A Flag of Truce Read online

  ‘I know of the problem, sir, as I know that it is one with which I will have to deal.’

  ‘Let me say with some sincerity, it would not please me if that problem were to become mine.’

  It was a sight easier to load stores from the mole than from boats or floating hoys, though there was no other way to bring aboard water, which was being pumped by hose from the seaward side, each barrel assembled from staves by the cooper, then sealed as much as was possible when full. It was damp work, but since the day was warm it was also pleasant, better than just hauling on ropes to hoist in beef and pork from the carts on the shore, so the men shifting the water barrels were rotated with others so that the tasks were shared out evenly. Digby did not drive the men with harsh words, but encouraged them with orders dressed as requests, and both Pearce and Robert Sykes took their cue from him. They carried the same weight as barked commands, but were not resented.

  Ralph Barclay was on his poop, a glass to his eye, watching the progress of the work, unsure if he should be pleased or resentful that it seemed to be going smoothly. Occasionally he could see Pearce and on more than one occasion the man was laughing, either at some remark he had made, or a response he had received from the men of whom he was in charge.

  ‘Unbecoming, damned unbecoming.’

  ‘Sir?’ Barclay turned to see Midshipman Toby Burns beside him, small, his face a mass of adolescent spots, his eyes full of what could only be trepidation. ‘You sent for me, sir.’

  The glass went back to Barclay’s eye. ‘So I did. I wish you to proceed to yonder ship, the French capture, and ask Mr Digby if he would care to dine with Mrs Barclay and I tonight. And Burns, I wish you to make a point of issuing that invitation in the hearing of that blackguard, Pearce.’

  ‘With respect, sir, could I decline the duty and send another.’

  ‘What!’

  Inside a uniform coat still too big for him, though less so than when he had first donned it, Toby Burns was trembling at the prospect; it was too easy to recall the silence that had allowed Pearce and his friends to be pressed for a second time, when a word from him could have saved them. The cold threats John Pearce has issued at their last encounter, to pay him back for his duplicity, were potent enough to terrify him.

  ‘With respect, sir…’

  ‘Damn your respect, sir. Give me one good reason why I should accede to such a foolish request?’

  The quiver in the boy’s voice was unmistakable. ‘On our last encounter, sir, in strict obedience to your orders should the Lady Harrington meet a King’s ship in soundings, I fear I made an enemy of Pearce by making no attempt to interfere with his being pressed again. Had I done so I am sure he and his companions would have retained their liberty, and I have no doubt that should the opportunity present itself he will seek to exact revenge for my actions.’

  ‘If you obeyed me, Mr Burns, you have nought to fear.’

  Bollocks, the boy thought, blushing at the mere notion that this uncle by marriage might discern his silent disagreement. Ralph Barclay had made it plain when he sent the Lady Harrington away that such an encounter was very possible, and also that it was one which would please him. But he had not been within sight of the coast of England, had not seen the look in Pearce’s eye at being so close to freedom and having it taken away by another King’s officer, had not heard the way the words had been delivered, promising deadly retribution to a youngster whose life he had saved. And it was not just Pearce who felt betrayed by him, but that huge Irishman, O’Hagan.

  ‘Lieutenant Pearce…’

  Ralph Barclay interrupted the boy again. ‘Please do not grace him with that rank in my presence, Mr Burns.’

  ‘I was about to say, sir, that the fellow has no knowledge of my return to HMS Brilliant, and if I could keep it so, I would be grateful.’

  Saying that, Burns had reminded Ralph Barclay of why he had got shot of the little bugger in the first place, it being too good an opportunity to miss. Quite apart from being useless, and, from what he had heard about the action in the Trieux Estuary, more than a touch shy, he was Emily’s nephew, and that complicated the relationship between them; he could not as easily chastise her cousin as he could another mid, and the boy was a whimperer. God, the little sod looked as though he could burst into tears right now!

  ‘Very well, Mr Burns. Go and ask Shenton to deliver my message.’

