‘And then?’ Cephas asked.
‘We do what we has to in order to eat.’
That did not need much expanding on; they would need to steal and maybe more to survive.
‘I want to get home,’ Dan Holder wailed, his round, pale face with its button for a nose and innocent-looking eyes making him look childlike.
‘Forget that,’ Cole spat, ‘as I heard tell, it’s as good as the moon fer us.’
‘Did they say how far?’ Holder whined.
‘Came up with a number that made no sense to me, so it would be a waste on you.’
Cephas Danvers knocked on the mess table. ‘Then best forgotten, but that is hard.’
‘When was it ever going to be easy?’
‘Never, Cole, but you has a notion, so what’s your plan?’
‘The barky has to go in to revictual and word is we are close to being in need. Anchored off Leghorn we take Pearce by surprise and get him to order up a means of getting ashore. No one is goin’ to query an officer needing a boat, are they?’
‘An’ if he lets on?’
‘Then he will bleed to death by the gangway, for I will knife him, for sure.’ Peabody leant forward and spoke eagerly. ‘We needs to convince him the only way he’ll live to tell the tale is to aid us.’
Dan Holder tapped the table his time, his eyes filled with hope. ‘Happen we could convince him we is not to blame for what the Tollands tried to do. Can we say we went along with them out of fear and we bear him no grudge personal?’
‘A point, Dan, an’ a good one. Might be you’re not so slow, truly.’
The talk went on and round but there was one fact that stood out starkly. They had no way of getting off the flagship without they had help of some sort and there was no one but John Pearce who could provide it.
Toby Burns hated being the sole lieutenant on the quarterdeck but that was ten times worse on the middle watch when it was dark anyway, made worse on this night by heavy overhead cloud and a wind that was coming in from the north-west, one to favour a ship departing Toulon.
He had been instructed to be on special guard, given the enemy ships of the line had come out en masse, two days previously, sixteen sail, to anchor in the great bight that formed the outer roads of Toulon, and they had their yards crossed too, meaning they could weigh when they felt they had the right wind.
The information had already been sent by pinnace to Admiral Hotham, though it was as likely to be a feint as an attempt by the French fleet to get to sea, one that had been employed previously. What worried Burns was that in this Stygian darkness they could raise anchor and sail right past HMS Brilliant and he would have no knowledge of it. There were lookouts in place, as was customary, but their ears would be of more good at present than eyes.
The obvious fact that he could do nothing to stop them if they did sail out was not a point to raise Burns’ gloom: Taberly would skin him regardless, a thought which had him reprising the several schemes, all of them truly desperate, to get himself shifted to a commander more benign, not that he had any idea who that would be.
Nelson had the right reputation but the man was mad, always seeking a fight and ready to put both himself and his men in a position of maximum danger. Toby had been burdened with that before, first at Bastia, where Nelson had manned cannon so close to the walls that they stood as invites for the French to bombard. He had been just as hare-brained at Calvi, where a stupid scheme of a sortie had seen him captured and locked up in the citadel. The accommodation had been far from comfortable but it had been safe; the part occupied by captured enemies of the French was immune to cannon fire.
Such thoughts were the bane of his life at a time like this, when little happened unless they were called upon to reverse course, the creaking of the timbers only broken by the ringing of the half-hour bells, the calls of one man casting the log for speed, another for the depth under the keel, and the scrape of the chalk on the slate as these figures, along with the course and the time, were recorded.
He would be relieved at four of the morning when it was still dark and the ship silent, so he could get some sleep, though that depended on the snores of the men who shared the wardroom, particularly the marine officer, whose trumpeting seemed to reverberate through the whole frigate due to his endemic overconsumption of wine.
‘Caught a sound, Mr Burns, hard off the larboard quarter.’
That soft call obliged Toby to move forward and cock an ear, while staring ahead into a vision of light spots dancing before his eyes.
‘Creaking timbers,’ the lookout hissed, ‘can you hear it, Your Honour?’
