His troubles were compounded when Hotham moved back to San Fiorenzo Bay; he had even less chance of a private journey from such a remote location, now more crowded than ever since Hotham had received even more reinforcements under Rear Admiral Linzee, led by the 98-gun Windsor Castle.
When, after several frustrating weeks, Nelson was sent cruising, Pearce felt it best to go with him and Agamemnon headed out to the north seeking any indication of an enemy presence. Given the state of affairs in Toulon, added to the fact that two of Martin’s 74’s as well as the captured Semele were in the base for repairs, it seemed unlikely that they would encounter any French ships.
Thus it came as a real surprise when the topsails of not one warship, but a fleet of seventeen of the line, were sighted on a southerly course. Martin had come out with his whole complement of battle-ready ships and was heading for San Fiorenzo Bay, no doubt in the hope of effecting a surprise on an inferior fleet. Nelson was of the opinion that the French were in ignorance of the recent arrivals from home.
‘So our task,’ he informed the quarterdeck, as HMS Agamemnon swung smoothly round to head south, ‘is to lead them into a den, which they will find full of lions.’
Nelson might command the smallest line of battle ship in the fleet but she was, by some measure, the swiftest. Thus it required guile to appear as if she was in flight while never showing her true rate of sailing. There was no doubt Martin had taken the bait; his ships were crowding on sail and there was no attempt at restraining the lead vessels desperate to close.
Agamemnon had several lookouts aloft, one of whom had the task of seeking the first hint of the clouds that ringed the Corsican mountains. When the call came to say they were in sight, Nelson had the main deck cannon manned and fired, not at the enemy and with no round shot either, for they were out of range, but merely to alert Hotham to what he would as yet be unable to see.
As a standing order, and it had been that under Hood, the Mediterranean Fleet anchored on single cables and kept normal watches, while every captain was obliged to either be aboard – not hard since there were few temptations on the island – or so close to his command that he could weigh at speed, and the fleet did so now.
By the time Agamemnon was hull up the largest of the warships were already leaving San Fiorenzo Bay, led by Victory, her copper bottom newly scraped clean in the Portsmouth dockyard, which stood in stark comparison to the fouled hulls of the vessels who had been in the warm waters of the Med for two years. The 100-gunner had the capability to close with the enemy most quickly and at the sight of her emerging, Nelson put up his helm to take part in what he hoped would be an oncoming battle.
Martin did not react immediately, but as Victory was followed out of the bay by six three-decker line of battle ships, he must have realised he risked being outgunned. Even more of a surprise would be the number of 74s in their wake, which had him outnumbered by seventeen to twenty-two capital ships. In short order, Martin ordered his fleet to wear and flee.
‘The wind will dictate his course,’ Nelson insisted, ‘and from where it is blowing precludes Toulon as a destination.’
Such a factor was of much interest to John Pearce. He had found aboard Nelson’s ship lessons to be learnt and ones not previously gifted to him in the smaller vessels on which he had generally sailed. He observed keenly the way the hierarchy of command worked with a crew made up of greater numbers than those of which had personally had charge, while the quality of the captain was a revelation.
Nelson could talk to his men in a manner few of his rank could replicate. He could appear to be as one with them without the least hint of condescension, able to share a joke and even to endure some very mild ribbing. No man aboard was in ignorance of either their duty or their captain’s aim and what was remarkable was the way they wholeheartedly responded. In short, HMS Agamemnon was a happy ship as well as an effective one.
At least it was until Nelson requested permission to act independently. He desired to outstrip the rearmost Frenchmen and possibly by his action bring the whole entity to battle. The request was denied: Hotham declined to release his greyhound to snare a running French hare. Agamemnon was to be tied to the pace of Victory.
A chase that had begun in the morning looked set to last all day. With a decent breeze both fleets were eating up the sea miles, covering the short distance between Corsica and the southern French shore at a lick. Having consulted his charts, Nelson’s master was of the opinion that Gourjean was Martin’s destination, for that would avoid the need for an alteration of course and subsequent loss of speed.
‘And if we can drive him from that?’
‘The next anchorage along the coast is at Fréjus, sir. Deep inshore water and an arc of bay that he can use to form a line. That would be hard to break.’
‘But break it we must and will,’ Nelson replied, ‘that is if we cannot prevent the swine from getting there in the first place.’
He had only just come back on the deck having been in his cabin writing letters, something of which he was a ferocious proponent. In this Nelson was far from singular; all naval officers corresponded at length with home, family, fellow naval comrades and, without fail, politicians, often a local Member of Parliament. This was how they promulgated their views, praised some of their fellows and damned others in what was a very competitive environment.
Public displays of mutual regard often hid deeply conflicting views; admirals lobbied, lied and grovelled to get lucrative commands while the captains beneath them either sought to elevate themselves or diminish others, depending on their personal relationships, and purely for their own advantage.
Pearce had no doubt at all that Nelson had just dashed off letters to several folk, couched in appropriate language, questioning the abilities of the admiral who had just refused him permission to make use of the superior speed of his ship, which in essence questioned his ability as a commander. Never mind they would not be read immediately: they were a quotidian account and had value because of that.
