The Perils of Command

by David Donachie

  He was outside Hotham’s cabin once more, still being denied entry, as a steady stream of senior officers came and went, which gave him time to examine what it was he needed to do next and that naturally centred on Emily Barclay. It was little comfort to think that she would now be incarcerated with her husband and that quite possibly they were now reconciled.

  Could he do the same as Ralph Barclay and abduct her, or at least persuade her that her future lay with him so she would leave voluntarily? There were two ways of looking at what he could only presume to be her present circumstances and his hopes might be the complete opposite of what she was feeling.

  Would exposure to the habits of Ralph Barclay horrify her as much as they had done in the past? He could not believe the man would change his ways and nothing proved that more than the way he had kidnapped her. Not that such imaginings produced a solution as to what he was going to do about it. She was in Toulon, he was on the deck of Hotham’s flagship and if the great cabin door opened and shut, and it did frequently, it was not to admit him.

  ‘Mr Pearce,’ Nelson had exited the cabin, the door promptly shut once he was through. ‘Am I to assume that you are waiting to see Admiral Hotham?’

  ‘I’m very much at the back of the queue, sir.’

  Nelson dropped his voice. ‘Take it as a blessing, for the atmosphere within is far from rosy. I have just had to deny a request from our commander to make certain changes to my log.’

  ‘To what purpose?’

  Nelson indicated they were too close for comfort and that they should walk away.

  ‘Sir William feels that I have not given enough appreciation to the damage sustained by both Victory and Culloden in the recent action.’

  ‘Or lack of action, if I recall your mood on the day, sir.’

  ‘Aye, I felt it wanting and was unwise enough to let that be overheard by my officers and no doubt half the crew.’ Nelson looked slightly downcast as he continued. ‘Shows a want of proper behaviour.’

  ‘I am inclined to believe you voiced a common view. Even I reckoned the order not to pursue to be mistaken.’

  A sharp jerk of the head indicated the place from which he had just emerged.

  ‘I had to be circumspect in there, but how I was tempted to back up Admiral Goodall.’

  Now it was Pearce’s turn to glance at the same doorway before giving Nelson a look riddled with curiosity. The voice dropped even more, obliging Pearce to lean forward and bend his head to hear.

  ‘Got quite heated between them, I am given to understand.’ That could only have come from Sam Goodall; Hotham would never have told Nelson of anything that had occurred with another flag officer. ‘Damn near told our C-in-C he was not fit to command the fleet.’

  ‘And your opinion, sir?’

  ‘Counts for little, but it is a rum do when Sir William feels the need to seek that my logs back up his version of events. And in that I suspect I am not alone.’

  ‘It does sound fairly desperate.’

  ‘I think you know I do not stand very high in his favour.’

  ‘Which to my mind shows a lack of sound judgement.’

  Nelson took the compliment without a blush; Pearce reckoned it was because he thought it the plain truth. He was a man sure of his abilities and equally convinced that destiny held in store for him something remarkable.

  ‘He invited his flag officers to dine, Pearce, and they all declined– Hyde Parker, Linzee, Goodall and Mann. What does that tell you?’

  ‘They have lost confidence in him, perhaps.’

  ‘There can be no other explanation and they will have penned that opinion to be sent back to London, of which Sir William must be aware. Even those captains he reckons his supporters are seeking to distance themselves from him now.’

  He’s finished, thought Pearce, which was what Nelson was telling him, not plainly, but in so many words and that took him back immediately to his own concerns. Hotham diminished might be easier to deal with than the same man flushed with fighting success.

  ‘Remarkable thing is, he does not seem to be able to see where he failed.’ Nelson sighed, as if he had some sympathy for Hotham, and perhaps he did for he was not of a malicious nature. ‘Either that or he is capable of deep artifice.’

  Pearce replied in a mordant tone, ‘That I can attest to.’

