A Divided Command (18 page)

‘Only if he can keep the French battle fleet at bay as well as in port and even then not until he knows what the Neapolitans could put to the task themselves. We are awaiting a reply to that query as of this moment.’

‘Moment, Parker?’

‘The answer we seek should be back with us in a week or so.’

‘Then it is likely something I will have to decide upon, is it not?’

Parker knew what was being demanded of him, the date Hood had set to up anchor, and he was not going to fall for it even if he knew it to be imminent. Yet he had been given a chance to rile Hotham and in a way that could not be laid at his door, a way to remind him that his command was going to be temporary.

‘I am sure the C-in-C will advise on a course of action even if he departs before
HMS Larcher
rejoins.’

The name of the armed cutter produced a look that indicated that Parker had inflicted a wound, or so the captain of the fleet surmised and he felt a warm glow because of it. He was wrong: it was the thought of John Pearce that had made Hotham look as if he had just bitten a lemon.

Pearce was on deck and so was Emily Barclay, both enjoying fine weather and a breeze that, if warm, still cooled when set against the heat of the day. This created a mist that partially obscured the coastline along which they were sailing, the Bay of Gaeta. The shoreline was flat but just behind that hills rose, and if you peered, there were some high enough in the distance to be termed mountains.

If the panorama looked peaceful it was not; Pearce’s orders
had stated quite clearly that the routes in and out of Naples were dangerous. He also knew from casual conversations that further south, in the Straits of Messina, matters were even worse, it being a narrow stretch of water into which privateers, as they sought to snap up any merchant vessel that strayed into their path, could quickly dash and escape with like speed using the tidal flows.

Security indicated that these corsairs did not confine themselves to the narrows, given the amount of lucrative traffic that traversed the waters to the north and west of Sicily, so lookouts were set aloft to scan the horizon, though until now they had seen only one very obvious lumbering merchant ship and lots of tiny boats fishing the waters between the armed cutter and the shore.

Pearce, having mentioned corsairs to Emily, found it led on to Barbary pirates. He found himself relating to Emily the sad story of Ben Walker, one of the original Pelicans and a person of whom he rarely spoke; in the past he had gone no further than the name, even with her. Ben he described as the quiet one, a fellow who seemed to harbour some deep secret that he was unwilling to share, even with his fellow unfortunates, and even more gloomy was the truth that fate had not been kind to him.

Following on from the affair off Brittany, Ben had declined, like his fellow Pelicans, to take ship back home, staying aboard
HMS Brilliant.
Weeks later the frigate had got into an inconclusive scrap with an old-fashioned Algerine galley and the original story on Ben was that he had fallen overboard after the ship’s mast on which he was working was hit by a cannonball.

He was last seen hanging on to a latticed hatch and floating,
but there was no one who reckoned he could survive, that is until Pearce, in Algiers himself as part of a mission led by Nelson, had spotted Ben in a group of slaves engaged in loading a ship. Not only had this Pelican survived, he had obviously been plucked from the waves and kept alive to labour.

‘I set out a plan to rescue him but that was blocked, the case being put to me that we could not endanger the whole relationship with the Dey of Algiers for the sake of one man.’

‘I know you well enough to be aware that it likely haunts you.’

That was an easy assumption to make, given the low-spirited way her man had told his tale. And Emily was right for he felt it acutely; Pearce had never quite worked out at what point he seemed to accept responsibility for those with whom he had been pressed. Not all, for there were many more unfortunates dragged into Barclay’s boats.

Most had been distant and then there was Cornelius Gherson, who he would have happily chucked overboard with his own hands. Yet accepted responsibility he had and Pearce felt it keenly if any of them were in trouble. His inability to rescue Ben Walker hurt.

He was just about to refer to the fact, and how deeply, when the cry came from the masthead, first naming one sail to larboard and then adding in quick succession two more, rigged like brigantines with no sign of any flag, which in itself brought on concern. Three such vessels sailing in company and without any form of identity presaged trouble.

At the shout Emily had, without prompting, ducked into their cabin and been replaced by Dorling. In the conversation that ensued it was reckoned the wind, which
was a north-easterly, coming off the land, favoured
Larcher
and acted in the opposite manner to those vessels further out to sea. They were a fair distance off, thus the risk was slight, but it had to be accommodated.

‘I don’t want to set the whole ship by its ears. Even if they present a threat it will be a long time coming, probably even nightfall, before they can come up on us with this wind. Make sure Sam Kempshall has his cartridges filled and the flintlocks out and ready.’

‘The cook?’

‘Mr Bellam can keep his coppers lit. It will not aid us if we all go hungry to no purpose.’

