The Admirals' Game (20 page)

‘Pearce!' That made him look harder, and the voice hissed again. ‘It's Ben.'

The overseer was on his way, bustling through the line, furious of face, hand held out to the side with his whip ready to use. It was instinct rather than knowledge that made Pearce interpose himself between the man and the intended victim, as he tried to make sense of the words he had just heard, so it was with a feeling of deep confusion he replied.

‘Ben?'

‘Walker, you recall me, John Pearce.'

The hand of the overseer on his shoulder stopped his intended reply, the man seeking to spin him out of the way, an act which caused Pearce to do two things: resist and call forward his two escorting sailors. Turning to face the overseer, who now had his whip hand raised, his mind reeling with a dozen inchoate thoughts, Pearce pushed him hard, then had to do so again and with more force when the man did not yield. The overseer stepped back and raised his whip with the clear intention of
using it, so Pearce whipped out his sword, which gave the fellow pause enough for his two tars to get alongside him. With the fully extended tip pointing at his throat, the overseer stepped well back, emitting a series of loud shouts, to whom, Pearce had no idea.

‘Keep this bastard away from me,' he growled, handing the blade to one of his men. Then he turned back to the bent-over creature who had addressed him, seeing a body now racked with sobs. Could this really be Ben Walker, another one-time Pelican, a man who had been pressed by Ralph Barclay on the same night as he?

‘I was told you were dead, Ben.'

What came out in reply lacked coherence, being more a set of disjointed statements. ‘Went overboard…floated on a hatch cover…was picked up by the galley we was fighting…God is payin' me back for my sins.'

There was no time to wonder what sins Ben referred to, even if it had always intrigued Pearce, he being the only one of the men he had messed with aboard Barclay's frigate who would not tell a soul why he had taken refuge in the Liberties. Raising his eyes, he saw that the overseer's shouting had brought most of the people on the quayside to a standstill, and all were staring in his direction. The words that followed were instinctive, and took no cognisance of the how.

‘We must get you out of this, Ben.'

‘Armed men comin', your honour,' said one of his sailors, ‘an' they don't look in a mood to parley.'

‘Keep an eye on this man,' Pearce barked.

Taking back his sword, he turned towards the walls of the city, and the arched gate from which a party of musket-bearing soldiers had just emerged, jogging along, the crowd parting before them like the Red Sea. Quickly he sheathed the weapon, reckoning it to be useless against muskets, and examined those approaching, not impressed by their slovenly excuses for uniforms: less than clean garments and turbans which had at one time all been the same colour, but were in various stages of fading now. The man leading them had a fine set of moustaches, on a near-black skinned face, and an expression, aided by his Levantine nose, which boded ill.

‘Lieutenant Pearce of His Britannic Majesty's Navy,' he yelled, in a voice so loud it rebounded off the city walls.

The level of his shout, and the confident way he both emitted it and stood four-square to greet these fellows, made the moustached leader slow his pace, and Pearce was encouraged by the look of confusion in the man's eyes. The overseer was shouting in his own tongue, the whip waving in anger, that before he recalled his true duty and began to belabour his other charges to get back to their tasks. By the time he had achieved that, Pearce found himself face to face with that set of moustaches and penetrating black eyes, while the two men with him had got Ben Walker between them, then covered his back from the rest of the armed party, which now had them surrounded.

Pearce, keeping his hand on his sword, tried a bit of French on the chief, to no avail, and the man had no English either. What he did have was a high-pitched voice, a definite grievance, eyes that flashed with ire, and an incomprehensible tongue. Gently Pearce brought Ben alongside him and tried, with gestures and single words, to explain.

‘British…sailors…no slave.' He pointed out to where HMS
Alcide
lay, then up at the flag, which had on it the device of his country, his finger jabbing between it and the hunched figure he was simultaneously trying to console.

The musket twitched, another stream of unknown words followed, accompanied by furious shaking of the head, and all the while the overseer added his own complaints to the exchange, which left Pearce at a stand. Given a file of marines and their muskets he would have taken this lot on and marched Ben down to the ship's boat. But he lacked that, and worse, he was surrounded and outnumbered, and quite sure he had no rights in the matter that would make any sense to those with whom he was arguing.

As well as that, he could see the leader of the armed party was growing less patient and more hysterical in his pronouncements as time went by, less willing to even stop talking and try to make sense of John Pearce's gestures. He had two men and one sword to set against them, and that would not do, although he did wonder if these locals would use their weapons with several
British warships so close by. The trouble was, they were not close enough by – they were well out of earshot – and it was with great reluctance that he bent down and whispered to Ben.

