A Battle Won

by Sean Thomas Russell

  ‘Admiral Hotham,’ Hood said, after the dinner had been properly launched with appropriate toasts. ‘Does this young officer seated opposite you not have a familiar cast?’

  Hotham gazed at Hayden for a few seconds. ‘I dare say he does, Lord Hood. I knew just such a man, these many years ago. A promising young officer whose career was too soon ended; let us hope the apple has not fallen too far from the trunk.’

  ‘Did you know my father, Admiral Hotham?’ Hayden asked.

  Hotham, whose manner was both stern and formal, denied this appearance each time he opened his mouth, for he was entirely amiable and pleasant in all his discourse. He was also known to be the cautious second-in-command to Lord Hood, whose recent taking of Toulon was typical of his lordship’s boldness.

  ‘Indeed I did, Captain Hayden. I was a newly passed lieutenant when he entered the midshipmen’s berth aboard the old St George. I knew him all his life and esteemed him greatly. But you must often hear such things said.’

  ‘Not at all, sir. I had begun to think that men who served with my father had all retired the service so infrequently have I encountered them.’

  Hotham laughed. ‘There are yet a few of us who have not been cast upon the beach.’ He glanced Hood’s way – almost a wink. Turning his attention back to Hayden he continued. ‘Lord Hood tells me that your dear mother has removed to Boston… What has taken her so far away, pray?’

  ‘She remarried, sir – a prominent Boston ship owner.’ Hayden was not surprised that every man familiar with his father remembered his mother – she had been known within the service for her considerable charm.

  ‘Do remember me to her when next you meet. I wish her all the happiness in the world, for when your poor father was lost she was utterly disconsolate, I will tell you. If she had not had a fine young boy to raise I fear she might have faded away from sorrow.’ Hotham tried to smile at Hayden but did not quite succeed. ‘But here you are, looking much like both your dear parents, which warms my heart and makes me think that your father did not pass from this world entirely.’ He fell silent at that moment, almost sorrowful.

  A slight man in the uniform of a captain caught Hayden’s eye at that moment. He reminded Hayden a little of Landry with his small chin and sloping forehead – not a handsome man at all – but there was such animation in this face that Hayden could not help but smile in return.

  ‘Was it you, Captain Hayden, who escaped Toulon so recently?’ the man enquired.

  ‘It was, yes, though I have heard some others were not so fortunate.’

  ‘Yes, some transports slipped in there and were taken. Bad luck. Handsomely done on your part, though.’ He raised a wine glass in Hayden’s direction and they toasted. ‘You must have a steady crew to have managed so well.’

  ‘Yes, they acquitted themselves nobly, I must say. Not a man among them shirked or shied.’ Hayden was so used to hearing his crew maligned – Hart’s crew maligned – that he felt an unusual gratitude towards this man.

  ‘I am sorry, sir,’ Hayden said, ‘but we have not been introduced…’

  ‘Nelson. Horatio.’

  ‘Of the Agamemnon?’

  Nelson nodded. ‘And who is this young middy who has fallen in among all these terrible captains and admirals?’

  ‘Lord Arthur Wickham, Captain, though acting third lieutenant at this moment.’

  ‘A great pleasure, Acting Lieutenant Lord Arthur Wickham.’

  ‘It is an honour, sir,’ Wickham replied quickly, clearly impressed with this young officer. ‘I have heard much about you, Captain Nelson.’

  Nelson glanced at Hayden, a little smile playing about his mouth. ‘Never believe all the stories you hear in the Navy, Lieutenant. We are all terrible liars when it comes to our own accomplishments.’

  Hood broke into the conversation then. ‘Captain Nelson, am I to understand that you are calling all the officers at my table “liars”?’

  ‘Oh, no one at this table, Lord Hood. It is quite well known that we are the most modest gentlemen in the Navy, never writing even in our private journals of our exploits. No, sir, advancing our own causes never enters our thoughts. Why, have you even heard me mention my recent success off Sardinia?’

  ‘Not above a dozen times,’ Hood replied, this exchange causing much laughter among those near enough to hear.

