A Shot Rolling Ship (9 page)

Gherson, thought Pearce, fighting to keep the certainty of that thought out of his expression. The slimy, ungrateful toad would sell his mother down the river for an extra tot of rum. No, that was not true; Gherson would do it for nothing.

‘I have thought long and hard about you, Pearce. How to deal with you, for I must do something if I am not to be brought to nought. You have done everything you can, inside the Articles of War, to try to raise the ire of the ship’s crew. It is not too much to say that I suspect you are intent on fermenting mutiny. If that happened, my career in the Navy could be in ruins, and I doubt the two midshipmen who depend on me would fare much better.’

The canvas screen between them was pulled back and Teal poked his head through, that followed by a tray bearing a coffee pot and two cups. Two cups? The tray was placed on the deck, Colbourne nodded his thanks, and the steward disappeared, leaving Pearce with the thought that there, very likely, was another well-tapped source of information for the captain. Gherson was not the only one, but at least the steward could not be accused of betrayal; he owed the Pelicans and John Pearce nothing, Gherson owed them his neck.

‘I take it you like coffee?’

The advent of that pot and those two cups had thrown Pearce, and he was uncomfortable with the knowledge.
What was Colbourne about? He should not be here, in the cabin, chatting away. The whole notion of his plan did not include such a scenario; him at a grating as an extreme possibility, yes, taking the lash perhaps, more like gagged with a piece of wood tied to his mouth, creating the kind of grievances that would, he hoped, tear apart what little loyalty the crew retained for Colbourne, King and country. And he felt weakened by the certainty this man now pouring him coffee was showing. It was like the boot was on the other foot, with the ship’s captain knowing exactly what he was about and John Pearce being in total ignorance.

Colbourne sighed and looked around the cramped space. ‘How did I end up here?’

He passed over a cup and saucer, two fine china objects which, in this setting, were exceedingly incongruous. Pearce accepted more to cover his perplexity than anything else. The first sip seemed to clear his mind, and he suddenly knew that Colbourne was trying to seduce him with kindness; to deflect him from his actions by creating an intimacy.

‘I am supposed to be grateful for employment when so many of my fellow lieutenants are on the beach. And I am grateful, you know, for that would be worse.’

Pearce could see what was coming; the sort of confessional chat that would seek to suck him in, to show that Colbourne was not so very different from those he commanded, that he too was at the mercy of forces over which he had no control. Let him proceed; the coffee was
pleasant if not spectacularly tasteful, an inexpensive blend that went with the lieutenant’s impecuniosity, but neither it nor the coming tale would deflect Pearce from his goal.

‘And yet, sometimes when I sit here, or curl up in yonder cot, I wonder if I have not deeply offended someone, a senior officer or some politician who has the ear of the Admiralty? It could even be a malicious clerk, someone in the bowels of the building who spends his days poring over the logs and muster books, and yet still has to deal with importuning letters from unemployed sailors. Did I badger them too much? Is there something in my past of which I am unaware. I worry, Pearce, that I will be stuck in this ship, condemned to plough my way up and down the English Channel until Doomsday. Forgotten by all in authority, fetching in the odd not very valuable prize, patted on the head and sent back to sea again, while men who serve aboard flagships, or with powerful patrons, proceed effortlessly past me to their post captaincy, without having ever seen an ounce of action.’

Pearce was subjected to a look, one that sought some notion of the effect of these revelations. ‘I detect no sympathy in your demeanour, nor should I expect any. It is a cruel world we inhabit, and that to which I am being subjected is a minor scourge compared to the lot of most of my fellow men. But you can see my case, can you not. I need promotion, but how can I achieve that?’

Pearce could not resist it, being presented with such an opening. ‘Getting half your crew killed should do the trick.’

Colbourne actually grinned, something Pearce had never seen before, and it took years off him, making him look boyish. ‘If I do that, I stand a very good chance of getting myself killed, or even worse, so badly wounded as to render further service impossible.’

‘The notion would not stop you.’

The grin had gone, to be replaced with that look of determination that was more familiar. ‘No it would not, but I would not take this ship into action on the grounds of personal gain, and I hope you believe that.’

‘I think it is more important that you believe it.’

