‘You wish to see me, Doctor?’ Hayden enquired.
Griffiths nodded.
‘Do come in.’
The door closed behind the surgeon, who looked both embarrassed and angered.
‘I fear you could not help but overhear at least some of what was said?’ Hayden glanced at the doctor expectantly.
‘Only that he accused you of being a papist and threatened to bring down the wrath of his “friends” within the admiralty. An empty threat if ever there was one. How dare he make such an accusation? Is the man unbalanced?’
‘Oh, it did not begin with me. It began with young Gould. Worthing learned that Gould’s father is a Jew.’
‘Ah,’ Griffiths managed. For a moment he considered. ‘There is, Mr Hayden, the matter of the Test Act…’
‘Indeed there is. But Worthing may not apply it. Only the government or the Admiralty may require it. I would not accede to his demand that Gould be forced to take the sacrament.’
‘Ah.’ The doctor took a seat on the bench before the gallery windows – thin fingers spread pale over meagre knees. ‘I do see your point, and understand your principle, but I cannot help but wonder, if I may be allowed an opinion on this matter, if you might not save yourself a great deal of… controversy by simply having both Gould and yourself take the sacrament. It will remove all the ammunition Worthing would employ to cause you trouble – which is more than his intention, it is his nature. You could even have Smosh do it, if that would lessen the sting.’
‘Though I esteem your opinions on all matters, Doctor, in this I cannot comply. Give in to that man and what will he demand next? Floggings for men who are not Christian enough? Trial by water? No, I will not allow him to test my crew in any way.’
‘He will use this to cause mischief, as I have said.’
‘But if not this it will be something else. Give way to him once and I will be doing it the entire voyage.’
‘Religion, as you well know, is a fertile field for kindling resentments, animosities, even atrocities. He will spread the rumour that you are a papist. The crew all know you lived for many years in France. They will begin to wonder how you lived among the French as an Anglican. A conversion has been the cause of ruptures in many a family, and they will begin to wonder why your French Catholic relations were so accepting of your apostate beliefs.’ The doctor glanced up at him – almost a question.
‘Are you suggesting, Dr Griffiths, that I have not been forthcoming about my own faith?’
Griffiths waved this idea away with a thin hand. ‘I am, like Mr Jefferson, a deist. Religions – all religions – are the creations of men and reflect all of man’s worst instincts. The supreme being who created our universe, I am quite certain, has taken no notice of me or my petty aspirations. Which is by way of saying, Captain Hayden, that you could be either Catholic or Anglican or Mohammedan – it is all the same to me. But the crew might not share my enlightened beliefs.’
‘I am not going to explain my beliefs to my own crew. Next Worthing will be questioning my loyalty to England!’
The two were silent, uncomfortable, for a moment, both taken by their own thoughts.
‘Did you wish to speak with me upon some matter, Doctor?’
‘Only to say that one of the men brought aboard from the Agnus is very ill.’
‘I thought he came aboard with an injury?’
‘So he did, but he has since taken such a turn that I am at a loss to explain it.’ Griffiths stood, crouched, reaching up an angular arm to take hold of a beam.
Hayden was alarmed by the doctor’s obvious concern. ‘You don’t think he has brought some… malady aboard, do you?’
‘I did not a few hours ago but now I cannot be certain.’ Griffiths leaned his forehead against a beam and closed his eyes a second. ‘I do not think he will reach Gibraltar. I-It came on with such rapidity. A fever, then cramping pains in his legs and back. He bleeds very freely from the nose and his lungs are infused with fluid that he coughs up in a pink froth. The smell of his breath is unbearable and his pain now so severe that I have given him laudanum, of which I have but scant supply. I should hardly be worried about this spreading, but he arrived recently from Portugal.’
‘They have not any contagion there, have they?’
‘Not that we know of, but many a time a ship has left port bearing pestilence before anyone had become cognizant of the disease being there. Thus it is borne to some other port not yet alerted to the danger.’ Griffiths looked up at Hayden. ‘I would call this an influenza but I have never seen it so severe in a man so young and apparently hale. Can we send a boat to the Agnus to enquire if they have any sick among their crew?’