  Given he added no more, Nelson was left to wonder, but not for long. ‘Well, I must be off, but I did not enquire of you. What is it you seek from Sir William?’

  ‘To talk to him, no more.’

  ‘Well, when you do—’

  ‘If I do, sir. He has shown a remarkable reluctance to indulge me.’

  ‘I was about to say you may find him somewhat diminished.’

  Pearce raised his hat as Nelson made his farewells but those last words left him thinking. From the gist of what he had just heard Hotham’s tenure of command could not last. If his inferior admirals told London they had lost faith in him he would be replaced and no amount of political pressure from his patron, the Duke of Portland, would be able to gainsay that.

  To Pearce it was nothing more than just deserts and that had nothing to do with his own relations with the man. He had been gifted two opportunities to destroy the French Mediterranean Fleet, or at least inflict serious damage, and it mattered not that he had failed, it mattered he had not tried and that would be what his peers held in contempt.

  The people of Britain had an almost biblical faith in their navy and none were more convinced of its merits than those who served within its vessels. They had a tradition of victory going back to the Armada and if they had lost the odd battle they had never lost a war. Mention the American colonies and they would point the finger at redcoats, not themselves for they had trounced the French allies of the insurgent Americans at the Battle of the Saintes.

  Because of that, the officers of the service lived in fear of disgrace and the fate of Admiral Byng loomed large, Pearce suspected, in their imaginings. He had been shot by firing squad on his own flagship’s quarterdeck a year after his perceived failure off Minorca in the year ’56.

  That must serve as a stark warning to the ambitious men who now commanded the nation’s fleets and sought glory. All would have been serving in a junior capacity, as lieutenants and newly promoted captains possibly, when Byng was executed. The question suddenly exercising John Pearce was obvious: did Hotham have cause to fear a similar fate now?

  His mind in something of a ferment he made his way to the wardroom and requested paper, ink and a quill, writing quickly and then sealing that which he had composed before making his way back to Hotham’s doorway, where without ceremony he barged in on Toomey. The clerk was about to protest when Pearce spoke to shut him up.

  ‘Feeling secure, Toomey, are you? Can’t be comfortable serving a fellow whose tenure of command is hanging by a thread?’ Toomey waved a dismissive hand, but Pearce was not to be put off. ‘How long do you give him, six weeks? Time for the reports to get back to Whitehall and be acted upon. Then he will be out of a job and so, my friend, will you.’

  ‘Have you been drinking?’

  ‘No, but you might want to take a glass to steady your nerves. I have just come from HMS Flirt, where Lieutenant Digby and I have been exchanging notes. While I was there we examined the orders given to us prior to our voyage to confront Mehmet Pasha.’

  ‘If you wish to question those you must ask the man who wrote them out.’

  ‘Digby will say at the court martial they bear no relation to what he was told verbally.’

  ‘What court martial?’ Toomey hooted. ‘For that, Admiral Hotham would have to agree to let one sit.’

  ‘And no doubt he would choose the men to pass judgement.’

  ‘He would appoint competent officers, certainly.’

  ‘Who would not be the same officers chosen by the man who will succeed him.’

  That struck a chord. Pearce was working on the assumption that Toomey was no fool. If anyone knew the mood of the fl
eet it would be he, and that would also tell him how tenuous his master’s hold on this command might be. The clerk would be loyal, that was to be expected, but right of this moment he would be a dunce not to be examining the possibility of shifting his seat to another berth, which, if not simple, was possible given the depth of his experience.

  The point Pearce was making did not have to be elaborated upon; any C-in-C succeeding Hotham would have no wish to defend his reputation, quite the reverse in fact. It would be in the man’s interest to make his predecessor look incompetent and that would be true even if there was no personal animus involved.

  ‘I have here in my hand a letter to Mr Lucknor, my lawyer.’

  ‘The name is unknown to me,’ Toomey protested, with a lack of conviction that encouraged John Pearce; the man was getting uncomfortable.