‘But to return to you. The one thing that would sink me without hope of salvation would be a mutiny, and that is what you are intent on causing.’ A hand came up to stop Pearce responding, an unnecessary one since he had no intention of admitting what was tantamount to guilt. ‘I know of many captains who would have had you gagged to silence your tongue, some who would even have you seized up to the grating a long time ago, and who would have flogged you daily if necessary to stop your seditious tale-telling. They would have made your life a misery and enjoyed the experience. Me? I fear I am too weak a soul for such methods. I know I should employ them, but I shrink from the actuality. In short, in the article of commanding one of his Majesty’s ships, I am irresolute.’

Intended to make Pearce feel like a scrub, it was partly successful, for he found it hard to completely dislike this man. He was half-inclined to tell him so, to let on just how often he had thought that what he was doing was
unfair, but it was enough for one person in this place to be confessional.

‘Yet I must do something about you, Pearce, for the reasons I have outlined. I do not think I am an unpopular commander, and I know that you have not portrayed me as such. I know that you have taken the Navy, the Government and a cruel world as the hooks on which to foster discontent. Odd that you have a power to command men that I actually envy. Not everyone, of course, but you have so suborned a substantial portion of my crew that they look to you before they look to the natural authority that I represent. So, what to do?’

‘Let me and my companions off the ship.’

‘Which you are well aware I cannot contemplate.’

‘Leave?’

‘We will not be in harbour long enough to justify the granting of it, and what would be said when I complained of being short-handed, if I was known to be giving men leave of absence?’

‘We are willing to desert.’

‘Complicity in such as that, if it were ever exposed, would harm me more than a mutiny and what makes you think you would not be caught. The port we are about to enter, as well as the forest behind it, is teeming with rogues who make part of their living from selling deserters back to the Navy. You may think you can outwit them, but look at you, in your sailors’ ducks.’

‘I have a change of clothes.’

‘You do, but that will not suffice. What about your
hands, Pearce, look at the tar that has become ingrained in your flesh from hauling on ropes. Try telling some gang of crimps that you are not a sailor. They will nod, Pearce, then they will laugh, and then they will bind you tight and frogmarch you to the nearest officer of the Press and collect their bounty. I am tempted to ask,’ Colbourne continued, ‘what you intended to do once you had caused your mutiny. Having gained control of the ship, where would you take her? To France, perhaps?’

‘You will not be surprised if I do not answer.’

‘You don’t have to,’ said Colbourne, pulling from his desk a letter. ‘There are many things you don’t have to tell me for they are all in here.’

Colbourne pushed it towards him, but he knew it to be Lutyens’ letter before it was in his hand. Under the influence of drugs he had told the surgeon of HMS
Brilliant
everything about himself and his past; the letter had been the surprise result. Addressed to the man’s father it was a plea that the Pastor of the Lutheran church should use his influence with royalty to get lifted the warrant for sedition that kept Adam Pearce out of Britain, a reprieve that would grant freedom to John Pearce as well. How in God’s name had he got that? Gherson’s name and face sprang into his mind again. Why had he ever gone to the bother of saving the bastard’s life?

‘I return to you your property, with a sincere apology for reading what was, quite obviously, private correspondence. Believe me, I did so from the best of motives.’

‘Would that be self-preservation?’
‘You are angry, and you have the right to be, but it will not surprise you to know that I have the right to do what I have done and in reading it I have discerned your purpose. It may seem strange to you to hear me say that I am a happier man knowing who you are, in knowing that I was right about your dissimilarity to your fellows.’

‘So now all your problems are solved.’

‘They could be. I could have you in chains, then hand you over to the port authorities to do with what they wish. I hope it comes as no surprise to you that I would find such an action unpalatable.’ Colbourne grinned again and picked up the coffee pot. From above their heads both men could hear the sounds of a ship about to moor. It was a telling notion of how much Colbourne feared Pearce that he was not on deck to supervise it.

‘But that does not answer my dilemma. I cannot let you, a common seaman, off this ship, and I cannot keep you, an uncommon one, on board. I will not, in all conscience, hand you over to the authorities, because I, like the fellow who wrote your letter, do not believe a man should be condemned to prison for merely speaking his mind. I am reluctant to gift you to some other captain, for they would be bound to ask me why. Imagine if they were told, and took you, how they would react to your behaviour? I doubt you’d survive a month.’

‘There are laws against killing people, even sailors.’

‘And there are captains who know how to circumvent them. It is we who write up the story Pearce, and no Admiralty clerk is going to overly enquire about a name
that says beside it in the log, “died in the execution of his duties”.’

