A Shot Rolling Ship (20 page)

Pearce had no idea who it was who spotted and identified him, but all labour ceased in an instant, every eye on the approaching boat, with several hands outstretched and pointing fingers. The roar of a petty officer’s voice, heavy with cursing, got them working again, but not at the previous pace; every action was made in the light of the need to keep an eye on John Pearce. Colbourne was piped aboard to the stamp of marine boots, and Pearce, as he followed, was gifted the sight of Midshipman Short’s lined old face in deep shock, this while his jaw worked to find the words he should say. Finally, taking his hat from his head, they came out as a croak.

‘Welcome aboard, sir.’

Colbourne lifted his own hat to what passed for the quarterdeck, an act which had Pearce doing the same, as he recalled that it was what officers did on coming aboard ship. A ripple of exclamation, gasps and damnations swept the deck, that followed by another bellow from the petty officer to get working.

‘Mr Short,’ said Colbourne. ‘As you know I rated Mr Pearce as a gentleman volunteer prior to his departure from the ship.’

‘Sir.’

‘He is now rejoining to replace Mr Bailey.’

There was obviously an enquiry in the Captain’s look for Short responded. ‘Shipped ashore, sir, to the hospital. I have been told to expect him to be unable to resume his duties for some six weeks, and he has asked me to ask you if he has permission to go home and convalesce with his family.’

‘Six weeks, Mr Pearce. You might last more than one voyage after all.’

It could not have been staged, but it certainly felt like it, for those words were, as usual, heard by everyone. It was almost as if Colbourne was telling the crew to give him a hard time. Pearce remembered that slight amused smile before Colbourne consented to take him aboard. He thought now he understood it.

‘Please return to your duties, Mr Short, while I outline to Mr Pearce his. After all, he is a complete novice. I will write Mr Bailey’s permission to go home. It can go ashore with one of the supply vessels.’

All trooped below, Short and the marines to change back into working gear, Pearce trailing Colbourne to his so-called cabin. The captain stopped between the two layers of hanging canvas. ‘You may put your possessions, such as they are, in where Mr Bailey berthed, and treat it as your own. I am sure he will have no objection to you
using those things he has left behind. The most important will be his books on seamanship. I suggest you make a deep study of those.’

In his ‘cabin’ Colbourne continued, sitting himself but not inviting his new Midshipman to do the same, so Pearce was forced to stand head bowed, legs well spread and uncomfortable. ‘Once we sail you will share watches with Mr Short, four hours on, and four off. I will take the deck at dawn each day, and I will wish the ship to be cleared for action just before that. You will keep the ship on the course I have set and do no more than alert me should you sight another vessel, apprehend any threat, or feel that the state of the weather requires my presence on deck. Now, I suggest you go on deck and supervise some of the loading of stores.’

Pearce put as much effort into his ‘Aye aye, sir,’ as he could. Probably futile, he was determined to show Colbourne that his petty malice had no effect. Busy getting out the materials to write a letter, the man did not even notice.

Pearce stood at the bottom of the companionway ladder for a moment, looking around what had once been his quarters and half regretting the fact that it was no longer the case, steeling himself for what he knew was likely to be a hostile reception. At all costs he must get Michael O’Hagan alone. If he could explain to the Irishman, and convince him that he had had no choice, then Michael would bring round the rest of the crew. The other thing he determined was that, while he was aboard, he would carry
out his duties as scrupulously as he could, giving neither Colbourne, nor the rest of the hands, any excuse to regret his being there. Taking a deep breath he began to climb.

There was banter on the deck, there always was when this kind of duty was being performed, as one tar would jocosely insult another for laziness, looks, the pox, or some other perceived fault. It died completely, as did the work, the moment Pearce’s head emerged from the hatchway. More telling was the fact that no one looked in his direction – any inadvertent eye was quickly turned away – that and the quiet manner, as opposed to the previous shouts, by which they were told to resume the proper level of labour.

Pearce headed for Short, who was, in all probability, his superior. He would have to share a berth with him, albeit they would rarely be
in situ
at the same time. ‘Mr Short, where would you like me to be?’

The look on that preternaturally aged face, and the glare that went with it, was as good as the man saying hell, but he had responsibility, and that overrode his personal desires. ‘They are loading victuals aft. Take charge of the party there and see to it that what is sent below is properly stowed.’

