A Shot Rolling Ship

by David Donachie

  ‘I do hope the food will get a mention, Mr Glaister.’

  ‘Excellent as it is, Madame, it does not compare with the kindness of the hostess.’

  ‘Harrumph.’

  The noisy clearing of the throat had the knife and fork back in Glaister’s hands, and food to his face to cover his embarrassment, for he had allowed his attraction to get the better of his manners. Lutyens, the other guest at the table was wondering what Ralph Barclay expected. He had an exceedingly attractive wife, he was on a ship with only one other female, the ‘broad as she was long’ gunner’s wife, and a group of one hundred and forty souls deprived of that which they wanted most in the world, something they suspected he was enjoying on a daily basis. To react to compliments to Emily, to express such an obvious pique, was foolish.

  ‘I am told that your part of the world is a place of great beauty, Mr Glaister,’ said Emily.

  ‘It is sparse but it is a wonder, high rolling hills, deep glens and sudden sparkling lakes. If you are fond of weather, Mrs Barclay, there is no better place in the British Isles. I swear on one day I have seen every combination of snow, rain, mist, and sunshine imaginable. You can sit down to your soup in brilliant sunshine and be bound in by mist before the bowl is half done. By the time you are finished it has rained and stopped and the snow is falling through sunshine.’

  ‘Sounds damned uncomfortable,’ said Barclay.

  ‘It is home, sir, and does one not always hanker after that?’

  Ralph Barclay had a vision of his own home town then, and it was not an entirely comfortable one, beautiful as Frome was, nestling in a deep Somerset river valley. It had been a place where he had for several years, as a half-pay naval captain, been forced to stretch his credit to the limit to keep up the standing of himself and his sisters. The way trades people to whom he was indebted assumed a acquaintance that hinted at equality was enough to make him shudder every time he thought of it. But there had, of course, been Emily, and a wedding he could hardly have dared to hope for.

  ‘What about you Mr Lutyens. Do you hanker after home?’ he asked.

  ‘I am more attracted to the idea of experience, sir.’

  ‘Yet you have given up much to be here, have you not?’

  Lutyens knew that Barclay was probing again. It had become a tedious habit since his wife had instituted these dinners; the captain was fascinated with anything to do with the life of the Court, and would swing the conversation round to that regardless of what the surgeon tried to do to avoid it. Best to take it head on and get it over with.

  ‘I have given up tedious journeys to Windsor, that is true, that and standing with my father in a draughty audience chamber waiting for a monarch who has a poor sense of punctuality, and is parsimonious to the point of being a miser in the article of firewood.’

  ‘Is that not lèse-majesté, Mr Lutyens?’ asked Emily with a devilish smile.

  ‘It is the truth, I regret to say. When he does attend his levee, the King is wont to bark at whoever he is addressing. He has a most bulbous set of eyes and he fixes his quarry with those as if expecting to be misled. With his sons, he is sure of it, and they rarely escape without a tongue lashing for their dissolute way of life, embarrassing to them and to all who are obliged to overhear it. The most annoying thing is when King George fails to turn up at all, and we are left standing around shivering as the fire dies out.’

  ‘His health?’

  ‘Is never mentioned, Captain Barclay. To the nation he is fully recovered from his malaise and in total command of his faculties.’

  ‘Would you, with your connections, not know the truth of that?’

  ‘My father may pray with the Queen, sir, and even occasionally with His Majesty, but if he has observed any recurrence of his madness, he has not told me, and I think you would agree, neither should he.’

  ‘Of course,’ Ralph Barclay replied, trying, and utterly failing not to sound thwarted. ‘Mr Farmiloe,’ he barked, bringing the boy’s head sharply up. ‘When I invite you to my table it is to engage in social intercourse, not merely to stuff your face with food. You are supposed to be a young gentleman, so it would behove you to behave like one.’

  Some of that food escaped his mouth as he replied. ‘Forgive me, sir.’

  ‘Come husband,’ said Emily, with a warm smile aimed at Farmiloe, ‘let him feed. He gets little enough in the mids’ berth.’