‘I must give you back to them now, Ben, for I cannot make them understand, but I will get you out of this. When the commodore hears they are holding a British tar he will threaten to blow the place apart unless they release you.'

‘They won't give me up, Pearce,' Ben replied huskily, ‘it's not their way.'

‘I'll make it their way.'

Ben's bird-like eyes fixed on his face, looking for reassurance. There was so much Pearce wanted to say and no time to say it, and with a feeling of failure he gently pushed Ben forward until he stumbled out of his reach. Seeing the overseer twitch his whip, Pearce yelled loud enough to make the moustaches jump back and lower his musket, but he raised it again when he realised the shout was aimed at the overseer, the other threat to that same target the half of the sword which had scraped out of its scabbard.

‘A day, Ben, no more, an' you'll be free.'

A couple of sharp commands had the armed party moving away from them, but they did not disappear, staying to watch Pearce as he took possession of and oversaw the loading of his stores into the ship's cutter, stony of face every time he turned to look in the direction of Ben Walker, back in the line of sack-bearing slaves.
Bent, he stopped moving only once, and that was when Pearce ordered the cutter to haul off.

Ben began to wave, but that stopped abruptly as the overseer's whip took him across the back.

‘He is a British sailor, sir, albeit a wrongly pressed one. I told you what happened in the Liberties of the Savoy, and he is doubly a victim of Captain Barclay's iniquity.'

Nelson replied with a shake of the head, his tone nasal, which led to the appearance of a handkerchief and a stiff blow of the nose.

‘I doubt he is the only one of our countrymen condemned to slavery in this hellhole, and that takes no account of the women who have also been taken by these damned pirates and sold into the evils of the harem. It is one of the points Commodore Linzee raised with the Bey on our first meeting, but the old rogue made it plain that the only way to secure the release of such unfortunates was to buy them, that is if anyone could be found and identified.' 

‘Then we must do that. My man I have identified.'

‘Linzee rejected the notion out of hand, and rightly so, to my mind. Pay up and we would only encourage the Mussulmen to take more hostages in the future. Besides, no kind of price was mentioned, so every transaction would be an individual one, and that for people who have been sold into slavery. We would be here for weeks and unsure at the conclusion if we had got everyone out who deserved release.'

‘There is another way, sir.'

Nelson smiled at that, for the other option was a very obvious one. ‘I see you are a man after my own heart, Mr Pearce. I cannot abide negotiation where it will achieve nothing, hot air to no end. You know from the commodore's dinner my views of what we should do regarding the French, and nothing would give more pleasure than to put a few roundshot into the souk as well, but I am seen as overzealous in the suggestion of such methods.'

‘Then I must request assistance from the commodore.'

The smile vanished, and though Nelson said nothing, it was obvious he thought Pearce would get little help from that quarter. He picked up an oilskin package from his desk.

‘It seems insensitive to mention it, Mr Pearce, given what you have just experienced, but these are the letters I mentioned.'

‘I will take them, sir. Regardless of what else
happens I am obliged to return and see Sir William.'

The voice was almost silky as Nelson added, ‘And his wife, Mr Pearce, and his wife.'

Pearce had his mind on Ben Walker, and thus he was dismissive of what he was hearing. ‘I daresay I shall, sir, but that will be secondary.'

It was clear by the sudden way he frowned that Nelson took exception to the last word in that sentence. ‘Do not underestimate the lady, Mr Pearce. Do not be sidetracked by the claptrap regarding her reputation.'

‘I'm not, sir,' Pearce insisted, well aware that was not the literal truth; a thought which stopped him from adding the plain fact that she did have one, and no amount of good opinions would remove it.

‘I am glad to hear you say it. Lady Hamilton is much traduced, and would you believe it, sir, by people to whom she has shown nothing but kindness. I spent only three days in their company but never have I met such sagacity and benevolence in a married couple. They think alike and act in unison, a trait so rare as to be remarkable.'

‘There is no doubt, sir, that Lady Hamilton is remarkable.'

Nelson completely missed the irony in that statement, and carried on as if Pearce had not spoken. ‘Sir William is plagued by visitors from England, some in straightened circumstances, seeking funds, others on the Grand Tour, all of whom demand not only his attention but tread mightily on his kindness and hospitality.'

