As Hayden turned to cross the deck, a small child rammed him, head foremost, in the thigh, and fell upon the planks, with a look of confusion upon her face. Immediately he knelt.
‘Are you injured?’ he asked in French.
The girl, of about five years, gazed at him as though he spoke some foreign language.
‘Are you in disguise?’ she whispered in the same tongue.
‘In disguise?’ He could not imagine what she meant.
‘I won’t tell,’ she said, sitting up and whispering even more quietly. ‘I am Princess Marie, and I am escaping from the Jacobins. Will you help me?’
‘Yes, my Princess,’ Hayden replied. ‘I am the Count de le Coeur, and I have been sent to find you.’
‘I knew you would come,’ she whispered passionately. ‘Will we go by ship?’ She jumped to her feet and stared Hayden in the eye.
‘Yes, by an English ship – the Victory, I have it all arranged. The admiral is one of us.’
‘That is why you are dressed as an English officer. Very cunning, Monsieur le Comte. When I am returned, one day, to my throne, I shall reward your bravery and loyalty.’
Hayden stood, swept off his hat and made an elaborate bow. ‘I am humbled by your generosity, my Princess. Certainly, the admiral has prepared a cabin for you and will have you to dine this very evening. But I must be off; there are so many who require rescue.’
‘Yes, yes. Rescue as many of my subjects as you are able. My people have suffered terribly under the Jacobins.’ And with that, she glanced behind, turned and dashed off.
Hayden realized that two women had been watching, and both smiled. Charmed they might have been by the little play, but this did not entirely mask the distress in their lovely faces.
‘You speak French perfectly, monsieur,’ the older woman observed in heavily accented English. Both were so handsome that, for a few seconds, Hayden could not think what to say. Undoubtedly, they were mother and daughter – the younger woman’s countenance claimed that she could be no other – though the elder did not look thirty. This was an obvious impossibility, for her daughter was in the first bloom of young womanhood – one and twenty Hayden thought.
‘Thank you, madame,’ Hayden replied, making a slight bow. ‘My mother is French.’ Hayden found the young woman so comely that he struggled not to stare.
‘Forgive me, monsieur, but from what region?’
‘Paris and Bordeaux.’
‘We are from Toulon,’ the woman informed him, ‘but, no doubt, you understood that.’
‘Yes. I am very sorry so many have been driven from their homes.’ Hayden felt a small pang of guilt that the English had not held Toulon – as though they had somehow acted in bad faith with that city’s citizens.
The woman pressed her lovely lips together, and made the slightest nod of agreement.
Dismay was so clearly written upon their faces and in their carriage that Hayden felt his heart go out to them.
‘Pardon, Captain,’ the woman said to Hayden, struggling, but insisting to speak English, ‘do you know the idea of Lord Hood for what will ’appen to… ourselves?’
‘I am sorry, madame,’ Hayden replied in French, ‘but Lord Hood has not confided this information to me.’
But the woman continued to speak English. ‘We fear that Lord Hood intends to place… us… Is that correct? Us?
‘Yes.’
‘He intends to place us in Genoa or Naples. This will not do. The army that drove us from Toulon will very soon march south – that is what everyone say – and we will be force to flee again or be capture and on the guillotine for our assisting of the English. We must be taken somewhere safe – England or Canada.’
Hayden thought their fears could very likely be borne out. There was much talk among the British officers that the Jacobin army would press on into the northern Italian states, and sooner rather than later.
The woman curtsied. ‘Pardon, monsieur. I am Madame Bourdage and this is my daughter, Héloise.’
‘Charles Hayden. Enchanté.’
Madame Bourdage’s gaze wandered to Hayden’s left, and she and her daughter both curtsied very low. ‘Sir Gilbert,’ she said.
Hayden turned to find the Englishman he had previously seen surrounded by supplicants. The man nodded to him, but addressed the women.
‘Madame Bourdage. Mademoiselle. As I have told everyone, I have yet no answer as to where you will go. Very soon, I hope. Very soon. You have not been forgotten, I assure you.’ Sir Gilbert’s manner was very courtly and charming. Clearly the beauty of the two women had not gone unnoticed by the gentleman. Age, Hayden had observed many times, did not dampen this particular appreciation among males.