There were other things that happened without Pearce saying anything, part preparations that good seamen made out of habit. Thus the bosun, who went by the name of Birdy, was wont to check on certain parts of the rigging, as if he did not do so on a regular basis anyway. The gunner’s brother, Brad Kempshall, would be looking to his plugs, tarred canvas and battens, to ensure that should they get into a spat he and his carpenter’s mates had the means to stop any leaks caused by gunfire.

With all this taking place, albeit with no sense of haste, John Pearce was able to invite Emily back out to enjoy the sunshine, though all the while, up aloft, sharp eyes kept reporting the position of those three sails relative to their ship. There was no doubt they were closing, but at a rate so slow that, barring mishaps,
HMS Larcher
would raise the mountains of Ischia and the channel that led into the Bay of Naples without the need to fend them off.

As was habit once the sun went down and everyone had had their supper, there was amusement on the deck, with
some singing: O’Hagan loved a ballad and others were keen on dancing, all done to mouth music for there was no fiddler aboard. Emily, too, would act the chanteuse, her voice high and sweet, as she would render to the crew the songs she had once sung at the side of her parents, siblings and cousins.

It was at times like these, under a star-filled sky on a warm night, that it was possible for John Pearce to feel he was part of a family.

Nelson had quietly informed Pearce – in the unlikely event he did not know – that sailing into the capital and port of a major British ally imposed certain obligations on the captain of a King’s ship. He was the representative of his sovereign, and while it was not the same as being aboard a ship of the line, where grandeur came naturally, so rare were such visits and so numerous were the numbers of English people residing in Naples, that
HMS Larcher
was bound to have a raft of folk wishing to visit. Perhaps even the Hamiltons would come aboard themselves.

So when the decks were scrubbed, it was with the kind of special care that would leave them, once dried, in a pristine state and the good Lord help anyone who stained them in the subsequent watch. Thus, when it came to blacking the cannon and chipping and painting the cannonballs, canvas had to be spread for security, while just outside the cabin Michael O’Hagan, who had proved a surprisingly dab hand at the job, was sponging and brushing the captain’s
best coat and hat while the owner sat in his shirtsleeves.

‘Would it not be wiser to go about matters in a different order?’ Emily asked. ‘Surely it would be best to carry out the dirty tasks first, then scrub the deck.’

‘Change the naval day, madam? Do you want to see me strung up from the yardarm?’

Pearce had reacted in mock horror, which made her laugh. The peeling sound had the men working in front of the pair looking up and smiling, and while their captain was doing likewise he was also thinking of what kind of reception he and she would get in the kingdom within whose waters he was about to anchor.

By repute Naples was a rather loose place but Pearce had to admit his knowledge of the kingdom was limited and no more than casual gossip. That being all he had to go on, it provided not much on which to base a theory, for if it had not been discussed, even Emily knew that he could not go sailing about the Mediterranean with her in tow.

He was a very junior officer and the service would not permit to him what it might turn a blind eye to in a senior post captain. Ralph Barclay had broken the regulation about sailing with wives and no one had checked him, it being one of those rules no one bothered to press home as long as it was conducted with discretion. Mistresses were another matter, and even admirals drew the line at a breech of that nature.

It did not give him any pleasure to think of Emily in those terms, but she was still another man’s wife and he was putting off the moment, a potentially evil one to him, of the discussion they must have. Staying in Leghorn was out of the question, yet would Naples serve any better? There was
a strong national contingent resident there and a full-blown ambassadorial presence, while the wife of the incumbent was not so grand or free of taint that she could cast aspersions upon Emily Barclay.

The bosun broke into these ruminations, for Mr Bird had come to pass on a message. He was a tightly compact fellow, obviously strong and with a face, more so a nose, that looked as though it had been engaged in a few fist-filled encounters. O’Hagan reckoned him a tasty opponent, which from the Irishman was high praise. He also had a serious brow but that was easily overcome by a very winning smile and manner.

‘Lookout sent down word, Your Honour, quiet like, that if you was to go to the prow the whole of the bay is now in clear view.’

‘I fear to walk your pristine deck, Mr Bird.’

That got a grin. ‘If you was to take off your shoes, ma’am, it would ease my mind.’

‘And Mr Pearce?’ Emily asked, with a mischievous look.

‘Can hardly request the captain to walk in his stockings, can I?’

‘Convention, Mr Bird, is a bore. Let me do that on your behalf. John, you must risk your best stockings.’

‘You see, Mr Bird,’ Pearce replied, as he slipped off his shoes, ‘what little authority I have in my own cabin.’

