While Pearce found himself at ease with Horatio Nelson, he did have a problem with the man’s deep faith as well as his convictions, not least the one just expressed. The views he held on such matters had been formed from reading Rousseau and Voltaire, as well as the likes of the Scottish philosopher David Hume.
The Sage of Caledonia was a man much admired and spoken of fondly by John’s father Adam, who had known the philosopher well. Hume held that if God did exist – and he was sceptical, if careful, in open expression of the notion that he might not exist at all – there was no reason to think him proficient.
Holy indifference was what could be attested to; for all the spouting of the religious as to there being a divinity, as well as the supposed omnipresence and omnipotence of same, John Pearce had observed that it was a deity utterly unconcerned by the fate of its followers. Those who fervently prayed were just as likely to be struck down as the agnostic and revolution or not, there would be men on the French warships praying to the same God, sure that he was predisposed to smite any Briton who crossed their path.
If there had been initial excitement, matters soon settled into the usual ennui of slow and sometimes no action at all. In such light airs, closing with the enemy was going to be difficult while to overhaul them completely prior to their reaching safety might be impossible. For all that, the chase must go on for, as Nelson kept reminding everyone, they were on the wing and who could tell what chance would provide. That was a way of putting the situation with which his agnostic passenger could agree.
The weather changed abruptly over the course of the night, with sudden squalls that kept the crew awake, for it required much work to hold both the course and speed, as well as their station on their consorts, while at the same time ensuring no damage. Sails had to be reefed and loosened in pitch-dark weather, often to avoid the strain on groaning masts and straining yards, while constant attention was required on the rigging to ensure nothing carried away.
In this the British fared better than the French. Dawn showed one of the enemy line of battle ships, identified as Mercure 74, had lost her main topmast and was in the process of parting company under a towing frigate. The temptation to chase one vessel was quite rightly set aside in favour of a possible fleet action.
Daylight also showed the gap had closed and there was now a freshening breeze: if Hotham commanded ships suffering from much wear and tear he also had men serving him, right down to the meanest waister, who knew their trade, and indeed it was the lack of that efficiency in the enemy that provided the change in circumstances for which everyone was hoping.
Ça Ira 80, in a general change of course for the entire French fleet, collided with the same-sized vessel ahead of her in the rear squadron. Victoire sailed on seemingly unscathed but Ça Ira suffered much more, severely damaging her main and fore topmasts. This caused her to fall off her course and lose speed.
Captain Thomas Fremantle, in command of the 38-gun frigate HMS Inconstant, closer to the enemy than any of Hotham’s capital ships, closed immediately and took station on the Ça Ira’s quarter to pour several broadsides into her, an act eagerly applauded on the quarterdeck of Agamemnon.
The favourable situation for Fremantle soon deteriorated as the French frigate Vestale ranged alongside to pour fire into an enemy fully engaged seeking to disable the line of battle ship. Fremantle broke off the action temporarily and that allowed Vestale to get a cable to Ça Ira in order to take her in tow. With his opposition frigate occupied in that task, Fremantle tacked to cross the stern of the French 80-gunner and poured a deadly broadside through her deadlights.
Inconstant suffered for that. The crew of the Ça Ira had cleared the wreckage of those fallen topmasts and could now man their cannon. With her greater firepower and at near to point-blank range the French shot swept across the deck of the British frigate, carrying much away in the case of rigging and surely spilling a great deal of blood.
More telling was the shot that hit between the waterline and the hammock nettings to smash the scantlings at a point low enough to bring a risk of foundering, damage so severe that Inconstant was obliged to swiftly bear away, using the wind to raise the wounded hull clear of the water.
John Pearce observed all this with increasing clarity, a fact that applied to everyone aboard Agamemnon, for she was coming up on the Frenchmen hand over fist, the air of anticipation along the decks almost physical in its intensity. Lighter in terms of weight of shot, the rate of fire from the well-worked-up crew made up for any shortfall in metal and Agamemnon poured salvo after salvo into the much larger vessel.
