A Shot Rolling Ship (19 page)

‘Quartermaster, ease off a few points. I want the wind playing on our sails to best advantage. Signal Captain Gould to hold station on us. Mr Glaister, all hands on deck to make sail.’

The whole ship had been waiting for that, warned in advance to expect it, so the crew rushed on to the deck in record time. In the main it was not done to please their captain – many heartily disliked Ralph Barclay – but they had a sharp eye for their own comfort and they knew that if he was content then their lives were eased. Make him unhappy, which had already happened on this commission, and they all suffered in the backwash.

‘T’gallants aloft please, Mr Glaister.’

The Premier raised the speaking trumpet, for once his measured way of doing things irritating, and called out
the requisite orders. The topmen had gone to their stations and ropes appeared from the main and fore yards, ready to haul up the topgallant yards once the lubbers below had hauled them out and bent on the sails. They were hauled aloft, chained, and on command let loose, to be sheeted home on the lines that ran to the cleats on the deck. Immediately, as the wind took them HMS
Brilliant
heeled.

‘Mr Farmiloe, my compliments to my wife. She should get my steward to secure anything of a fragile nature, since we are going to heel more as we continue.’

The sky sails and an outer jib followed the topgallant, and the deck canted a few degrees more, the blue water of the Mediterranean bursting white and fairly creaming down the leeward side.

‘The log, Mr Glaister, let us see what we are making, and let us have out the studdingsail booms ready to be sent aloft.’

By the time the sun began to set in their wake, Ralph Barclay had everything set he could, and he began to play with the tension on the sails to improve the way they all drew. Mr Collins, the master, whose department this was, agreed with every suggestion he made, for he had come to have much fear of his captain’s temper, and the man’s uncanny ability to expose his weaknesses.

‘They’ll be taking it all in ten minutes from now,’ said Martin Dent. Ben Walker just nodded, as the boy continued. ‘You ever been right up at the masthead, Ben?’ That got a head shake. ‘It be grand up there, best spot on
the ship. What say we go up and have a look see.’

‘Yeoman said we was to go no higher than the main yard.’

‘Stuff him, mate, what does he know. I’m going up to watch the sun set. If you ain’t game to follow me, so be it.’

Martin had reached the bulwarks before Ben reacted. He had to go, for it was like a challenge and he knew he had a flaw in his nature, in that he could never pass up on one. So he followed Martin up to the maincap, eschewing, as the boy did, the lubber’s hole, and carrying right on to the next set of shrouds. They passed to the tops in the same fashion, Ben climbing in Martin’s wake until they reached the topgallant yard, where the boy slipped along, hooking his arm round the smooth pine of the mast.

‘Take the other side Ben, an’ look around you. If we was to stay here long enough it would be dark on deck and still light up here, and there’s a wonder of the world, even if I say so.’

In truth, there was nothing to see but that setting sun and an expanse of water turning from blue to grey, but Ben was exhilarated nonetheless. Then he looked down and the case was altered. Swaying forward he could see the dip of the bowsprit into the water, watch the trails of the accompanying dolphins criss-crossing the bows, and see the flash of their wet backs as they took their leap.

‘Ben.’

‘What?’ He had to look at Martin Dent, for the tone with which the name had been said demanded it.

‘I need you to know that I is sorry for what went before. I never meant no harm.’

‘Martin, that ain’t true. You meant harm to another.’

‘Then I regrets it, do you believe that?’

Ben Walker was about to say no when he remembered his own past deeds, things he regretted with every ounce of his being, actions which, had they not occurred would not have seen him in the Liberties, nor pressed into the Navy. Perhaps the boy was genuine, and like him.

‘I wants us to be friends, Ben, true messmates, an’ if you will grant that I can live with my errors.’

‘They haunt you?’

‘They do, Ben. An’ I can see no way out, since all the others on the edge of my harm have left the ship. But for you to forgive me…’

Ben looked hard at the boy, at his pleading spotty face. ‘Do I have the power, Martin?’

‘Can’t think of another that does.’

‘Then you have it,’ Ben said, wishing in his heart that forgiveness for his sins could be brought about by a similar absolution.

