An Awkward Commission (24 page)

‘Illegal!’

‘…there is not another captain or admiral on this station who has not at some time in his career done the same. While they are honest men, they are also serving sailors who have found themselves in a like situation. It would not be surprising, therefore, that they would have a natural inclination to support Mr Barclay.’

Pearce was genuinely surprised. ‘You’re saying that I am wasting my time?’

‘No, Lieutenant Pearce, I am saying that refusing Admiral Hotham’s orders will not endear you to him, and he is one of those to whom you must plead your case. I doubt HMS
Weazel
will be gone for more than a week, by which time
things will have settled here, matters will be in hand, and time can be given to consideration of your complaint.’

‘I seem to spend my entire time seeking to please admirals.’

‘Believe me, Mr Pearce,’ the Flag Lieutenant replied, in a deeply serious tone, ‘that is a far better idea than upsetting them.’ Sensing that his fellow-lieutenant was weakening, he added, ‘
Weazel
has orders to sail at dawn. I would suggest to you that it would be a good idea to get aboard and introduce yourself to Captain Benton.’

‘I am concerned for my friends.’

‘Which does you credit, sir, but what possible harm can come to them? The French in Toulon are now our allies, the revolutionary armies are occupied subduing Marseilles and are not expected here for weeks. The worst that can happen to them is that they will be sent ashore to throw up earthworks for the gun emplacements being planned for Mont Faron.’

Pearce was torn. Taberly had expressly forbidden him
Leander
, so he could spend no time with his fellow Pelicans. Hood, he suspected, would not see him, neither would Hotham, so his suit would languish, and he was not a person who enjoyed the prospect of being idle, with nothing to do but gnaw on and be frustrated by that. He imagined, once more, duelling with Barclay, but reverted to a decision he had already made; his determination to see the man disgraced before that took place. He could, of course, go ashore, given that he had an almost proprietary interest in the place, but would he be welcome and of any use if he was? The port was likely to be a dull place socially until things settled down, and any idea of looking at the region was out of the question given the impending arrival of a Jacobin army.

As long as Michael, Charlie and Rufus were safe, a week would make no odds, and this sloop, he now knew,
was bound for a cruise round Corsica, an island and a people of which he had heard much from James Boswell, one of his father’s old verbal sparring partners. Boswell had described it as a wild, romantic place, full of strange sights and an even more peculiar people. If he did not see it now, he probably never would. He was also tempted by another reason, which related to the conversations he had had with Captain McGann; was he up to the job of running a ship? The gaps in his knowledge were extensive, but he felt he had made a reasonable fist of his tasks aboard
Griffin
. Add to that what he had learnt aboard the Postal Packet and this would be by way of a test; a strange ship, and unfamiliar crew, and he would be, it seemed, the only officer under the captain. It was a chance to put one in the eye of people like Hood, who questioned his right to his rank. Even more appealing was the way it would infuriate Barclay!

Had it been a proper place he would have declined it regardless, but it was only a temporary posting till the present incumbent was free to resume his duties. ‘I will accept, but I have one request.’

‘Which is?’

‘No boxing bouts.’

The Flag Lieutenant struggled with that. ‘Boxing bouts?’

‘Yes. I want a strict instruction to the captain of HMS
Leander
that he is in no way to arrange or condone such a thing.’

The man before him was enough of a diplomat to evade the truth with ease; not lie, for he had no idea of what answer Admiral Hotham would give to such a request. ‘I will see that it is brought to the admiral’s attention.’

‘You may also wish to bring to the admiral’s attention the fact that such an event took place, and included gambling, at
sea while HMS
Leander
was off the coast of Spain, which, if I am not mistaken contravenes the Articles of War, and should be the subject of a court martial.’

On entering Admiral Hotham’s cabin, his Flag Lieutenant was faced with an enquiring look from the two officers present.

‘Well?’ asked Ralph Barclay.

‘He has accepted.’

‘Well done,’ said Hotham. ‘That gains us time.’

‘He had one request, sir, a strange one.’

The young man explained, first to a raised eyebrow, then to a look of disbelief, until finally Hotham exploded, his face going bright red. ‘Damn the fellow. Does he want to bring every captain in the fleet to court martial?’