  ‘I am grateful, sir, so grateful.’

  ‘Get on with it, boy,’ snapped Ralph Barclay, once more training his telescope on the toiling figures both on Digby’s deck and on the mole.

  Burns rushed into the cabin, for Shenton was not in his pantry, to find his aunt sitting there at her embroidery. What was it about the look she gave him that was so different, not the kindly smile he had come to expect?

  ‘I have been sent to find Shenton, Aunt Emily.’

  She was now looking intently at her stitching. ‘I believe you will find him with the cook.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Burns called as he rushed out.

  Emily lifted her head then and looked at the open skylight no more than a few feet above her head, through which she had heard every word of the exchange between her husband and her nephew. What orders had the former given that had left Toby in terror of John Pearce; again, what was so different from her perception of what had taken place, as against the reality? The sharp stab of the needle into her finger was almost deliberate, and as she sucked on the blood it produced, tasting the salt, her thoughts were more uncomfortable than any puncture of the skin.

  ‘I fear I must decline Captain Barclay’s kind offer, Shenton. Admiral Hotham has requested that we be ready to weigh tomorrow and I dare not disobey such a command. Do however convey my gratitude to the captain and his wife and say should my duty permit on another occasion, I would be happy to accept.’

  Daft sod, thought Shenton, who knew his master better than anyone, having served with him through good times and bad since he was first made post. Shenton prided himself on knowing how his captain’s mind worked. He had issued the invitation to Digby, but his look had been fixed on Pearce, so the upstart should not mistake the message; the invite did not extend to him. As for Digby, would he guess at Ralph Barclay’s ploy? The newly promoted Master and Commander was never expected to accept; it was only a way to send an insult to John Pearce.

  ‘My compliments to your master,’ said Digby, ‘but we must get back to our task.’

  They were still working after the sun went down, lanterns hoisted into the rigging, dinner taken for officers and men almost in between assignments, not resented by the lower ranks for being a shared experience, until, near ten of the clock, Henry Digby could pronounce himself satisfied as he looked over his untidy decks. He was, with the exception of that, ready for sea.

  ‘The decks,’ Pearce asked, knowing it was his duty to do so, for they were in an unholy state.

  Digby replied in a voice loud enough to be heard from taffrail to bowsprit. ‘Can wait till the morning, Mr Pearce, and I think an extra tot of rum for the men would be in order.’

  ‘I fear it will have to be brandy, sir,’ Pearce said. ‘This is, after all, in the article of spirituous liquor, a French ship.’

  ‘Brandy it is then, Mr Pearce, but do not ever say such a thing again. This is a King’s ship, an English King’s ship.’

  ‘With respect, sir, I think our vessel is British.’

  ‘Well said,’ came a voice from nearby, which Pearce recognised as that of another Scot, Dysart.

  Digby frowned at the remark, then actually laughed. ‘Well, will a couple of prickly Jocks take a French drink with me?’

  ‘Most happily, sir.’

  Digby added quietly. ‘Pearce, remind me to indent the fleet store ship for some rum tomorrow. Should the crew become fractious, brandy will not serve. It’s bad enough having wine instead of beer.’

  It was typical of the King’s Navy, or at least of the senior officers who ran it, to insist on haste where none was necess
ary. Digby had worked his new crew hard, yet when they warped out into the anchorage and began to put the decks in order, no instructions came to do anything. Mr Neame had come aboard at first light, and as soon as the ship was away from the mole he declared it so far down on the stern as to be close to dangerous, which involved a great deal of shifting of the stores already stowed. This took place while the master and the captain stood off in a boat examining the change in trim, while Pearce had the unenviable task of telling everyone what to do.

  Not that it mattered; they found that the ships they were designated to escort had not yet been even cleared of their cannon, powder and shot. It was in musing on that fact, once the captain and master were back on board, which caused Pearce to call into question what their ship could do if any one of the French seventy-fours decided the course they were supposed to steer could be changed.