‘Mates,’ said Martin, holding out his free hand. ‘I’ll look out for you, an’ you look out for me, through thick and thin?’

Ben put out his hand and said, ‘Mates.’

They heard the commands from below as Lieutenant Glaister gave out the orders to take in sail, that followed by an angry shout from the Yeoman of the Sheets. ‘You two buggers, what in Christ’s name do you think you are about. Get down out of there now!’

John Pearce watched HMS
Griffin
anchor with mixed feelings. He had no affection for the vessel, but a great deal of regard for the Pelicans on board, and a feeling that he owed the trio a great deal. Every time he recalled the looks he had received on departure his heart contracted with shame, forcing him to remind himself for the thousandth time that he had had no choice. Coming back to this place was something he had to do, maybe just because staying in London had been impossible.

Having informed Pastor Lutyens of his father’s demise, he had then asked Horne Tooke to send the information to the various journals that came out daily in the capital, to be disseminated all around the country. He read them all in a coffee house over the following week, to discover that to most it was a footnote in the great drama being enacted across Europe. Some saw the story as due and
divine retribution on a well-known troublemaker, others a further disgrace on a Revolution that had lost all claims to legitimacy, even the odd writer who reckoned it a slight to the nation. None gave Adam Pearce his due, nor praised any of the tenets by which he had lived. How the world had changed in under four years!

The only good news was that the warrant on his father, which had included him only as an accomplice, had lapsed with his demise, leaving him free to travel openly. Changing back into his midshipman’s uniform, he had sold the clothes he had bought in Paris for more than he had paid, which gave him the means to eat plain, if not plentiful, on the way. It had been a long and slow journey from London back to Lymington on foot, on the back of a cart where he could beg relief, the whole carried out with an utter lack of real purpose, given that the aims that he was pursuing were exceedingly vague, if not downright confused. That had not changed on arrival, as he stood looking out over the narrow estuary that led out to the Solent.

Colbourne’s boat put off almost before the ship was tied off to the buoy, as he knew it would, he being obliged to hand his papers and his revictualling requirements in to the Commodore who, no doubt, saw it as part of his professional duty to be impatient. He felt a strange sensation in his gut, brought on by nerves at what he knew was going to be a difficult encounter and he moved back from the edge of the quay to a point where those manning the boat could not see him, to a point where he could meet the ship’s captain face to face and in private. Another very
public humiliation was the last thing he wanted.

‘God in heaven!’ the man exclaimed, as Pearce stepped out in front of him. Clearly he felt threatened, for he held out the oilskin case containing the ship’s logs and papers as if to defend his body.

‘I wish to speak with you, sir.’ Pearce was careful to make the “sir” sound like a remark between equals rather than an acknowledgement of the man’s rank. ‘If you will indulge me.’

‘What about?’

‘The possibility of rejoining the ship.’

‘Damn you, Pearce, you are not short on effrontery.’

‘Or need. I ask for a few minutes of your time, to plead my case. Then you can say yes or no.’

‘I do not have the freedom to indulge you. The Commodore has made my number and right now will be examining his wall clock and wondering why I am taking such a devilish long time to obey his orders.’

‘After you have seen him?’

‘Why should I?’

There was no choice but to be an open supplicant, much as Pearce hated the idea. ‘I need your help.’

Much as he tried to mask it, Colbourne was intrigued, and Pearce could see that his instincts were at odds with his curiosity. Clearly, he had not heard of his father’s murder, hardly surprising given he spent almost his entire time at sea.

‘Go to the Angel. I had intended to take breakfast there.’

‘May I ask how long?’

‘It is pointless asking me, Pearce. If you really want to know you should make enquiries of the Commodore.’

‘I will wait for you outside.’

Standing outside the Angel exposed the truth that was the underbelly of the seeming prosperity of the place. There was not a space in any English town that was not occupied by layers of desperate people and Lymington was no exception. Poor souls hung around the Angel Inn, hoping for something, anything, like the chore of catching hold of the horse traces as the Post Chaise arrived. Having seen to that they would grovel for the right to carry a traveller’s luggage, and someone leaning against the wall, a stranger in a cloak, fit, strong and clean, might steal from them that job. Even the urchins who hung around hoping for a note to carry looked at Pearce with suspicion, wondering if he was a rival for the coin that task would earn.