His Flag Lieutenant did not reply, thinking the answer was probably, yes.

Pearce knew he had erred within ten minutes of being aboard, not because of any incompetence on his part, not because HMS
Weazel
was so small, but by the behaviour of the ship’s captain. Benton was slightly drunk, and he looked like a fellow who was no stranger to that state, with reddish, watery eyes and that facial colour that spoke of badly corrupted blood under his skin. Pearce had seen too many of the type in his travels to come to any other conclusion; the taverns and pot houses of Britain were full of Bentons, usually addicted to gin, rather than that which the captain was drinking now and sharing with his new officer, which Pearce reckoned must be the cheapest form of blackstrap wine, the kind that left a sour taste on the tongue.

‘I am not pleased they took Digby, Mr Pearce, I want you to know that. He was just getting used to my ways.’

‘Digby?’

‘You know him?’

‘Only if he served aboard HMS
Brilliant
.’

‘He did,’ Benton replied, in a voice that had gravel, and little affection, in it. ‘Barclay got shot of him at Lisbon, and he was not the type to fit in on the flagship. Admiral Hotham likes his officers to be true gentlemen with the means to support that station. Digby lacked both the means and any interest from a patron, so I got him.’

Responding to what was a less-than-pleased tone, and
recalling what Digby had been like aboard
Brilliant
, kind, if a little confused and uncertain, Pearce replied, ‘I thought him a competent officer, sir.’

‘He was far from that when he arrived, Pearce, but he benefited from being with me.’ The bleary eyes fixed on his new officer over a gulp of wine. ‘I assume you are another
no-hoper
, new to your commission, sent to try my patience.’

‘Very likely,’ Pearce replied, which had the virtue of both being true and surprising Benton enough to make him shift back in his chair.

‘Well, be warned,’ Benton growled, recovering somewhat, ‘I expect the highest standard of behaviour on my deck, as well as competence, and if you don’t have it now, you’d damn well best acquire it. We weigh at first light, our orders to sail round the island of Corsica, home to a couple of French sloops left there to support the military garrison.’

‘We will be landing?’

‘No, Mr Pearce, we will not.’

Suppressing disappointment, and wondering if he had chucked himself into danger, Pearce asked, ‘And if we find these vessels, sir?’

‘We are to report on their location and inform Lord Hood.’ Benton shouted then, in a voice that must have been heard beyond the bowsprit, ‘Harbin!’

That brought to the tiny cabin a freckle-faced youth, a compact sort of youngster who, once outside the cabin, produced a winning smile and a proper welcome aboard. He was instructed to take Pearce round the ship, as though such a thing would take more than two minutes. Pearce met the Purser, Gunner, Carpenter and Bosun, but most importantly, remembering McGann’s injunction, the ship’s Master, a grey-haired fellow of round and ruddy country complexion called Neame, who seemed old to hold a warrant for such a small vessel. He was introduced to two other mids and the
master’s mates. In doing so, he was eyed by but not named to the crew, all of whom looked at him with something approaching indifference. It was an act of course; every man jack was curious about this new blue coat, for he was a fellow who could make their lives a joy or a misery.

His quarters were cramped, a screened-off space in a tiny wardroom, hardly surprising, but they were the best aboard excepting Benton’s. Digby’s servant had seen to his dunnage, and he immediately changed from his best coat and hat to more workmanlike apparel. He then inspected the ship unaccompanied, not with any great eye for faults, just to show that he was prepared to go aloft to check on the rigging, and to ensure that the two decks were tidy enough in the matter of ropes and other impediments not to be a danger to those using them.

He then invited those who shared the wardroom with him, the master and the purser, to partake of some wine, a dozen of Hermitage he had bought from one of the numerous bum boats which had surrounded
Victory
, for this very purpose. Through a thin bulkhead forward, they could hear the mids and other warrants talking quietly, probably trying to assess this new arrival. Through a thicker one behind, they picked up the snores of the captain.

‘A decent drop,’ said Neame, smacking his lips as he downed his first tankard. ‘Better than the captain is inclined to serve.’ The purser, Mr Ottershaw, merely nodded, but the satisfaction at that which he was consuming was plain on his face.