A passenger he might be but Pearce was not one to remain idle. He was perfectly willing to carry any orders Nelson gave to whichever part of the ship they required to be directed, mostly to divisional lieutenants to tell them to adjust their aim and concentrate on some particular part of the target vessel. Having never been in a ship of the line in battle, the noise, smoke and seeming general turmoil confused him; it took time to see that for all the seeming chaos Nelson’s men were working as a complete and orderly unit.
Having been below decks he missed the arrival of HMS Captain 74, come to assist Agamemnon in disabling the Ça Ira. But the rear elements of Admiral Martin’s fleet had worn to come to the aid of their struggling comrades and wisdom dictated that discretion be the better part of valour. Nelson was a warrior but he was not a fool and soon he and Captain were dropping back to rejoin the main British line, leaving a pair of their fellow 74s to exchange desultory fire with the enemy rear at long distance.
‘Yonder, Mr Pearce!’ Nelson cried, pointing to a towering first rate closing in on Ça Ira, ‘there is their behemoth Sans Culotte. Triple-decked, one hundred and twenty guns and a crew of over a thousand men as well as a commanding admiral’s flag. What a prize she would be.’
‘Might I suggest it would be one to share, sir? If she carries twice the guns and of a larger calibre …?’
‘Indeed, but I cannot deny I am tempted. It would be a sarcophagus in Westminster Abbey for the fellow who gave his life to capture her.’
‘Is any capture worth a life?’
‘What is life, Mr Pearce, compared to immortality?’
Nelson’s eyes were shining as he said those words, while the man on the receiving end was stunned to realise he meant every word. It was something he raised that night with Dick Farmiloe.
‘He does mean it, John. You will have seen him these last few days as he rarely is. I have never known a man so given to maladies as Nelson, yet the merest hint of action and all his ills fall away. His doctor talks of animal spirits but I believe he has a real wish to be a hero. That is what so drives him and it provides a cure.’
That thought was in Pearce’s mind the following morning as the dawn revealed that the towing vessel had been changed to the 74-gun Censeur. But it also exposed the fact that there was no sign of the mighty Sans Culotte. Clearly it had become detached from the rest of the fleet during the hours of darkness, while Ça Ira and her consort, naturally sailing more slowly, were becoming isolated from their comrades by a margin that made them very vulnerable.
‘So they are without a commanding admiral now?’ Pearce said in a half question, referring to the fact that Sans Culotte had not reappeared.
Nelson shook his head. ‘Perhaps not. The madmen in Paris passed a law that commanded any admiral in a battle to move his flag to a frigate, I presume so they could avoid capture. I think if you were to go aloft with a glass you would observe that Admiral Martin’s flag is flying in one of his smaller vessels.’
‘I’ll settle for the notion without the proof.’
‘Flagship signalling,’ came the cry from aloft.
Hotham’s fleet had the weather gage and he obviously discerned there was an advantage to be gained. Flags flew on Britannia ordering forward Captain as well as Bedford, another 74, to close and engage. That made Nelson glum and he sent his own signal in an attempt to join with them, his request denied. So he became a frustra
ted spectator to a hard-pounding artillery duel as the two Frenchmen battled it out.
Even Pearce could see that Hotham had the right of it; to put a third vessel into a fight of the nature of that which they were watching risked the British ships firing on each other and the men on Ça Ira and her consort were giving a good account of themselves. Hotham finally called off that pair and replaced them with another pair of 74s.
The damage to the French ships was terrible; they were becoming close to defenceless, but it seemed relief was on the way as Martin sent forward another 74, Duquesne, to back up their efforts and to confront the two British 74s, Illustrious and Courageux.