The crossing sweeper, who kept the road in front of the inn free from dung, got very busy, for he would be questioning if his job, one of the lowest in the pecking order, was being eyed up, with good reason, for there was always a desperate cove who would go to the owner and offer to do the job for less than the scraps of food he was given to eat and ullage he received to drink, spilt beer gone flat that would otherwise be thrown away. The beggars, even ones supposed to be blind, were cursory in their examination, for he was too whole and well set up to threaten them, likewise the raddled whores peeping
out from the alleyways who would prance and display themselves when a conveyance, or any one prosperous, came past.

The one who decided to enquire after his purpose reminded Pearce of Charlie Taverner; a sway in the walk, once-good clothes just too far the down side of worn, the big insincere smile and the hand inside his coat which could well be holding on to a cudgel.

‘Waiting for someone, friend.’

‘I’m minding my own concerns.’

‘That be sharp of you, brother. It never does a man to do otherwise, I say.’

Pearce pulled the cloak open, to reveal the worn midshipman’s coat and the man’s eyes opened in mock surprise. ‘Why you’se Navy, and here’s us wondering what you was about?’

‘Who was wondering?’

There was a clear glint of avarice then, the smile broadened, and the hand came out, empty, from under his coat. ‘There’s one or two round here it would be unwise to trust. Happen you need a bit of help to see what’s going on around you, mate.’

‘And you’re just the fellow to oblige?’

‘Tom Watts at your service. There’s many a sailor boy been pleased to have me show them the ropes.’ Watts laughed out loud and repeated his pun. ‘Show them the ropes, sailor boys, do you smoke it?’

‘Tom, I am standing here waiting for someone because I am too poor to go inside. Should I do so I would be
obliged to purchase something for which I lack the means to pay, so I think that you might be wasting your time.’

‘Now that offends, friend. An offer to help is just that.’

Said with mock anger, it nevertheless hit home, for Tom was already moving back.

‘As you say, Tom. But I think we would both profit more from being left alone.’

That little exchange brought home to Pearce once more what little he had in the way of prospects, and certainly he had no means of elevating himself to become the kind of person who could take revenge on those murderers across the Channel. It was all very well entertaining a fantasy of rising to become a powerful man, but that was all it would stay; being the son of a radical orator did not fit you for much; in fact it positively debarred him from certain routes to the kind of goal he sought. He had something of an education but, besides being incomplete, in what? A smattering of Latin and Greek, an incomplete knowledge of the classics, the ability to ride well and wield a sword was hardly the basis of any kind of career, and certainly not enough to equip him to apply for a profession. The law was too expensive, and he would require a high degree of learning, which he did not possess at present and lacked the means to acquire in the immediate future. Medicine held no appeal, although he was convinced that even totally ignorant he could probably get by as a doctor, given the number of charlatans who passed themselves off in that field.

Teaching was another option; he had enough learning for that, especially in French, but quite apart from the fact that they earned a pittance, he had bad memories of the schools he had attended and the kind of people that taught in them; miserable sods who were sore-headed in the morning, drunk in the afternoon, and very fond of the birch cane as a teaching aid. He could follow in the parental footsteps – the name Adam Pearce would open certain doors – except he had none of the conviction that had sustained his father over the years.

Besides that, he longed to clear himself in the eyes of the only friends he felt he had in the world. Right now Colbourne was the sole person who could provide him with an avenue, however tenuous, to do that, for they were on the ship and might never be allowed ashore while the war lasted. Maybe the Navy would assuage that desire for revenge he felt by giving him a chance to strike back at the French in some small way. He had no mind to be a soldier; that was known to be worse than being a sailor, unless you were an officer, and that required the means to buy a commission. He had even thought about the idea of a sum of prize money that would set him up, before reminding himself, as he had sought to relay to others, that such notions were in the realms of a pipe dream.

These depressing thoughts ceased as the Lieutenant came up the High Street from the Commodore’s house, head thrust forward, trailing the usual following of grubby boys, cupped hands out, one persistently
asking for a penny, another for a halfpenny, the most desperate for a farthing. He almost felt a kindred spirit to them.