Pearce did not want to be here listening to this; he wanted to be away and trying to get Ben Walker free, and it struck him as selfish that Nelson was taking no notice of the urgency of the situation. Then he realised, and he cursed himself for not doing so sooner, that Linzee and Digby, if they had not returned to HMS
Alcide
, must still be with the Bey, so that was where he should be, the only place where, violence excluded, anything could be achieved. Nelson was still waxing lyrical about the Hamiltons and their sagacity when he cut across him, reaching out to take the packet of letters.

‘I will see these delivered, sir, but now I must take my leave.'

Too startled to reply, Nelson just nodded. Once out the door, Pearce ran to the entry port and called in his boat, yelling at them, once he had leapt in, to row like the devil for the quay. The stores he had garnered which required to be taken on board ship – fruit, fresh unleavened bread, chickens and a kid – would have to wait.

He knew he was too late when, on jumping ashore, he saw their party emerge from the city gate, full of the pomp of their embassy, their escort a quartet of marines. Seeing him approach, and the hurried manner in which he did so, they stopped, Linzee's doleful face suddenly creased with worry, as if Pearce was a harbinger of some very bad news. When he gabbled out what it was which made him so excited, it failed to raise in any other breast the level of concern which he expected.

‘Mr Pearce,' Linzee barked, ‘you cannot be seriously accosting me here on the quay to request that I ignore the purpose of my mission?'

That answer perplexed Pearce. ‘I don't see the connection, sir.'

‘Then, Lieutenant,' Linzee snapped, ‘you are somewhat lacking in sense. In fact I would go so far as to say you are acting like a fool.'

John Pearce had never enjoyed being talked to in that manner and he did not like it now. Digby obviously saw the way his face closed up in anger, and just as obviously saw, in the tightly clenched fists, the possibility that his premier might actually strike the commodore. Hastily he stepped forward.

‘How dare you, Mr Pearce, accost us with such a problem after the morning we have had.'

That gave the man addressed enough pause to realise, even if he had been insulted, no good would come of any aggressive response.

‘We have just spent two hours in the company of the Bey of Tunis, and I doubt the commodore will mind it if I say it has to be about the most frustrating period a man could endure.'

Pearce spoke past Digby, to Linzee. ‘And I, sir, have found a member of the king's Navy working as a slave, and coerced with the use of a whip for the slightest infraction. I doubt your frustrations equal his, when he sees the armed vessels of his fellow countrymen anchored offshore.'

‘I will not stand here in a public place and dispute this with you, Lieutenant,' Linzee growled, ‘and you forget yourself when you address so someone of my rank.'

‘I think you will find, sir, that I have used the same tone with your brother-in-law on more than one occasion. And I have pointed out to him, as I will to you, that rank does not obviate responsibility.'

‘Captain Digby, get this man out of my sight.'

‘Sir,' Digby replied, taking Pearce's arm and dragging him to one side so the commodore and his escorting marines could proceed.

The orders for Digby were delivered over Linzee's shoulders as he made for his barge. ‘You have your boat tied up by my own, Mr Digby. I suggest you repair aboard your ship, and once I have sent over my letters to Lord Hood, you will proceed to sea with all dispatch.'

‘Sir,' Digby replied, looking distinctly crestfallen. Then he rounded on Pearce. ‘Now, see what you have done?'

‘What?'

‘You have got me tarred with the same brush he wishes to use on you.'

‘Do you think of nothing but your own personal standing?' Digby was shocked by the abruptness of that, and Pearce was not about to let him off at all. ‘There is a fellow over there who is connected to me in the most compelling way, a man who never wanted to be a sailor, but thanks to the rottenness of this damned service is now a slave. If he is not rescued he will die as one and you wish me to give a fig for the frustrations
of a commodore or how you stand in his estimation?'

‘You can no more address me so than—'

‘If you will not aid me in getting him free, then I will do so myself.'

‘You will not, Mr Pearce.'

‘I cannot see what will stop me.'

‘I will, at pistol point if need be.' Pearce made to speak, but Digby was angry enough to overbear that. ‘What do you think we have been through this morning? That old Cretan pirate has made it quite plain that the slightest provocation will lead to this port being closed to British shipping.'

‘Probably a good thing…'

‘It is not!'

To stand here arguing with Digby would achieve nothing, but it was with no idea how he was going to alter the situation that Pearce decided to relent, though the men continued to stare at each other for several seconds. In that time one mind was racing; Pearce needed to get aboard and enlist help. Was Michael fit enough, after half a dozen lashes, to aid him? Would Charlie and Rufus agree that Ben Walker, better known to them than Pearce, must be rescued? What of Latimer and Blubber, and were there any other members of the crew who would help? How could he get a boat and the arms necessary to do what must be done?

