. Very likely he had read it, which explained the close attention he had been paying the subject the last few days, but the result had been the opposite of that which he had sought. Pearce half wondered if he should feel aggrieved, for Gherson, no doubt encouraged by Colbourne, had broken one of the most profound tenets of shipboard life; he had interfered with the possessions of one of his shipmates. Trust, in a crowded ship, was essential; caught, he would have been lucky to survive the daily beating the rest of the crew would have administered.
‘It was something of a relief to find that your actions were not personal.’
Pearce was sure, as much as he was sure of anything, that had swayed the ship’s captain. He was also sure that to acknowledge that act of generosity would be unwelcome. Colbourne wished to be seen as clever, not kind.
‘It will not surprise you to know that I do not have aboard a mids uniform that would fit you. That must be purchased ashore.’ Colbourne paused then and looked hard at Pearce, who quickly smoked the reason.
‘I have money to pay for such things.’
‘Good.’
‘Or at least I had. If Gherson has been rummaging in my belongings I may not have everything that I once possessed.’
‘I doubt he’s a thief,’ Colbourne replied, looking away, then busying himself in his desk. That told Pearce he knew about his purse as well; if Gherson had not actually shown him then he had told the captain, but that too must remain unsaid. As for Gherson being light-fingered, of that there was no doubt; if the purse was still intact it would be because Colbourne has insisted it be so.
The patter of feet above their heads, the muffled shouts of command, were the sounds of the ship being secured to a buoy, while an anchor splashed over the stern, men hauling on a rope to pull them in to their mooring, which would make taut the anchor cable, this while others clewed up the sails. Soon the crew would be prettying themselves up for the traders, whores and tricksters who would come aboard to relieve them of what little coin they had, perhaps more on this visit than the last, for those who preyed on the Navy would observe that, however battered she was, HMS Griffin had taken a prize, just as they would know, almost to the last farthing, long before the Prize Court pronounced a sum, how much, with its guns and men, it was worth.
Colbourne had a folded piece of parchment in his hand, which he flicked open. Even from the other side of the so-called cabin, in the dim light, Pearce could see the seal and ribbon affixed to the bottom, could imagine perhaps the florid signature which surmounted it. Should he offer Colbourne money to pay for the document, for parchment was expensive?
‘I have here a letter appointing you as a gentleman volunteer, a midshipman to this vessel. In it you will see that I require you to come aboard properly equipped, with all the necessary equipment to carry out the duties you will be required to perform.’
Colbourne handed it over. Pearce took it and tried to look at the words neatly written on the page, the opening line saying “By the power vested in me…” but he could not, for his eyes had filled with fluid. He was not crying, but he was, being overcome with such a compound of emotions, close to it.
‘You are now, officially, Mister Midshipman Pearce, a young gentleman, and I wish you joy of the elevation.’
The inkpot was pushed forward, and the sanding pot reappeared along with a sheet of paper. ‘I now require from you a letter asking to be allowed to go ashore to pursue a personal matter. I have already composed my written permission. You will need that if any zealous Press Gang or recruiting party questions you.’
‘Crimps?’
‘Won’t come near you in a midshipman’s coat.’
‘You were so certain I would not refuse.’
‘Yes, very certain.’
Colbourne stood up, or rather crouched up, and grabbed his hat from the nail above his head, and his cloak from another driven into the hull. ‘And now I must go up and see if your fellow mids have made a decent fist of berthing both our ship and the prize. Once I have done that I must go ashore to report to the Commodore’s office. You will accompany me.’
‘Will I be coming back?’
‘The choice is yours, Mr Pearce, not mine.’
The lower deck was deserted, with all hands on the upper deck securing the ship, carrying out that multitude of tasks necessary to make Colbourne happy. Many would have noticed Pearce’s absence; they had last seen him go into the captain’s quarters. What would they make of it? The more imaginative lot would have a vision of him skewered with Colbourne’s sword, lying in a pool of blood, or lashed to a chair awaiting a file of marines to take him to the naval prison. The likes of Michael would be worried while Gherson, no doubt, would be pleased with himself.
His possessions, when he gathered them together from the hold, did not amount to much, being the same clothes in which he had originally been pressed. The coat that had once had a high collar, since ripped off, was musty from being folded for so long. A count up of his money established that it was intact, nearly thirty guineas in total. If Gherson had helped himself to a golden coin, then he would have been welcome to it, for despite his malicious motive, Pearce knew that he had been the instrument of his release. His cambric shirt and thick winter breeches were musty too, for the lack of being aired, and there were his buckled shoes, greenish now, but of good enough quality to buff up once a little spit, blacking and oil was applied.
‘Are you sound, John boy?’
