A Flag of Truce Read online

  Hood’s face was suddenly suffused with angry blood. ‘Demand, sir! You will not demand in my cabin.’

  Hyde Parker interjected, speaking in a more measured tone. ‘What Lord Hood is saying, Lieutenant Pearce, is that the matter is under consideration…’

  ‘Which it was before I went aboard HMS Weazel two weeks past.’

  Hood barked again. ‘Damn you, sir, do not interrupt your superior.’

  ‘If I feel the laws of England are being ignored then I have a duty to…’

  Hood’s voice this time, as he cut across that of John Pearce, was loud enough to be heard through three feet of planking. ‘Don’t you dare prate on to me about the laws of England, sir, not with your parentage. I was a member of the government that proscribed your father for his blatant sedition. Do not forget that he, and no doubt you, had so little regard for the laws of England that you were obliged to flee to France to avoid them.’

  Said like that, there was not much Pearce could put forward in defence. His father, after the fall of the Bastille, had gone from being a peripatetic radical speaker who could be safely ignored to a much sought-after orator and pamphleteer in a country where many a subject of King George saw the events across the Channel as a bright new dawn. Known as the Edinburgh Ranter, Adam Pearce was perceived as a man of much sense and wisdom by those people who sought some of the same change in Britain. His attacks on the monarchy and the ministers who served the king had relied on logic and irony to show the absurdity of both, his message one that sought universal suffrage for both sexes, an end to the great landed fortunes, a fairer distribution of the wealth of the nation and the termination of royal dominion. He was not alone in this; there were others preaching the same message, one which alarmed those in power.

  Excess in France, or the constant application of it, had moved opinion away from support for the revolutionaries. Edmund Burke had fulminated in speech and print against the mayhem and disorder of Paris and every event seemed to make nervous a population that saw Britannia as a more stable country than France. When opinion had shifted enough, the government decided it could move against the likes of Adam Pearce, one of his more fulminating pamphlets providing the excuse to imprison both him and his son. On release, made through the intercession of like-minded but respected members of various Corresponding Societies, old Adam had not diluted his message; he had, in a written pamphlet, demanded the removal of King George and his heirs. Those were the words that forced him to flee to Paris, to be originally hailed as a friend. That had not been sustained; people in power in Paris had no more time for a man who questioned their right to rule than Hanoverian Kings.

  Refusing to be browbeaten, Pearce replied, ‘I think, sir, if you examine the laws of England you will find that it was you and your colleagues who ignored them, not I, or my father.’

  ‘Parker,’ Hood spat, ‘am I to be obliged to dispute in my own cabin with a mere lieutenant?’

  ‘I agree, sir, it is hardly fitting.’

  ‘My case,’ Pearce demanded.

  ‘Will be dealt with, sir. Now please oblige us and leave.’

  ‘Am I to go back to my ship?’

  ‘Damn you, sir, she is not your ship. Shift your dunnage out of HMS Weazel this instant, so that I can find someone fit to command her.’

  ‘Report ashore to Captain Elphinstone,’ said Parker, ‘who is overseeing the defence of the port. I am sure he can find a use for you.’

  ‘Is there anything I can tell the crew of HMS Weazel?’

  ‘No, Lieutenant Pearce, there is not.’

  The temptation to stay and continue the dispute was strong, but Pearce knew if he did so he would not aid his own argument, just as he knew that in baiting Hood about legality he had not done his case any favours. Outside he walked towards the entry port, cursing himself, only to be intercepted by the flagship’s premier, Mr Ingolby.

  ‘Lieutenant Pearce, I have come to apologise to you.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I was ashore, as was every other lieutenant, on an inspection of the French capital ships. That the Officer of the Watch, nor the master or the surgeon for that matter, failed to offer you the use of the wardroom is a disgrace, and you with a fine capture under your belt. I ask that you join me now.’

  Still angry with himself, and not wishing to have to recount the recent action in the taking of the Mariette, which he would surely be obliged to do, Pearce declined. ‘I have much to see to, Mr Ingolby, and I am ordered ashore, in any case, so I must shift my possessions. But should my duty permit, I would happily accept an invitation for some future date.’

