The Perils of Command (18 page)

‘What do you want, Pearce?’

‘A vessel and explicit orders to Captain Barclay to return to the fleet directly and a cessation to his purpose. I leave it to you to decide if you wish to mention his wife by name.’

‘Your mistress!’ Hotham spat.

‘If you reckon that to embarrass me, sir, I cannot tell you how far you are from being correct. I am proud of my association with the lady.’

‘Which tells me you have the morals of a snake.’

Again Pearce had to bite back the words that came to mind; how dare this devious bastard, who had done his very best to get not only him killed but others too, refer to morality in his presence? It was hard to do and Pearce was glad of an interruption that obviated the need to speak.

‘Captain Holloway’s compliments, sir, but we are in sight of the coastal fort of Leghorn.’

‘Thank you, I will be on deck presently.’

Hotham’s chin was back on his chest as soon as the messenger departed and it was clear he was wresting with a conundrum. He would hate to give in to Pearce, that was obvious, but then what he had been told bore within it a grain of inescapable truth. Barclay was not prize hunting and hard as he would try to disguise it, his logs might not stand up to scrutiny if, in some way, a scandal came about that related to his wife.

‘I am told you have in your possession, Pearce, certain papers that might be of interest to me.’

Another knock at the door and a more flustered messenger this time, his features not eased by the glare he got from the admiral. ‘HMS
Brilliant
has departed the Inshore Squadron, sir, and is making for Leghorn, which Captain Holloway surmises may presage some good news regarding the enemy.’

‘Indeed. Please thank Mr Holloway.’

‘Sir,’ came the reply as the head disappeared.

John Pearce was never to know that in such a piece of information lay the reasons for his request being granted. It pertained to Ralph Barclay, of course, and the court martial papers possessed by Pearce he had singularly failed to reveal. But the real reason was not that: Toby Burns was on
Brilliant
and the notion of him and John Pearce being in the same place was anathema, for if they met and the boy blabbed both he and Barclay could be sunk.

Hotham could not sail immediately and nor did he see the requirement to; he needed a day or two to make up his stores and that with a possible battle imminent would be extended to the fleet. If the French were out it would be advantageous if they felt themselves unthreatened, and how much better it would be to lead men against the enemy who had enjoyed a short break in port. For a man whose calm was legendary – many thought it to be natural indolence – Hotham was decisive.

‘I will not agree to your request, Mr Pearce, for the reasons you outline. But you will have a boat and a despatch for Captain Barclay and that is for him to rejoin with all haste, at his peril. If the French are out I need every ship I possess to fight and beat them and that puts your private concern in the
shade. Mr Toomey will write out your orders and designate a craft for you to employ. Now be so good as to vacate my cabin.’

Granted his wish, Pearce was not about to question the reasons; it was enough that he could hopefully prevent Barclay from getting anywhere near Emily. He was on deck as the saluting guns banged out in their usual wasteful chorus, still there when HMS
Britannia
anchored, aware that with the duty performed the crew had been stood down.

‘Pearce it is, by God!’

The abrupt demand for his attention made him turn to face a toothless fellow with a scarred face and a broken nose, dressed as a member of the lower deck and clearly of no rank. Not over-fussy about his own, he was nevertheless annoyed to be addressed so by a common seaman.

‘Don’t know my face, do ye?’

‘Why would I?’ Pearce demanded, adding, ‘And I think the proper form of address is “sir”.’

‘High and mighty, eh?’

‘Are you looking for a flogging, man?’

‘Justice more like. Name’s Cole Peabody, not that it will ring with you, but if I was to refer to a certain road down to a place termed Buckler’s Hard and a get-together you did not expect it might jog. Then there is a receiving hulk off Haslar called HMS
York
. Put together, happen you might guess where we met afore.’

Given what had just happened, the Pearce mind had been elsewhere; it took time for him to make the connection. ‘Are you one of Tolland’s brutes?’

Cole Peabody laughed. ‘Was a time when that was true, but thanks to you I am stuck in this barky.’

Pearce was stunned; the coincidence was almost impossible to accept, yet it had to be true: those few words from this fellow established that. It also presaged danger, if not from this man, from those for whom he had one time done his smuggling, a pair of villainous brothers who had sworn to skin him alive.

‘What of the Tollands?’

‘Never fear for them, Pearce—’

The shout from the quarterdeck stopped the smuggler, as the officer of the watch demanded to know what was going on.

