Pearce knew Hotham would have to summon him and was content to wait, though frustration entered into things when bell after bell was rung, watches were changed and still he was mainly left to sit in contemplation in the wardroom, avoiding polite enquiries as to his presence and from whence he had come, or the odd malicious stare from those who resented him.
An odd turn around the deck showed a fleet sailing in its three components but not in line ahead. Instead it was stretched out somewhat to cover a larger amount of sea, with lookouts in the tops hoping for the sight of a French topsail, while the mood below them among the officers was one of keen anticipation for they had been at anchor too long.
He was on deck when Toomey approached and demanded a written report of the mission to the Gulf of Ambracia, something Pearce declined to supply. The Irishman was told in no uncertain terms that any report he made would be verbal and if Hotham had any sense, his clerk too, they would see that in acceding they would be protecting themselves. His obduracy worked and he was eventually informed his presence was required in the great cabin, which he entered to find a stony-faced admiral awaiting him and standing for once.
‘I will keep Toomey by us to make a record of this conversation, Pearce.’
‘A record of your previous conversations would interest me, yet I suspect there are none.’
It always shocked such a senior officer to be addressed so, as if he was of no account. They were accustomed to obsequious acceptance of their natural superiority and Pearce watched as Hotham worked himself up to a rebuke. It never came.
‘Since you refuse to submit a written account, what Toomey writes will serve in its place.’
‘I do believe I would be usurping the privileges of Mr Digby if I were to put in writing what occurred. The glory for such an astounding outcome should go to the man who led the expedition, don’t you think? I do assure you, when it is read there will be a clamour to reward him.’
‘Clamour, Pearce?’ Hotham sniffed. ‘I rate you’re overpraising.’
‘Since you were not present, except in your malice, I care not a whit what you think.’
Hotham was not given to blushing but he reddened now and it was not from embarrassment but fury. ‘I cannot abide this, Toomey, call for a marine officer to remove Pearce. He can go to the cable tier until he learns some manners.’
‘I wonder how your marine officer will react when he hears we took possession of two fat French merchantmen and the man who brought the news and is partially responsible is to be confined. And will the wardroom not wonder what this is all about?’
‘You took prizes?’ Hotham demanded, a hand held up to delay his clerk.
‘We did – Levanters – and they are now in the process of being sold in Brindisi. Fully laden they were, so they will fetch a good price. As for Mehmet Pasha, thanks to our recent exploits, I doubt he will trouble you for some time to come.’
Was it curiosity or greed that stayed the order that Pearce be arrested; it mattered not. Hotham wanted to hear what had happened, to find out why his machinations had gone so badly awry as much as anything else, Pearce reckoned. The admiral knew he was beyond censure for that: the precautions taken in having another write out the orders for the mission insulated him from harm.
Then, of course, there was the fair copy of the court martial record sitting in London. Had he been told about that or had Toomey supressed what must be a surprising bit of news? So far unmentioned it was impossible to tell, Hotham being no slouch at dissembling. Pearce knew he must temper his impudence too; continuing to rile the admiral would not get him what he sought.
Neither man opposed to him could know there was an element of guilt in John Pearce’s approach, given he was about to use what had happened in the Gulf of Ambracia to pursue a private matter, not, as he had indicated to Henry Digby, a combined assault to make Hotham pay for his actions.
Only desperation would make him act so: he needed a vessel of some kind – even a pinnace would do – and he needed orders to stay the hand of Ralph Barclay, and right now nothing mattered more.
‘Selling prizes in a foreign port!’ Hotham said eventually. ‘I could court martial Digby for that.’
‘Why bother, you will get your eighth.’
‘You think that is of interest to me, Pearce? I command a fleet and I would have the laws of the navy obeyed to the letter. Such principles are more important than money.’
The temptation to call him a liar had to be suppressed. Money was the subject closest to the hearts of all the King’s sailors, and admirals were the most avaricious of the lot.
‘Can I suggest, sir,’ Toomey interrupted, ‘that we hear what Mr Pearce has to tell us and then move on to how you react to what is a clear breach of standing orders.’
Hotham could not accede to that immediately; his dignity required that he appear to give it some thought, which had his chin resting near his chest for several seconds.
‘Very well, Toomey, but do not let the lieutenant depart without we come back to it.’
In the time of waiting, Pearce had fretted on his approach, the temptation to outline in clear detail what Hotham had hoped would happen, and his manoeuvres to bring it about, very strong. Emily Barclay and his need to get back to her obviated that. So it was with a degree of circumlocution that he made plain he knew precisely how the conspiracy had been laid out and what was its nefarious objective.
In terms of reaction he might as well have been talking to a wall. He was aware that Toomey’s quill might be moving at certain points but there was no accompanying sound of the nib scratching. The clerk was filleting out anything even loosely incriminating while recording that which would reflect well on his employer.
To the details of the action, Hotham kept his expression bland, as though such acts of heroism were commonplace. Pearce naturally played down his own contribution while emphasising the bravery and ability of others, not just Henry Digby but Edward Grey and his marines, as well as the ship handling of Matthew Dorling and the bravery of the crew.