Hayden glanced out of the window. ‘It is too late this night, I think, but immediately it is light we shall dispatch someone. Will you send Mr Ariss, Doctor?’
‘No. I think it best I go myself.’ Griffiths stood a moment lost in thought.
‘Is there any other course we might follow in this case?’
Griffiths shook his head. ‘No. That is everything.’ He glanced up at Hayden and tried to shrug off his obvious apprehension. ‘You are joining us for dinner?’
‘I am.’
‘Until then.’
‘Keep me informed of this man’s condition,’ Hayden said as the doctor opened the door to leave. ‘What is his name?’
‘McKee.’ Griffiths opened his mouth as if to say more, hesitated, decided against speech, and disappeared.
Eight
The strained atmosphere in the gunroom brought to Hayden’s mind a rope being stretched. He could almost hear the elongated ‘squeal’. Both tradition and etiquette demanded that guests be accorded every possible courtesy, but the present guests – or at least one of them – had trespassed upon every convention the sailors held dear.
Hayden believed that Worthing must take great, if unacknowledged, pleasure in the present state of affairs. In this Griffiths was utterly correct – the reverend doctor found some perverse satisfaction in creating conflict and aggravation everywhere he passed. Having accomplished little in his life, he was resentful of all humankind for this state of affairs. Why did they not see his natural superiority? Why did these foolish men sing the praises of others when they should be applauding him? And so his resentments curdled, the tally of slights and offences multiplied, his spite oozed bile until he became bloated with bitterness.
A number of attempts to generate polite conversation had sputtered and flickered out, and now the men seated round the table seemed intent on their food, on the motions of their glittering forks.
‘How fare your patients, Doctor?’ Smosh asked. The rotund little clergyman appeared the only one present unaffected by the disquiet in the gunroom.
‘As well as can be hoped.’ Griffiths glanced Hayden’s way. Neither had spoken to anyone else about his fears for McKee.
Smosh went on, apparently not recognizing the concern that passed between surgeon and captain. ‘I am unfamiliar with such matters, but it did seem to me that few were hurt in the action – at least aboard our ship. Was this true?’
Each waited for some other to reply, and after a few seconds of indecision Barthe answered.
‘We were fortunate to lose so few,’ he nodded to the marine lieutenant, ‘though Mr Hawthorne’s men were not so favoured.’
The marine lieutenant clumsily raised a glass, a dollop of claret slopping over the edge and slipping down his fingers and under-wrist toward his crimson cuff. ‘To the victorious dead,’ he said with excessive feeling. The marine was clearly numbing his emotions with wine that evening, for which no one blamed him. It was often seen that a single survivor of a slaughtered gun-crew would feel more than just the loss of his mates; he would feel ashamed that he, no more worthy than any one of them, had been spared.
The men present raised their glasses and echoed Hawthorne’s salute.
Immediately the strained silence returned – the rope stretching out, creaking like a rusty hinge.
‘I wonder,’ Worthing ventured, making a small pile of potato shards with his fork, ‘if we would not have had greater losses had we gone to Captain Pool’s aid?’ He then looked directly at Hayden, his usual air of lugubrious superiority less tolerable than ever.
‘We did go to Pool’s aid,’ Barthe said bluntly.
The clergyman offered a half-grimace and a shrug. ‘Upon our first pass we fired a few guns into the large French ship’s stern, but upon our second pass we failed to engage the seventy-four, which I am told had the weather gauge on poor Pool. We sailed on, engaging no enemy vessels at all, though there were three to be had.’
‘Sir,’ Barthe began, his manners thrust aside, ‘it is apparent that you do not understand such matters –’
Worthing looked up sharply at Barthe and interrupted. ‘I understand that Captain Pool questioned Mr Hayden’s courage, and that Mr Hayden then did not come to his aid when he had need.’
If the man had not been a cleric in the Church of England Hayden would have demanded he walk out with him.
