An Awkward Commission (3 page)

‘Your business, sir?’

The voice was bored and dismissive, but that was as nothing to the look of utter disbelief on the fellow’s pasty face as Pearce replied. His voice had all the arrogance of the jobsworth, and when he spoke, it was icy. ‘You have come all this way to importune the effective commander of His Majesty’s Channel Fleet on the fate of a trio of ordinary seamen, indeed landsmen, who are, I must tell you, now sailing to be part of a fleet that will be commanded by another admiral, Lord Hood?’

‘They are not ordinary to me, sir. They are my closest friends.’

‘Then I wonder at your connections, sir, for it is uncommon for an officer to so term a sailor.’

‘Perhaps more of that would make the Navy a happier occupation! Lord Howe specifically alluded to their case, sir, in the most positive manner, and were he here I am sure he would oblige me by fulfilling the promise he made. I have no doubt that Admiral Graves would be only too keen to carry out the expressed wishes of the actual commanding officer.’

The look that got, as the clerk stood up to reveal a body shaped like a pear, no shoulders and a fat behind, was tantamount to a denial; in fact it implied that pigs might fly. ‘Wait here. I will ask Admiral Graves if he will see you.’

Half a minute passed before the man returned. ‘I am to show you through, though it is only your name that gains you an interview. Do not hold out any hope that the Admiral will oblige you.’

‘Then there is no purpose in going in,’ snapped Pearce, who, though restrained in his consumption of the
wardroom claret, had drunk too much to suffer any hint of condescension.

‘None, except that it is in the shape of an order that you do so, one which the marines behind you would insist you obey.’

The Admiral sat at a round table, a slim man of some height, with a white wig over a long, greying face and a firm, jutting-out jaw. The table was covered in books and papers, all of them, from what Pearce could observe, official. He looked up at the man before him, standing to attention with his hat under his arm, with the quizzical expression of a
less-than
-pleased adult faced with a recalcitrant child.

‘I wanted to look you over for a second time, Pearce, for I was at the reception when you first came ashore.’

‘I’m sorry, sir, I do not recall. There were so many senior officers present.’

‘I was happy to praise you then, but not now. I am here to tell you that your elevation to your present rank is nothing short of a disgrace. There cannot be a serving officer who knows the truth of your promotion who is not incensed by it. Six years’ sea time is six years, sir, and the position you hold demands it, as well as the knowledge a man gains in that period, something you ain’t got under your belt.’

‘Then you will be glad to know, sir, that I have no intention of applying for a place aboard a ship.’ That came out without thinking, and was acceptable, as well as being true. Had Pearce left it there he might have held some sway with the Admiral, but the devil was in him as it often was when faced with authority, and what sympathy he might have elicited went right out the casement windows as he added, ‘Nothing would induce me to serve in such a body. Your Navy, sir, is riddled with tyranny and open corruption and I can only suppose that those with the power to chastise the men who run the institution are afflicted with a kind of
blindness. The trio I have alluded to were, like me, illegally pressed into the Navy by a blackguard called Barclay—’

‘Ralph Barclay?’

‘The very same.’

‘I know of Captain Barclay.’

‘Then you will know, sir, that he is not fit for the rank he holds. The man is a martinet of the worst kind and a liar to boot—’

He was interrupted by a snarl. ‘You will withdraw that remark, sir, for you are taking liberties with the name of a respected officer in the King’s Navy.’

‘If he, sir, is respected, it says little for those he serves with, or under.’

‘Get out.’

‘I demand you accede to the wishes of Lord Howe and do something to get those men back.’

‘You can demand all you like, Pearce, and I must warn you if you do not do as I say you will be demanding from the cable tier, and you will be in chains while you do so. Your friends can serve for a decade for all I care. I repeat my words: get out!’

As Pearce turned to go, the Admiral added his final insult. ‘And get off my flagship with the utmost speed, for you presence defiles the deck.’ Then he shouted, ‘Marines, escort this blackguard to the entry port.’

‘Mr Glaister’s compliments, sir. He believes we have a sight of the French coast, and judging by the skyline, despite the recent blow, he feels we will make a perfect landfall.’

‘Please inform Mr Glaister I will be on deck presently. And request him to signal HMS
Firefly
, although I daresay Captain Gould already knows.’

Crouched over the muster book of HMS
Brilliant
, Captain Barclay did not deign to look up at Midshipman Farmiloe, who, having delivered what he thought was a dramatic message deserving of attention, was obliged to turn about and leave the Captain’s cabin in a rather crestfallen manner, though he did elicit a nod and a smile from the Captain’s pretty young wife, busy at a piece of embroidery in which the name of the frigate was already completed. Several cushions with similar covers lay along the bench seats, giving, if not a feminine touch to the place, at least an atmosphere more gentle than that one would associate with such an austere commander as Ralph Barclay.