Pearce heard the rumble as he made to oblige. Even in harbour the ship pitched on a slight swell, and whoever had dislodged it had timed it well, for as it grew louder he had to turn to look. Then he had to jump, quick, for the cannon ball was very close to his ankle, rolling by to come up against the rim of the hatchway. Slowly Pearce
bent down and picked it up, turning and holding it in his hand. Not one eye was aimed in his direction, everyone was busy. Then, slowly he walked towards the bows, looking for the garland from which it had been taken, seeing one missing from the nine pounder furthest forward. Carefully he placed it back where it belonged, and as he straightened he caught the look of one of his shipmates. It was that of Michael, and it was a look filled with what appeared to be a deep loathing.

The very tactic that Pearce had visited on Lieutenant Colbourne was, on that duty, now being applied to him. In charge of loading the rest of the stores he would issue an order and it would be obeyed, but at a pace designed to show him just how he stood in the estimation of the crew. It did not help that he had to ask advice regarding the proper storage of the casks, which led to a string of derogatory remarks, all loud enough to reach his ears. Any hope he had of talking to the Pelicans was nullified by the fact that they stayed as far away from him as possible, working on the deck of the store ship rather than their own.

As the hands were being piped to dinner, he made his way below, passing through the crew quarters to get to the screened-off den that was now his, which exposed him to hissed curses and no shortage of jostling. Charlie Taverner
and Rufus Dommet refused to meet his eye, not something Michael was prepared to do, though given the look Pearce wished he would. The dinner he ate was no better than that he had been given before, and in Short he had a companion who, either from suspicion or dislike, was good for no more than an occasional grunt in conversation, this in a berth so cramped that he almost longed for the crush he had known previously.

Then it was back on deck to complete the victualling of the ship, this work carried out with more of a will. That had nothing to do with Midshipman Pearce and his ability to issue orders, more to do with the fact that the boats would be coming out from shore again, and the men were keen to pretty themselves up for the visit. Colbourne clearly had no notion to witness the debauchery, for he called for his boat to go ashore. He would have to come back, for he was obliged by standing orders to sleep aboard, but he would, no doubt, time his return for when things had quieted somewhat. Short, once work was completed and they were back below, did actually speak to him on the matter of the forthcoming arrangements, nothing more galling than his assumption of agreement.

‘You will appreciate, Pearce, that Bailey was too young to have an interest in the fair sex.’ Pearce just nodded, having a very good idea what was coming. ‘That would not, of course, apply to you, would it?’

Pearce looked up from his seat on Bailey’s sea chest; not very far up for sitting, he was nearly the same height as his new messmate, conjuring up as he did so an image of
the whores he had seen ashore, which did nothing to cheer him, for it would be they or their ilk coming out to service the crew tonight.

‘I do have an interest in the fair sex, Mr Short, but it is not an appellation I would apply to the females who are presently going to come aboard. In them I have no interest whatsoever.’

That brought an expression to Short’s face which could only be described as thwarted, and it was with some feeling that he said, ‘Beggars can’t be choosers.’

‘Then I am happy to admit to not being a beggar.’

‘It is the question of room, Pearce,’ Short insisted, looking round their hutch. ‘You do understand that a fellow has needs, and a degree of decent privacy is necessary when they are…’

He could not finish the sentence, but then he did not have to. ‘If I had somewhere else to go, Mr Short, I would oblige you. But as I do not, and as I have no desire to share the pleasures you no doubt anticipate, I intend to sling a hammock and try to get some sleep.’

Short’s little old face screwed up with frustration. ‘That is damned unco-operative, Pearce. I should think that someone already in bad odour with the crew…’

‘Would conclude,’ Pearce interrupted, ‘that it makes no odds if that is extended.’

The look Short gave him, just before he spun round and made his exit, was deeply malevolent, and Pearce wondered if he had been wise to be so intransigent, for he would, very likely, need advice from this dwarf if he was to carry
out his duties. That was until he reminded himself that he really did have no choice, apart from spending the night on the open deck, hardly an enticing prospect since, given the overcrowding aboard, that was likely to be a scene of much carnal activity.