‘He’s a smooth-talking bugger that Birdy,’ opined Rufus Dommet, he and his mate Charlie being close enough to overhear the exchange. ‘“Ease my mind”, for all love.’

‘Don’t let him hear you say it, Rufus, for he might fetch you a quiet clout and if he does your ears’ll be ringing for a week.’

To say the Bay of Naples was astonishing was understatement.
The great sweep, from the southern point of Sorrento all the way round to the promontory of Bàcoli was gifted with enough references all the way back to classical antiquity to mean its beauty should come as no surprise. Yet it did, for with the sun full up and distance enough to hide any flaws it provided a stunning panorama of the city, high buildings, church spires and the two castles, one of which dominated the port itself, the other, St Elmo, high above and menacing.

To the south, towering above and beyond the entire panorama lay the twin peaks of Vesuvius, seemingly so gentle, one top smoking as if it were in possession of a good pipe of tobacco, the other dormant. Yet it was still an object of some terror, for what it had done in the past was as much referred to as the city and the landscape over which it held fearful dominance. As they came closer in, the long frontage of the royal palace became the dominant feature in a bay now full of traffic.

Emily, standing in the prow, with her long hair blowing in the wind, was too much of an attraction for the Neapolitan males who caught sight of her. With an amused smile, Pearce noticed how tillers were put down and courses altered to bring the local fishermen and small trading ships across their path, so that those steering and manning them could blow her kisses and no doubt, for it was too much a dialect to comprehend, issue invitations to engage in any number of trysts.

The smell was the first thing that dented the image of Naples and the bay, and this to folk who were no strangers to urban stink. The city was in serious need of a downpour to clear away the accumulated filth of its teeming population, though in fairness that was a truth that could be applied to
any busy port. Yet the climate here made the odour near to overpowering and it seemed to Pearce that perhaps that was what altered his lover’s happy mood.

‘What does it mean, coming here?’

His disposition changed as swiftly as her own. ‘It cannot be worse than Leghorn.’

‘What a recommendation – a lesser, perhaps, of two evils.’

‘We have yet to land, yet to see what is possible.’

‘And if it turns out to be possible, how often will a serving naval officer be at liberty to visit?’

With that remark Emily had hit the nail very firmly on the head. If it had never been openly stated she knew, as did he, that he was not rich, that the mere need for a source of income would constrain his freedom. Added to that he could be sent anywhere at the whim of anyone senior to him in the service.

Leghorn being a supply base for the fleet, his coming and going would have been fairly regular excepting the premise of being sent on a cruise. That would not hold here and the proof of the fact lay in
HMS Larcher
carrying despatches for an ambassador who, if Naples was visited by many a merchantman en route to London, rarely saw a British warship.

‘Before I got married, John, I envisaged many months ashore parted from my spouse, perhaps even years, for it is not uncommon for a naval wife. Odd to think our union might have survived that way of living our life. My husband’s mistake was to take me to sea with him and allow me an insight into his real character.’

‘Emily.’

‘But,’ she added quickly, ‘had that been the case I would
have at least been surrounded by friends and family, so if I suffered, and I am sure I could have made a good fist of appearing to do so, it would have been in company. It must have occurred to you that I do not know a soul in Naples and if I stay here I will be faced with a burden of loneliness, for visits by you may not be just infrequent, they may be impossible.’

‘I had hoped to see what was here before discussing this.’

She touched his hand, which was rare on deck; even if their relationship was no mystery, propriety could not be just set aside. ‘Would it wound you if I say I could not bear to be parted from you in the same way as I once imagined.’

‘We are on an adventure, Emily, and about to embark on a new part of that. Let us see what it brings.’

‘On the wing as ever, John,’ she replied, with a sad smile. ‘But I will say if the stench is anything to go by it promises to be interesting.’

‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir, it is time for signalling.’

‘Royal I suppose, Mr Dorling,’ Pearce replied, pointing to the huge Bourbon standard that flew above the Palazzo Reale. ‘If my father ever knew that I would one day salute a monarch, and there was an afterlife to which he did not subscribe, he would be looking for a bolt of lightning to aim at my head.’

‘Twenty-one guns it is, Your Honour.’

The banging of the signal cannon soon followed, endlessly repeated, while a smaller number of guns replied from the formidable-looking fortress of St Elmo. A boat was sent out from the office of the harbour master to lead them to the point at which they could anchor.

Pearce and Emily went aft; it was time to be out of the
way and for him to don his heavy blue coat and his hat. They would be under eyeglass scrutiny from the shore and by whom he had no idea. It would not do to appear as anything other than what he was in a telescope, the captain of a King’s ship.