The two women were swept up into his wake, curtsying quickly to Hayden as they went, other men and women drawn into the gentleman’s orbit as he made his way along the deck.
Hayden stood a moment watching them retreat.
‘Sir Gilbert Elliot,’ a voice informed him.
Hayden turned to find a young army officer smiling and nodding towards the English gentleman, who was again afloat in a sea of forlorn orphans.
‘The friend of Burke?’ Hayden wondered.
‘The very one.’ The young man made a small bow. ‘Colonel John Moore.’
‘Charles Hayden, captain of the frigate Themis.’
‘So I thought. You are to accompany us to Corsica?’
‘Yes, and very happy I am about it, too. I have just come from Lord Hood, who informed me of this decision, but, I confess, I know little more about it.’
A conspiratorial smile made Moore appear even younger. ‘It is fortunate that I have had several conversations on this matter with Sir Gilbert, General Dundas, my superior, and Lord Hood.’ He waved a hand forward. ‘Shall we take a turn around the deck and I will recount what I have learned?’
Hayden immediately agreed. There was often distrust, if not animosity, between the two services, but Moore showed no signs of this in his manner – of course they had just met and he might have reasons of his own to be speaking so kindly to a Navy man. Hayden was certain he would find out soon enough. In appearance, Moore was rather Hayden’s opposite – yellow-haired, blue-eyed, though of Hayden’s height and well made in much the same manner. If calmness and animation could be combined into one person, Moore appeared to be that person. Hayden’s immediate impression was of a man very content within himself – unusual in one so young.
‘No doubt you have heard that there has been a rebellion against the French on Corsica?’ Moore began, ‘And that General Paoli and his supporters have shut the French into a few strongholds along the northern coast?’
‘I had not.’
Moore glanced Hayden’s way, perhaps a bit dismayed at how uninformed he was.
‘I have but lately arrived from England,’ Hayden offered in defence, ‘and was several weeks in Gibraltar in strict quarantine resulting from an influenza contracted en route.’
Moore appeared a little relieved by this. ‘News does not travel quickly enough – unless it is bad news, of course.’
‘Even bad news travels too slowly. We learned that Toulon was lost when we sailed into that harbour by night and barely managed to withdraw.’
Moore drew back a little and looked at him anew. ‘That was your ship? I have heard several sea officers voice the opinion that the captain of that vessel must be a most skilled seaman.’
‘Most lucky, I think,’ Hayden corrected. ‘The wind favoured us or we would be guests of the French, yet.’ Hayden stepped around a running child whose attention was fixed elsewhere – perhaps another miniature noble fleeing the Jacobins. ‘You were speaking of Corsica…’
‘Yes, it seems that Paoli has written several letters to Lord Hood requesting British aid or perhaps an alliance. Sir Gilbert even speculates that the Corsicans might put their land under British protection. A naval base so near the northern states of the Italian peninsula would serve our interests well, especially now as there
is a significant Republican army in Toulon, only a few days’ march from the borders.’ He paused here, as if awaiting Hayden’s agreement, so the Navy man nodded.
Moore, Hayden thought, had understated the importance of a naval base on Corsica. The British desperately needed a safe port east of Gibraltar, nearer the Italian states. The Mediterranean was large and Gibraltar isolated at the western extreme. But a Corsican port could be used to resupply ships blockading the French ports, not so far away, or to carry aid to the numerous Italian states that might find themselves fighting the French – sooner rather than later.
‘We are sent to Corsica to discover if, indeed, the French have been driven into their few ports and towers, and, if so, if it is possible to dislodge them – and how best this might be accomplished. As this enterprise will take the efforts of both Navy and Army, representatives of both services are to be sent.’ He gestured to himself then Hayden. ‘We will be accompanied by Lieutenant-Major Kochler, I am told.’ Moore glanced at him. ‘You look surprised.’