His few possessions, sextant, shaving implements, flints, he placed on the available shelves, including a small tin he had purchased to hold that paper-wrapped earth he had taken from his father’s graveside. Then, on second consideration, he decided to keep the tin on his person, to remind him of the cause he must pursue. In his pocket he could touch it constantly, and perhaps draw from it resolve, if not strength. When he did rig his hammock and climb in he found himself, with so little space, staring at his own knees. At least when he opened Bailey’s copy of
The Seaman’s Vade-Mecum
it was resting in the right place to read, that is if the light from the guttering lantern had been any good. He heard the scrape of boats coming alongside, and feet on the deck as the tribe of
money-grasping
nocturnals came aboard. That was the least of the noise, which increased in pitch as time wore on. There was a fiddler scratching a tune, probably for a penny, of which he was unworthy, squeals of female laughter mingled with screams, some happy, others angry and vicious, and he tried to blot from his imagination the scene beyond the screen at his feet, and what was happening above his head on deck. The canvas that cut him off from the passage to Colbourne’s cabin was hauled back more than once, and he found himself looking into faces of supreme ugliness,
of whores who were still looking for a trick, or eager to service more than one tar. Finding that a polite refusal was insufficient, he roared at them to get out, which they did, leaving behind them aspersions on his manhood and his probable inclinations.

Sleep did come, but not quickly and only through sheer exhaustion, and even that was disturbed by a drunken Short trying to rig his hammock and the noise of the captain coming back on board. So it was a very groggy John Pearce who stood to, as ordered, at dawn. That being the point at which the tide favoured a departure from Lymington he had another task to perform, to get the women off the ship, and to ensure that no illicit drink was left behind, which was not an action to raise the standing of even a popular officer. It was also an occasion when he found out that dealing with harpies made the most truculent sailor look easy; they screamed, they cursed, they tried to bite, scratch and hit him, that was when they were not trying to grab him in the crotch and inviting him to slip into a hammock and enjoy himself.

With the last of the spitting harridans over the side, it was time to unmoor the ship. The attitude of the crew was the same as the loading, this not aided by the state of their heads, for every one of them had been very drunk the night before from banned spirits brought aboard by the women. The fact that he was merely relaying instructions from the captain made no odds, and Colbourne, who could not fail to observe the way he was ignored, declined to intervene, except to embarrass him further.

‘Mr Pearce, you really must get the men about their duties. Establish your authority, for heaven’s sake. You have my permission to start any man who is tardy.’

There was nothing he could say; he was damned if he was going to become a tyrant, and he lacked the means to persuade, so he had to fall back on the only course left open to him, to do things himself, which would have been fine if he had known what he was about. Apart from a bit of gun practice and shroud climbing all he had ever done aboard ship was haul on a rope or hump a barrel. Certainly, aboard the merchantman, the
Lady Harrington
, observation had shown him much, but the Navy was different; everything must be done quickly, and paying attention to such duties as hauling in the mooring cable left him unsighted when anyone sought to goad him.

Stepping back he tripped on a small cask left there precisely for that purpose. He landed heavily, but one hand was put out to help him up, that of the old salt, Latimer. There was no kindness in the look or the words that accompanied it. ‘You’d best find yourself another occupation, mister, for we are going to be in deep water soon, and that is no place to be unpopular on a dark and noisy night.’

‘Even if I earn your respect?’

Michael O’Hagan, like the other Pelicans, was close enough to hear and reply to that. ‘Sure, hell will freeze over first.’

‘Why did you ever come back aboard?’ demanded Rufus, his young, freckled face looking truly hurt.

‘Don’t ask him that,’ snarled Charlie Taverner. ‘He’ll only lie to you like he did before.’

‘Mr Pearce, is that mooring cable going to sully my deck much longer? Let’s get it stowed away.’

‘You heard the man, lads. Now you can decline the duty, and happen he will punish you just so you like me a little less.’

‘Ain’t possible,’ said Latimer, but he went on, ‘let’s get it stowed. Be hard to have our grog stopped just so Coal Barge can bait this bugger. I needs a hair of the dog.’

As they set to, like proper seamen, Colbourne could not resist another jab, little knowing that it was to be inimical to his intention. ‘I see you have the measure of them, Mr Pearce. Well done. I think you can come aft and join me on the quarterdeck now, where I am sure we can begin your nautical education.’

It was the sailor called Matt who spoke then, bent over hauling the slimy cable as Pearce walked away, a perplexed expression on his round face. ‘Someat’ ain’t right here, lads. If we’es baiting Pearce, why is Coal Barge at it as well?’