  ‘Odd, given he will have in his files a communication from you, which I suspect might be in a hand identifiable as your own, supposedly from Toby Burns.’

  ‘Stuff and nonsense.’

  ‘I wonder what Toby Burns will say at this court martial. Digby shall certainly ensure he is called to explain a series of matters in order to clarify how far Admiral Hotham is prepared to go in certain areas. Indeed, he may be shown the letter he is purported to have written, to then be asked if he recognises it.’

  There was so much supposition and bluff in what Pearce was accusing Toomey of to make him nervous. He had no proof that what he had just implied was true and now he was about to wander into the realms of pure fantasy but, looking at Toomey, he could see the sweat slipping out from underneath his clerk’s wig, so felt encouraged.

  ‘Such evidence, combined with what I shall say about the mission to the Gulf of Ambracia, especially regarding your part in the inventions by which I was seduced into participating, will make interesting listening to a board of enquiry staffed by officers with no need to protect certain reputations. Or, I might add, certain accomplices.’

  Pearce waved the letter. ‘You may wonder what this says.’

  ‘Why would I?’

  ‘You sound a trifle short of breath, Mr Toomey. Perhaps a glass of wine will settle you. No? Then let me tell you what I have said to Mr Lucknor. I require that he hand over to anyone sent by Sir William Hotham the fair copy of Captain Barclay’s court martial. I have also agreed with Mr Digby that he will destroy the orders he received for the Gulf of Ambracia as well as the copy we made. He undertakes to bring no case on that matter and neither will I.’

  Toomey sat in silence, but he did take off his wig and produce a handkerchief with which he wiped his head. Next he sought to loosen his stock, given his neck was damp as well.

  ‘What do you want, Pearce?’

  ‘I want to talk to Hotham and you are the man to tell him that to do so makes sense.’

  ‘You overrate my importance.’

  ‘If I do, I have no doubt of your ability to lay out in plain terms the threat Digby, Burns and I present to his future well-being. Odd that I was thinking of Admiral Byng only a short while ago and the fact that he suffered, for what? A failure to press home an attack on Minorca, was it not?’

  The handkerchief was employed again, though Pearce reckoned Toomey was cogitating on his own fate, not that of Hotham.

  ‘I will be in the wardroom, Mr Toomey. Might I suggest you appraise Admiral Hotham of my desire to see him?’

  The desire to be a fly on the bulkhead wall was strong. Pearce had no doubt Toomey would pass on what he had said, albeit in a manner more soothing than that which he had employed. He could hardly be said to know Hotham intimately but he came across as man who would not welcome bad news, and what his clerk would have to get across to him was very bad indeed.

  Of course, if Hotham sent for Digby he was sunk; that particular bit of bluff was a very fragile thread indeed. He had to hope the whole added up to a scenario the admiral would reckon he would be well advised to avoid. As of this moment he must know he had troubles enough to contend with.

  To add to that, what was being threatened made no sense, for the only purpose of the letter from Pearce to Lucknor had to be in search of some compromise and one only Hotham could grant. In possession of those court martial papers, as well as Digby’s orders, the man was safe on that flank.

  ‘A request from the admiral’s clerk, Mr Pearce. He would be obliged if you would join him on the forepeak.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Pearce said, as the midshipman’s head disappeared.

  Toomey was waiting for him and given the direction of the wind it seemed an appropriate spot, given it was not far from the heads and the odour of their use.

  ‘I have arranged for you to see Sir William.’

  ‘Splendid.’

  ‘However, I must warn you against addressing him in a like manner to the way you spoke with me. He is a man of some position and deserves to be treated as such.’

  Pearce was tempted to take issue with the word ‘deserves’ but decided to let it pass.

  ‘I have pointed out to the admiral that you want something from him in return for the letter you spoke of.’

  ‘I never doubted you would smoke it, Mr Toomey.’