‘In truth, I am astonished. Lord Hood knows nothing of me. That he would not choose an officer with whom he was more familiar, and in whose abilities he had greater faith, is a puzzle.’
‘Apparently, he does not lack faith in your abilities, Captain,’ Moore ventured. ‘Lord Hood took the time to show me a map…’ He glanced at Hayden and grinned at his mistake. ‘A chart, I suppose you would name it, displaying all the environs surrounding San Fiorenzo Bay and the supposed French positions. We are to make a closer inspection and recommend a plan of operations. I will rely upon your expertise in knowing how best the Navy might be used to cannonade French batteries – there are at least two strong towers and greater fortifications at San Fiorenzo. The city of Bastia has extensive fortifications, I am given to understand, and Calvi is also invested. Landing places must be found… Well, certainly I don’t need to explain such things to you, Captain.’ They had stopped at the rail where Hayden’s boat awaited. ‘We are to present ourselves to Captain Davies aboard the Lowestoff e tomorrow morning at daybreak. Until then.’
Hayden went over the side thinking that Moore was either a consummate actor, a politician, or a rather singular specimen of an army officer. That he would appear so open to co-operation with the Navy was highly unusual. Hayden had barely got his anchor down, earlier that day, before receiving an acquaintance who informed him that Hood did not get on with the senior army officers and thought them ditherers if not outright cowards. Moore had struck Hayden as neither of these things, but then time might change his opinion of him.
Hayden sent Wickham to inform Dr Worthing of his new situation for he was determined to be rid of that vexing provocateur at the earliest possible moment. A note was composed in haste and Hayden had his coxswain carry it, immediately, to Pool’s ship, informing the good captain that his new chaplain would be arriving, post-haste. Worthing was ordered to pack up his belongings, golf clubs and all, and to be ready to shift his berth to the Majestic upon a moment’s notice. Hayden could not erase a small smile – it might better have been described as a smirk – at this turn of events. There was no one, with the exception of a certain Captain Hart – now retired from the service – to whom Hayden would rather send the good doctor.
Hawthorne intercepted Hayden climbing to the gundeck. He, too, sported a poorly disguised expression of satisfaction. ‘Am I given to understand that the good Dr Worthing is being sent to minister to Captain Pool and his crew?’
‘Lord Hood felt that Captain Pool would benefit from the… efforts of a chaplain of Dr Worthing’s particular talents.’
‘How would such an idea occur to Lord Hood, I wonder?’ Hawthorne asked, smile turning to a grin.
‘I had no part in it,’ Hayden protested. ‘The idea, splendid as I might think it, originated entirely in the mind of Admiral Lord Hood. He did elicit my opinion on the matter and I endorsed it most heartily, but to suggest that I made interest for this happy turn of events would be utterly false.’
Hawthorne laughed, unable to hide his delight at this news. ‘I shall run down to the gunroom and offer to help the man pack. With my own hands, I will bear his belongings onto the deck, though I suppose I will not be alone in offering the parson a helping hand over the side.’
‘No, I would guess we will not be the first congregation to be happily rid of him.’
The grin wavered into a genuine look of concern. ‘Where is poor Smosh to be sent? To a more likely captain than Pool, I hope?’
‘How likely the man is I cannot say, but Smosh is to be chaplain aboard the Themis until a more appropriate position is found for him. And, oddly, I am to remain in command of the same ship until Lord Hood appoints a proper captain, though I am to be sent away for a time – I cannot say how long. I will leave Mr Archer in command. Lord Hood has said he will send me a lieutenant – he has one to spare, apparently – but I do not think I will install this new man over Archer, who has shown a marked increase in zeal for his profession these last weeks.’
‘Every man aboard has shown a marked increase in zeal for their profession since the departure of Captain Hart. It is remarkable how disheartened we all had become under that little tyrant.’
Hayden nodded absently.
‘And where is it you go – or should I not ask?’
‘It will be known soon enough, though I ask you to confine this information to our officers. I am for Corsica, if you can believe it, where I hope to meet General Paoli. Sir Gilbert Elliot is sent to that place to treat with the general and I am to accompany him with two army officers to discover if it is, indeed, possible to drive out the French.’