Said with caution, Pearce reckoned the master was testing him, and he pulled a face to imply agreement. ‘He treated me to some of his wine, Mr Neame. I must tell you I am in no hurry to force another invite.’

Neame leant close, talking softly. ‘I doubt you’ll get one in a hurry, Mr Pearce. Captain Benton much prefers
his own company, excepting that of a bottle.’

‘Another drop, sir,’ Pearce responded, smiling into the perspiring faces of two men who had relaxed a trifle. Two bottles saw the whole story out. Benton was a protégé of Hotham, his uncle, a yellow admiral who had served with the man they termed Hotspur Harry when he had been a midshipman.

‘He is a debt being paid, sir,’ whispered Ottershaw. ‘I am told the uncle resents being an admiral without benefit of flag, he feels shunted aside, never to be employed, and quite unable to grasp his own incompetence.’

Neither said it outright, but enough hints were given that said lack of proficiency was a family trait, that Benton’s drinking was because he knew it to be so, that he had scraped through his lieutenant’s examination only because Hotham rigged the panel and he knew that he would make post only by a miracle. Pearce had relaxed enough to state quite openly that they best not look to him for a rise in standards, that his commission was of short duration only to cover for the absence of Mr Digby. The mention of that name changed their attitude; they thought Digby a decent, useful officer, and so did the crew.

‘I will strive for the decency, gentlemen, for the rest I will rely on you, Mr Neame.’ He pulled another Hermitage from the wooden box at his feet. ‘Now, what do you say we share some of this with the mids and the warrants? I find it is the best way to get to know people.’

By the time the men were roused out to weigh, word had got round that this new premier was no hard horse, in fact that he was more likely to be a Digby than a Benton, so there were no sour looks to contend with as the capstan bars were shipped and the anchor hove short, nor when the topmen went aloft to loose the sails. Pearce issued his orders to Mr Neame, and
gave responsibility to Harbin, whom he had been told was a keen – though sometimes too keen – midshipman. As the sun rose, the gold of its colour reflected the mass of freckles that covered the boy’s face, and he responded to the request to alert the captain with a grin that showed a set of teeth that seemed too numerous for his mouth. All went rigid as Benton came on deck, and what the rising sun did to his flaccid complexion was far from flattering.

‘Ready to weigh, sir.’

Benton turned and looked towards HMS
Britannia
. ‘Have you observed, Mr Pearce, our number flying from the masthead of Admiral Hotham’s flagship?’

‘No, sir,’ Pearce replied truthfully, following his gaze and ignoring the furiously nodding head of Neame. ‘I have not.’

‘If you had, Mr Pearce, you would see that we are ordered to proceed to sea. I only hope it has not been aloft for long. I would hate to be rebuked by Admiral Hotham for your inability to see his signals. Now be so good as to get us moving.’

‘Mr Neame.’

Topsails were dropped and sheeted home, the rudder creaked as the quartermaster used the forward movement induced by a land breeze to bring
Weazel
over her anchor, and sweetly it was plucked from the sandy bottom, to be fished and catted.

‘Mr Harbin.’

‘Sir?’

‘Issue the orders to swab the decks, and alert the cook that he needs to get his coppers lit, since with the sun rising and a warm day, there will be no need for flogging dry.’

He turned to look for Benton, to see if that would be acceptable, but the captain had gone.

He had to deal with Benton, but in his quarters, for it seemed the captain had a mortal fear of fresh air, or such a
love of wine that he feared to be separated from a supply. The man took his breakfast alone and that extended to his dinner. He did come on deck before that, but only for a short time to ensure that Pearce was not sailing them in the wrong direction. But after a brief look at the slate and the course, and a glance at the sail plan, he grunted his satisfaction, ordered that the details be sent to him in his cabin, and retired there. In contrast, Pearce was relishing the sun and the wind on his face, the azure blue of the sea, with dolphins off the bows and the fact that the contact with his inferiors seemed easy. The gunner, particularly, was a chatterer, a crook-faced fellow happy to converse with this new officer about weight of shot, the size of powder charges, elevation and ballistics, in a way that assumed Pearce knew what he was talking about, all the while rubbing with a loving hand one of the twelve nine-pounders that were
Weazel
’s armament.