  ‘You see, Lord Arthur,’ Nelson said, ‘it is unseemly to bring your accomplishments to the attention of your superiors more than a dozen times. Do not forget that and your future in the service will be assured.’

  ‘I shall remember your advice, always,’ Wickham answered. ‘All the details of our recent escape from Toulon, I shall keep to myself, though my own part in the affair was quite worthy of a knighthood – or so everyone present claimed.’

  This charmed Nelson, and Wickham was never addressed by anyone for the rest of the evening by anything but ‘Sir Arthur’, which pleased and embarrassed him at the same time.

  It was a convivial affair, given that the gathered company had so recently been driven from Toulon. There were, at table, a few officers who did not seem to partake of the joy: General Dundas had only the most stilted conversation with anyone, especially, it seemed, their host. And to Hayden’s satisfaction, Captain Pool, seated far down the table, could not help but glance Hayden’s way with both envy and ill-disguised indignation.

  The conversation, however, was not all pleasantries, as much was said about the recent evacuation of Toulon, and the survival of the greater part of the French fleet – a fact which both distressed and chagrined everyone present.

  ‘If I had known the Dons would betray us, I would have fired a dozen more ships,’ a handsome young officer proclaimed. ‘Without the least doubt, the Spanish will make peace with the Jacobins any day, and reveal their true colours.’

  Hayden could not help but notice Nelson’s reaction to this, how he caught the eye of another captain and both appeared to be controlling their anger or perhaps disdain.

  ‘Sydney Smith,’ Hotham whispered, seeing the question on Hayden’s face.

  Smith was another Hayden knew by reputation. Most recently, he had been naval adviser to the king of Sweden, for which the king had granted him a knighthood and he now went about insisting that everyone address him as ‘Sir Sydney’. Although Sir Sydney was well known for his courage and enterprise, he was boastful and ever a promoter of his own career even at the expense of others, by which means he had made many enemies. Perhaps for this reason, his real accomplishments were ever denigrated by some, who deemed them nothing but puffery. It was also known that Smith was never shy when it came to arrogating powers unto himself that his superiors had not conferred. The term ‘loose cannon’ could not be misapplied to the vainglorious Sir Sydney.

  The army officers, of whom several were present, including Lieutenant-Colonel Moore, whom Hayden had met earlier, and Lieutenant-Major Kochler, who also was to accompany them to Corsica, fell sullenly silent when the subject of Toulon and its loss were discussed. Hayden had heard from various sources that the senior British general had advised Lord Hood against taking Toulon as he had never believed it could be held. The naval officers, meanwhile, believed it could have been held had the officers commanding the army committed themselves fully to the project. It was no secret that Hood thought General Dundas timid and indecisive – two traits of which no trace could be found in the character of Lord Hood.

  Hayden wondered if Moore would ever be coaxed into expressing his own opinion on the matter, for Hayden, though predisposed to believing the naval point of view, had long thought that Toulon could not stand against a determined siege by a large, well-equipped force.

  Sir Gilbert Elliot was a man of parts, Hayden quickly realized, fluent in several languages, articulate, thoughtful – a bit of an idealist, perhaps, but Hayden felt there was a place for idealists in this world. They set the goals for which others then strived.

  ‘Have you visited Corsica previously?’ Sir Gilbert enquired of Hayd
en.

  ‘I have not, sir, but I am anxious to see it for myself. The people have chased their freedom for so long that, I confess, the thought that we might aid them is gratifying.’

  Sir Gilbert smiled his approval, nodding vigorously. ‘Yes, and again yes. It is my hope that we can provide a political structure, not unlike our own, but with certain modifications that will better suit the Corsican character. And Lord knows our own system is not perfect. Perhaps we might step a little nearer perfection in this case.’