‘So we have partially broken up a nest of piracy and perhaps Mehmet Pasha will curtail his activities. If not, a ship of the line should be sent to persuade him.’
‘You will oblige me, Pearce, by leaving such matters to those who have the responsibility for them. Now, the sale of these prizes.’
Pearce outlined the reasoning in the same way as he had explained it to Michael O’Hagan, receiving a distinct impression that Hotham saw the sense. Not that the admiral’s attitude to him softened; if he looked upon him at all it was with clear distaste.
‘And now I have a request to make.’
‘Indeed?’
‘I have been circumspect, Admiral Hotham, in my account, and I note that what I have said has been carefully filtered by Toomey—’
‘Nonsense,’ was the clerk’s shocked response; he had never suspected his actions would be noticed.
‘I am prepared to let that be for a consideration of that which I require.’
The word ‘require’ saw blood in the admiral’s face once more, yet given he suppressed a verbal response gave Pearce a strong feeling that he had the man worried and that meant Toomey had passed on what had been revealed.
‘I have no desire to shout from the rooftops that I was duped and played for a chump.’
That elicited a thin smile from Hotham. ‘Your amour propre means much to you, I surmise.’
‘You will know by now, for you will have been told by Captain Nelson, that there was no sign of HMS Semele in Leghorn Roads.’ No response from either man: neither an acknowledgement nor a denial. ‘I doubt his whereabouts are much of a mystery regarding the purpose on which he is engaged.’
That was fishing; Pearce had no certain knowledge that Hotham knew of the tangle of the Barclay marriage, yet he had, according to Nelson, information regarding that duel in Leghorn. Added to which, in their conspiring, he and Toomey had dangled a despatch for Naples as temptation to get him to accept the mission with
Digby. It was left to Toomey to prevaricate.
‘It is the admiral’s habit to grant his officers a degree of licence in the execution of their duties.’
‘Does that include him being in search of his wife?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘I suggest that you do and it is not as simple as you may suppose. His previous actions lead me to state without equivocation that Captain Barclay is not beyond violence in that pursuit. You mentioned my care for my amour propre. I think you know there are few people who care more for how they are perceived by others than Ralph Barclay.’
‘It is a private matter and none of my concern,’ Hotham said.
‘And if he harms his own wife, will you stand by and just exonerate him because he is a client officer?’
The admiral tried not to allow himself to react to that but he failed. Involuntary it might have been, but the way the cheeks tightened he could not hide. That was when Pearce knew for certain that Toomey had told him of the court martial papers and the way it had been kept hidden. Whatever standing Barclay had enjoyed in this cabin was no longer as high as it had previously been.
‘I would also point out, though it should not be necessary that I do so, a captain using a vessel of the King’s Navy for private purpose is highly irregular and should anything untoward occur the repercussions could be hard to contain. I would most certainly have no reason for silence and that applies to everything previously discussed and actions in the past.’
‘What do you want, Pearce?’
‘A vessel and explicit orders to Captain Barclay to return to the fleet directly and a cessation to his purpose. I leave it to you to decide if you wish to mention his wife by name.’
‘Your mistress!’ Hotham spat.
‘If you reckon that to embarrass me, sir, I cannot tell you how far you are from being correct. I am proud of my association with the lady.’
‘Which tells me you have the morals of a snake.’
Again Pearce had to bite back the words that came to mind; how dare this devious bastard, who had done his very best to get not only him killed but others too, refer to morality in his presence? It was hard to do and Pearce was glad of an interruption that obviated the need to speak.
‘Captain Holloway’s compliments, sir, but we are in sight of the coastal fort of Leghorn.’
‘Thank you, I will be on deck presently.’
Hotham’s chin was back on his chest as soon as the messenger departed and it was clear he was wresting with a conundrum. He would hate to give in to Pearce, that was obvious, but then what he had been told bore within it a grain of inescapable truth. Barclay was not prize hunting and hard as he would try to disguise it, his logs might not stand up to scrutiny if, in some way, a scandal came about that related to his wife.
‘I am told you have in your possession, Pearce, certain papers that might be of interest to me.’
Another knock at the door and a more flustered messenger this time, his features not eased by the glare he got from the admiral. ‘HMS Brilliant has departed the Inshore Squadron, sir, and is making for Leghorn, which Captain Holloway surmises may presage some good news regarding the enemy.’
‘Indeed. Please thank Mr Holloway.’
‘Sir,’ came the reply as the head disappeared.
John Pearce was never to know that in such a piece of information lay the reasons for his request being granted. It pertained to Ralph Barclay, of course, and the court martial papers possessed by Pearce he had singularly failed to reveal. But the real reason was not that: Toby Burns was on Brilliant and the notion of him and John Pearce being in the same place was anathema, for if they met and the boy blabbed both he and Barclay could be sunk.
Hotham could not sail immediately and nor did he see the requirement to; he needed a day or two to make up his stores and that with a possible battle imminent would be extended to the fleet. If the French were out it would be advantageous if they felt themselves unthreatened, and how much better it would be to lead men against the enemy who had enjoyed a short break in port. For a man whose calm was legendary – many thought it to be natural indolence – Hotham was decisive.