Pearce was wondering what price Gherson had extracted for his thieving, but he would not ask, because he knew that Colbourne would not tell him. ‘I’m grateful for the coffee, and for the return of my letter. I daresay you wish from me a promise that I will desist?’

‘I would like it, but somehow I doubt I would get it and it is the measure of the respect in which I hold you that I would be disappointed if you made it, for to return to where we started, it would be a lie.’

‘Then why all this?’ demanded Pearce, lifting Lutyens’ letter. ‘The coffee, the intimacy.’

‘Well, it is pleasant to have someone of equal wit to talk to.’ Colbourne saw Pearce’s colour rise as he became angry and he spoke quickly to subdue him. ‘You need to get ashore, do you not?’

‘More than that.’

‘Tell me.’

Pearce waved the letter. ‘There’s not much that is not in here. My father is sick, he is in a country going from bad to worse. I need to get him out. The rest will have to be taken care of when that is accomplished.’

‘Then I have the solution.’

‘Which is?’

That grin again. ‘I intend to rate you as a midshipman.’

It was amazing how, in those few simple words, the case was altered. All the things that would damn Pearce ashore, the gait of a man new from the sea, those ingrained hands black with tar, the way the weather had coloured his face, would become part of his defence against crimps, all for the addition of a simple blue, midshipman’s coat.

‘It is one of the quirks of the Navy,’ Colbourne added. ‘that I am allowed, within reason, as many midshipmen as I want and that it is I who appoint them. Of course it is not, in the true nature of things, a rank, it is merely a courtesy title for a youngster learning his profession, but it does mean that he is free to come and go from ship to shore much as he pleases, albeit that he would have to have his captain’s permission.’

‘Why?’

Pearce asked the question because it was an outcome
that had surprised him. In all his imaginings – in all those extrapolations of possible scenarios he had conjured up as a means of getting safely ashore, this one had never even been considered and it was clear that Colbourne knew it, for he was now grinning like a Cheshire cat.

‘I thought I had explained, Pearce. I have a choice. I must, for my own sake, not yours, either beat you into submission or get you off this ship. You have been trying to get me to flog you for your minor infractions almost since you came aboard, so to do so would only play into your hands and alienate an already disturbed crew. If I remove you to another captain will that magic away the harm you have done to relations between them and I? No, it may even make it worse. It would be seen as unjust and you know how much sailors love to dwell on such things, be they real or imagined. We have taken a prize, we are coming into harbour, and right now the men are less disturbed but I have no illusions about the
Griffin
or her capabilities. It may be sometime before fortune favours us with the chance to catch another enemy vessel. I do not, therefore, anticipate, a contented crew.’

Pearce could not help himself, he had to ask. ‘Did Gherson come to you, or did you engage him to spy for you?’

‘I needed to know about you and your motives, he is by nature curious. Let us say that our needs combined.’

‘And his reward?’

‘Oddly enough, he did not ask for one.’

‘That is against his nature.’

Colbourne gave him a knowing look. ‘Can you not contemplate the notion that he hates you, Pearce?’

There was no arguing with that, even if he suspected it was not enough. ‘I wonder if he will be surprised at the outcome.’

‘Why should he be surprised. He has no idea of what is in your letter.’

Pearce was sure Colbourne was lying now. Gherson was not the type to meekly hand over such a thing and not want to know the contents. Very likely he had read it, which explained the close attention he had been paying the subject the last few days, but the result had been the opposite of that which he had sought. Pearce half wondered if he should feel aggrieved, for Gherson, no doubt encouraged by Colbourne, had broken one of the most profound tenets of shipboard life; he had interfered with the possessions of one of his shipmates. Trust, in a crowded ship, was essential; caught, he would have been lucky to survive the daily beating the rest of the crew would have administered.

‘It was something of a relief to find that your actions were not personal.’

Pearce was sure, as much as he was sure of anything, that had swayed the ship’s captain. He was also sure that to acknowledge that act of generosity would be unwelcome. Colbourne wished to be seen as clever, not kind.

‘It will not surprise you to know that I do not have aboard a mids uniform that would fit you. That must be purchased ashore.’ Colbourne paused then and looked
hard at Pearce, who quickly smoked the reason.

‘I have money to pay for such things.’

‘Good.’

‘Or at least I had. If Gherson has been rummaging in my belongings I may not have everything that I once possessed.’