  Lord Hood listened to this exchange, his look thoughtful, perhaps amused. ‘If the good Lord had meant us to mount the sky, Sir Gilbert, he would have given us wings. He did not. We are destined to remain on the ground and muddle through as best we are able. Perfection is not in the nature of our species. What serves us best today will not do at all tomorrow, yet we will attempt to continue as we were, not casting aside the things which once served but no longer. Perhaps, if we are wise, we might modify yesterday’s ideas or institutions so that they half function. Or we will cast them aside and adopt something that is no better or perhaps worse. No, perfection, if we even attain it for a moment, will be entirely a matter of good fortune, not good planning, of that I am quite sure. It is my belief that in life, as in military matters, things change more quickly than we comprehend and our knowledge of events is ever inadequate. We make our decisions based on rumours and guesses. Sometimes they turn out well – sometimes ill.’

  ‘Well, I will continue to hold out hope that in the matter of Corsica they will turn out well.’

  ‘And so will I!’ Lord Hood seemed surprised that he might be expected to think otherwise. ‘How could I not? The events of this world are predicated upon forces that we only vaguely perceive. Toulon might have been the core of a rebellion that encompassed all the southern part of France – which would have been much to our advantage. It was not impossible, even if somewhat improbable. But this did not come to pass. We may never fully understand why. Corsica may one day be a prosperous and peaceful province of the British Empire or it might make common cause with our enemies despite our best intentions.’ He threw up his hands. ‘All things are possible.’

  ‘I shall endeavour, with all my powers, to make Corsica a land both prosperous and peaceful and, it is my hope, kindly disposed towards our own people.’

  ‘As long as we do not try to make the Corsicans into little Englishmen,’ John Moore offered. ‘It is a mistake we British have made too often.’

  Sir Gilbert nodded apparent agreement, though he said nothing. ‘Captain Hayden, was it you I heard speaking today with Madam Bourdage?’

  Hayden admitted it had been.

  ‘How is it that you have such perfect command of the language, for, I confess, I have not heard an Englishman speak it so well.’

  ‘My mother is French, Sir Gilbert. I spent some time in that country when I was a boy.’

  ‘It must be very difficult for you, Captain, at war against your mother’s people.’

  ‘I am an Englishman, Sir Gilbert,’ Hayden answered, aware that others were listening. ‘I know where my loyalties lie.’

  Hayden could not help but notice a few of the officers within hearing glancing one to the other, as though some unspoken language was shared among them, but unknown to outsiders, like Hayden.

  When dinner ended, and the gathered officers and guests stood to leave, Hayden found John Moore on a course designed to intercept him. In tow, he had another army officer, rather a contrast to Moore, who was tall and fair, for this man was dark and somewhat replete, though not much shorter than either Hayden or Moore.

  ‘There you are, Captain,’ Moore addressed him. ‘May I introduce Major Kochler. Captain Charles Hayden.’

  Kochler returned Hayden’s bow with a slight, impatient nod. ‘Your servant.’

  ‘As we are all off to Corsica on the morrow I thought you should meet.’

  Kochler acknowledged this with what appeared to be more of a grimace than a smile, apparently more interested in the jostling officers as they exited the cabin.

  ‘I am much looking forward to arranging our efforts in whatever way will best serve to expel the French,’ Hayden responded, trying to save the moment and not embarrass Moore, who clearly had not expected such discourtesy from his fellow officer.

  When Kochler did not respond to this, Moore said, ‘And I am sure we are all of like sentiment, Captain.’ He glanced at Kochler, whose attention seemed to have been drawn elsewhere. ‘Until tomorrow.’

  Hayden was swept out with the tide of officers, who ebbed onto the gundeck and then up the ladder into the autumnal winter night. Navy men flowed into pools of blue, chatting amiably, while the army officers all drained redly down into a corner of the forecastle, where their muted conversation could not be distinguished.

  By order of the officers’ seniority, boats arrived to bear away the admirals and various captains. As a mere master and commander, Hayden’s own barge would be very near the last, so he found a small section of rail to lean against and stood drinking in the warmish winter night.

  ‘Ah, Captain Hayden…’ Sir Gilbert appeared in the lamplight. ‘I thought you might have slipped away. May I have a word?’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’

  Elliot motioned Hayden to accompany him, and, finding a small, unpopulated area of deck, began speaking so softly Hayden had difficulty hearing.