  She’s done it again, Ralph Barclay thought, checked me publicly again! The other thought he had centred round his own inability to remind his wife of her place, and looking at her, masking his ire, he did not see that he was being observed by an amused Lutyens.

  ‘Sail drill after dinner, Mr Glaister. We will have an hour before the sun begins to set.’

  ‘Aye, aye sir.’

  All the officers were on the quarterdeck by the time Ralph Barclay emerged, each hat lifted to acknowledge his arrival. He made his way to the windward side, his preserve as the captain and paced back and forth for several minutes, head bowed as if in deep thought. In reality he was enjoying the demonstration of his power. Nothing could happen till he said so; his officers, the Master, Mr Collins, the new marine officer and all his midshipmen were waiting on his command. It was the sweetest part of his office. He looked over the bulwark, to the south where Africa lay, smelling the wind that was coming off that continent to see if he could pick up any of the burnt scent of the land. Though not perfect it was steady, and it would strengthen slightly as the heat went out of the day, and he had a mind to see what his ship could do. Then as if he had made a sudden decision, he snapped his head round and went to stand by the wheel.

  ‘Quartermaster, ease off a few points. I want the wind playing on our sails to best advantage. Signal Captain Gould to hold station on us. Mr Glaister, all hands on deck to make sail.’

  The whole ship had been waiting for that, warned in advance to expect it, so the crew rushed on to the deck in record time. In the main it was not done to please their captain – many heartily disliked Ralph Barclay – but they had a sharp eye for their own comfort and they knew that if he was content then their lives were eased. Make him unhappy, which had already happened on this commission, and they all suffered in the backwash.

  ‘T’gallants aloft please, Mr Glaister.’

  The Premier raised the speaking trumpet, for once his measured way of doing things irritating, and called out the requisite orders. The topmen had gone to their stations and ropes appeared from the main and fore yards, ready to haul up the topgallant yards once the lubbers below had hauled them out and bent on the sails. They were hauled aloft, chained, and on command let loose, to be sheeted home on the lines that ran to the cleats on the deck. Immediately, as the wind took them HMS Brilliant heeled.

  ‘Mr Farmiloe, my compliments to my wife. She should get my steward to secure anything of a fragile nature, since we are going to heel more as we continue.’

  The sky sails and an outer jib followed the topgallant, and the deck canted a few degrees more, the blue water of the Mediterranean bursting white and fairly creaming down the leeward side.

  ‘The log, Mr Glaister, let us see what we are making, and let us have out the studdingsail booms ready to be sent aloft.’

  By the time the sun began to set in their wake, Ralph Barclay had everything set he could, and he began to play with the tension on the sails to improve the way they all drew. Mr Collins, the master, whose department this was, agreed with every suggestion he made, for he had come to have much fear of his captain’s temper, and the man’s uncanny ability to expose his weaknesses.

  ‘They’ll be taking it all in ten minutes from now,’ said Martin Dent. Ben Walker just nodded, as the boy continued. ‘You ever been right up at the masthead, Ben?’ That got a head shake. ‘It be grand up there, best spot on the ship. What say we go up and have a look see.’

  ‘Yeoman said we was to go no higher than the main yard.’

  ‘Stuff him, mate, what does he know. I’m going up to watch t
he sun set. If you ain’t game to follow me, so be it.’

  Martin had reached the bulwarks before Ben reacted. He had to go, for it was like a challenge and he knew he had a flaw in his nature, in that he could never pass up on one. So he followed Martin up to the maincap, eschewing, as the boy did, the lubber’s hole, and carrying right on to the next set of shrouds. They passed to the tops in the same fashion, Ben climbing in Martin’s wake until they reached the topgallant yard, where the boy slipped along, hooking his arm round the smooth pine of the mast.

  ‘Take the other side Ben, an’ look around you. If we was to stay here long enough it would be dark on deck and still light up here, and there’s a wonder of the world, even if I say so.’

  In truth, there was nothing to see but that setting sun and an expanse of water turning from blue to grey, but Ben was exhilarated nonetheless. Then he looked down and the case was altered. Swaying forward he could see the dip of the bowsprit into the water, watch the trails of the accompanying dolphins criss-crossing the bows, and see the flash of their wet backs as they took their leap.

