The Devil to Pay (John Pearce series) Page 9

  Such a trait was not likely to come from the captains; they had spent their entire service life hoping to partake of a great fleet action in command of a fighting vessel and since there might be one in the offing here going home was the last thing they sought. Added to that the Mediterranean was a place of opportunity, with vessels being sent off to re-victual in Leghorn with a wink that did not demand they proceed straight to the Italian port or back again, thus allowing a sweep in which they might secure a prize or two, a policy which was paying off handsomely.

  Masters and carpenters of ships-of-the-line were a different breed: along with gunners and pursers were appointed to their positions by warrants from the Navy Board, a body often at odds with the Admiralty. They held their duty to be, not to officers or their ambitions for glory, but to the condition of their ship and its ordnance as well as to the Comptroller of the Navy Board. The holder of that office and the body he headed commissioned and kept supplied the fleet. The warrants were prone to what their blue-coated peers saw as deep pessimism.

  It was a coincidence that the first name on the alphabetical list was that of HMS Agamemnon, Nelson’s sixty-four gunner and a veritable workhorse of the fleet, given the man had been so indulged by Lord Hood. He was presently in command of a squadron of accompanying frigates and cruising off Cape Noli. As a report it made sober reading for the ship was not in a good state, some of its main frame timbers and futtocks rotten, prone to give way when pressed by a strong finger, its masts loose in their seating and the deck planking near worn away.

  Yet here was Nelson summing up to say she was the finest vessel in which he had ever set sail, a prize asset for her speed and manoeuvrability and that, despite the problems listed, he felt she was good for many more months of service. Given the Lipton letter the temptation to read no further and just send Nelson home was one Hotham had to resist; there were ships in less good repair than Agamemnon.

  ‘This will take time,’ Hotham said, which was as good a way as any of asking if there was anything else Toomey had to say.

  Toomey sighed. ‘A grouse from Captain Lockhart—’

  ‘What can he complain about?’ Hotham interrupted. ‘I have already tipped him the wink regarding Leander!’

  ‘He has had a report that relations between the premier and the second lieutenant are so strained he worries for the efficiency of the ship as well as the possibility that one or the other will demand their dispute be heard before a court martial.’

  Such information could only have come from the man Lockhart was about to replace and it was a sign of why he, a very poor disciplinarian and idle in the area of command, would be removed. It would be he who took the vessel home that was designated as in most need of a dockyard and, if the report that went with him were acted upon, he would never be employed again.

  ‘Names?’

  ‘Premier is called Taberly and,’ Toomey hesitated, knowing how his next words would be received, ‘the second is Henry Digby.’

  Hotham’s shoulders seemed to slump; Digby, who was serving aboard HMS Brilliant at the time when Barclay had command was another of those tangled up in the matter of Barclay versus John Pearce.

  ‘You know, Toomey, there are times when I envy those dogs of revolutionaries their possession of a guillotine.’

  That had to be ignored; the problem needed to be dealt with not sentimentalised. ‘Taberly has served as premier for over a year, sir, and his record is unblemished. Has the reputation of being a bit of a Tartar. Held things together what with his captain being so weak. I’d say it is certain he ran the ship.’

  ‘Deserving of a step up?’

  ‘Perhaps. The present premier of Britannia is too newly appointed to be so quickly promoted.’

  Hotham nodded; one of his first commands had been to elevate the previous holder of that position, a cousin at the third remove, to the rank of Commander and the custody of a sloop. It was a common outcome for a first lieutenant serving aboard the flagship, a position seen as a guaranteed stepping stone and therefore one much sought after. The man taken in as a replacement was the son of an old comrade from the American War and would get his step up in due course, thus meeting a strongly held obligation. If they fought a successful fleet action he would get promotion automatically.

  ‘Digby?’

  ‘Captain Lockhart reckons Taberly would not take kindly to him filling his shoes as premier. You may recall you gave him a temporary command previously, successfully completed, so he has the attributes to be elevated too.’