  ‘I insist you stick to whatever bargain it is you seek. Threaten him directly, mention a word regarding his position and it will act against your purpose. He will not allow himself to be trifled with.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘Then I ask that you return to the wardroom and wait. I will send for you again when he is ready to receive you.’

  ‘It must have been an interesting interview you had with him.’

  The reply was snapped, evidence of deep irritation. ‘“Interesting” is not a word I would use, sir! Now may I have the letter?’

  ‘When the bargain is fixed, Mr Toomey, and that means in stone.’

  ‘You would dare to doubt Sir William’s word?’

  ‘I would be a fool to accept it. Now please inform the admiral that my patience is not inexhaustible.’

  The summons came within the ringing of the watch bells and when he entered Toomey followed him, no doubt to ensure Pearce kept his word. Hotham had his back to the door, staring out of the casements, and it was clear he was intent on avoiding any sort of eye contact.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I believe Mr Toomey has availed you of certain facts?’ No reply but a nod from the clerk. ‘In order to complete the business, I require a ship and an offer for Admiral Pierre Martin.’

  ‘What kind of offer?’ Hotham demanded, in a tone of voice that indicated he was surprised.

  ‘In the recent actions we have taken a number of French officers from those vessels we have captured or sunk.’

  Pearce stopped then, feeling a slight wave of embarrassment wash over him. His intention had been to propose an exchange, the French officers for those captured on HMS Semele, the former being much more numerous. Captivity for a naval officer was worse than just incarceration: separated from promotions their career would possibly never recover.

  That Ralph Barclay would be one of those who would benefit had to be accepted, for with him in the exchange would come Emily and a chance for him to seek to persuade her to once more break with her husband. It was a mad thing to be about but the whole matter was going nowhere as long as she was held in Toulon.

  ‘I sense you wish to propose an exchange, which is not unknown.’

  The feeling of shame, for Pearce, had to do with the nature of those he wished to get free. But for every officer taken by the British there were a hundred lower deckhands and added to those were the many wounded in what had been fierce fighting. Could he, with his background and beliefs, forget about them?

  ‘You are also holding on a transport vessel several hundred common French seamen.’

  Hotham had replied at first as though he sensed a bargain easy to accept. Those words altered that and it also had him spin round to face Pearce. ‘You are not seriously suggesting I exchange them too?’

  ‘In doing so you will recover the cr
ew of HMS Semele, which is no small matter given the fleet is short on hands. The prisoners you have to feed, which is a strain on the resources of your command and getting rid of them makes sense unless you intend to ship them back to England.’

  ‘Martin gets the best of it.’

  ‘Does he? I believe we have been told by the prisoners that Toulon was in a state of ferment before Admiral Martin departed, due to a shortage of food and poor conditions. Has that changed and will a whole load more mouths to feed be welcome? Perhaps by sending back the men taken in both actions we will be inducing a bacillus that will foment mutiny and thus destroy the French Fleet as a fighting force.’

  Hotham’s head dropped in a way that indicated he was considering the idea, which in many respects made sense. It was a strain on the provisioning of the fleet, as well as the personnel employed, guarding and feeding so many French prisoners and no one could chastise him for acting to alleviate such a burden. Then there was the fact that Pearce was banking on. Unrest in Toulon might save him, given the chances of another fight with the French was unlikely, Martin having retired there.

  ‘No one can be sure of that,’ Toomey insisted.

  ‘No. But that is my bargain. The letter and the exchange. Meet it or turn it down.’

  ‘I am made curious as to why you are proposing this.’

  ‘And for me, Mr Toomey, you can remain so.’

  Would they guess that Emily Barclay was the prize Pearce sought? They had no idea she had been on Semele but it was not too much of a leap to make the connection. If anyone would get there it would be the clever Irish clerk, who was now looking at Pearce in a questioning way.

  Hotham turned back to look out of the casements. ‘Please allow me to consider it.’