Pearce looked round to see Michael O’Hagan crouched down on the ladder, his wide Irish face concerned. They were still working on deck, where he too should have been and the joy he felt turned sour. How was he to tell this man, a friend now risking punishment out of concern, who had done everything in his power to aid him in the suborning of the ship’s crew, all designed to get the Pelicans off the ship as a group, that he had the means to depart, but alone.
‘More than sound, Michael.’
O’Hagan’s eyes did not meet his; they were fixed on the empty ditty bag and at the clothes he had extracted,
all laid out as if Pearce was about to change into them. It was clear that the Irishman was trying and failing to make sense of it.
‘It would be a kindness to be after telling what’s going on?’
Elation at the prospect of release had made him forget about not just Michael, but Charlie and Rufus as well. In truth, Pearce was somewhat stunned by the turn of events and had had no time to think matters through, especially as it related to the Pelicans. To have to explain now was bad, but he was aware that in his excitement he could have walked off the ship and into Colbourne’s boat in a continued daze, without a word to his mates, and the knowledge that he might have done that made him feel like the lowest form of life. A scrub he might feel, but that did not alter the fact that he had an opportunity to fulfil his deepest wish, one that he was sure, if he explained, would be understood by Michael and the others.
‘Gherson stole a letter from this bag.’
‘The bastard,’ spat Michael. ‘He’ll feel my fist.’
‘Leave him be, for the sod has done me a favour. He gave it to Colbourne.’
‘Mind out, fat arse,’ said a voice behind O’Hagan, identifiably Blubber’s, a remark that would normally get a jolly retort from the Irishman. Not this time. Pearce could not see his face because he spun round to take on the insult, but he could hear him.
‘Is it an early grave you be seeking, bastard?’
‘Hold on Michael,’ said another voice, which Pearce recognised as that of Latimer, ‘he was only making a joke.’
‘Michael,’ Pearce called, indicating he should vacate the companionway. The crew was obviously finished on deck, and eager to get below for their grooming. That was another thought that had not occurred to John Pearce in his elation at Colbourne’s action. It was not just his Pelicans who would wonder at his departure. They, so lately wound up like watch springs to a near state of mutiny, would hardly take kindly to what would look like an act of selfish personal advantage.
Within a minute the lower deck was as crowded as it had ever been, filled with a buzz of noise so loud that Pearce would have had to bawl to tell Michael, now standing beside him, but not looking at him, anything at all. Colbourne came down the ladder, which killed off the noise, while doing nothing to make it any easier in the article of explanation. Head bent he stopped in front of the pair.
‘Are you ready to go ashore, Mr Pearce?’
He could not reply, as Colbourne, in a way that assumed agreement, went towards his cabin.
‘Mr Pearce! What in the name of Holy Mary is that about?’
Every eye was on him now, and few of them were friendly. Those not glaring at him were like young Rufus, confused, while Charlie Taverner was actually shocked. The problem of what to say was stopped by the reappearance of Colbourne, ship’s books and papers cradled in his arms. No fool, he sensed the atmosphere right away, and in truth it would have been impossible not to, given that it was so laden you could cut it with a knife.
‘Mr Pearce, you must make haste if you wish to go ashore, for I will not wait for you.’
In the jumble of thoughts that filled John Pearce’s mind then, one of them told him that Lieutenant Colbourne had been exceedingly shrewd. How long had he had that letter? It could have been days, yet he has waited until they were berthing to have his interview, waited until Pearce, offered the thing he wanted most in the world, would have no time for explanation, no time to ask permission of his friends to accept. His walking off the ship now would be seen as an act of pure betrayal, killing two birds with one stone. Colbourne was not only ridding himself of a pest, but undermining the message which had made the crew so fractious. He had, in truth, already done so, for even if Pearce declined his offer, in two one-sentence exchanges what trust he had built up among the men on this ship was broken. Colbourne’s words in his cabin had been soft soap, designed to get to just this point.
He turned to speak to Michael, but the Irishman turned his back. ‘I never thought the stink on this barky could get worse, my boys, but it has. It’s not just the timbers that are rotten.’
Was Colbourne smiling? Under his hat, which shaded his face, it was impossible to tell for sure, but Pearce had the distinct impression that it was so. Knowing that he had been out-manoeuvred made no odds, he had to make a decision whether to stay or go, to fulfil one duty, the one he had to this crew, or another to his father. There really was no choice; this lot, barring shot, shell and the pox would survive. Pearce jammed his clothing back into his bag, and as Colbourne passed him he followed the lieutenant up the companionway ladder.