‘An old shipmate, Lieutenant. Just catching up.’

‘Well, I hope you know, sir, what you are about is unseemly.’

‘Walk towards the companionway,’ Pearce insisted as he slowly moved, the smuggler keeping pace, this as the previous question regarding the Tolland brothers was repeated, to be responded to with real bile.

‘Looked after themselves, they did, the bastards. Must have had gold hidden to pay their way out, but none for their shipmates, which left us nowt but the navy.’

‘Us?’

‘Four.’

Tempted to commiserate, Pearce suddenly realised how stupid that would be. If he had not been a leader of the gang that had set out to murder him, this wretch had been part of it so he was just as deadly.

‘But that’s set to change, Pearce. Me and my mates has a plan to get off this here barky and we are looking to you to aid us.’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘Out of the kindness of your heart.’

‘I fear I must disappoint you, as I have neither the time, and I certainly lack the inclination, to do anything to aid you. You sought a rough bed, lie on it.’

‘I reckon you can do better, for if you do not then another will pay the price.’

They were off the deck now on the companionway and Pearce was about to turn and go back on deck, where he expected Toomey would bring him his orders. But he could hardly part company without asking an obvious question. ‘Who?’

‘We reckon you’re not one to see another pay fer your errors. There’s a knife at this minute to a nipper’s throat and that will be employed if you just walk away. He’ll be through the gun port in a trice to mix with the shit of this Leghorn place and us with nothing to fear. Eleven summers the brat says he has, pity him if he don’t see no more ’cause of you.’

There was little choice but to follow Peabody; if the threat was true Pearce had no doubt there was a life at stake. The type of ruffian employed by the Tolland brothers were not the kind to shy from killing: men who were could never last in the smuggling game, where the only way out, if the excise or a rival got onto their tail, was to spill blood without a care for the consequences.

On the occasions he had been close to the brothers who had led the gang – a pair also convinced he had stolen their boat and cargo – there had been no doubt about their intention to kill him, but only after they had sought to extract information he did not have and that was a prospect to make him shudder, given he could imagine the methods they would have employed.

If the fleet was at anchor and awaiting stores there was no actual activity yet. It was known from previous visits and a lament in the wardroom that no amount of badgering would shift Captain Urquhart to move swiftly. There was a way of doing things and that could not be
altered, regardless of the fact that there might be an enemy at sea. Even the water hoys were on other duties and not available, so the crew had a free day to frolic and that they were now doing.

The sea state being flat calm the gun ports had been opened on both sides, yet the noise under the low beams was deafening Fiddlers and flute players always came out in the bumboats long before the vessels anchored: the location – Portsmouth or Leghorn – made little difference. In addition, there were castrato singers, acrobats, traders in everything from clothing, gaudy cloth and gimcrack baubles to playful monkeys that screeched either to get attention or out of distress.

The first customers would be the liberty men prettying themselves to go ashore for a night of debauchery, few in comparison to the complement of the ship. HMS
Britannia
would have aboard a high number of seamen not trusted to come back if they ever touched dry land, some pressed, certainly. Yet such behaviour was also true of volunteers who, inexplicably, given they had taken the bounty, would run for reasons too numerous to reflect upon: a grievance, a sudden desperation to see home, a woman or just sheer devilment brought on by too much drink.

The last thing Hotham would want, when he was already short-handed, given the fleet was hoping to sail into battle, was that he should lose men to the whim of chance or a desire to join with the Leghorn privateers. Marines were placed at intervals along the deck, though their presence was a commonplace, for in addition to preventing attempts to desert they had the task of ensuring no drink got aboard. It did, and in decent quantities: sailors were adept at deception,
added to which a blind eye could be bought if there was no officer about.

Women came out too, selling their services to needy sailors, John Holloway being the kind of captain to allow the local trollops on board. Those same marines had to ensure that when the time came they were off the ship prior to sailing, or in this case by nightfall, that too a hope never quite realised. On the larger rates of warship women sought to stay on board and once again the reasons were numerous.

For such creatures life ashore could not be comfortable; indeed it was very often the complete opposite, given they were likely never to be far from starvation or male violence. Hiding was difficult but not impossible and sailors would often aid them, thereby gaining themselves a companion, and as long as it did not get out of hand by their being too numerous, many captains let it pass.

As Pearce progressed through the happy throng the looks he got were far from respectful; in port an officer below was an unwelcome presence, the fear being that he would interfere with long sought-after pleasures: illicit drink, but most notably those of a carnal nature.