‘Army officers,’ Hawthorne said darkly. ‘You have my sympathy in that.’
‘Not at all. One I have met, and he is a man of excellent judgement who did not even seem aware that my coat was blue and not crimson.’
‘Let us see if this innocence of fashion can last more than a few days. The services are ever at crossed purposes in my experience.’
‘Which has long been my view, Mr Hawthorne, though with the caveat that I believe that neither service fully understands the other’s field of operation. Army officers do not understand why ships cannot make progress into the teeth of a gale or why we cannot land their troops on a lee shore with a sea running. Likewise, seamen misunderstand how armies are best utilized on a given landscape or why they march so slowly.’
‘I hope such misunderstandings are few, then.’
Moments later Hayden and Hawthorne stood at the rail while the disgraced Reverend Dr Worthing watched his belongings being lowered into the boat. He did not look at Hayden or offer to make any sort of goodbye but simply climbed over the rail. As his head was about to disappear below the level of the bulwark, he stopped, unable to leave without having the last word.
The chaplain eyed Hayden darkly, his sour mouth turned down and pressed thin. ‘Lord Hood might have been easily convinced of your innocence in your mistreatment of me but the Lord God will not similarly be deceived. It is on your soul.’
The man disappeared down the ladder, and Hawthorne turned to Hayden, a great smile of disbelief overspreading his handsome face. ‘Well, there you have it. God will punish you for confining his chaplain to his cabin. All of the mischief he intended was no doubt the will of our Lord.’
The crew were not so kind as Hawthorne and laughed openly at this final threat, the mockery in their voices unmasked. Even the oarsmen in the barge that bore him, sitting stiffly in the stern, grinned openly. A few men began to call out taunts but Hayden had Franks put a stop to that – out of respect for Worthing’s position, not his person. Hayden had seen justice so seldom in his career in the king’s Navy that he could hardly tear his eyes from the sight of Worthing borne across the open bay to Captain Pool’s Majestic. It was unseemly to gloat so he displayed a mask of utter neutrality – or so he hoped – but secretly the thought of all the troubles that would soon befall the captain who had been maligning him from Gibraltar to Toulon ca
used him more than a little satisfaction. It made Hayden wonder if, on occasion, God did not intervene in the affairs of men to arrange a higher justice.
A few gulls circled over the retreating barge and the erect form of the eternally wronged clergyman. They called out – mockingly, Hayden thought. Worthing waved a dismissive hand in their direction but this only seemed to excite their malice.
Hayden could not help himself: he laughed.
The admiral’s cabin aboard the Victory seemed a palace to Charles Saunders Hayden, who had, only a few weeks before, been marvelling at the scale of his own cabin aboard the Themis. The table, which stretched almost the width of the ship, put his newly acquired dining table to shame, not only by its scale but with its grandeur. Twenty-two men were seated without the least crowding, and the table, six feet in breadth, bore a collection of silver candelabra and plate that Hayden’s meagre salary could not have purchased were every ha’penny saved over the course of several decades. White-painted deck-head and ceilings reflected the candlelight and the white linen and waistcoats of the officers seemed contrived to set off the blue sea of the gathered officers’ best coats.
Hayden sat a little uncomfortably at the table, placed only one down from Lord Hood on the right, Lord Arthur immediately to his left. Many officers senior to him were seated farther down the table, and Hayden felt them looking at him wondering who he could possibly be that Hood would show him such favour. It was not a situation to which Hayden was accustomed.
To the admiral’s left sat Sir Gilbert Elliot, whom Hayden had seen earlier that day, and to his right General Dundas. Directly across the table from Hayden sat Admiral Hotham, whom Hayden had never met but knew by reputation, although this could be said of many a man dining with the admiral that evening.
Hood, as his appointment of Worthing to Pool’s ship had indicated, had a wicked sense of humour though at the same time was very droll, never laughing at his own jests, so that the more junior captains, or those who were unfamiliar with this characteristic, did not know whether to laugh or keep silent.
A Battle Won Page 27