‘Who says he baiting him?’ asked Rufus.

‘Can any one lend this boy a brain, ’cause sure as hell he ain’t got one.’

‘Could say the ship’s at one, mate,’ said Charlie.

‘Then it’ll be the first I ever sailed on.’

‘You’se got a point there, Matt,’ said Latimer, a look of deep curiosity on his lined, weather-beaten face.

Pearce approached Colbourne and asked, ‘Sir, do you think it aids the efficiency of the ship if you undermine me?’
‘Mr Pearce, I have no idea what you are talking about, quite apart from the fact that you are at this moment so useless that the greatest threat to the efficiency of the ship resides in your person. Now be so good as to prepare the signal gun. Even you must be aware that it is the custom, on departure, to salute the Commodore’s flag.’

The gunner was already there, with his light charges ready and the gun boomed out, to be replied to from the shore, in what to Pearce’s mind was just a waste of powder. Then they were beyond the harbour mouth, albeit not yet fully at sea, but the ship began to lift and drop in that familiar way, with Pearce suddenly wondering if the seasickness which afflicted him when he had crossed the Channel in that fishing smack would come back to haunt him. Right now that was the last thing he needed. At least the sun was shining, and it was a clear spring day, as Colbourne put his helm down once they had cleared the narrow estuary and headed south-west down the Solent. Within the hour they were passing the Needles, the pinnacles of weather-hammered chalk standing clear and imposing at the southern tip of the Isle of Wight.

Colbourne stayed on deck throughout, for this was a busy shipping lane, especially for warships standing in for Portsmouth and the Spithead anchorage. Because he was there, and the petty officers were seeing to the various tasks that needed to be carried out, mainly clearing the deck from the mess it had been after the previous day and night to what it needed to be at sea, Pearce could relax. Easy as he was, he listened to every command that the
captain gave, watched how he set the sail, took cognisance of the fact that he often went to the ship’s side and looked at the colour of the water, making minor adjustments to account for the currents. They passed a patrolling frigate, a vessel that had the unenviable duty of guarding the Solent approaches, a task even less exciting than that on which HMS
Griffin
was engaged.

He had time to think too, the first notion being a question; was he really cut out for this life? The second was more alarming, as he began to understand just how little he knew. There was the setting of sails, the stowing of the ship’s stores, blocks and tackles, ropes, knots, navigation, gunnery, all a mystery. He recalled the mids aboard HMS
Brilliant
, how they seemed as ignorant as he was now and presumably both Colbourne and Barclay had started in the same way. They had learned and so must he, and now he had the advantage that at any time, once they touched shore, he could walk off the ship and bid the whole business goodbye.

‘Mr Pearce, you must not stand and daydream so. You may not be aware that I can, at any time I wish, withdraw your status as a volunteer and reduce you to a common seaman. So I suggest when you do not have an immediate task in hand you put yourself to study, for tonight you will be alone on this deck in sole charge of the ship.’

It was eerie on deck; not entirely alone, but with only a quartermaster and his mate manning the wheel, on a pitch black moonless night, with the wind steady over the stern
to starboard, it felt strange. Colbourne had set the course and it was chalked on a slate under the binnacle lantern, registered on the compass above that and he had no power to change it. Not that he wanted to; he had no clear idea where they were going now, so would have even less of one if it was altered. He assumed that they were heading for the same waters where
Griffin
had taken that privateer, there to cruise in the hope of intercepting another, but no one had bothered to enlighten him. His sole task was to turn the half hour glass, and order the bell to be rung so that anyone awake would know the time. After eight bells he would retire and hand over the deck to Midshipman Short.

Alone with his thoughts, he sniffed at the night air, wondering if he would ever be in a position, as he had heard others claim, to smell the approach of bad weather. What he did know was, steady as the wind seemed to be, it was not constant, that there were flukes of change, slight but noticeable, and there were cross currents in the waters beneath the hull that rendered slightly uneven the pitch and roll of the ship. But the only sound, apart from the whistle of the wind through the rigging, was the creak of ropes as the quartermaster carried out minor adjustments to keep steady the compass needle. Those ropes ran through Colbourne’s sleeping quarters, which made Pearce wonder how the man ever got any rest.