  ‘You have a point there, Pearce,’ Digby replied. ‘If we cannot coerce them our only reason for being along is to ensure they are not impeded, which is, I suspect the way the admiral’s mind is working. We need the means to invoke a degree of fear as well.’

  ‘A couple of carronades would serve, sir. Since they are to have nothing but signal guns, we would have the ability to come right up to pistol shot and put a ball in their hull.’

  ‘I have to confess, Mr Pearce, to never having seen a carronade in action, and only on the odd occasion one loaded in dumb show.’

  That was a telling admission and an admirable one. ‘Then let me tell you, sir, I have, and they are a fearsome weapon. The scantlings of even a 74-gun ship-of-the-line will not stand sustained fire from that weight of shot at close range.’

  ‘I shall put a request in to the admiral. If he agrees they must come from a ship which at present has them aboard. It is not a cannon we would find in the Toulon Arsenal, given the French don’t have them. Mr Harbin, fetch me the senior gunner and the acting carpenter. If we can get a pair, I need to know where we can site them.’

  Watching the exchange, when the two acting warrants engaged in the discussion, Pearce could see Digby almost caressing the ship, and insisting on a clear opinion from his inferiors, evidence that he had already formed an almost physical bond of the kind he had already observed in other vessels. It was in the nature of sailors to love their ships, and to talk of them in familiar terms, not surprising in such a superstitious setting, and also one that if it failed to float left little to look forward to but drowning.

  ‘He seems a good man, John-boy,’ whispered Michael O’Hagan, who had come alongside.

  ‘I think he is nothing like Barclay, Michael.’

  ‘Holy mother of God, I hope there is only one of that stripe.’

  ‘Sadly, my friend, I doubt there is, and you know as well as I do, because we have been told, there are worse.’

  ‘Then we will be well out of it.’

  ‘We will.’

  ‘Charlie and Rufus want to know when that might be?’

  ‘Not you?’

  O’Hagan grinned. ‘Me too.’

  ‘When we return here, there will be a court martial on Barclay, and I have no doubt it will find our case as proven. The evidence is overwhelmingly in our favour. You will then be within your rights to demand transport back to England.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I will come with you, of course.’

  ‘I wonder, John-boy. I have watched you this last day and it seems to me you are happy in what you are doing.’

  Pearce was guarded; Michael was touching on thoughts he had harboured himself. So much had happened since his sudden, unwarranted elevation. The packet that had brought him from Portsmouth to Gibraltar had been commanded by the sterling Captain McGann, who insisted that a naval career was not a bad one for a man who had no idea for any other. After Corsica, with Benton dead, he had sat in the main cabin as a captain, and enjoyed the feeling of being in command of men who looked up to him, not least freckle-faced Harbin. But the crew, buoyed with the success of the recent action, had shown a marked degree of respect for his office, and that too had been pleasant.

  ‘I will make the best of what I have, while I have it.’ Discomfited by the point Michael was making, he called to the other midshipman aboard. ‘Mr Farmiloe, if you please.’

  ‘Sir,’ said the mid, his face far from happy.

  Though he had worked as hard as any other to load the ship, he had done his best not to get close to Pearce or any of the others he had helped to press from the Pelican Tavern. He knew, from being aboard Brilliant, just how much they resented what had happened to them, but what he had just heard was a command; he had no choice but to respond. It was worrying that Pearce had called to him while standing next to the big Irish bruiser. In his young mind, all sorts of threats manifested themselves in the few seconds he took to cross the deck.

  ‘Mr Farmiloe, I know you were a member of the party who pressed O’Hagan and I from the Pelican Tavern.’

  ‘I was obeying Captain Barclay’s orders, sir.’

  ‘I was just about to say, and I think I can speak for the others, that we are aware of that. We hold no resentment to you personally. Am I right, Michael?’

  ‘Sure, he’s only a strip of a lad, John-boy.’