‘You cannot jeopardise the whole British position in the Mediterranean to save one man, Mr Pearce, much as it may seem the right thing to do.'

Digby had modified his tone, and while it was not emollient, neither was it harsh. And his look had changed as well, as if trying to convey that he understood the concern, but was in a position to see both sides of the argument. As he continued, his voice softened to one of concern.

‘Men are lost to the Navy all the time, through sickness, accident and enemy action, and we mourn for them all. You must, I am afraid, think of the fellow you have seen in the same way, for he is beyond any help we can provide for him.'

‘Yes,' Pearce replied, his shoulders slumping.

‘Come, let us repair aboard. We have our orders, to get to sea. The tasks attendant upon that will occupy your mind, so that you do not brood on your failure.'

Pearce nodded and headed for the ship's boat, while cautiously, so as not to be observed, casting his eyes along the edge of the quay in an effort to see if Ben Walker was still there, still toiling. There was no sign of him that he could make out, but that was not surprising given the density of the crowds. If he was employed in ship-loading, he was likely to be worked at that most days.

Looking down into the cutter, Digby must have seen it still contained the articles and animals Pearce had purchased, but he said nothing about them lying there in the sun, merely climbing down to join Pearce in the thwarts. With the boat cast off Pearce could look at the shore without subterfuge, his mind working on the
problem of rescue while only half-listening to Digby, as he outlined the nub of the meeting they had had with the Bey and the frustrations of dealing with such a scoundrel.

‘He blocked us at every turn. Not only did he refuse to bar the French from the North African ports he controls, the old sod would not even acknowledge that pirates operate from the smaller harbours of his domain with impunity. You should see him, Mr Pearce, he was like some character from a raree-show. Dark skin, black eyes and cruel lips over gold teeth that made me think I would not wish to fall into
his
hands. When Linzee termed him a rogue he did not lie. He even washed his hands as we departed, as though exposure to a Christian tainted his skin in some way. The commodore was cursing most of the way back, damning the sod and hoping that one day he could return with a fleet and put pay to his pretensions.'

Pearce was wondering how he could delay the departure of HMS
Faron
long enough to sound out his Pelicans. He needed swords and his own pistols, not muskets – they would be too unwieldy – a boat to get them back ashore, though he reckoned he would have to lay off till late in the day. It mattered not if his own ship had sailed, it would suffice to get Ben on to a British deck, Nelson's
Agamemnon
for preference. There would be hell to pay and no pitch hot, but that would just have to be faced when the time came to meet it.

Vaguely he heard the cry that told him they were
coming alongside, and he shook himself to concentrate as the oars were shipped and the boat bumped gently into the scantlings. He followed Digby up and onto the deck, to overhear the captain giving Harbin instructions to get the stores aboard, and to Neame, the master, orders to prepare to weigh, which underlined how little time he had. Digby made for his cabin, and Pearce went to change, ostensibly into working garments, but really to divest himself of any uniform at all.

Coat off he went to seek his friends. Michael was in what passed for a sick bay, a piece of canvas stuck across an alcove just big enough for a cot, and was glad to see the Irishman sit up, albeit stiffly, as he pulled it back, while above their heads the deck resonated with the thud of moving feet and the sound of the various whistled commands came through the planking.

‘Ben Walker?' Michael cried, causing Pearce to pull shut the canvas and request he keep his voice down. ‘The Blessed Mary has saved him. Martin Dent told me he was dead, drowned for certain.'

‘The Blessed Mary has dropped him into hell, brother, and we must do something to save him.'

Quickly, leaving out what had happened when he confronted the Bey's militia, Pearce explained how he had spotted Ben and spoken with him.

‘How in the name of Jesus…?'

‘Never mind that, Michael, are you fit enough to aid me?'

O'Hagan began to get himself upright. ‘Just don't slap
my back, John-boy, or for sure you'll feel my fist.'

‘We are awaiting the commodore's dispatch, and once we have that Digby will weigh. I must speak with Charlie and Rufus, who will be about some duty or other. Cast around, see if you can get us some weapons, while I fetch my pistols.'

‘Is it a fight we will be having?'

Thinking on the crowded quay, that overseer with his whip and the proximity of those armed men, Pearce replied, ‘Not if I can help it, Michael. I want to get ashore, grab Ben and get away as fast as we can, possibly just as it's getting dark.'