‘I doubt he’s a thief,’ Colbourne replied, looking away, then busying himself in his desk. That told Pearce he knew about his purse as well; if Gherson had not actually shown him then he had told the captain, but that too must remain unsaid. As for Gherson being light-fingered, of that there was no doubt; if the purse was still intact it would be because Colbourne has insisted it be so.

The patter of feet above their heads, the muffled shouts of command, were the sounds of the ship being secured to a buoy, while an anchor splashed over the stern, men hauling on a rope to pull them in to their mooring, which would make taut the anchor cable, this while others clewed up the sails. Soon the crew would be prettying themselves up for the traders, whores and tricksters who would come aboard to relieve them of what little coin they had, perhaps more on this visit than the last, for those who preyed on the Navy would observe that, however battered she was, HMS
Griffin
had taken a prize, just as they would know, almost to the last farthing, long before the Prize Court pronounced a sum, how much, with its guns and men, it was worth.

Colbourne had a folded piece of parchment in his hand, which he flicked open. Even from the other side of the
so-called cabin, in the dim light, Pearce could see the seal and ribbon affixed to the bottom, could imagine perhaps the florid signature which surmounted it. Should he offer Colbourne money to pay for the document, for parchment was expensive?

‘I have here a letter appointing you as a gentleman volunteer, a midshipman to this vessel. In it you will see that I require you to come aboard properly equipped, with all the necessary equipment to carry out the duties you will be required to perform.’

Colbourne handed it over. Pearce took it and tried to look at the words neatly written on the page, the opening line saying “
By the power vested in me
…” but he could not, for his eyes had filled with fluid. He was not crying, but he was, being overcome with such a compound of emotions, close to it.

‘You are now, officially, Mister Midshipman Pearce, a young gentleman, and I wish you joy of the elevation.’

The inkpot was pushed forward, and the sanding pot reappeared along with a sheet of paper. ‘I now require from you a letter asking to be allowed to go ashore to pursue a personal matter. I have already composed my written permission. You will need that if any zealous Press Gang or recruiting party questions you.’

‘Crimps?’

‘Won’t come near you in a midshipman’s coat.’

‘You were so certain I would not refuse.’

‘Yes, very certain.’

Colbourne stood up, or rather crouched up, and grabbed
his hat from the nail above his head, and his cloak from another driven into the hull. ‘And now I must go up and see if your fellow mids have made a decent fist of berthing both our ship and the prize. Once I have done that I must go ashore to report to the Commodore’s office. You will accompany me.’

‘Will I be coming back?’

‘The choice is yours, Mr Pearce, not mine.’

The lower deck was deserted, with all hands on the upper deck securing the ship, carrying out that multitude of tasks necessary to make Colbourne happy. Many would have noticed Pearce’s absence; they had last seen him go into the captain’s quarters. What would they make of it? The more imaginative lot would have a vision of him skewered with Colbourne’s sword, lying in a pool of blood, or lashed to a chair awaiting a file of marines to take him to the naval prison. The likes of Michael would be worried while Gherson, no doubt, would be pleased with himself.

His possessions, when he gathered them together from the hold, did not amount to much, being the same clothes in which he had originally been pressed. The coat that had once had a high collar, since ripped off, was musty from being folded for so long. A count up of his money established that it was intact, nearly thirty guineas in total. If Gherson had helped himself to a golden coin, then he would have been welcome to it, for despite his malicious motive, Pearce knew that he had been the instrument of his release. His cambric shirt and thick winter breeches were
musty too, for the lack of being aired, and there were his buckled shoes, greenish now, but of good enough quality to buff up once a little spit, blacking and oil was applied.

‘Are you sound, John boy?’

Pearce looked round to see Michael O’Hagan crouched down on the ladder, his wide Irish face concerned. They were still working on deck, where he too should have been and the joy he felt turned sour. How was he to tell this man, a friend now risking punishment out of concern, who had done everything in his power to aid him in the suborning of the ship’s crew, all designed to get the Pelicans off the ship as a group, that he had the means to depart, but alone.

‘More than sound, Michael.’

O’Hagan’s eyes did not meet his; they were fixed on the empty ditty bag and at the clothes he had extracted, all laid out as if Pearce was about to change into them. It was clear that the Irishman was trying and failing to make sense of it.

‘It would be a kindness to be after telling what’s going on?’

