A Shot Rolling Ship (13 page)

‘I see a pretty little ship in your wake, Captain Barclay.’ Hotham sat forward slowly, selected a grape with great care, then sat back and put it in his mouth. ‘Am I to assume you have enjoyed some good fortune?’

This was said with studied indifference, as though it was of no account whatsoever. Hotham was near to lounging in his chair as he added an apathetic stare to the question, which made Ralph Barclay think that he did not like him. Mind Hotham was not alone in that; Ralph Barclay had little time for admirals as a breed, the only one he would speak of with deep respect had been his patron Lord Rodney, and he was dead.

‘Yes, sir, we took her off Finisterre, she being out of La Rochelle. Her present name is
Chantonnay
.’

‘I daresay you wish me to buy her in?’

‘Captain Blackstone did say you were somewhat short on vessels for long range reconnaissance.’ And, you blackguard, he was thinking, if you were due an eighth of the value, you would not hesitate. ‘I would suggest that being completely sound, we took her without a shot being fired, she would be ideal.’

Now it was the turn of the other bowl, and time was taken to crack a walnut. ‘I will think upon it.’

Ralph Barclay knew he had an ace up his sleeve, and
he played it straight away. ‘I have, regretfully sir, to report some losses, particularly of officers.’

The eyebrows rose slowly. ‘Without a shot being fired?’

‘This was a different affair, sir. After an engagement with another French privateer, this time off the coast of Brittany, I lost my second lieutenant, though the Premier is still alive, albeit at death’s door.’

‘Explain.’ Hotham said abruptly, sitting forward, his chewing stopped. He stayed in that listening position as the tale was recounted, the filleted version that put Ralph Barclay in a good light.

‘My losses in crew I have made up from the capture of that barque, though I would be obliged if I could distribute them through the fleet in exchange for other seamen since I take no comfort sailing with so many Frenchmen aboard.’ Hotham nodded, and Ralph Barclay knew he would sail on with a full complement made up in the main of proper British tars. He then added, his eyes firmly fixed on the admiral’s ruddy and handsome face, ‘But in the article of officers, sir, I am of course at your disposal for advice.’

Hotham did not beam, he was too experienced to react, but his visitor knew he would be damned pleased. Of the eight lieutenants aboard
Britannia
, a high proportion would be there because of some connection to him, for William Hotham was the surest route to promotion. Lieutenants on flagships nearly always got first pick of anything going. Then there were captains in some of the anchored ships who had a claim on Hotham’s good offices, and they would
have what they saw as lieutenants deserving of promotion. An admiral gained prestige from his ability to advance his followers and their dependants – not just commissioned officers but those holding warrants as well. So early in a war the twin creators of opportunity, sickness and death in battle, had yet to take effect, so by offering him the chance to fill
Brilliant’s
vacancies, Ralph Barclay was gifting the admiral a real favour.

‘Who have you put into the prize?’

‘The Premier of my fellow escort HMS
Firefly
. She is commanded by Lieutenant Davidge Gould.’ Giving Gould his true naval rank sent a message to Hotham, who hardly needed it. Gould being only a Master and Commander, not a Post Captain, could safely be ignored in whatever calculations were being made in Hotham’s mind. ‘That vessel too is mainly crewed by Frenchmen, though I hope a redistribution will take place at the Rock.’

‘We will see to that, Captain Barclay, if it is not so. Too high a proportion of Frenchmen on any vessel is hardly conducive to fighting efficiency. And who knows, some of them may elect to be taken to a prison hulk rather than serve with us.’ Hotham popped a quick grape, then added, ‘Do you wish me to give you a list of available candidates for promotion?’

‘I doubt I know them, sir, while you do, or at least the captains who serve under you do.’ And you have got three plums to give out, Ralph Barclay was thinking, which will ripple right through the fleet and do you no harm whatever; quite a bit of good fortune before Hood
arrives. ‘I am therefore willing to be advised.’