HMS Victory was now in company, as was Culloden, captained by the irascible Thomas Troubridge. But night was falling and under a cloudy sky it was possible the enemy could escape, which to the way of thinking aboard Agamemnon compounded Hotham’s obvious error, this driven home when dawn showed no sign of the enemy.
They had changed course, but before the decks had been swabbed the sloop HMS Flèche appeared on the horizon. In a seemingly never-ending set of signals, close to one letter at a time, they informed Admiral Mann aboard Victory that the enemy was just over the horizon. They had sighted Martin south of the Hyères Islands and by crowding on sail they found the enemy now on a due-west heading, for what the master had reckoned to be their intended destination.
Close inshore there was a lack of wind and that allowed Victory, Culloden and Agamemnon to close with Alcide, the rearmost French 74 and to give her a severe drubbing. Martin had no choice but to seek to save his consort and his rear swung round to engage. The trio of British warships now found themselves trading gunfire with superior enemy forces and that would continue until the rest of the fleet caught up.
‘Hard-pounding.’
That was Nelson’s comment on an artillery duel in which the larger ships took most of the brunt, with Agamemnon doing her best to draw off the opposition by use of her ability to manoeuvre even in light airs. Culloden suffered greatly in her rigging while Victory was near to being dismasted, so ferocious was the enemy fire. But throughout the fight Alcide was suffering the most, and bearing down on the enemy fleet was the van squadron of the British fleet, headed by Sam Goodall in HMS Princess Royal.
When Alcide struck her tricolour, Admiral Martin decided the risk of continuing to fight was too great and he signalled a withdrawal. Two brave French frigate captains sought to take Alcide in tow, only to be severely mauled for their efforts by the lower-deck 32-pounders of HMS Victory.
Admiral Goodall sailed past the vessels so recently engaged with his hat raised in salute. To
his rear Pearce could see the rest of the fleet, Britannia to the fore, bearing down on an enemy once more in total flight. By the time they got abreast of Alcide a blaze had broken out and was consuming the forepeak. Agamemnon was too close for comfort when the fire reached the powder room and the ship exploded, sending bits of wood both into the air and sideways.
As was common, the fighting ships had their boats in the water. They were immediately sent to rescue the crew of the rapidly sinking French warship. The fight would continue under Goodall and if he could hold Martin up with the rest of the fleet closing, it looked as though a stunning victory might be on the cards.
The French admiral was not about to hang about and risk destruction; he was now making for Fréjus Bay where, if he could form a line with the shore at his back, he would present a formidable obstacle. Anchored, the firing platform would be steady and by central control the target could be directed in a more destructive way by the combined concentration of shot on single targets.
‘Flag signalling, sir,’ called the midshipman who held the book. ‘General order to all ships. Cease firing and rejoin flag.’
‘He’s mad,’ Nelson exploded. ‘We have them by the throat.’
‘More flags, sir, a repeat of the same order.’
In essence it had little effect on Agamemnon. The 64-gunner had done her job and so had Victory and Culloden, now occupied in carrying out repairs, this while their boats picked up survivors from the now sunken Alcide. It was later reported that Sam Goodall, in frustration, had kicked his hat all over the quarterdeck of Princess Royal when the order was relayed to him.
Hotham had to be obeyed; he was in command and that left no option that did not include a court martial. As ordered, the fleet retreated to San Fiorenzo where it quickly became common gossip that Hotham was claiming once more he had done well. Few agreed and now what had been a slight air of depressed wonder turned into open condemnation of a man seen as too weak for the task he had been given.
Pearce was again at his door seeking and being refused entry, and that lasted until the arrival of HMS Flirt, at which point he felt his whole life to be changed.
As Michael O’Hagan described it nothing could have been done – he was one against too many – so the best he could have hoped for was that, beaten to a pulp, he would be taken aboard the 74 along with Emily. Given he had manhandled Barclay, his fate then would have been certain: the bastard would have probably strung him up but not before he had severely lacerated his back with the cat.
‘Still, John-boy, it is for sure I feel ashamed of myself.’
‘Not as much as I do.’
Pearce found it hard to contain his fury, not so much at his friend as at his own impotence. He had not acted quickly enough in the matter of getting back to Naples and Emily had paid the price. Even worse, he had sat watching Semele fight and be taken – when he now knew she must have been aboard – and had done nothing to prevent it.
Had he voiced such thoughts Pearce would have been told the truth: he too would be a captive if he had sought to effect the outcome, and really the question was obvious. What was he going to do now? His first thought had been that the French would not keep captive a woman, until he realised that as the wife of the captain, Emily would be seen as part and parcel of the whole. She had been a prisoner before when HMS Brilliant had been captured and taken into Toulon.
‘It is a sobering thought, Henry, that the man I despise has lost two battles and forfeited two ships in a very short time.’
Digby did not reply immediately, given he was really seeking to hide his anathema to the whole idea of the illicit liaison. Nor had he looked forward to seeing Pearce alone in his cabin, which was why he had not greeted him when he came aboard, happy to let him hear the bad news from his Irishman.