In the seething mass of emotions that assailed him as he hit the cold fresh air, there was only one moment of relief. Gherson had not come below with the others, being one of those assigned the duty of hauling the prize alongside to be lashed off. When he saw Pearce trailing Colbourne, carrying his ditty bags, his face showed momentary triumph, then confusion, given that Pearce was not under restraint. That turned to fury, as Colbourne said, ‘New to your duties Mr Pearce, you will not be aware that it is the custom for the senior officer to be last into a boat. So, as you are a midshipman and I a lieutenant, after you.’
The journey across the anchorage was horrible. He faced the men rowing the boat, who had seen him clamber down the side, ditty bag in hand, and had heard too that last exchange and now there was one of their fellow crewmen, and a landsman to boot, not hauling on an oar as they were, but sitting in the thwarts with the captain, for all the world like an officer. The desire to challenge Colbourne, to get him to admit that he had set out not only to get Pearce off the ship but to undermine him, was powerful, but having been truly humbugged once, he decided against it, for he had a very strong feeling that if he was to try and hold a conversation that would be overheard by the nearest men on the oars, the lieutenant would turn it to his advantage.
So he sat in silence, avoiding the eyes that were fixed on him, listening to Colbourne’s coxswain issue soft orders that turned the boat left and right though the shipping that filled the anchorage, unable to hear the whispered exchanges between the oarsmen, all of which he knew to be about him. Jumbled thoughts went from anger to despair, the former an attempt at justification which demanded to know why it was he who had to lead men to something they should aspire to and achieve themselves, the latter the certain knowledge that human nature was not designed that way; men needed to be led for good or ill. He had set himself to do just that and walked out on the responsibility he had created.
It was a relief to reach the shore and to step on to dry land for the first time in six weeks, even if the earth seemed to move beneath his feet. Colbourne was standing, legs well spread, showing the way to adjust. ‘Take your time Mr Pearce, give it a moment, otherwise I assure you, if you seek to walk right off, you will take a most ignominious tumble, and that would never do. We can hardly have the ship’s crew cackling at you, can we?’
Damn the man, he is laughing at me.
‘Your ditty bag, Mr Pearce.’
The turn to take it from one of the boat crew was executed slowly. He reached out a hand for the canvas sack, which was released a split second before he grasped it, falling to the ground with a soft thud. Pearce started to bend down, only to hear Colbourne’s voice once more.
‘No, Mr Pearce. You have a certain station now, so it behoves you to demand that sack be picked up and placed in your hand.’ Pearce did not stop, and picked it up himself. Colbourne added, as the sailor dropped back into the boat. ‘Insubordination comes so very naturally to you, does it not?’
No reply came, so Colbourne continued. ‘My first task is to report to the Commodore’s office and hand in my logs and papers. I daresay, since Mr Short has brought in that capture, small and damaged as it is, the great man will oblige me with a glass or two. Normally I would ask you to wait here, but I fear under present circumstances that would be unwise. Like as not I would return to find you floating face down in the harbour.’
‘You have had your fun, Mr Colbourne.’
‘A simple sir would suffice, and as for fun, Pearce, I think you have had quite a deal of that at my expense this last two weeks. Now let us be off. You will be quite safe outside the naval buildings, which will give you plenty of time to plan your next move.’
‘You could hand me over now, couldn’t you?’
‘Yes, I could, but it may surprise you to know that I meant some of what I said in my cabin. I too have taken part in discussions on the nature of liberty. I have even corresponded with people who have attended meetings where your father spoke, and they would, no doubt, tell me that he is an estimable man who does not deserve to be proscribed merely for holding radical sentiments, just because madness has replaced sense across the Channel. As for the ship and my career in the Navy, I have done what I had to do, and if I seemed to have taken pleasure in it you must allow me that, for it is no more than a release from a period of anxiety that both those things were about to be taken from me. I will not betray you, for I was brought up to keep my word.’
‘Thank you…sir.’
Back aboard Griffin the mood was sombre. The men changed into the best shore going rig, even although they would not set foot on land, but they did so in a muted way, with none of the joviality that normally attended such an occasion.
‘He’s gone and left us high and dry,’ said Rufus, ‘ain’t he?’
‘He has that Rufus,’ Charlie replied, ‘and after all we’s been through together. I never thought I’d live to see the day.’
That brought a halt to the thoughts that Michael O’Hagan was harbouring, a mixture of hurt and anger. As a man he reckoned himself too trusting, but had decided long ago that it was better to be that way than forever suspicious. That trust had been abused before, but he could recall no time in the past when he had felt as let down as he did now. In the few weeks he had known John Pearce he had come to think of him as a close friend, the kind he had not had since childhood, and right now, because he knew the reasons he was so desperate to get off the ship, there was room to forgive him for going. But there was no room to forgive Pearce for not explaining. Damnation to the rest of the crew, but he should have told him what was afoot.
A Shot Rolling Ship Page 11