The nuances of what Ralph Barclay was saying were clear to Hotham, he was sure of that. If he knew anything about
Brilliant
’s captain, he would know how much his career had suffered by his attachment to Rodney. Not only was the late admiral dead, but he had caused many a scandal when alive – not a problem to the likes of Ralph Barclay, who saw it only as the flawed side of genius – but meat and drink to those who loathed everything Rodney did and stood for, one of those being Lord Hood, who was close to being implacable about Barclay’s old mentor. Given the serious disagreement he and Hood had had before HMS
Brilliant
weighed from the Nore, first over the appointment of the frigate’s officers and then in regard to manning, with him coming out to command, Ralph Barclay was in need of some protection from Hood’s
ill-will
.

Hotham nailed the point, though the face, including his deep brown eyes, was a study in forced blandness. ‘I seem to recall you served with Rodney?’

‘I did, sir. I owe to him my rise within the service. He arranged my examination for lieutenant and it was on station in the Caribbean that he exercised his right as a commanding admiral to raise me to Post rank.’

‘You were with him at the Saintes?’

‘In a frigate, sir, not in the line of battle.’

Ralph Barclay had a vision then of the channel between Guadeloupe and Martinique, and the Isles de Saintes which had given that encounter its name. The hot Caribbean sun,
the sparkling sea, the din and smoke as the great ships clashed, the sudden shift in the wind that had given George Rodney his opportunity, which meant that when it was all over he had smashed the enemy, taken five French line of battle ships, and Ralph Barclay and the other frigate captains were picking dead Frenchmen out of the warm sea, not their own countrymen.

‘It was a fine victory. The nation owes the late admiral a debt of gratitude.’

‘Naturally, I agree, sir.’

Hotham sat bolt upright. ‘I shall recommend some officers to you. Please, if you object to any one of them, say so.’

‘That is handsome of you, sir.’

Hotham nodded at what was a rather obsequious remark. ‘My only question is this. Do you wish to retain whoever it is who is acting as your Premier, for that will have some bearing on my choice?’

‘Lieutenant Digby is too junior to retain the position, sir.’

‘But?’ Hotham asked, because Ralph Barclay was frowning in a way that implied that this presented a difficulty.

It did, for Digby deserved something, having carried out his duties with efficiency. He was too junior to be made up to First Lieutenant, but Ralph Barclay could imagine that his wife would be far from pleased if he got nothing. They were friendly, too damned friendly, but quite apart from that Digby had been witness to the events off the
Brittany coast, as well as those to do with that pest John Pearce. Left in place he could prejudice the men Hotham promoted against their captain. The fact that Digby, like Roscoe, had been foisted on him by Samuel Hood clinched his resolve to be rid of him.

‘Might I suggest, sir, that his lot would be improved enough by a place on the flagship?’

Hotham rubbed his chin then, the slightly bulbous brown eyes looking away, his hand toying with another walnut. It was an easy request to grant;
Britannia
’s captain would be a fool to disagree, but convention demanded he made it look like a difficult one. Finally he nodded.

‘So be it. You will have a new suite of lieutenants, Captain Barclay. I will arrange for you to meet them this afternoon, when you come to dinner.’

‘One more thing, sir. I have my wife with me.’

‘A little more female company will brighten up my cabin, Captain Barclay.’ Sensing the curiosity he added. ‘There are other ladies coming, so by all means fetch your wife along. Who knows, we might name that barque you brought in after her.’

That finished the bargain, as Ralph Barclay knew it would. Hotham was going to buy in the prize and gift it to someone else he wished to advance, yet another officer who would know to whom he owed his good fortune, and one who would in times to come, act accordingly. But most important of all, he had signalled, without actually having to say the words, that Ralph Barclay no longer lacked for influence. He had been, if the word was not inappropriate,
adopted. In time Hotham would repay the debt he owed, and work hard to promote the officer before him into a bigger and better ship.

Emily Barclay had no need to be nervous, but she was, as her husband’s cutter took them to the flagship. Again he was piped aboard, saluted by a file of marines coming smartly to “present arms”, she receiving a very deep bow from the receiving lieutenant. Nelson’s boat came alongside before they departed, so introductions were in order.

‘Captain Horatio Nelson, my dear.’

‘Mrs Barclay,’ Nelson said, startlingly blue eyes wide, before bending over her proffered hand. ‘I last saw you dancing in Sheerness.’