‘Dr Worthing,’ Hayden said, his voice trembling with rage, ‘I fired first upon the frigate that had raked our seventy-four and had then engaged Pool upon his larboard side where he had no gun ports open. I then raked the French seventy-four, brought my ship about and came back, intending to engage the French frigate which was wreaking havoc upon Pool’s upper deck, the heel of his ship and the lifting seas making this deck vulnerable. The frigate exploded, probably the result of our first cannonade. I did not feel a need to engage the French seventy-four as I believed Pool was more than equal to that task, especially so as the French captain, though he did have the weather gauge, was fearful of opening his lower gun ports owing to the sea running and the heeling of his ship. I then went to the aid of Captain Bradley, who was engaged in battle with a frigate of superior force. No captain with common sense would have done differently.’
‘A well-rehearsed speech, Hayden.’ Worthing observed. ‘I hope the senior naval officer in Gibraltar is persuaded by it. Of course, he might have another story from Pool himself. Bradley cannot speak to it as he departed this life – your “going to his aid” being a bit late.’
Hayden clutched his fork and knife in balled hands, like a child. Around the table the faces of the men appeared pale with anger. It occurred to Hayden that the company might fall upon the parson with their knives, for to speak to a captain so upon his own ship was unheard of.
At that instant Hayden apprehended a flicker of pleasure flash over Worthing’s sallow features.
Forcing his hands to relax, Hayden said in an easy manner, ‘Well, Doctor, you – and Captain Pool and anyone else – may make whatever reports you like once we reach Gibraltar. I am confident of my decisions.’ Hayden turned to Saint-Denis, the gunroom’s senior officer and the man who should have been attempting to defuse such a situation.
‘This is an excellent claret, Lieutenant. My compliments.’
Saint-Denis nodded and tried to smile. An animal who had just heard the door of the trap slam behind him could not look more alarmed.
But Worthing could let no statement go unanswered. ‘I’m sure you are equally confident that Captain Pool will never overtake us upon this course,’ the reverend doctor said, ‘and you will retain your assumed rank of “commodore” for a fortnight yet?’
Before Hayden could even consider a response, Smosh spoke.
‘Your forthrightness must make you many a devotee,’ he said to Worthing. ‘I do admire it. I find myself perplexed that such insights have not gained you a living upon the land. But then I am sure, Dr Worthing, that you preferred to come to sea.’ He smiled quickly at the gathering. ‘Have we not all longed for a captive audience whom we might bless with our wisdom?’
Hawthorne turned his slitty gaze upon Worthing. ‘Yes, Doctor, why is it you do not have a living upon the land? A man of your learning – of your eminence – must have had many offers.’
It was surprising to Hayden that a combatant so adroit in the art of opening wounds in others should allow himself to be injured in the same manner.
‘I will tell you,’ Worthing responded in his haughty, put-upon manner, ‘I have been considered for many a position in my time; my particular talents have not gone unrecognized in all quarters. But others with more interest or better connexions invariably prevailed. When Lord Hood requested my services I felt that I was being called. That I had been meant to minister among the poor, benighted seamen of His Majesty’s fleets. That, I believe, was the reason I have ever been passed over for positions ashore.’
‘Divine intervention…’ Smosh said without apparent sarcasm, but unable to suppress a hint of a smile.
‘Mock me if you will, but our Lord operates in ways we cannot comprehend.’
‘Indeed,’ Smosh responded. He raised his glass. ‘To the poor, benighted seamen of His Majesty’s fleets.’
Everyone raised their glasses in reply, smiles not well concealed. ‘Hear,’ intoned one and all, though Hayden wondered if Griffiths had not said ‘amen’.
Into this moment of levity Wickham’s schoolboy voice enquired, ‘Is it your opinion, Captain, that Lord Hood will hold Toulon?’
Everyone turned to Hayden expectantly and he had the feeling that his loyalty to Britain would be judged by his answer. But Hayden could not be dishonest, even so.
‘Not if the French are determined to take it back, it pains me to say.’
‘Truly, Captain?’ Hawthorne said, a bit surprised. ‘We have held Gibraltar.’