  ‘You had, this day, the good fortune to meet Madam Bourdage and her daughter…’

  ‘I had only just made their acquaintance.’

  ‘It occurred to me, this evening, that you must have family in France… on your mother’s side?’

  Uncertain as to the direction this conversation might take, Hayden agreed rather reluctantly.

  Sir Gilbert pressed on. ‘If you were to discover some members of your family among the Toulon refugees, it might be possible to send them on to England, and safety. I do not know if Bourdage is a name found in your family tree… but then no one else would know, either. Certainly I would never question such a claim.’

  ‘I am quite certain, Sir Gilbert,’ Hayden answered, as pleasantly as he was able, ‘that Bourdage is not a name to be found in my family, at any remove.’

  ‘Ah.’ Sir Gilbert looked rather more surprised than offended at Hayden’s response. ‘If, upon further reflection, you find that you have made a mistake in this – no one’s memory is perfect – do not hesitate to inform me. I can hardly imagine the joy of your relations to find themselves sent safely on to England. Were someone to perform such a service for me, I know I should feel uncommon gratitude.’

  When Hayden was finally in his boat and being rowed across Hyères Bay towards the Themis, the single event of the evening that remained in his thoughts was his private conversation with Sir Gilbert Elliot. Was Madame Bourdage – or her beautiful daughter – Sir Gilbert’s mistress? Or was there some reason, other than the obvious, for him approaching Hayden? Hayden also wondered if he were not putting too fine a point upon his honour in this matter. If it were within his power to rescue two of the refugees cast adrift by the British failure at Toulon should he not take the opportunity to do so? The thought that these lovely women might eventually be discovered by a French army and put to death was rather unsettling.

  Upon reaching the Themis, Hayden immediately retired to his cabin, doffing his coat and neckcloth. He had indulged rather too freely at dinner, and his miserable stomach was not about to allow him to lie prone. It was also true that wine had muddled his brain more than a little, so he sat listlessly on the bench beneath the gallery windows, propped uncomfortably on pillows and folded blankets.

  The near silence of the ship was interrupted by a sentry challenging a boat that had ventured too near, and then footsteps came swiftly down the ladder. A hushed conversation outside his cabin was followed by the most discreet knock upon his door.

  Thinking that he could never be left in peace, Hayden crossed the cabin and pulled open the door. Two apprehensive marines sto
od beyond, one his sentry.

  ‘My apologies, sir, but I could see there was yet a light. Two women are asking to speak with you, if you please, Captain… a Madam Bourdage, and her daughter, I believe.’

  ‘At this hour?’ Hayden replied. ‘Well, I suppose you should bring them to me.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  A moment later the two women were shown into his cabin.

  ‘A thousand apologies, Captain Hayden,’ Madame Bourdage began. ‘I was informed that you might sail at first light.’ She appeared so utterly distressed, her eyes rimmed in red as though she had wept only recently.

  Hayden directed them both to chairs, but Madame Bourdage could not sit still, such was her agitation, and she rose immediately, taking Hayden by the arm and then clutching his hand.

  ‘We are,’ she stated in French, ‘as you see us, utterly desolate and dependent for our very survival upon the goodwill of others – men who have counted our people among their enemies for many years. I know that Sir Gilbert has spoken with you, and that he has asked a great favour. In truth, he has asked you to compromise your honour and say something that is not true… that will see us to safety. I should never ask this of you for myself…’ She gestured, almost tenderly towards her daughter, and her eyes glistened. ‘But for my daughter I would beg. Please, monsieur, if you could find it within your heart to aid us… We should be in your debt, always. I have a necklace – not a fortune, certainly, but enough to pay our passage to England. In London we have friends… who escaped there at the beginning of the troubles. They will not turn away from us, I am certain.’

  Hayden glanced towards her daughter, who gazed at him with such a mixture of hope and dread upon her beautiful face that Hayden felt utterly bewildered.

  A moment he vacillated, first this way then that, the two women appearing almost to hold their breath. ‘I shall inform Sir Gilbert that you are a cousin of my mother.’