Yes, Emily thought, looking down at the top of the bared head, and the thick, rather untidily tied blond hair. You sneaked on me to my husband, telling him what a good time I had and implying, no doubt, that I was being flighty.

Nelson stood to receive what was a cold stare, her husband, standing to one side, unable to keep the amused smile off his face at the confusion the glare caused. He was not fond of Nelson for many reasons: though not far ahead of him on the captain’s list he had a ship-of-the-line not, like him, a frigate; his connections were sound and included Barclay’s
bête noire
, Sam Hood. Then there was the sloppy way he ran his ships, the fact that he could not hold his drink, but most of all for the way that the
pint-sized
little sod always behaved to him as though they were
friends, which was the exact opposite of the true state of their relationship. Mind he did that with everyone, and Ralph Barclay was sure he was cordially disliked because of it.

‘I think we should go on up, my dear. We must not keep the admiral waiting.’

They left Nelson standing, which was a snub, for the proper thing to do would have been to insist that they ascend the companionway together. Seemingly feeling rather foolish, Nelson followed in their wake.

‘He looks too small to be a naval captain, husband,’ Emily whispered. ‘Indeed he is more like a boy than a man.’

Her husband replied in kind. ‘I think I said to you before, my dear, that he is best avoided. The man is a bore, who is convinced he is a genius. He also holds some absurd notion that he’s attractive to the fairer sex.’

‘If you count me amongst them, husband, let me assure you he is not.’

Ralph Barclay was not really listening, he was looking instead at Hotham, who had straightened himself to gain a good inch at the sight of Emily, and there was a flash in the man’s eye that spoke volumes. ‘I think I can safely say the admiral grants you that station, my dear.’

Hotham came forward to greet Emily warmly, immediately insisting that he was going to place her at his right hand. This occasioned a bit of shifting of the place cards, for it had not been planned until the admiral saw that she was a beauty, not some broad-faced,
horse-hipped
harridan. Those shifted a place away from Hotham, the consort of the Ambassador and several ladies, wives, sisters and daughters connected to the British merchants who lived in Lisbon, tried hard not to let anyone know they had noticed, or were in any way put out by this, but there was much sharp flicking of fans and glares aimed in Emily’s direction. Ralph Barclay, who declined to change his own place, was content. Such people meant nothing; let the admiral drool over his wife, for it was another part of the cement that would adhere him to Hotham.

The lieutenants were introduced, three rather stiff young men called Glaister, Bourne and Mitcham, who would be seated well below the salt. Their new captain bid them come aboard the following day, making a mental note to send Digby in the other direction before they arrived. Then it was time to be seated, to partake of a meal that underlined the admiral’s love of good food, and allowed Ralph Barclay to acquaint himself with some of the officers and personages who would be part of the same fleet as he.

Whoever had arranged the menu had clearly given some thought to local dishes; they had freshly caught sardines grilled over open coals, beefsteaks baked in wine with bacon and capsicums then soused with vinegar so that they sizzled when served, while the main fish dish had been wrapped in vine leaves and came with a strong sauce of anchovies. The wine was from the north of the country, heavy and much stronger than claret, which had several officers drunk well before the cloth was drawn, the ladies
departed, and the port and brandy decanters were set out. Nelson, particularly, was affected, growing more garrulous and noisy with each bumper he consumed, but he had always had a light head, and it was not helped by the heat of the crowded cabin.

Ralph Barclay himself took the temperature of the other naval guests. Word would have got round the fleet about the promotions Hotham was arranging and men as experienced as he would have drawn certain conclusions, one being that the captain of HMS
Brilliant
might be a man to cultivate, for he clearly had the ear of the commanding officer and if he did not, they only had to look to the centre of the top table to see that his pretty young wife had the admiral’s undisguised admiration.

‘I like your admiral, Captain Barclay,’ Emily opined, as they waited for their boat to come alongside, ‘not least for the praise he heaped upon you. I could not dislike any man who calls you, in such a fulsome way, a gallant officer.’

‘Perhaps he will consent to dine with us before he orders me away.’

‘Do admirals eat in lowly frigates, husband?’