‘I can,’ Toby lied, for he could hear nothing.
The dilemma? Whether to rouse out Taberly who, if it turned out to be nothing, would flay him alive. Dare he send up a blue light without alerting the captain? That would tell him if what the man beside him claimed to hear was true or false. And what did creaking mean? It could be one ship and not a large one, or the precursor of the whole French fleet coming out, and their progress discovered, how would they react?
He had a vision then, of a whole triple row of run-out cannon on a hundred gunner, all of them pointing at him and the thought made him shudder, only to be made more terrifying when he recalled there were sixteen capital ships in the French fleet. One salvo from such a body of gunnery could reduce a frigate like Brilliant to matchwood and anyone on deck would stand little chance of survival.
‘There it goes again, Your Honour do you harken to it?’
Was that a note of impatience in the lookout’s tone, as if he was wondering why this bluecoat was delaying and getting shirty because of it? Toby Burns was unsure, but he did know that if such a thing was suspected he should issue a reprimand. The fact that it might be imagined meant nothing; as a King’s Officer he was expected to behave in that fashion. Being wrong was better than being challenged.
‘I think I must call the captain,’ he said, which removed the obligation for a rebuke. ‘Keep those ears of yours pitched for more sounds.’
It was not the correct procedure that he wake the captain himself; there was a midshipman on watch with him whom he should despatch as a messenger. The marine sentry snapped to attention and shouldered his musket but he did not automatically open the door to the captain’s cabin.
‘Mr Taberly is abed, sir,’ he said.
‘Then rouse out one of his servants to wake him, he must be advised that we may be in proximity to some activity. I will wait till he has vacated his cot.’
Again that was not quite proper, but Burns was happier off the quarterdeck than on it. HMS Brilliant was not the only possessor of flares; the French had them, too, and if they knew the British frigate was close they might send one up as a precursor to a broadside; it was safer here.
It took time to rouse out Taberly, he being no slouch with the bottle himself. Eventually a knock from within signalled that the sentry could open the door and Burns was admitted to find his captain bleary-eyed and in his nightgown. He made his report, including the fact that he was unsure he heard anything, only to see the face close up.
‘You did not see fit to send up a light?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Or rouse out the hands?’
Toby felt his heart physically shrink for he suspected that, had he done either of those things independently, Taberly would be just as likely to roast him. As it was the captain brushed past him with scant courtesy plus a small shove to go on deck, where, with his gloomy lieutenant on his heels, he made for the lookout bent over the hammock nettings, a hand cupped to his ear.
‘Speak to me, man,’ he barked.
‘Faint sounds, Capt’n, but regular. I reckon we is not a cable’s length from some’at.’
Taberly hoicked up his nightgown and levered himself up likewise and put a cupped hand to an ear, a position he held for some time. Something, and it had to be a sound, made him jerk.
‘All hands, Mr Burns, but quiet as a mouse. Prepare a blue light, which will be fired a
s soon as we are cleared for action. And send someone to fetch my coat and breeches.’
For a drill normally carried out with excessive noise it was credit to the men aboard the frigate that they prepared for battle with a minimum of noise, which naturally took double the time. Taberly showed no patience for the need to be quiet and growled at all and sundry. By the time the last report was delivered he was fully dressed and in position. He had the master remove the right number of men from the guns to be ready to bring HMS Brilliant round on a reverse course as soon as the flare exploded.
The fuse was lit on the rocket and it fizzed for half a minute until it ignited the main powder, to send the canister shooting into the sky where, within a second, it burst to bathe the seascape in its ghostly light.
‘All hands to man the falls,’ Taberly yelled, as before him lay a string of leviathans slowly sailing out of the Toulon bight. One of them was within that cable’s length the lookout had reckoned and soon its gun ports began to yaw open, which brought from Toby Burns an anguished cry. ‘For the love of Christ get us out of here.’