  ‘Ben.’

  ‘What?’ He had to look at Martin Dent, for the tone with which the name had been said demanded it.

  ‘I need you to know that I is sorry for what went before. I never meant no harm.’

  ‘Martin, that ain’t true. You meant harm to another.’

  ‘Then I regrets it, do you believe that?’

  Ben Walker was about to say no when he remembered his own past deeds, things he regretted with every ounce of his being, actions which, had they not occurred would not have seen him in the Liberties, nor pressed into the Navy. Perhaps the boy was genuine, and like him.

  ‘I wants us to be friends, Ben, true messmates, an’ if you will grant that I can live with my errors.’

  ‘They haunt you?’

  ‘They do, Ben. An’ I can see no way out, since all the others on the edge of my harm have left the ship. But for you to forgive me…’

  Ben looked hard at the boy, at his pleading spotty face. ‘Do I have the power, Martin?’

  ‘Can’t think of another that does.’

  ‘Then you have it,’ Ben said, wishing in his heart that forgiveness for his sins could be brought about by a similar absolution.

  ‘Mates,’ said Martin, holding out his free hand. ‘I’ll look out for you, an’ you look out for me, through thick and thin?’

  Ben put out his hand and said, ‘Mates.’

  They heard the commands from below as Lieutenant Glaister gave out the orders to take in sail, that followed by an angry shout from the Yeoman of the Sheets. ‘You two buggers, what in Christ’s name do you think you are about. Get down out of there now!’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  John Pearce watched HMS Griffin anchor with mixed feelings. He had no affection for the vessel, but a great deal of regard for the Pelicans on board, and a feeling that he owed the trio a great deal. Every time he recalled the looks he had received on departure his heart contracted with shame, forcing him to remind himself for the thousandth time that he had had no choice. Coming back to this place was something he had to do, maybe just because staying in London had been impossible.

  Having informed Pastor Lutyens of his father’s demise, he had then asked Horne Tooke to send the information to the various journals that came out daily in the capital, to be disseminated all around the country. He read them all in a coffee house over the following week, to discover that to most it was a footnote in the great drama being enacted across Europe. Some saw the story as due and divine retribution on a well-known troublemaker, others a further disgrace on a Revolution that had lost all claims to legitimacy, even the odd writer who reckoned it a slight to the nation. None gave Adam Pearce his due, nor praised any of the tenets by which he had lived. How the world had changed in under four years!

  The only good news was that the warrant on his father, which had included him only as an accomplice, had lapsed with his demise, leaving him free to travel openly. Changing back into his midshipman’s uniform, he had sold the clothes he had bought in Paris for more than he had paid, which gave him the means to eat plain, if not plentiful, on the way. It had been a long and slow journey from London back to Lymington on foot, on the back of a cart where he could beg relief, the whole carried out with an utter lack of real purpose, given that the aims that he was pursuing were exceedingly vague, if not downright confused. That had not changed on arrival, as he stood looking out over the narrow estuary that led out to the Solent.

  Colbourne’s boat put off almost before the ship was tied off to the buoy, as he knew it would, he being obliged to hand his papers and his revictualling requirements in to the Commodore who, no doubt, saw it as part of his professional duty to be impatient. He felt a strange sensation in his gut, brought on by nerves at what he knew was going to be a difficult encounter and he moved back from the edge of the quay to a point where those manning the boat could not see him, to a point where he could meet the ship’s captain face to face and in private. Another very public humiliation was the last thing he wanted.

  ‘God in heaven!’ the man exclaimed, as Pearce stepped out in front of him. Clearly he felt threatened, for he held out the oilskin case containing the ship’s logs and papers as if to defend his body.

  ‘I wish to speak with you, sir.’ Pearce was careful to make the “sir” sound like a remark between equals rather than an acknowledgement of the man’s rank. ‘If you will indulge me.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘The possibility of rejoining the ship.’

  ‘Damn you, Pearce, you are not short on effrontery.’

  ‘Or need. I ask for a few minutes of your time, to plead my case. Then you can say yes or no.’

  ‘I do not have the freedom to indulge you. The Commodore has made my number and right now will be examining his wall clock and wondering why I am taking such a devilish long time to obey his orders.’