  ‘The wardroom of Victory will have you as guest to dinner, sir, you have my word on it. There is nothing like a table and a circulating decanter to add spice to the story of an action.’

  ‘That young firebrand,’ said Lord Hood, in a tone of regret rather than continued anger, ‘will get himself shot on the quarterdeck one day.’

  ‘I must say he has a genius for trouble,’ Parker replied. ‘Yet we must admit he also has a claim.’

  ‘I can send him home, can I not?’

  ‘You can send him to India if you so desire, but I have a feeling that will not rid you of him. He has a family history of tenacity. We must hope Captain Elphinstone will keep him occupied.’

  ‘Maybe one of Carteaux’s cannon balls will take off his crown.’ Hood shook his own head. ‘I don’t mean that, Parker, you know I don’t. If anything, apart from his damned attitude, I quite admire the fellow.’ The old admiral’s voice became somewhat wistful. ‘And do you know he has seen nothing but action since he was received aboard Brilliant. I know of officers in this very fleet who have served for decades and not so much as seen a shot fired in anger, yet that young pest, wherever he goes, seems to get into a fight.’

  ‘Captain Barclay?’ asked Parker.

  Hood drummed his fingers on the highly polished table he used as a desk. Only he was privy to all the facts that laid constraints upon that which he could do. Pearce had brought from England a personal letter from the First Lord of the Treasury and the King’s First Minister, William Pitt, which laid upon Hood certain limitations. He had no time for William Hotham as a second-in-command or as a person, and they were on either side of the political divide at home, but with a war to fight, Pitt was looking for allies in some of his erstwhile political opponents. Hotham was close to the Duke of Portland, who might lead a breakaway Whig faction and give valuable support to the government. He had had from Pitt strict instructions not to upset the sod, which would have mattered little in this particular case if Hotham had not taken it upon himself to become Barclay’s sponsor. Give Pearce his court martial for Barclay’s illegal impressments – and he did not doubt the man had a case to answer – and that would alienate Hotham.

  ‘We allowed Hotspur to send Pearce away on his cruise, did we not, Parker?’

  A stickler for the correct form of words, Parker replied. ‘We allowed him to despatch Benton, who was his protégé, on what was seen as an essential mission. It was he who sent Pearce along as his Premier, an elevation that makes no sense unless you count the notion that Hotham is determined to protect Barclay.’

  ‘Can you see the way my mind is working, Parker?’

  That was part of Parker’s job, as Captain of the Fleet, to be an experienced and trusted sounding board for his commanding admiral. The other part was to oversee the fleet at sea, to keep the vessels on station and to receive and act upon the daily reports sent in by each ship’s captain regarding the state of their ships and stores. Known as a man of sound and patient judgement he was not fool enough to reply. He had a shrewd idea what Hood was about to propose and he wanted no part of the responsibility for an act which might well rebound badly and harm his own career. It was all right for Hood; at seventy years of age, after a lifetime of service as well as participation in several successful battles during the American Revolutionary War, he was reasonably impervious to censure and this was probably his swan-song co
mmand. Parker had prospects ahead of him, of command to come and perhaps battles and glory to win and he was not about to jeopardise them.

  ‘You don’t reply,’ said Hood, seeking to hide his amusement; he knew very well what Parker was about. ‘You do not see that the problem really resides with my second-in-command. Barclay is attached to his flag, not mine, and I would not have the swine if he applied, so let Hotham deal with it. If he saves Barclay’s hide, then he can preen himself, if he does not, then I cannot be blamed. Damn me, Parker, I’m beginning to wonder if I spent too much of my recent time in the company of politicians.’

  ‘I think, sir,’ Parker replied smoothly, and well aware that in the area of politics Hood was capable of looking after himself, ‘in regard to Admiral Hotham, that is a proposition which could only come from you.’

