The Perils of Command (23 page)

‘C’est necessaire, monsieur.’
A sharp order had it attached to the sliced-through halyards, now swinging in the wind, and the French sailor fashioned two swift knots before hauling it aloft slightly, just enough for the flag of Great Britain to be tied on below, the two raised aloft together to an outburst of cheering from the frigates that were now within hailing distance.

Emily, now that all that could be done was over, had come to her resurrected cabin to find Gherson rifling through her possessions. When she admonished him he just sneered. ‘Happen you’ll need looking after now, Miss Nose-in-the-air.’

‘It will be your neck in the air if you do not get out.’

The sneer turned to a bitter laugh. ‘And who is going to haul on the rope now, that turd Pearce?’

‘Get out,’ she yelled, loud enough to bring Devenow out of the main cabin. Not the sharpest of men he blinked a couple of times before it dawned on him what was going on.

‘Sling your hook, Gherson.’

‘You can’t order me about.’

A fist came up and he closed to tower over the clerk. ‘Can I not?’

The way the clerk sauntered off troubled Emily, smacking as it did of his endemic arrogance, but she could not linger on that.

‘Devenow, I require water with which to wash and the privacy to do so, but first, well you know what I must do.’

‘He held you in high regard, Mrs Barclay.’ It was a lie and both knew it. But this was no time to nail the fact as he stood aside to indicate that she should pass through the door he had used to enter. ‘I will see if the galley fire has been lit.’

Entering the main cabin she saw the bundle of canvas on the floor. The outline was vaguely human and she supposed Palmer must have had this begun before he came to tell her the news. The cabin had been put to rights down to the embroidered cushions being replaced on the casement lockers. Emily took one and put in on the floor, then knelt on it, clasping her hands in prayer, for if she had come to despise Ralph Barclay it was her duty as a Christian to pray for his salvation.

Back on deck, LeJollie had made a move to go to that very place, but a word from Palmer, even in English, stopped him. The stilted discussion that followed took time but eventually the Frenchman understood that the late captain’s wife was on
board and as of this moment probably alone with his body. Time for her to grieve would be seen as a kindness.

LeJollie shrugged; there was much to do, the cabin could wait and courtesy demanded he go below and commiserate with the wounded, with whom he would exchange a few words of comfort. If he now served the navy of the Revolution LeJollie had, at one time, been an officer of King Louis and he still abided to the norms of that service.

Palmer went with him as the muster books were passed over to his inferiors; the French would need a list of those they had taken prisoner.

By the time night fell, HMS
Semele
was under tow from
Minerve
. LeJollie had decided that to remain in the same location and effect repairs would risk him being discovered by a British Fleet he suspected was at sea. Prior to moving, the crew of the 74 had been broken up, to be sent to one of the French frigates and replaced by a prize crew drawn from the enemy squadron.

A body of men had been held back: Palmer, the master, as well as the other standing officers with their mates, plus the one favour granted by the Frenchman, that Emily Barclay should continue to occupy the main cabin even after her husband was buried. The lieutenant he put in charge of the prize, as well as one other officer, would use the wardroom.

There had been one unpleasant moment when the crew were being shifted into the waiting boats. Cornelius Gherson had sought to take with him a locked chest containing Ralph Barclay’s papers, only to be stopped by a Frenchman who demanded to examine the contents. Gherson had thrown something close to a screaming fit,
which got him a well-deserved clip round the ear from a French officer. That had brought Palmer to the gangway to find out what was happening.

The complaint, that these were private papers and correspondence in his charge cut no ice. The chest was taken from him, as well as the key he carried in his coat pocket. It was then sent back to what was described as the rightful owner, namely the late captain’s wife. Gifted to her, she showed little initial interest.

For Nesbit Palmer it was a strange sensation to be aboard his ship, yet with nothing to do but convey orders to those left behind and they were few. Much time was spent with the surgeon and the chaplain in the former tiny quarters to avoid too much contact with his captors.

His only outright duties were to visit those recovering from their wounds and accompany the carpenter as he traversed his interior walkway to establish damage to the hull. That done and being satisfied, the carpenter was now busy repairing wounded timber, as if the ship was not a capture.

The gunner was updating his records so that he could account properly for what he had remaining in the way of powder and shot, while the purser likewise counted his stores, for they would have a money value to the enemy, while to him, their loss could presage bankruptcy. The cook was still aboard, for everyone – prize crew included – had to be fed.

With everyone convinced she was deep in grief, Emily was left alone to brood and to seek to work out what the future held. She, too, was a captive and having been in such a situation before it held little terror. Courtesies were extended to captains and their wives that were not given to other officers, and certainly not the men, and she knew that
part of her duties would be to alleviate their conditions if at all possible.