‘Even if your return is fortuitous, I have no real notion that I want you back aboard my ship.’

They were inside now, sat at a table, waiting for the food that had been ordered, each man with a flagon of cider in his hand. Pearce, who had failed to mention that he could not pay, longed to ask why his presence was fortuitous, but he sensed that would not help his cause. ‘I will come back aboard as a common seaman.’

‘You will not!’ Colbourne exclaimed. ‘If I allow you back on board at all it will be in the rank with which you departed, that of a volunteer. Then at least the Navy won’t have to pay you, and nor will you get a chance to undermine the crew.’

Hope thought Pearce; he is thinking of agreeing.

‘If that damn fool Bailey had not broken his leg I would not even consider it.’ Colbourne responded to the enquiring look. ‘He fell out of the rigging, fortunately from not too great a height. So you see I am short of a body, even a fairly useless one, to run the ship.’

Pearce posed his next question with some trepidation. ‘I was given to understand that a queue of boys existed who would do anything to get in to the Navy.’

‘Not aboard the
Griffin
.’ Colbourne snapped. ‘I even asked the Commodore for a suggestion. He said, and I quote his attempt to be jocose, “that he could think of no
person he disliked enough”.’ Then he looked hard at Pearce and asked, ‘Why?’

‘I will not lie to you, I am at stand and the way I left
Griffin
still makes me uncomfortable.’

‘The notion that you are stymied makes me content. In fact I can recall the moment you allude to and the fact that I thoroughly enjoyed it.’

Pearce felt his opinion of Colbourne shifting, though in truth it had been dented on their last parting. He had seen him as rather soft, easy-going, perhaps with a sense of humour, but experience had shown that he had his own way of dealing with things, and a devious mind to boot. And there was an air of malice in his responses that Pearce had never thought to see.

‘Might I ask if the crew is less disgruntled?’

That touched a nerve, for Colbourne spat a reply. ‘The crew will do what is required of them.’

Perhaps things have not settled after all, Pearce thought. Would telling him the story of how his father had died and how he had witnessed it provoke sympathy, enough to aid the case? It was possible but he did not want to reprise it; he had dreamt about it too often these last two weeks, woken from his nightmare to curse himself as a coward for not even endeavouring to attempt a rescue. He should have tried and died in the process, and that he failed to do so would haunt him for the rest of his life.

‘In truth, Mr Colbourne, at this moment, I have nowhere else to go and it pains me to tell you that I do not even have the means to pay for the food we have ordered.’

That quite visibly surprised the Lieutenant, who suddenly covered the lower half of his face with his cider tankard, holding it there longer than the time taken for a gulp.

‘I can pay for your dinner.’

‘Thank you.’

There was another pause, of the kind that all men make when faced with a decision they would rather avoid. Then Colbourne allowed himself a slight smile, as though he had just had a notion that amused him. ‘I will grant you one voyage. In that time you must show me that my kindness is not misplaced. You must also show me you have the ability to command those men who were your former shipmates.’

Pearce could not resist the thought that Colbourne was toying with him once more, and he would have liked to have declined; but since he had no choice, he was forced to say. ‘Thank you, again.’

‘The correct form of address, Mr Pearce, is thank you, sir.’

The looks he got when he arrived at the quayside almost made his prior action worthwhile, which felt very much like grovelling. In no position to say anything, the boat crew had to look at him once more, this time their faces blank masks, to let him know the opposite of what was the truth; that they were near-dying of curiosity. Alongside
Griffin
a flat-bottomed Hoy was pumping fresh water aboard, this while a barge disgorged bundles of wood to feed the ship’s stoves and the cook’s coppers. Off the stern
another party was hoisting in sacks of fresh bread, dried peas and oatmeal, and barrels of beer, salt beef and pork, these being lowered though a hatch to the holds. The cry of
Griffin
from the coxswain, to let those aboard ship know that their captain was coming aboard, did little to disturb the work. The men necessary to see Colbourne aboard, the quartet of marines and Midshipman Short, had changed from working clothes to proper uniform the minute they had seen the boat put off from the shore, this told to them by a ship’s boy set at the masthead for that purpose.