‘As you know, sir, a set of long nines like these won’t do much at range, well short on a mile with a five-degree elevation and a four-pound charge, but they are enough to put a ball through a foot of scantlings at half of that. Was you, beggin’ your pardon, Mr Pearce, to get us close they would answer well.’

Recalling his service aboard
Brilliant
, and the insistence of regular exercise, he soon established that it was not something into which Benton put much effort. Even after less than a day, he was tempted to ask what the captain did do, only to deduce from the replies what he knew already to be true; that a captain, provided he properly kept his logs and did not seek too much in the way of bookish deceit with his muster and stores, could do very much what he pleased.

‘Mr Digby suggested, your honour – with not a thought that it gave us work – to keep them blacked and handsome. Half hour each day, sir, late afternoon, he wanted, but the captain wouldn’t have it. Can’t do it now, I reckon. With
our marines gone ashore, we is short on hands to man the breechings, so if you’re thinkin’ that way, it might be best left until we has all the labour we needs.’

That left Pearce not knowing if the gunner was for exercise or against it, especially as, at that moment, the fellow leant over and kissed the royal insignia on the top of the cannon he was caressing.

The bosun and carpenter were not as relaxed as the gunner in commissioned company, the latter particularly ill at ease, for the sloop was no spring chicken and even after a refit at Buckler’s Hard the scantlings moved in a heavy sea and apparently wept significant amounts of water.

‘It was hard pumping in the Channel, your honour,’ he intoned in a miserable voice, ‘and even worse in Biscay. We’ve got a right good sea state now, but you mark it, if it comes on heavy we will struggle to keep down the water in the well.’

Talking to the bosun about the distribution of the crew, the state of the sails including the spare suit, ropes, spars and blocks, Pearce began to appreciate the complexities of running even a ship this size; not the sailing or navigation, but getting the best out of the men, for McGann had insisted that was where the true merit of command lay. Though he could not, himself, consider going that way, he could grasp why many a ship’s captain saw the lash as the route to discipline, it being so much easier than the effort of gaining personal respect. Thankfully, given the short-term nature of this commission, it was not something to which he had to give much concern.

Corsica, on a decent wind, was less than a day’s sailing and before nightfall they had looked deep into the long sandy bay of San Fiorenzo to the north, with Mr Neame, on Benton’s orders, making a sketch of the main features, especially the fortifications, which consisted of some odd
round towers dotted around the coastline, that and of the ability of the place to provide holding ground for large warships, which saw him out in a boat with a tallow line, checking the seabed.

‘Why the detail, Mr Neame?’ asked Pearce, when he came back aboard.

‘Don’t take a genius to figure that, sir. Happen we get the heave-ho from Toulon, we’ll need another place to anchor and victual. Mr Benton has orders to look out for that. Did he not say so?’

‘No, Mr Neame, he did not.’

The master grinned. ‘Didn’t let on to me either, Mr Pearce. I had it from the master of
Britannia
, who’s an old shipmate. Went to see him for a wet after we anchored in the Toulon roads. The Dons won’t hear of us using Port Mahon on Minorca, which we had afore, case they can’t get shot of us, and we has to have a place to shelter and revictual to keep to the Med.’

Once more, John Pearce was forced to admit that Hood was clever. It was not a betrayal to seek an alternative to Toulon, just wise to have a backstop in case of disaster.

Neame’s jovial note changed, to one of resentment. ‘Mind, when we gets back, captain will take my drawings aboard the flagship, no doubt sayin’ they’re his own.’

They set a course west to weather the western arm of the bay, a bleak and forbidding promontory of rocks and black beaches, and with the northerly holding true the next morning they were able to skirt the much more formidable Calvi, a port below a high citadel and a fortified town on the western promontory of a deep but shallow-watered bay surrounded by high mountains. One of the sloops for which they had been tasked to look out for lay snug and safe under the shore-based guns, though down to bare poles and not ready for sea. Benton was on deck for that, taking a close look at the place through
his telescope, remarking that from the view of the numbers on the ramparts, it had a sizeable garrison, which would make it a hard place to capture, should the need arise. Against that, at the foot of the bay, lay a long sandy beach ideal for landing troops, which the master was busy sketching.