As he was sighted through the throng, Peabody’s mates looked at him in anticipation but that soon switched to the taller man alongside him, changing to one filled with malice. No words were spoken, clearly none were needed, as a bit of tarpaulin under the mess table was pulled back slightly to reveal a gagged, terrified and grimy young face while at the same time one of the ex-smugglers crouched down, a blade in his hand catching the light from the lanterns.

There was no need for Pearce to wonder if that was
sharp or to see the victim in his entirety and discern if he could move: ex-smugglers were experienced seamen and much valued by the navy for that reason. They knew how to whet a knife and whatever knots they had employed to bind him would do their job. It was also true that with what was going on all over the lower decks the proposed victim would not be missed, for no one was where they would have been at sea.

If he had mates, and the lad must, they would reckon him away seeking to enjoy himself or find something to steal, for nippers were rarely saints. Often the illegitimate offspring of serving sailors or port ragamuffins, many sought out the navy as a way to stay with a parent or hide from the law and a life of pilfering or sleeping in doorways.

They were a valued part of the crew, for all their mischief, having vital tasks to perform that required small hands and agility, nipping the anchor cable as it was brought in board when berthing and acting as powder monkeys, running to and fro from the gunner’s magazine to keep the cannon firing in battle.

The sight was not of long duration and in a blink all eyes were back on him, searching to sense his reaction. Pearce just spun round and glared at Peabody, then jerked his head to say he should follow as he strode off, his coat clearing a path. He declined to look back to see if he was being obeyed, instead searching for a spot where the noise would abate somewhat and being less crowded he could talk.

‘What is it you want?’

Peabody looked around to see who was paying heed but they were few. A bluecoat in deep conversation with a lower
deckhand was a far from common sight and none would want to come close to authority, so they were subjected to no more than fleeting and curious glances. Satisfied that none were nearby enough to hear, Peabody started speaking softly but insistently, repeating his demand for a boat. To the suggestion that Pearce could just go aloft and tell whatever officer he found on the quarterdeck what was afoot, Peabody just shrugged.

‘The lad will expire and afore a marine lays a hand on any one of us, an’ I swear so will you. Might be none of us sees old England again but that’s better than this hellhole.’

Was that bluff? It was impossible to tell, so Pearce tried another gambit. ‘Do you have any notion of where you are? We are a thousand miles from the coast of England and that is by a direct route across a country full of Frenchmen. Add half as much again to avoid meeting them.’

‘That’s as maybe and to be thought on after. We knows of now we are on a barky that will not be goin’ close to home, and we would never be allowed off even if she did. You want to see that nipper alive you get a boat and us crewing it.’

‘Do you think the watch officer is that stupid? I ask for one of the ship’s boats, not one of which is sitting idle, very much the opposite, and gaily row off with a quartet of pressed men? The notion he will agree to that is mad.’

‘It’s mad you make me, Pearce, with your shallying.’

‘So much so you are prepared to kill an innocent?’ Peabody did not even bother to nod; he did not have to, his eyes provided the positive response. ‘If I swear to aid you, will you let him go?’

‘Think we’d take your word, a man who thieved our ship
from under our noses and stole our cargo to enjoy the worth of it while we scraped for a crust?’

If the former was true, albeit Pearce could make excuses as to how it had come about, the latter part of that statement was not. He had no more profited from the cargo than had they or the men for whom they worked. At the same time as he was thinking on that he was also searching for a way out of what was an intractable dilemma and it made no difference if what Peabody wanted made little sense.

Having been once a pressed seaman himself he had a clear appreciation of the kind of desperation that would make a man resort to any hare-brained scheme that could be contrived to get free; had he not once sought to swim from ship to shore and in the process risked drowning? Men taken up by violence were wedded to the navy for the duration and would only be granted their freedom once hostilities ceased, and that could be years away.

‘And don’t you go thinkin’ we’re not canny, Pearce,’ Peabody added, tapping his head. ‘If his body is found, who’s going to think a British tar would harm a nipper? But with all these here local folk aboard, and some right evil-eyed ones amongst ’em, then one being found with a bloodstained knife in his bag …? The lad will die if the sun goes down and we is still at that mess table, but we won’t pay the price.’

With eyes locked Pearce was thinking hard. There was no way to get one of
Britannia
’s boats; every single one was either shipping liberty men or officers ashore to come back laden with the private purchases for the very bluecoats they were transporting. Added to that one would be in use by the marines, to patrol the waters between ship and shore to
counter the possibility of deserters. But an idea did present itself that might serve and he reached for and produced the pouch that contained the remains of the monies he had been advanced in Brindisi.