‘I will not agree to your request, Mr Pearce, for the reasons you outline. But you will have a boat and a despatch for Captain Barclay and that is for him to rejoin with all haste, at his peril. If the French are out I need every ship I possess to fight and beat them and that puts your private concern in the shade. Mr Toomey will write out your orders and designate a craft for you to employ. Now be so good as to vacate my cabin.’
Granted his wish, Pearce was not about to question the reasons; it was enough that he could hopefully prevent Barclay from getting anywhere near Emily. He was on deck as the saluting guns banged out in their usual wasteful chorus, still there when HMS Britannia anchored, aware that with the duty performed the crew had been stood down.
‘Pearce it is, by God!’
The abrupt demand for his attention made him turn to face a toothless fellow with a scarred face and a broken nose, dressed as a member of the lower deck and clearly of no rank. Not over-fussy about his own, he was nevertheless annoyed to be addressed so by a common seaman.
‘Don’t know my face, do ye?’
‘Why would I?’ Pearce demanded, adding, ‘And I think the proper form of address is “sir”.’
‘High and mighty, eh?’
‘Are you looking for a flogging, man?’
‘Justice more like. Name’s Cole Peabody, not that it will ring with you, but if I was to refer to a certain road down to a place termed Buckler’s Hard and a get-together you did not expect it might jog. Then there is a receiving hulk off Haslar called HMS York. Put together, happen you might guess where we met afore.’
Given what had just happened, the Pearce mind had been elsewhere; it took time for him to make the connection. ‘Are you one of Tolland’s brutes?’
Cole Peabody laughed. ‘Was a time when that was true, but thanks to you I am stuck in this barky.’
Pearce was stunned; the coincidence was almost impossible to accept, yet it had to be true: those few words from this fellow established that. It also presaged danger, if not from this man, from those for whom he had one time done his smuggling, a pair of villainous brothers who had sworn to skin him alive.
‘What of the Tollands?’
‘Never fear for them, Pearce—’
The shout from the quarterdeck stopped the smuggler, as the officer of the watch demanded to know what was going on.
‘An old shipmate, Lieutenant. Just catching up.’
‘Well, I hope you know, sir, what you are about is unseemly.’
‘Walk towards the companionway,’ Pearce insisted as he slowly moved, the smuggler keeping pace, this as the previous question regarding the Tolland brothers was repeated, to be responded to with real bile.
‘Looked after themselves, they did, the bastards. Must have had gold hidden to pay their way out, but none for their shipmates, which left us nowt but the navy.’
‘Us?’
‘Four.’
Tempted to commiserate, Pearce suddenly realised how stupid that would be. If he had not been a leader of the gang that had set out to murder him, this wretch had been part of it so he was just as deadly.
‘But that’s set to change, Pearce. Me and my mates has a plan to get off this here barky and we are looking to you to aid us.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Out of the kindness of your heart.’
‘I fear I must disappoint you, as I have neither the time, and I certainly lack the inclination, to do anything to aid you. You sought a rough bed, lie on it.’
‘I reckon you can do better, for if you do not then another will pay the price.’
They were off the deck now on the companionway and Pearce was about to turn and go back on deck, where he expected Toomey would bring him his orders. But he could hardly part company without asking an obvious question. ‘Who?’
‘We reckon you
’re not one to see another pay fer your errors. There’s a knife at this minute to a nipper’s throat and that will be employed if you just walk away. He’ll be through the gun port in a trice to mix with the shit of this Leghorn place and us with nothing to fear. Eleven summers the brat says he has, pity him if he don’t see no more ’cause of you.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
There was little choice but to follow Peabody; if the threat was true Pearce had no doubt there was a life at stake. The type of ruffian employed by the Tolland brothers were not the kind to shy from killing: men who were could never last in the smuggling game, where the only way out, if the excise or a rival got onto their tail, was to spill blood without a care for the consequences.
On the occasions he had been close to the brothers who had led the gang – a pair also convinced he had stolen their boat and cargo – there had been no doubt about their intention to kill him, but only after they had sought to extract information he did not have and that was a prospect to make him shudder, given he could imagine the methods they would have employed.
If the fleet was at anchor and awaiting stores there was no actual activity yet. It was known from previous visits and a lament in the wardroom that no amount of badgering would shift Captain Urquhart to move swiftly. There was a way of doing things and that could not be altered, regardless of the fact that there might be an enemy at sea. Even the water hoys were on other duties and not available, so the crew had a free day to frolic and that they were now doing.
The sea state being flat calm the gun ports had been opened on both sides, yet the noise under the low beams was deafening Fiddlers and flute players always came out in the bumboats long before the vessels anchored: the location – Portsmouth or Leghorn – made little difference. In addition, there were castrato singers, acrobats, traders in everything from clothing, gaudy cloth and gimcrack baubles to playful monkeys that screeched either to get attention or out of distress.
The Perils of Command Page 18