‘Given the navy often seem to value gallantry as much as success, John, he could be praised for his latest loss. Even you had to report that Semele fought long and hard. And remember Barclay commanded her at the Glorious First under Howe, so his reputation must stand pretty high.’
‘Of a man who violently abducts a woman.’
‘She is his wife!’
Pearce had to clam up then; Digby, quite apart from his obvious prejudices, knew nothing of the offer Emily had made to return to the marital fold on certain conditions. Best he change the subject and in thinking on that he hit on an idea, not that he was open with Henry Digby.
‘We must discuss how we are going to make Hotham sweat.’
‘Ah!’ That stalling expression got Digby a keen look, one that insisted he elaborate. ‘I had a great deal of time to think in my convalescence, John.’
‘And?’
‘For all my anger I cannot see how to make the admiral admit that he took part in a conspiracy deliberately designed to bring about harm.’
‘Toomey was as much a part of things as Hotham and he is shocked that we have returned successful, much as he tried to bluff it out. I’m sure I scared the creature enough to make him wonder for his future.’
‘That, if I may say so, is a very tenuous basis on which to proceed, besides which, you have not even alluded to how you might accomplish anything.’
‘My notion was to force a court martial in which the matter would have to be aired.’
Digby frowned. ‘For you or for me?’
‘I admit you would be better than I, given my reputation does not stand very high. But if it has to be me, well, let us do it. If we both make the same accusation, one as a defendant, the other as a witness—’
The hand held up to stop his talking achieved its purpose, but it was the palpable look of doubt on Digby’s face that really struck Pearce most.
‘We are together in this, Henry.’
‘Ah!’
‘That is the second time you have used that expression, though I fear this time it does not lack much in the way of clarity.’
‘Hotham is the C-in-C, John, akin to God in this part of the world.’
‘Devil more like, a devious sod who hoped we would all be killed.’
‘You cannot know that with absolute certainty.’
‘I admit my demise would have served, so you will forgive me if I look upon matters with a little more cynicism than you seem to now display. You saw the orders we were given and you were as party to the verbal lies as I was.’
‘Which will be denied.’
‘Meaning?’
Digby shifted uncomfortably and the lack of eye contact was telling. ‘I cannot go against the service, John.’
‘And that is the result of lying in a bed and thinking for near a month?’
‘It is the result of a long and hard look at the problem, which I see as intractable. I do wish to assure you that I will hold to my promise of financial aid, so you may pursue the case upon which you are so set, but on the other matter I must remain aloof.’
Pearce’s response was sour, both in the words and the taste it produced in his mouth. ‘And what will you say if you are called as a witness in that?’
‘You must understand, John, I cannot actually take part in any action you bring against a fellow officer, post-captain or vice admiral, and that extends to giving you possession of the written orders I received.’
‘It would risk your career?’
If Digby was stung, and he should have been, he hid it well, coming out with a strong rebuttal. ‘I have to tell you that is as important to me as your causes are to you.’
‘Which is why you declined to keep a promise I made regarding the distribution of prize money?’
‘It seemed politic to let the C-in-C oversee that if he thought it wise, so I passed over the draft given to me by the Brindisi traders, to be drawn on a Genoese banking house.’
‘And will he?’ Pearce asked, adding, ‘I do have a personal interest in this.’
‘He did not favour me with an opinion.’
‘And you did not demand one?’
‘No.’
‘How many solemn undertakin
gs broken does that add up to? I know you are given to nightly prayers, Henry. I hope this evening you can do so without examining and finding wanting your conscience.’
‘I will not have you speak to me in that fashion. Please recall I am your superior officer.’
Pearce stood up; even being bent near double under the low deck beams did nothing to dent his venom.
‘I shall speak to you in any fashion I wish, even in public, and invite you to court martial me. If I know one thing about you, Henry, it is that you will not tell a lie having sworn on the Bible, for you fear God more than you fear the likes of Hotham. And do not doubt that the questions you will be asked will force from you that which you should be providing voluntarily. Now, if you will forgive me I have to go and see the man you cannot stand to bring to justice.’
‘I have not given you permission to leave the ship.’
‘What would you have me do, stay and breathe in the stench of hypocrisy? Say your prayers and ask God for forgiveness, just don’t ever ask me for the same.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Pearce was fuming as he boated across to HMS Britannia. If Digby would not even pass over the orders he had been given regarding Mehmet Pasha he had little with which to proceed. The lack of the written evidence was as much a dent to his hopes as the man’s reneging on their agreement to bring Hotham down.
The notion of continuing to serve on HMS Flirt was impossible; he knew he had a temper uncontrollable enough to strike Digby and he had been close to that in his cabin. Do that and he would get a court martial all right, it would just be one in which he would be unable to make a case that would expose any wrongdoing.
The time the crossing took allowed him to calm down somewhat and then to examine his recent actions, not least the harsh words he had employed. On reflection he was unsure that had been wise for he had probably turned someone possibly biddable into an outright antagonist. Digby would avoid trouble by refusing to appear if there was a court martial, and the only one who could force him to do so had every reason to avoid his presence.
The Perils of Command Page 26