  Chapter Three

  Being rowed ashore, Pearce could still feel the lump in his throat, a sensation which had come with the farewells attendant on leaving HMS Weazel. Mr Neame and Ottershaw had been loud in their regrets that he was departing, but that might be because the quality of the wine would diminish; the crew muted through either indifference or the notion that to show any sort of feeling would cause embarrassment. He left the likes of the gunner without regret; he was a man who saw his cannon as pets rather than instruments of war, and hated to see them, or his precious store of powder, in use. Freckle-faced Harbin had proved the hardest when it came to a parting; a youth with an abundance of enthusiasm and courage, he was also prey to a like amount of sentiment, and his tears at the news had nearly done for Pearce. But in reality, what saddened him most was the loss of independence. It might have come about by accident but he had been in command of a ship for several days, and he had thoroughly enjoyed the experience, even, in recollection, the storm through which they had sailed. How different was the King’s Navy when you had freedom from oversight and the privacy of a captain’s cabin!

  He would have liked to go aboard HMS Leander and seek out his friends, to assure them that he was still hot on the task of getting them freed, but that bastard Taberly had made it plain he would bar him from setting foot on his deck, so he decided instead to visit the hospital on the St Mandrier peninsula, where he had no doubt HMS Brilliant’s surgeon, Heinrich Lutyens, would still be plying his trade; Captain Elphinstone, whoever he was, could wait awhile. He was thinking on that when he heard the coxswain order the oarsmen to ship their sticks, and looking for the reason he saw a senior officer’s barge racing across the bow, with the stoic and rigid figure of Admiral Hood in the thwarts.

  William Hotham did not enjoy many conferences with his commanding officer, and certainly Hood had never visited him aboard HMS Britannia. He was, on the rare occasions he was consulted, more likely to be summoned, so when he was informed of the approach of Hood’s barge all his hackles rose in suspicion, a feeling not diminished by the greeting the older man gave him as, in his best bib and tucker, with much piping and a solid stamp from the few marines left on the ship, he welcomed his superior aboard at the entry port.

  ‘By damn, sir, you have a fine-looking vessel here, always liked her trim. Not been aboard her since I was Commissioner at Portsmouth. Rodney had his flag in her then, of course.’

  ‘Quite,’ Hotham replied, wondering at the mention of that admiral. It was no secret that Hood and the late Admiral Sir George Brydges Rodney had disliked each other intensely, and disputed the proper way of thinking and fighting so furiously that it was not a name to bring forth in his presence.

  ‘Thought it about time I paid you a visit, sir. Can’t have you forever getting yourself soaked to come aboard Victory. Too much of that and you’ll be as much of a martyr to the ague as I.’

  Having referred to that illness, Hood strode briskly down the short line of the remaining marines, nodded his approval, offered his greetings to the other ship’s officers, then made his way aft. Hotham was a man known to like his belly, so it was no surprise to find a fine spread of sweetmeats and fruit in his cabin, plus a very passable decanter of claret hastily poured by his steward. Insincere courtesies exchanged, and hunger assuaged, Hood came to the first of his points, the problem of the five thousand French republican sailors and what needed to be done with them.

  ‘We must get them out of the place, I take it you agree?’ The nod was slow to come, but come it did. ‘I have had words with Trogoff and proposed that we strip out a quartet of sea-worthy seventy-fours, all the cannon barring a couple of eight-pounders for signalling, fill them full of those damned seamen, and get them out of here.’

  ‘To where?’

  ‘It will have to be the Atlantic ports. Can’t land them anywhere in the Med or they’ll cease to be sailors and become soldiers. D’Imbert tells me they won’t even think of Genoa, and I doubt the locals there would take kindly to having that number dumped on them. They were conscripted from Lorient, Rochefort and Brest anyway. He also says they were a damned nuisance long before we arrived, much tainted by being over-indulged with the disease of rebellion. There will only be a brace of officers per ship, but they have warrants as well, so sailing them should be simple.’

  Hotham fiddled with a walnut and the instrument with which he would crack it. ‘You would be handing the French Navy a set of capital ships. All they have to do is refit them with cannon, powder and shot, and from the Bay of Biscay they can go anywhere, even come back here.’

  ‘Parker and I have discussed this at length, and it is a dammed nuisance, but I can see no other way. But it must be done with the active participation of each one of the fleet admirals. I need you to agree, and in writing.’