‘You can’t buy us off, Pearce,’ Peabody snarled as he looked down at the coins being poured into a hand.

‘I’m not trying to. This is for you to purchase disguises.’

Looking hard at the man, Pearce could sense his confusion; he could not comprehend what was being suggested, which marked him out as slow-witted for all his swagger. It was as well to remember that as a smuggler he had been a follower not a leader.

‘Buy clothing from the traders on board, of the sort that will make you look like a native, but not everything from the same one. Darken your skin, too, for at least one of you is too fair of face to pass for a Tuscan. I will go ashore and procure a boat and bring it to your gun port at dusk, when the locals will be departing the ship. Disguised, you can slip out, though I reckon you must distract any marine that is nearby.’

‘You?’

‘I will be in the boat.’

‘You’d best be ’cause—’

‘There’s no need to tell me, Peabody!’ Pearce had barked that and turned heads because of it and he needed to drop his voice to continue. ‘But without my coat to aid you, you will be apprehended and I reckon the punishment to be a flogging round the fleet.’

Even in the glim Pearce saw Peabody pale at the threat of that; such an outcome was as fatal as the rope but a thousand times more prolonged and painful, as the victim was taken
from ship to ship to be flogged in turn by the Master at Arms of every one, so that those tempted to likewise transgress should be brought to consider the consequences.

‘There’s no requirement that you tell me how much you mistrust me.’

‘Never was it so,’ Peabody responded with a mocking tone. ‘You passed on the chance to see off the Tolland brothers for good and me and my mates with them. Man like that I reckon I can put faith in, if the stakes be right, an’ they are.’

Pearce walked away without replying; there was no need to say any more and time was not on his side, nor was there any doubt that he would be required to act. The notion that anyone should pay with their life for something he was purported to have done he could not abide. It was on the companionway stairs that the added fact of Emily’s pregnancy surfaced. What if she was carrying his son? The mental replacement of the grubby boy under that mess table for his own flesh and blood could not be wiped from his mind.

‘Mr Dinsdale, is it not?’

He was the officer who had the quarterdeck and Pearce now found himself face-to-face with one of the members of the wardroom who had declined to speak with him on his previous visits to the flagship. Dinsdale and his ilk took their cue from the premier who ruled the roost and always looked upon Pearce as if he had just crawled out of the gutter. Normally he would have avoided the man but this was not a situation that allowed for private feelings.

‘All my dunnage is on HMS
Agamemnon
and I wish to go
ashore. It will lead to a great loss of time if I have to go via Captain Nelson’s ship.’ Pearce tried a winning grin; by the blank reaction it was a dead loss. ‘The streets of Leghorn are not always safe.’

The man would not look at him. ‘From what I am told, you would know of this more than most.’

‘Perhaps, but I wonder if I may borrow a cutlass and the strap to carry it. I have to attend upon Admiral Hotham on the morrow, so it will be returned. I will, of course, take the opportunity to mention to Sir William the aid you afforded me.’

Did this fellow know how much he was hated by Hotham? It was unlikely, the admiral being too elevated and by nature not one to confide his feelings in lesser beings. The name and the possible praise did the trick and Dinsdale, still unsmiling, produced the key to unlock the chain that kept such weapons secure. The carrying strap was no more than a leather over the shoulder band with a slot for the weapon and it was unwieldy as well as sharp.

‘Have a care you don’t cut yourself, Mr Pearce,’ Dinsdale said, in a tone that indicated he wished for the precise opposite.

For him there was no trouble in getting a boat: he was an officer and entitled, duty notwithstanding, to go ashore as he pleased on any still making the journey, and that was everything the flagship possessed. The anchorage was crowded with such craft going in all directions, every one possessed by the fleet employed in some errand or other, they massively outnumbered by the local wherries hired by those officers and higher-value tradesmen who would brook no delay, which added to his hope that he
could pull off that which was required.

Back on dry land he strode down the canals, heading for the small harbour that was home to the privateers. He could only hope the Senyard fellow he met would be still in the tavern; if not it would leave him hoping for a like-minded soul. In the fug of smoke from dozens of pipes it was near impossible to see anyone and that left him standing in the doorway for some time as he examined the room. It was Senyard who came to him, pushing his way through a crowd and grinning.