‘Yes, and no offence is meant to Lord Hood, but Toulon is situated so differently. Coming at it by land is simply less arduous. A concerted siege by a properly prepared army of adequate numbers and Toulon will fall. I shudder to think what will happen to the inhabitants after it does. I fear they will regret allying themselves with us.’
‘You have very little faith in Admiral Lord Hood,’ Worthing observed, ‘for an Englishman.’
Hayden refused to be provoked, believing nothing gave the parson more pleasure than seeing that his arrows caused aggravation. ‘I have every faith in him, Dr Worthing, but I do not believe he can perform miracles. We can hope the French remain so concentrated upon killing one another that they will spare Toulon for some time.’
‘It was audacious of Hood to assume control of Toulon in the first place,’ Barthe spoke up before Worthing could frame another reproach. ‘But it says a great deal about the French form of government that the people of Toulon would surrender their city to us rather than be governed by the Paris mobs. I have heard it opined that this man – General Paoli – is uncomfortable with the Convention, as well.’
‘He has fought for Corsican independence most of his life,’ Griffiths stated. ‘Did anyone really believe he would ally himself with the French in the long haul? No. He will break his ties with France at the first opportunity.’
‘But Corsica is a small land, Doctor,’ Smosh said softly, ‘and France is great, despite her present troubles. Or let us say that France will be great again. They chased Paoli from the island once with little difficulty. If Paoli chooses to break with the French he will not keep Corsica independent for many years, despite his admirable dream.’
‘I met him once,’ Wickham said, ‘General Paoli. At the home of a friend of my father’s during his years in England. I thought him rather a sad sight – very dignified, almost noble, really, but even so, like a figure in a play. Tragic, in the way that an exiled prince might be so. People attended to his opinions with exceeding deference, even some very great men who were present, but he looked terribly out of place to my way of thinking. Briefly, he spoke to me – most kindly – his English good but very simple – like a child’s – and thickly accented. His French was better and he seemed pleased to speak it. He told me that one day he would return to Corsica and if ever I found myself there he would take me shooting in the mountains. I thought he must control an excess of feeling just mentioning his home.’ Wickham fell sile
nt, indulging his memory.
‘He is a great champion to many,’ Griffiths observed, ‘and not just within his own land. He was welcomed to Paris like a revolutionary war hero: the enlightened man – this after the Bourbons had forced him into exile in our own country for twenty years. Rousseau corresponded with him, and our own Dr Johnson welcomed him to his literary club. He has not lived the modest, anonymous life of a shopkeeper, though I did think it rather ungrateful of him to characterize the British as “a nation of merchants” after we had sheltered him for two decades.’
‘He didn’t say that, truly?’ Barthe asked, incredulous.
‘I have had it now from more than one source, so I believe it. Of course it is not less cruel for being demonstrably true.’
‘And I thought us a nation of seamen,’ Hawthorne pitched in to small laughter – and then added, ‘And clergymen, of course.’
‘No, no,’ Smosh contended, ‘clergymen, one and all, have mercantile hearts. Some collect livings like stock certificates or manufacturies. They call the managers “curates” and collect a share of all the monies, often investing it in land or other businesses. No, we are merchants as well. And a church, despite all its manifest and demonstrable value, is nothing more than a place of business. Our “goods” are solace and salvation – excellent products, all must agree – and with the tithes and benefactions we build our shops, calling them churches and cathedrals. Increasing our trade is our avowed purpose. And is it not telling that we call a ministry “a living”? Not “a blessing” or even “a duty”. No. We call it a living, and what does that refer to but an annual income?’ He placed a hand on his chest. ‘Beneath the pious breast of the cleric beats the calculating heart of a man of business.’
‘Mr Smosh, you should not make such jests,’ Worthing protested. ‘Even if you are being ironical, you should not say it. Such opinions are near to blasphemy and there are people who might think you serious.’
‘But I am not being ironical,’ Smosh responded. ‘I am being truthful. I have not denied that many a churchman does great good within his parish, but then one can make the same argument about a cheese merchant or a banker. Merchants have their value and their purpose, as do we all.’
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