The body had been removed at her request – again done willingly on the assumption it was too upsetting to share the cabin with – but in reality she saw it as a malign presence, for death had not removed the malice of her husband, but somehow seemed to increase it.

Devenow had been left behind to care for her and was in constant attendance, being something of a trial in that role, seeking to ingratiate himself by endless enquiries as to her feelings and her needs. Since she knew him to be an endemic drunkard his sobriety was remarkable. It was he who brought her dinner to a table he had set, putting on the polished mahogany board crystal glass, silver cutlery and a decanter of wine, all served with deep humility.

Following on from the meal she finally opened the chest and began to examine the contents: Ralph Barclay’s orders as well as various communications with fellow naval officers on the subject of their treatment following on from the Glorious First of June. Family letters she did not read, they being from his rather silly sisters and thus would be full of local and dull gossip.

There were numerous missives from Ommaney and Druce, oddly addressed to Gherson, detailing various transactions and investments, as well as updates on prize matters still in dispute. A book listed an account of her husband’s holdings, not least in 3% Government Consols, the whole adding up to a sizeable sum of money and given there was no will the conclusion dawned that unless there was one in London she would quite naturally inherit.

The prospect set off a train of thought that she fought to
keep sensible, but within those reflections, quite naturally figuring large, was the person of the man she loved. Odd that she cried when it became obvious that all the difficulties under which they had laboured were now no more. Quite possibly the death of Ralph Barclay was going to provide for them both a life of which they could only have previously dreamt.

Pearce was ruminating too, and the cause was that which he had thought on previously: why had
Semele
been on that course when he had expected at the very best to find her in Naples? Such reflections under a sliver of moon and starlight, in the middle of the Mediterranean, taking a turn on watch while others slept allowed for rife speculation only broken by the need to swing the single sail and alter the rudder to change tack.

Also quick to resurface were his previous conundrums: how to confound Ralph Barclay, how to extract revenge on Hotham for his deceitful plan that could have seen him killed, neither without major hurdles that required jumping to get anywhere at all. Then there was Emily’s pregnancy and the agony that their child, because of her senseless morality, might end up being raised by a man he despised.

Would Barclay agree to accept the child? He might just to save face, so the thinking took ever increasingly lurid turns as the ramifications of such a scenario played out in an increasingly fevered mind, not least in the imagined kidnap he would undertake to gain possession of his own flesh and blood. Double relief came when his time on watch was up, sleep being quick to take him to more pleasant dreams.

They buried Ralph Barclay at dawn with the full honours due to his rank, a full complement of French officers, LeJollie in particular, attending. The sewn canvas cover had been weighted with a 32-pounder cannonball, though one tradition could not be implemented; there being no head they could not put the thread through the nose, a way of ensuring the victim was dead.

It was brought on deck by
Semele
’s warrant officers on a board, both covered with the flag of his country and, at Emily’s request, with his sword laying on his chest. Lined up by the gangway the chaplain intoned the Anglican service of burial while the French behaved with exemplary courtesy by standing heads uncovered throughout.

Naturally, Emily was the chief mourner and if she could not manage the full widow’s weeds she had found enough black cloth of a porous nature to fashion a cowl that hid her features. Every eye was on her for a second as the chaplain completed his obsequies and pronounced the final words.

‘And now, with God’s grace for his salvation, we commit the body of Captain Ralph Barclay to the deep.’

The board was raised at the rear and as the canvas slipped off to land in the sea with an audible splash, every man aboard bar the bosun, who was of the Methodist persuasion, Frenchmen included, crossed themselves. LeJollie, hat in hand, approached Emily to offer his condolences, his handsome face lighting up in a rather inappropriate way when she replied to him in his own language.

Palmer was next, followed by the men who had acted as pall-bearers, each looking keenly at a veil that completely hid her face. If they had expected sobs there were none, but that was seen not as disrespect to the
dead but a quality of steadfastness that made them proud. Then she addressed LeJollie in French to say that she had laid out in the cabin a small repast with wine and it would please her if he and his officers would join her late husband’s men.

In truth, everything she had, wine included, was no longer her property to dispense: it belonged to France, or at least the men who had just won their victory. But in LeJollie she was dealing with a man who would never consider telling her so and he acceded with good grace.

It was not an occasion of long duration; the French were anxious to get back to their vessels in what was a war zone, while Palmer and his subordinates had an English habit of discomfort in such a setting. By the time the bell tolled for the start of the morning watch Emily was alone once more but the squadron of frigates was not.

HMS
Semele
had been on course for Corsica and so, it turned out, was the French Fleet, which appeared on the horizon on what must have been a previously arranged rendezvous. The tow was passed from
Minerve
to another, smaller frigate, as were the crew of
Semele
, and soon they parted company with the enemy fleet bearing away to the north-east while the towed 74 held to a more northerly course.