‘I believe, Mr Burns, your station is with the main deck cannon.’
‘Sir,’ the youngster acknowledged before hurrying off.
Taberly had inherited a good crew and for all his faults he was an efficient sea officer. The helm was down, the falls released and the frigate was coming round in a few grains of sand, being at the point of maximum danger when beam-on to the enemy. Toby Burns, behind the main deck battery, could not breathe. If he could not fully see the threat his imagination was enough to magnify what was already perilous.
It would not have aided him to know that every officer aboard, from Taberly down, was similarly afflicted. At such a range against such weight of shot the frigate was in mortal danger and once the falls were again sheeted home a silence fell as the crew who could observe awaited what they knew must come.
It did not; the nearest ship of the line sailed on, identified as the Ca Ira, its ports still open but with no cannon emerging and that held as the blue light faded and died, to leave them once more in pitch darkness. Taberly croaked a second change of course that would lay them parallel to the enemy, though with a widening gap.
‘We must wait till daylight, gentlemen,’ he said, to no one in particular, ‘and if what we have seen is confirmed we must make all sail for San Fiorenzo Bay and alert the fleet.’
HMS Brilliant was not alone on the station; there were other frigates and they would have seen the flare and perhaps even the upper sails of the enemy. They would shadow the French and send off messages to Admiral Hotham regarding their course and speed while Taberly would be first to say they were definitely at sea and thus anticipate being the messenger carrying the kind of welcome news that was enhancing to a career.
If Admiral Sir William Hotham was troubled by the appearance of John Pearce he was obliged to put it to the back of his mind, for matters more pressing impinged. He had the news sent by pinnace from Toulon: the French had engaged in bluff before but would they finally actually weigh to tempt him to the battle he so desired? It was near time for HMS Britannia to make up her stores and he feared to be caught at that if they came out, so having checked with Hyde Parker he issued orders that the fleet should weigh for Leghorn in its entirety.
Pearce, having been given, though with scant grace, a berth in the wardroom, was sound asleep and dreaming of Emily, himself and a scampering babe outside a rose-covered cottage bathed in warm sunlight. The sound of the ship stirring put an end to that as the decks were scrubbed with sand and holystoned prior to being washed and flogged dry.
He was still lying flat when he realised what he was hearing was stamp and go. The flagship was in the process of raising anchor and by the time he was dressed and made the deck, Old Ironsides was taking up her position in the centre of the line, while the van under Sir Samuel Goodall was already heading out to the open sea.
Stood amidships he saw Hotham was on deck, as was only fitting; he stared at him hoping for some eye contact, which was not forthcoming. Pearce was unaware that he too was under scrutiny by a quartet of men set to tidying the falls, coiling the loose ropes into neat loops.
‘Word is Leghorn,’ Cole Peabody hissed.
‘Then when we has a chance, we has to take it, for we’ll scarce get another.’
‘Fair,’ said Cephas. ‘But I wonder if yonder fellow will know our faces?’
Dan Holder was scathing. ‘How can he, seeing he only spied us proper once?’
‘Well I is going to get close so he can see me,’ Cole insisted, ‘and we must all do the like. If the sod can put a time and place to any one of us it will need a damned hard bit of thinking to get round it.’
It was a magnificent sight, the only difference to the paintings Pearce had seen being that the sails were dun-coloured from exposure not the near white employed by artists. An enquiry brought the information that the destination was Leghorn, which suited Pearce. He needed to beard Hotham, of course, but from the Tuscan port he could get a ship to Naples. Had Barclay got there and if he had what had occurred? There was little point in gnawing on that, he was too far off to affect matters but the image of raging Ralph Barclay did keep coming to mind.
‘Where in the name of the devil is Barclay?’
It was not John Pearce shouting that but the admiral; if his information was correct, then the enemy had been reinforced, at least six sail having come from Brest to even up the contest, and he needed Semele to be sure of parity. Their appearance had sent him into a near apoplexy for not only had they passed Gibraltar without being intercepted, they had sailed on past the Spanish Fleet anchored at Minorca. It was a blessing that Admiral Sir Hyde Parker had arrived with several vessels to augment his own forces.