  Farmiloe tried and failed to hide his surprise at that familiarity, yet it registered one salient fact; that these men were still a close-knit group, and one he would do well to be careful with.

  ‘So, Mr Farmiloe,’ Pearce continued, ‘you have no need to be evasive. We are to serve together and if I have learnt anything in the limited time I have been afloat, it is best to be civil rather than fractious.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘So, you can sleep easy in your berth.’

  Farmiloe touched his hat and went back to his precious position.

  ‘Well said, John-boy, and necessary.’

  ‘Tell the others to treat him with respect, Michael. It will sound better coming from you.’

  ‘This court martial, when is it to be?’

  ‘When we return here. They cannot have it without we are present and the fact has been taken down in the presence of Admiral Hotham’s secretary. So, instead of sitting around fretting, I am happy to go on what is set to be an uneventful cruise.’

  ‘Flag signalling, sir,’ shouted Harbin. ‘Captain to repair aboard.’

  ‘Orders at last,’ said Digby, minutes later, as he went over the side.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Here we are in the midst of a damned siege, and what does our French ally propose, a costume ball.’

  ‘Captain Barclay, I must remind you of the lack of politeness in your language.’

  He reacted as a husband sick of being pulled up, which he was, both figuratively and physically, for he had to cease pacing to respond. ‘Surely, madam, it does not signify in the privacy of our own quarters?’

  Emily spoke firmly, but was careful in her tone, trying not to sound shrewish. ‘It is a habit, sir, and one that will spill out in polite society. I will not, of course, refer to my own feelings on the matter.’

  Humbugged, thought Ralph Barclay, for in the face of that invocation there was nought to do but apologise, though it was a mumbled one he felt retained a little of his dignity. There was resentment too, and another occasion to wonder if his notion of bringing her to sea with him had been wise. That it had saved expense seemed less of a pressing reason now he had some prize money coming both from what happened off Brittany and the recapture of a merchant ship he had effected on the way to Toulon. Even so, it took no great exercise of memory to recall how strapped he had been on taking up this command. Already in debt, he had had to incur more to show even a half-decent fist of the requirements that went with his rank.

  What really offended him was the change in his young wife. Both at home in Somerset, and on coming aboard, she had been meekness itself, deferring to him in all things as was right and proper in a marriage. Yet that had not lasted and he could date her first act of defiance to the day he h
ad punished Pearce, and it had not been private rebellion, but a very public one. What he did not know was how Emily saw the same events; saw that her much older husband craved her good opinion, and from such a discovery she had found the means to make more even their relationship. He was even less aware of the thoughts which had intruded to trouble Emily recently, and given the depth of concern that such musings engendered it was her intention that he should never know.

  ‘You are scowling, husband,’ she said. ‘I do hope that I am not the cause.’

  ‘Of course not,’ he lied. ‘I was thinking sitting here in the inner harbour is a da…a tedious duty. I think I must ask the admiral for something more active.’

  It was an inadvertent thought, yet there nevertheless; Emily would welcome such a thing and to cover her embarrassment she said quickly, ‘If there is to be a costume ball, we must look to what we have in the way of attire.’

  ‘My inclination is to decline to attend, sir. I fear, at a ball and in drink, some idiot will say something and I will be obliged to react.’

  ‘You cannot hide away, Pearce,’ insisted Digby. ‘You must face those who would condescend to you and force them into acknowledgement.’

  ‘They resent my rank, and for all I know my person.’

  ‘Then you must remind them that you are commissioned by the king, and if they would like it, you are quite prepared to write to His Majesty and list their objections. That should shut them up.’

  Wondering at Digby’s persistence, Pearce was gifted with a revelation. His commanding officer did not want to go on his own; he too felt he would be badly treated by other officers, especially lieutenants with longer commissions than his own. ‘If you wish me to hold your hand, sir…’

  ‘Hold my hand,’ Digby barked, so fulsomely that Pearce knew he was right. ‘I need no one to do that, sir!’