  ‘You do not see that as interfering with your prerogatives?’

  ‘I do believe Byng had prerogatives, Admiral, and a lot of good it did him.’

  Hotham nodded slowly at the mention of that name. Admiral Byng had been shot on his own quarterdeck for what was seen as a dereliction of his duty in not supporting the besieged British outpost of Fort St Phillip on Minorca against the Spanish in the Seven Years War, the result being the loss of both the fort and the island. Most of his fellow sailors had seen the execution for what it was, a political act by a vengeful government, aided by spiteful inferior officers keen to exculpate themselves from what was seen as a naval disgrace. It had, however, a huge impact; even the sage Voltaire had commented on it from Switzerland, terming it an action pour encourager les autres. He was right; the others were encouraged. Now, no flag officer would lightly take a decision that might threaten the same fate. Hood’s junior admiral never answered any enquiry quickly – he was known for it – and he did not do so now. He messily cracked a walnut and nibbled at a piece of it first, no doubt weighing up the consequences. If he was looking for alternatives, Hood knew there were none; the only other option was to keep them here.

  ‘I am, of course, at your service.’

  ‘Obliged, sir. I have one other vexing problem, Hotham, and I need your advice. It is this Barclay business.’ Hotham raised his eyebrows, as though offended, though Hood would have been at a loss to know if it was the subject that alarmed him or the abrupt way it had been introduced. Since he once more failed to respond, Hood continued. ‘That too is a damned nuisance and I am at a loss to know how to handle it.’

  ‘You are aware, I am sure, that this Pearce fellow has threatened to call Captain Barclay out.’

  ‘Has he, by damn? He will not call a man out in my command. Has he not been told it is strictly forbidden for naval officers to duel by royal statute?’

  Another piece of walnut had to be nibbled before Hotham spoke again. ‘He has, but I fear any strictures of yours might be ignored, sir. He is not much given to obeying orders, even royal ones, hardly surprising given that he is not truly an officer.’

  Hood had to bite his tongue then. Benton had been, like Barclay, Hotham’s protégé, and he had failed in the respect of strict obedience to orders. It would have been nice to put Hotham in his place, to force him to defend the late Benton, but that w
ould not serve.

  ‘I intend to be candid with you, sir.’

  The raised eyebrows in Hotham’s smooth and well-fed face looked like disbelief. ‘That is something I can only welcome, milord.’

  ‘Ralph Barclay is not a man for whom I have much in the way of affection.’

  ‘While I,’ Hotham replied, with rare force, ‘find him an excellent officer.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t doubt he is brave and runs a good, tight ship. It is the personal line I speak of. You know I saw him hours before this wretched business is supposed to have taken place.’

  ‘Indeed I do, sir.’

  ‘So you know I warned him about taking any actions which would be detrimental to the good of the service. It was a quite specific caution to be careful where he pressed, if he intended to do so.’

  ‘I seem to recall being present when the matter was first broached in your cabin.’

  And I, Hood thought, recall only too well how you stood up for the swine on both the loss of his ship to the enemy, and his impressment of the men Pearce wanted freed, making plain you would go to some lengths to protect him.

  ‘Captain Barclay was short on his complement, was he not?’ Hotham added.

  ‘What captain sails to war with a full complement, Hotham, eh? It is the fate of us all.’

  ‘Can I offer you a walnut, sir?’ said Hotham, proffering the nut bowl.

  As Hood declined Hotham was thinking about what had just been said. Barclay had indeed sought men to man his frigate, short-handed to the tune of a quarter of her full crew, and when he had done so it was in the certain knowledge that Hood, at the time the senior sea officer at the Admiralty, had at his disposal several hundred proper sailors lodged at the Tower of London. But the man was angling for the Channel fleet, which would allow him not only to hold that command but to keep his political office at the Admiralty. The king wanted the Channel for his favourite admiral, Black Dick Howe; Hood could have the Mediterranean. Determined not to give in to the monarch without a fight, Hood was damned if he was going to release any drafts of seamen until he knew which fleet he would get. Whichever, no vessel in his command would be short on his complement when they sailed.