‘One day, if God wills it, we will end this farrago of being allied to the Dons and go back to what we should be doing, fighting them and stealing their plate ships.’
‘I hesitate to raise it, sir, but you do know that Lieutenant Pearce is here on board?’
‘He could be on the moon for me, Toomey.’
‘I can appreciate that present circumstances are not conducive to that particular problem …’
‘I have waited my whole life for this.’
‘And the whole fleet is sure of a victory that will raise you in the eyes of the country.’ It was the right thing to say; Hotham’s eyes positively gleamed at the words spoken. ‘But.’
‘But what?’ came the query, this after a long pause.
‘I fear that Captain Barclay has been less than honest with us.’
‘Go on.’
‘It seems that John Pearce has a copy of the transcript of his court martial and it is on that he intends to bring a case against him.’
The admiral looked as if he had been slapped and hard. He sat up straight, his features rigid, and Toomey knew that there was no need for further elucidation; Hotham got the drift and the ramifications without them being explained. Then he suddenly relaxed and smiled.
‘If we thump the French, Toomey, Pearce can go to hell.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ralph Barclay was not fool enough to think HMS Semele would escape observation from the shoreline; to achieve that would require he be so far out to sea as to preclude his aim. Instead, Mr Palmer would, once they parted company, sail in a circle for a rendezvous the following day while he and his ‘press gang’ were rowed to their destination at a distance that would allow a return in good time.
The great unsaid was left unspoken: what would happen if his wife was not at the house on the strand, for that would mean her being once more ensconced in the Palazzo Sessa? Gherson did consider posing the question but since he had wriggled out of going along he felt he would be wasting his breath.
Not that he failed to consider the consequences. Barclay was in such a passion that he might well invade the ambassador’s private residence and the repercussions of that did not bear thinking about. Hamilton might be in bad odour in high place
s for his marriage but he was the representative of His Majesty King George at a foreign court and thus not a man to be trifled with.
These thoughts were rattling around his mind as the seventy-four heaved to and hauled in the cutter. First thing was to have it fitted with a stepped mast that would allow it to progress while not depending entirely on human muscle. Getting a one-armed captain into the boat was solved with the use of a whip from the yard and a chair, lowered with gentility. Gherson, watching, wondered how many men on the rope considered the option of letting go as Barclay was in the air and over water.
‘You have your orders, Mr Palmer.’
‘I have sir, and may I wish you good hunting.’
‘A worthy quarry, Mr Palmer, I do assure you.’
That brought a look of curiosity to the premier’s face but no words as the chair was lowered till the captain was safe in the boat and seated in the thwarts. The triangular sail was raised, the boom hauled round to take the wind with the cutter heeling and moving forward as it felt the force. Before the captain’s gaze there lay a sea of faces, those of the men chosen to accompany him; a less pleasant prospect could hardly be imagined.
He had checked with Devenow to ensure no milksops had been included and been reassured, but it was doubly certain under scrutiny; they were without doubt an assortment of real hard bargains, a dozen in number and collectively one of the ugliest groups of specimens he had ever clapped eyes on: scarred, many toothless and none given to smiling or a hint of humorous exchange.
With little to do, Ralph Barclay could continue his contemplation of what would happen if he was successful. His initial reaction had been, he had finally realised, intemperate. Not that he wished to retract a single word but he knew that to behave in that fashion with his wife would not serve for several reasons.
If she stayed with him aboard HMS Semele, and he had no guarantee Hotham would approve of such an arrangement, she was with child and that would excite comment. How far was she gone he had no idea and lacked any of the kind of knowledge of domestic matters that would enlighten him. But he had observed her figure to be unchanged, so the pregnancy could not be of long duration.
The Perils of Command Page 16