It came as something of a surprise to find the fleet still anchored off Leghorn. Pearce had suspected he would only touch there to find out the course Hotham had taken to intercept the French, top up his water and biscuit then head off in search. The sight of their pinnace approaching had men lining the deck of
Britannia
, and by the time Pearce had got aboard and made his way aft to the admiral’s quarters the
whole ship, thanks to Tucker and his mates, was abuzz with the news of the loss of HMS
Semele
.

In the end, John Pearce’s report was made to Admiral Sir Hyde Parker, he having come back to the Med with six more sail of the line including HMS
Victory
, Hotham declining to meet with him and deputing the man now his second in command to hear the bad news. Parker was a big man, with a bit of a belly on him, full cheeks and a prominent nose. Like most naval officers his face showed the ravages of wind and weather, made more obvious by the snow-white of his wig.

He and Pearce had crossed swords before. He had been Captain of the Fleet under Hood, in effect the executive officer to Lord Hood’s C-in-C. Parker saw this lieutenant as entirely unsuited to the service of which he was a part merely for the way he had acquired his rank. Pearce had compounded that in the past by his refusal to abide by the convention that lieutenants were expected to cringe in the company of an admiral and grovel when faced with a fleet commander.

‘You will oblige me by stating the fact without embellishment.’

The tone of superiority grated, but Pearce let it pass. There was no cause to prick this man’s pride so he related what he had seen, which in truth was not much.

‘Well,’ Parker growled, obviously less than satisfied. ‘Would you say that Captain Barclay fought his ship well?’

The standard reply would have been to praise the man and imply he had done everything in his power to avoid defeat. The thought of flattering Barclay was anathema but it was not that which made him avoid that which was expected
of him, just a desire not to embellish the paucity of what he knew.

‘I was in a pinnace, sir, which you will know is very close to the level of the sea. I saw that HMS
Semele
fought for a long time, over two hours by my watch, but as to how well she was handled I am in ignorance.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘How would I know, sir? I set my course for Leghorn as soon as she struck her colours.’

‘You would not have considered it your duty to see where she was taken?’

The reply had a note of irascibility. ‘There is only one place they can take her and that is Toulon.’

‘Towed or under her own canvas? It makes a difference, and is something an officer could be expected to know.’

‘Well I do not, and I have no intention of making up facts of which I have no knowledge.’

‘On another subject, I am told you have contrived to sell a pair of French merchantmen and their cargoes without going through the Prize Court.’

‘It was the right thing to do under the circumstances.’

‘It was very much not the case, and I must tell you that should it prove true, both yourself and Lieutenant Digby will be brought before a court to account for your disreputable actions.’

‘No doubt,’ Pearce snapped, ‘one set up by Admiral Hotham and staffed with officers of his own choosing.’

‘Who else would do it?’ Parker asked, too surprised by either the tone or the vehemence of the response to remind him of his place or his manners.

‘Anyone would do, if we are to have justice. You may tell
Hotham that I welcome a court martial and so will Henry Digby, for there we will air certain facts and have entered in the record matters that I doubt the admiral would wish to see the light of day, given they border on criminality.’

‘You’re mad,’ Parker responded, very much taken aback.

‘Then ask him, sir, about what orders were issued for HMS
Flirt
to proceed to the Gulf of Ambracia, there to confront a villain called Mehmet Pasha. I state that he hoped that one or both of us would not survive but we did and we took two valuable prizes. And when you relate to him what I have just said please tell him, too, that he will get his eighth as I promised. Neither Digby nor I would stoop to the notion of failing to satisfy his greed.’

‘How dare you, sir.’

‘I do dare and I challenge Admiral Hotham to bring on his court, where he might find that matters historical come back to haunt him too. And if he demurs, mention the name of Ralph Barclay who, even if he is a prisoner, has the power to cause trouble. Now, sir, I have made my report and unless you wish to detain me for the remarks I have just made I would be obliged to be dismissed.’

‘You’ll be dismissed from the service if I have my way, Pearce.’

‘So be it, for my redress lies in the Inns of Court in London, not here in the Mediterranean.’

‘Marines!’ The shout brought two lobsters rushing in. ‘Lock this man up, now.’

The pair made to grab Pearce but he fended them off by quick acquiescence and, small ditty bag in hand, he was escorted across the deck and down below to the barred cell in which those who had committed crimes were held. There
was a small barrel provided on which to sit but very little space to move, and as he sat there he wondered if it had been wise to state so obviously his intention to make Hotham pay for his misdeeds. It never did to forewarn an enemy.