‘I reckon he might jump ship, to be with his lady, brother – I know I would.’

Sam Kempshall advanced the opinion, gifted to his twin brother Brad, as he changed out of his working gear – he had been overseeing the blacking of the cannon – into clothing that might be more impressive to natives of a place he knew to be legendary for its ladies.

Never were two of that ilk so unalike: Sam the taller, with fine blond hair, Nordic blue eyes and broad shoulders, Brad the marginally less well built, and the possessor of dark hair and expressive brown eyes. They shared all the tribulations of normal siblings, great mates one minute and at each other’s throat the next, Brad insisting that any dolt could fill powder cartridges but it took skill to work with wood. Sam was wont to respond that any idiot could shape a coffin and he might be tempted to do so and for one soul in particular.

‘You’d jump ship, Sam, with Black Cath from Portsmouth Point, or any other brute that would part her legs.’

Sam was carefully tying his neckerchief, seeking to get it at just the right jaunty angle, using a very small scrap of mirror glass, which was held to be one of the most valuable possessions aboard ship and shared by all.

‘Can’t help if the ladies fall like ninepins, can I Brad, while you go mooning over some bit of flesh you’ll never get on her back.’

‘Ladies? Christ, you need a barber’s probe down your prick after every encounter.’

That made Sam wince; it was a horror of which he had some experience and had him change the subject. ‘Pearce is bound to gift us leave like he did at Leghorn?’

‘Don’t see why not,’ Brad replied, edging his brother to one side so he could see his own reflection. ‘Lord, we’re a rate further off from Buckler’s Hard than we were afore.’

‘I hear the ladies of Naples are a fine bunch, dark in the skin and well shaped in the breast. I do like a big pair of—’

‘Are you two going to be much longer at that looking glass?’

In making this demand, the cook cut off Sam’s reference to prominent mammaries, which went with pursed lips and a telling gesture of cupped hands, this as the complaining voice kept up the abuse.

‘You’re worse than a couple of painted whores. If you don’t get a move on we’ll be at anchor and every bugger and his brother will be down below changing their rig.’

‘Take more’n a looking glass to sort out your mug, Stevie Bellam, and the growing of another pin to boot.’

‘Lack of leg don’t signify when you’re laying down, Sam, an’ the one that matters is as it should be.’

You could feel the way coming off the ship even below decks and soon there came the rushed hiss of the anchor cable running through the hawsehole, as well as the commands that would back
Larcher
to render it taut. It was time for these warrants, not involved in the task, to get clear, for in minutes the ’t’ween decks would be crowded with their shipmates, those tasked to row their captain ashore having precedence in the tidying line, for they had little time.

On deck their captain was waiting for them, fully accoutred. ‘I will send out for you once I see how the land lies, Emily.’

She just nodded, which left him worrying as he made for the now lowered boat about the nature of her thoughts, that not eased as they crossed to the shore. His topsails having been in sight for half a day and his flags not much less, there was a man waiting for him on the main arch that led off the quay, as well as a fiacre to take them both to the residence of Ambassador Hamilton, which proved to be some distance away.

If it was inconvenient there were definite advantages to living outside the centre of Naples. Close to it was not the charming vision it had been out to sea; there was not a building that did not seem to be in some state of disrepair and many others looked close to collapse. Added to that the city was not just crowded, it heaved with humanity, so numerous were the inhabitants. They were noisy, too, leaving Pearce to wonder, as he had in Leghorn, why Italians exchanging pleasantries always sounded as if they were about to murder each other.

Some of the streets they passed through, not easily, such were the crowds, were open markets, with trestles heaving with the abundant produce of some of the most fertile earth in Europe. Vesuvius, which could be heard gently grumbling now, was a smoking threat that promised the kind of instant destruction recorded by Pliny the Elder. Yet it was also the source of fecund soil, which, with the sun and rain, had made this corner of Italy such an attractive place to reside for everyone, from Ancient Greeks to the present Bourbon monarchy and those who had come from Spain to support
their standard. Two harvests were a commonplace if they had sufficient rain.

The man Sir William had sent to fetch him, despatched on sight of HMS Larcher preparing to anchor, spoke very little English, but the two had time to indulge in what that produced: a bit of French, as Latin-based as Italian, added to sign language and exaggerated gestures. It served to pass the time and if it could not be philosophical – such conversations never were – Pearce was assured that the weather was appallingly hot for the time of year. Having peaked in mid August it showed no sign of relenting and added was a fact that his nose told him: there had been no rain for weeks.