The wind, brisk at dawn, had now fallen away to almost nothing, hampering all three vessels in their attempt at manoeuvre. This left the frigate Lowestoffe, near to being becalmed and unable to get clear, at the mercy of the slowly approaching Duquesne. Those watching as the 32-gunner was mauled feared for much loss of life but the man in command, Benjamin Hallowell had confounded French hopes for a massacre by sending every man aboard below. Then the Neapolitan Minerva, coming between Duquesne and Lowestoffe became the object of the sustained enemy fire.
Victoire and Tonnant eventually managed to join Duquesne and exchange gunnery with the British vessels, which brought ragged cheer from the decks of Ça Ira and Censeur. That died as it became plain their comrades were not coming to their rescue but were instead intent on making their escape by getting to windward of the enemy.
The order came to the rest of the French fleet, presumably from Admiral Martin, to set a course northward for Toulon. At that very moment the crippled French vessels that had fought so hard to avoid defeat struck their tricolour flags.
Nelson was already giving orders that would bring on a renewed chase when the flags at Britannia’s masthead killed off the notion. To say that he was stunned by this was an understatement; Nelson actually wondered out loud what Hotham was thinking of, for to him it was a case of ‘there is the enemy, and our task is to close and destroy them.’
‘Mr Farmiloe, my barge.’
If anyone wondered why Nelson wanted his barge at this stage they did not raise the question; it was off the ship and in the water, it being a dangerous article to have on board in battle. If feet-thick scantlings could be reduced to deadly splinters, how much more lethal would be a flimsy ship’s boat?
As nimble as one of his own topmen, the captain of Agamemnon was in his boat and being rowed with some speed towards the flagship and he was not alone. Rear Admiral Samuel Goodall was also, it was reported, on the way to see Hotham, and Pearce was left in no doubt what the question would be, this from the rest of the Agamemnon’s officers.
‘Why are we not pursuing the enemy?’ Nelson reported on his return, accurate as it transpired, which left everyone waiting for Hotham’s reply. ‘He feels our van squadron has suffered too much, Illustrious particularly, to which Sam Goodall nearly had an apoplexy. And then, would you credit it, Hotham actually said that having taken two enemy vessels we have done very well.’
There was no doubting what Nelson thought of that statement; disgust was too mild a word for the expression on his face and the mood did not improve when Hotham ordered the fleet to head for La Spezia Bay, the badly damaged Illustrious being towed, which meant he had no intention of even following the French the next day.
It was almost in the nature of damnation when Illustrious suffered her fate; bad weather returned overnight and that had allowed water through her smashed gun ports. Her captain was obliged to change course to save the ship, only to be driven on to the shore by the increasingly foul weather. In the end the crew and stores were brought off but the ship could not be saved and the hull had to be burnt.
‘A meagre return, Mr Pearce,’ was Nelson’s mordant comment. ‘Two Frenchmen taken and two of our own lost. It is not a tale that will read as valorous in the Gazette.’
Pearce was no longer thinking of fleet actions and possible burial in Westminster Abbey. He was concentrating more on getting back to Naples to both see Emily and to collect his Pelicans for a return to their ship.
Michael, Charlie and Rufus were in the Adriatic, the Chevalier having arranged their journey to Brindisi by the rapid Royal Mail coach, where they found Henry Digby much recovered and near fit to resume his duties. Naturally Michael O’Hagan was required to relate to him what had happened in Naples, which if it got much shaking of the head engendered little else.
For Digby his listening was not an invitation to a discussion or a revelation of his opinion on the matter, especially given he heartily disapproved of the liaison. Then there was the man telling the tale; O’Hagan might be held in high regard by John Pearce but to Digby he was lower deck and not of a standing enough to be engaged in speculation with his commanding officer. O’Hagan was thanked and told to return to his duties.
Edward Grey was a different kettle of fish; even if he was a lobster he was an officer and the so-called abduction of Captain Barclay’s wife was much ruminated upon. Could it be called that when it was a husband reclaiming his spouse? Grey had assumed much in the way of work while Pearce was absent.