  Hotham nodded, even if it what happened to Digby was none of this Taberly’s affair. He stood up and went to stand looking out of the casement windows, at a view of the fleet he commanded as well as the anchorage in which it lay, the wide sweep of San Fiorenzo Bay and the mountains of Corsica that enclosed it. Experience told him the wardroom, however much it was overlaid by the need to maintain harmony, was bound to be split between Taberly and Digby for it was ever thus, people taking sides and if even one of them stayed put it would sour the takeover of one of his favourite officers.

  ‘Safest we look to move them both. Let Lockhart appoint his own first lieutenant, it is usually the best way. I’ll think on what to do with the two miscreants. I assume we are done.’

  The clerk sought to compose himself as he responded; he had put off this matter as long as he could and in the prevarication had found no way to make palatable what his employer was about to hear.

  ‘The packet brought in the mails also carried certain communications that require I report to you.’

  ‘Go on,’ came the guarded reply.

  ‘There are letters from London to both Toby Burns and Lieutenant Pearce, both with the superscription of same sender.’ Toomey waited hoping Hotham would save him saying the words; he waited in vain and he was sure there was something of a crack in his voice as he continued. ‘That lawyer fellow engaged to enquire into the circumstances of Captain Barclay’s court martial. If he is writing to Pearce then that establishes beyond peradventure he is the person who engaged him.’

  ‘Did we not suspect it to be so?’

  ‘We did, sir.’

  ‘Does that man’s malice know no bounds?’

  ‘Both have other letters, Sir William, Pearce from his prize agent and Burns several from relatives. I feel it might be necessary that we are appraised of the contents of those lawyer letters before they are delivered.’

  ‘You have them separate.’

  ‘I have.’

  All mail for the fleet passed through the flagship prior to distribution and this was the second delivery that had come to HMS Britannia. Toomey did not deal with bulging sacks personally – naval folk were great communicators and so were their relatives – that task fell to the letter writers transferred from Victory but because of previous problems he had made a point of checking on their efforts, supposedly out of a concern – and he knew it annoyed his inferiors who saw him as a fusspot – that it should be properly handled.

  Hotham leant forward and rifled through his official correspondence. Toomey did not have to ask what he was seeking – the despatch telling him Captain Ralph Barclay, now in command of a HMS Semele seventy-four, was on his way – and he knew it was only the admiral making a point. It did not have to be stated that such a development was an additional concern.

  ‘I have never taken much pleasure in surprises, Toomey.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Especially in a matter that should have been laid to rest long ago.’

  The way that was said annoyed Toomey though he had to hide it. If he had acted to aid his employer in what had become a deepening problem it was not he who had initiated matters; that lay squarely at the admiral’s door. Not that such a fact was much use.

  ‘I take it things will be seen to?’ Hotham asked after a long pause.

  That was not a request, but a command, which would have him apply hot metal to the sealing wax on those letters so that Hotham could be apprised of their contents.


  ‘In the light of that, sir, should we proceed with the examination of Mr Burns? The person you have put to instructing him feels that the youngster is as ready as he will ever be.’

  For of all the difficulties just aired, for all the banes of Hotham’s existence, Toby Burns had proved to be the most persistent for the very simple reason of his close proximity as a serving midshipman aboard the flagship. He was a dangerous link between Barclay and Pearce as well as one who had the ability to be the most troublesome. The notion was that he should be promoted to a rank he scarcely warranted and sent to serve under a reliable captain in order to be controlled.

  ‘Given it was your notion, Toomey, I think you should decide.’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘No slip ups, Toomey,’ Hotham snapped. ‘That little toad has wriggled his way out of things too many times, d’ ye hear?’

  Survived would be a better word, Sir William having sent him many times into situations of great danger where he could be injured or even killed. There had been a brief moment when the admiral thought the latter had happened and himself shot of the problem only for Burns to reappear and once more ruin his equilibrium. Toomey had good reason to suppose the existence of Burns upset him to the point where it preyed upon his mind.