Elation at the prospect of release had made him forget about not just Michael, but Charlie and Rufus as well. In truth, Pearce was somewhat stunned by the turn of events and had had no time to think matters through, especially as it related to the Pelicans. To have to explain now was bad, but he was aware that in his excitement he could have walked off the ship and into Colbourne’s boat in a continued daze, without a word to his mates, and the
knowledge that he might have done that made him feel like the lowest form of life. A scrub he might feel, but that did not alter the fact that he had an opportunity to fulfil his deepest wish, one that he was sure, if he explained, would be understood by Michael and the others.

‘Gherson stole a letter from this bag.’

‘The bastard,’ spat Michael. ‘He’ll feel my fist.’

‘Leave him be, for the sod has done me a favour. He gave it to Colbourne.’

‘Mind out, fat arse,’ said a voice behind O’Hagan, identifiably Blubber’s, a remark that would normally get a jolly retort from the Irishman. Not this time. Pearce could not see his face because he spun round to take on the insult, but he could hear him.

‘Is it an early grave you be seeking, bastard?’

‘Hold on Michael,’ said another voice, which Pearce recognised as that of Latimer, ‘he was only making a joke.’

‘Michael,’ Pearce called, indicating he should vacate the companionway. The crew was obviously finished on deck, and eager to get below for their grooming. That was another thought that had not occurred to John Pearce in his elation at Colbourne’s action. It was not just his Pelicans who would wonder at his departure. They, so lately wound up like watch springs to a near state of mutiny, would hardly take kindly to what would look like an act of selfish personal advantage.

Within a minute the lower deck was as crowded as it had ever been, filled with a buzz of noise so loud that
Pearce would have had to bawl to tell Michael, now standing beside him, but not looking at him, anything at all. Colbourne came down the ladder, which killed off the noise, while doing nothing to make it any easier in the article of explanation. Head bent he stopped in front of the pair.

‘Are you ready to go ashore, Mr Pearce?’

He could not reply, as Colbourne, in a way that assumed agreement, went towards his cabin.

‘Mr Pearce! What in the name of Holy Mary is that about?’

Every eye was on him now, and few of them were friendly. Those not glaring at him were like young Rufus, confused, while Charlie Taverner was actually shocked. The problem of what to say was stopped by the reappearance of Colbourne, ship’s books and papers cradled in his arms. No fool, he sensed the atmosphere right away, and in truth it would have been impossible not to, given that it was so laden you could cut it with a knife.

‘Mr Pearce, you must make haste if you wish to go ashore, for I will not wait for you.’

In the jumble of thoughts that filled John Pearce’s mind then, one of them told him that Lieutenant Colbourne had been exceedingly shrewd. How long had he had that letter? It could have been days, yet he has waited until they were berthing to have his interview, waited until Pearce, offered the thing he wanted most in the world, would have no time for explanation, no time to ask permission of his friends to accept. His walking off the ship now would be
seen as an act of pure betrayal, killing two birds with one stone. Colbourne was not only ridding himself of a pest, but undermining the message which had made the crew so fractious. He had, in truth, already done so, for even if Pearce declined his offer, in two one-sentence exchanges what trust he had built up among the men on this ship was broken. Colbourne’s words in his cabin had been soft soap, designed to get to just this point.

He turned to speak to Michael, but the Irishman turned his back. ‘I never thought the stink on this barky could get worse, my boys, but it has. It’s not just the timbers that are rotten.’

Was Colbourne smiling? Under his hat, which shaded his face, it was impossible to tell for sure, but Pearce had the distinct impression that it was so. Knowing that he had been out-manoeuvred made no odds, he had to make a decision whether to stay or go, to fulfil one duty, the one he had to this crew, or another to his father. There really was no choice; this lot, barring shot, shell and the pox would survive. Pearce jammed his clothing back into his bag, and as Colbourne passed him he followed the lieutenant up the companionway ladder.

In the seething mass of emotions that assailed him as he hit the cold fresh air, there was only one moment of relief. Gherson had not come below with the others, being one of those assigned the duty of hauling the prize alongside to be lashed off. When he saw Pearce trailing Colbourne, carrying his ditty bags, his face showed momentary triumph, then confusion, given that Pearce was not under restraint. That
turned to fury, as Colbourne said, ‘New to your duties Mr Pearce, you will not be aware that it is the custom for the senior officer to be last into a boat. So, as you are a midshipman and I a lieutenant, after you.’