With Digby still in convalescence, he had negotiated with the British traders, selling their two French merchantmen and their cargoes, albeit every move was reported to his superior. The bulk of the French crews had elected to take employment locally while sale of both hulls and cargo had been carried out without haste. Because of that they had secured for the crew of HMS Flirt a sum of money greater than had been anticipated.
Given the men had been told by John Pearce there would be an immediate distribution of money, Digby risked near mutiny when he insisted he needed permission from the C-in-C to comply with that promise. In his sickbed he had much time to reflect and had worked out that he would need to temper the promises he made to Pearce in the immediate aftermath of the fight in which he had been wounded. He had started out with a career: given their success he might have a much enhanced one now.
So it was with a disgruntled crew that he came back aboard and weighed, his first task to return to rejoin the fleet. Digby was glad that Emily Barclay was no longer in Naples. Regardless of how that had been brought about, he had no need to call there.
The lady in question had been able to enjoy the cabin on Semele until the captured 74 finally entered Toulon Roads to much cheering and celebratory cannon fire, having taken shelter in the Rade de Gourjean on the way as an insurance against falling in with the British Fleet. For the same reason Admiral Martin had fallen back on the anchorage around Hyères Islands, which also prevented him from being blockaded in Toulon.
The courtesy that had been given to her up till that point did not abate; she was the recent widow of a fellow sailor, albeit an enemy. The French navy having suffered less from the Terror than other branches, there were still officers in the service whose code demanded she be treated as an honoured guest.
Emily was given rooms in the Admiralty building, while arrangements were made to ship Semele’s officers to an inland fortress prison. The wounded were treated at the hospital in a fashion in no way inferior to that which they would have received in Haslar, a couple expiring but most surviving to join the rest of the men.
They were to be put to work repairing some of the damage done to the port when Lord Hood abandoned the place amid much deliberate destruction. It was seen as entirely proper that the late captain’s wife should take not only an interest in their welfare but argue for better conditions and treatment.
The saddest part of that, every time she visited them, was an inability to answer the recurring question posed. Every one of the crew wanted to know how long they would be in captivity.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Even if he was low in rank compared to the men he observed, John Pearce could sense that the attitude of those who called upon Sir William Hotham had altered. His opposite number, safely anchored in a hard-to-assault anchorage, would be claiming, if not a victory, certainly a stand-off.
/> In addition, the mood of the fleet was a topic of much discussion in the wardroom of Agamemnon and it was generally held to be a depressed one, especially when the captured French officers spoke of the naval base of Toulon being close to open revolt prior to their sailing, the troops designated for Corsica held back to keep order. How could they not have beaten such an enemy?
Lord Hood was often mentioned, the implication being that as a more active sea officer, Sam Hood would have made a better fist of what was being called The Naval Battle of Genoa. Hotham’s star had waned and Dick Farmiloe was sure that certain client officers of his were now wondering if they had hitched their cart to the wrong horse.
Those who did not see him as their patron were even less likely to praise him and that would mean letters flying back home. These would question the leadership of the fleet from those known to be less well in favour of his appointment as C-in-C. It was tempting to seek to penetrate the bulkheads that cut Hotham off and wonder if he noticed the changed atmosphere.
In truth, Pearce, as he waited day after day to see the admiral, cared only in how that affected him. He needed to travel to Naples, a destination he was sure would be denied but he could claim he needed to get back to HMS Flirt in order to ensure that her commander had recovered. He could also make sure the disposal of hulls and cargo, even if it was officially frowned upon, was being properly attended to.
The difficulty was in making such a claim; Hotham would not see him and Toomey, whom he managed to beard more easily, given he was exposed in his exterior office, refused to either discuss the matter or pass the request on to the admiral. This left the supplicant at a stand, for as of this moment, having run out of money, he lacked the means to make the journey privately.
The Perils of Command Page 25