  ‘He will be appraised of the nub of the questions before he enters the cabin where he will be examined. Even a dunce like Burns cannot fail.’

  He left Hotham still looking out at the sparkling Mediterranean Sea, which reflected the azure of the cloudless sky – it seemed as if the summer in this particular year would never end – his thoughts a jumble of memories and problems, not least that if the position of captain of a King’s ship was a lonely occupation bringing with it endless challenges, being an admiral in charge of a fleet was doubly so. The information about those letters made him feel vulnerable and that was not a happy place to be.

  Why the past event, which came occasionally to haunt him, should surface now he did not know but surface it did, the huge mark that he was sure stood against his name within the ranks of the service. Not that he could be sure; no one ever mentioned the matter in his presence.

  In command of a squadron of frigates during the American War and escorting a convoy of hugely valuable merchantmen, he had been intercepted by a group of French capital ships, two of them 100-gun Leviathans.

  Unable to intervene – frigates could not fight ships-of-the-line – he had been obliged to watch as they filleted his convoy and took most of them captive. Hotham was sure that amongst his peers this was seen as pusillanimity. The Admiralty did not think so: indeed he had been praised for refusing to fall for the temptation of useless sacrifice yet even that vindication left Hotham feeling exposed to behind-the-hand criticism that it was only his political connections that had spared him.

  Sometimes he was sure he saw it in the looks he got from the officers who served aboard his flagship and gazing over that for which he had schemed so long, a fleet to command, Hotham was less than sure he was happy with the concomitant responsibility. To fail now would not be forgiven or understood; he must engage the French and give them a sound drubbing. Failure to do so could lead to kind of disgrace that saw Admiral Byng, following on from his fiasco off Minorca, shot by firing squad on the quarterdeck of his own flagship.

  The image of Ralph Barclay resurfaced to trouble him even more, especially in the light of what Toomey had just told him. Why had he got involved in the first place? Even as he castigated himself he knew he had enjoyed no alternative. Even before Toulon, Barclay had made no secret of his loyalty to Hotham, which put him at odds with Lord Hood, not an advantageous position for an ambitious officer, albeit the man had never been popular in that quarter so was unlikely in any event to be favoured.

  Still it was a bold statement and one that required he be protected from what Hotham had seen as a specious charge of illegal impressment. How else was the navy to be manned without pressed men? If Barclay had strayed outside the strict limits of the law by entering the prohibited Liberties of the Savoy, so what? And who was this damned fellow who had lodged the complaint with Lord Hood only for him to land the problem in the lap of his second-in-command? Pearce was nothing but a jumped-up radical who should never have been given a lieutenant’s rank in the first place.

  With a client officer in some difficulty he had no choice but to support him; not to do so would make every other captain who depended upon Hotham wonder if they had hitched a ride on the wrong wagon; in short, the obligation went in two directions and obliged to act he felt he had manoeuvred with some cunning. He had his letter writer take depositions from a trio of common seamen, O’Hagan, Taverner and Dommet, fellows John Pearce referred to by the nonsensical soubriquet of Pelicans, men who had been pressed at the same time, all of whom confirmed where it had taken place and who had led the raid.

  Hotham then sent them all off on a mission to the Bay of Biscay under the command of Henry Digby, the former a junior lieutenant aboard Barclay’s frigate, which meant their depositions could then be safely ignored. Along with them went Pearce and a midshipman called Farmiloe, the former because he would be the chief and most formidable accuser, the mid because Farmiloe had actually been present in the Liberties and so was an equally dangerous witness.

  With all those who could harm Barclay out of the way, he set up and staffed the court with officers he could trust to come to the right verdict and this allowed Barclay to present his nephew by marriage, that weak and malleable article Toby Burns as the main witness. He had been well coached to take the blame for something he had not done, namely to admit he had, on a dark and moonless night, set the Press Gang ashore in the wrong place on the Thames riverside so the illegality could be seen as an error. Barclay, reproached for being over-indulgent to a young and inexperienced midshipman, thus escaped with a reprimand.