  ‘After you have seen him?’

  ‘Why should I?’

  There was no choice but to be an open supplicant, much as Pearce hated the idea. ‘I need your help.’

  Much as he tried to mask it, Colbourne was intrigued, and Pearce could see that his instincts were at odds with his curiosity. Clearly, he had not heard of his father’s murder, hardly surprising given he spent almost his entire time at sea.

  ‘Go to the Angel. I had intended to take breakfast there.’

  ‘May I ask how long?’

  ‘It is pointless asking me, Pearce. If you really want to know you should make enquiries of the Commodore.’

  ‘I will wait for you outside.’

  Standing outside the Angel exposed the truth that was the underbelly of the seeming prosperity of the place. There was not a space in any English town that was not occupied by layers of desperate people and Lymington was no exception. Poor souls hung around the Angel Inn, hoping for something, anything, like the chore of catching hold of the horse traces as the Post Chaise arrived. Having seen to that they would grovel for the right to carry a traveller’s luggage, and someone leaning against the wall, a stranger in a cloak, fit, strong and clean, might steal from them that job. Even the urchins who hung around hoping for a note to carry looked at Pearce with suspicion, wondering if he was a rival for the coin that task would earn.

  The crossing sweeper, who kept the road in front of the inn free from dung, got very busy, for he would be questioning if his job, one of the lowest in the pecking order, was being eyed up, with good reason, for there was always a desperate cove who would go to the owner and offer to do the job for less than the scraps of food he was given to eat and ullage he received to drink, spilt beer gone flat that would otherwise be thrown away. The beggars, even ones supposed to be blind, were cursory in their examination, for he was too whole and well set up to threaten them, likewise the raddled whores peeping out from the alleyways who would prance and display themselves when a conveyance, or any one prosperous, came past.

  Th
e one who decided to enquire after his purpose reminded Pearce of Charlie Taverner; a sway in the walk, once-good clothes just too far the down side of worn, the big insincere smile and the hand inside his coat which could well be holding on to a cudgel.

  ‘Waiting for someone, friend.’

  ‘I’m minding my own concerns.’

  ‘That be sharp of you, brother. It never does a man to do otherwise, I say.’

  Pearce pulled the cloak open, to reveal the worn midshipman’s coat and the man’s eyes opened in mock surprise. ‘Why you’se Navy, and here’s us wondering what you was about?’

  ‘Who was wondering?’

  There was a clear glint of avarice then, the smile broadened, and the hand came out, empty, from under his coat. ‘There’s one or two round here it would be unwise to trust. Happen you need a bit of help to see what’s going on around you, mate.’

  ‘And you’re just the fellow to oblige?’

  ‘Tom Watts at your service. There’s many a sailor boy been pleased to have me show them the ropes.’ Watts laughed out loud and repeated his pun. ‘Show them the ropes, sailor boys, do you smoke it?’

  ‘Tom, I am standing here waiting for someone because I am too poor to go inside. Should I do so I would be obliged to purchase something for which I lack the means to pay, so I think that you might be wasting your time.’

  ‘Now that offends, friend. An offer to help is just that.’

  Said with mock anger, it nevertheless hit home, for Tom was already moving back.

  ‘As you say, Tom. But I think we would both profit more from being left alone.’

  That little exchange brought home to Pearce once more what little he had in the way of prospects, and certainly he had no means of elevating himself to become the kind of person who could take revenge on those murderers across the Channel. It was all very well entertaining a fantasy of rising to become a powerful man, but that was all it would stay; being the son of a radical orator did not fit you for much; in fact it positively debarred him from certain routes to the kind of goal he sought. He had something of an education but, besides being incomplete, in what? A smattering of Latin and Greek, an incomplete knowledge of the classics, the ability to ride well and wield a sword was hardly the basis of any kind of career, and certainly not enough to equip him to apply for a profession. The law was too expensive, and he would require a high degree of learning, which he did not possess at present and lacked the means to acquire in the immediate future. Medicine held no appeal, although he was convinced that even totally ignorant he could probably get by as a doctor, given the number of charlatans who passed themselves off in that field.