  If it was generally known through the higher reaches of the command what Hotham had done, no one, Hood or his Captain of the Fleet Hyde Parker, was prepared to go any further than making him aware they knew it to be a farce of a trial. Hood had confirmed the verdict as C-in-C and sent the papers off to London.

  That should have left Pearce high and dry, baying into a vacuum on his return, given Barclay could not be tried on the same charge twice. Nor could Hotham see how any other problems could flow from his actions, assured as he was that once the court martial papers were safe in the vaults of the Admiralty in London, there they would remain and hidden, leaving the verdict un-open to challenge.

  Then came Lucknor, a lawyer seeking information on Barclay from the likes of Toby Burns and the only purpose could be to seek grounds to justify an enquiry and that could lead to all sorts of complications. If that succeeded it might not be heard in a naval court but a civilian one and if the evidence of the court martial saw the light of day – a judge could force the Admiralty to divulge it – in such a setting Hotham risked being implicated by association and it might even extend to those captains who had carried out his wishes as judges.

  Had the lawyer sought to gather evidence from those who knew the truth of what occurred on that night, Farmiloe and Digby, since they would know that Burns had not participated in the raid? He had to assume it likely but as serving officers intent of making their way and called upon to damn a senior like Barclay, they could be probably relied upon to be circumspect in their replies and certainly they would be reluctant witnesses. Not so Toby Burns, the one person who could definitely sink his uncle by marriage and that would put Hotham under scrutiny.

  The lawyer had hinted that, if Burns had lied at the court martial, the only way the youngster could avoid trouble himself was to turn prosecution witness and plead coercion. The reply, opened by Toomey, curious as to why the lad was communicating with a London lawyer, was so damning it could not be sent and another had been composed by his clerk to take its place. At all costs the spineless little toad must never face a civilian judge for he would sing like the proverbial canary to save his own neck.


  Hotham was aware that Toomey, after not much of a knock, had re-entered the cabin and he turned to see on his face an air of deep concern, held as he joined Hotham by the casements, where he spoke in almost a whisper, a common precaution on a ship of war, where it seemed the bulkheads had ears.

  ‘A copy of the letter I composed has been sent to Pearce along with the suggestion that he find Burns and ask him if what he wrote is all he knows of the matter.’

  ‘Meaning he clearly suspects not.’

  That put Toomey, as the originator, on the defensive. ‘All the man says is that it disquiets him but he does not say why.’

  ‘We must make sure Pearce will not get the chance to ask.’ Hotham grunted: there was no need to add the youngster could not be allowed to see it. ‘The letter to Burns?’

  ‘Mr Lucknor asks for various clarifications, really the man is fishing for inconsistencies, which I will of course take care of.’

  Inwardly Toomey was cursing. He had seen his actions at the time as merely aiding his master and on reflection he now regretted it, especially since it had not solved the problem. Worse it had put him on a par with Ralph Barclay; such acts as the forging of a letter to conceal a crime came under the heading of conspiracy. If exposure might see William Hotham disgraced it could lead to him swinging from the Tyburn gallows.

  ‘No sign of Pearce yet?’

  ‘He is well overdue, sir.’

  ‘Fellow’s a poxed sybarite, Toomey. No doubt he is troughing his snout in the fleshpots of Naples. Still, if he is not returned and Barclay has yet to appear it gives us a chance to put matters in hand.’

  ‘What do you have in mind, sir?’

  There was a very long pause in which the admiral remained deep in contemplation. When he did speak it was in the cautious and hushed tone that had covered the whole of their exchange.

  ‘Something I once considered as something of a pleasing fantasy may have to be made reality.’

  Toomey waited for further elucidation but none was forthcoming; whatever it was Hotham was not going to share it. ‘I think it would be best to pass on the other letters, sir, to avoid suspicion.’