From above their heads came the sound of repairs, as they had, in the last twenty-four hours, come through a vicious and sudden squall of the type that plagued ships in the Mediterranean, the kind that threw vessels on their beam ends with scant warning, so forceful and unexpected was the wind. Ralph Barclay was now listing the damage, as well as the materials – timber, cordage and canvas – that was
needed to make matters right, employing a small percentage of exaggeration that any examining clerk at the Navy Board would have to be eagle-eyed to spot. Given that he was personally responsible for everything of that nature on the ship, and could be obliged to pay from his own pocket for unjustified wastage, he was, in time-honoured fashion, taking the opportunity to create a handy excess.

Next came the muster book where he listed, alongside all the other things that pertained to the existence of his crew, the fact that two of them had broken limbs, and one a dislocation of the shoulder. The surgeon’s report lay by his hand, which told him one break was clean, the other not, and an estimate of how long each would be under medical care. It was a tedious duty that should have fallen to a clerk, but the then impecunious Captain Barclay had sailed from England without one, keeping for himself a proportion of the pay for the office. Running his finger down the list, of tobacco bought, clothing items deducted from pay, and the cost of treating their venereal afflictions, he came to the pencilled name of Ben Walker, lost overboard two weeks before. The time had come to use ink, and to discharge that sailor as D.D., dead in the execution of his duties, with the storm as an excuse. Keeping him on the muster for a few extra days made up for some of the depredations of the rats that infested the lower reaches below decks.

This was carried out with the connivance of the purser, who stood to gain more than the captain by a little judicious accounting, for it would transpire that the late Ben Walker had bought quite a quantity of tobacco in the last two weeks, the cost of which, since it was the Purser’s private venture, would go straight into his account. Provided their ledgers agreed, no one would spot a discrepancy, nor would an eyebrow be raised to the notion of a man lost at sea, given it was commonplace. For every man that the Navy lost
in battle, they lost ten to shipwreck, accident and disease.

‘Is not Mr Farmiloe’s news of some importance, Captain Barclay?’

Ralph Barclay looked up and smiled, struck, not for the first time, by the picture of sheer loveliness Emily presented – one of perfect harmony with the life she lived. All awkwardness was now gone; the months at sea had inured her to whatever the elements or shipboard life could bring her way, and he was even pleased at what he called her fripperies – those bits of decoration she seemed determined to create in order to make more domestic their living quarters. Gone was the gauche and embarrassed seventeen-year-old girl who had come aboard at Sheerness, who in her ignorance had embarrassed both his purse and his authority: here was that creature grown to womanhood complete, though she had only added one year to her actual age. In short, she had become the perfect wife to a serving sea captain, and the twenty year gap between them – once a concern – seemed now to be irrelevant.

‘It is vital, my dear, and I would have been most put out had it not come, but it does not do to show too much zeal in these things, as I have told you before.’

Emily Barclay, even seated, managed an ironic bob. ‘The captain’s majesty?’

‘Precisely. I am no enemy to enthusiasm, in its place, but...’

Ralph Barclay followed that pause with a smile, for that was one of the things that Emily Barclay had not understood in the early days, the way a captain must be seen in the eyes of those under him; stern but fair, remote yet approachable, a balancing act between tolerance and punishment that was difficult to achieve and hard to maintain. He felt he had managed it, despite some initial hiccups, and he had been helped by some good fortune in the article of prizes which
meant the crew could expect an addition to their pay, which always aided contentment. It was not pleasant to recall the way that his wife had challenged him over that fellow Pearce, who he had been forced to punish, and then been obliged to get rid of. She would not do that now, she would know better; that justice must sometimes gave way to authority.

‘Would you care to join me on deck, my dear?’

‘Is there anything to see, husband?’

‘I doubt it. Land will have been spotted from the masthead, and even in an hour, given the heat of the day, it will be no more than a smudge on the horizon.’

‘Then if you do not mind, husband, I will visit the men who suffered injury in yesterday’s storm.’

‘Of course,’ he replied, before calling to his steward. ‘Shenton, my hat.’

As he closed the muster book, Ralph Barclay promised himself that, at the first opportunity, he would employ a clerk to do the work that he had just completed. It would have to be someone who understood the meaning of discretion, as well as the need for certain reservations with the absolute facts; no captain could afford to tell the Admiralty and Navy Board everything, and a certain security lay in the fact that, though they claimed to be zealous, those clerks were, in fact, only too human. He had had to decline his wife’s offer to undertake the work, for he knew she, of all people, being so delightfully ingenuous, would not comprehend that particular requirement.

His officers removed their hats as he stepped onto the quarterdeck, each acknowledged by no more than a nod. First he looked at the slate, and the course that had been chalked on, knowing that the ship’s master, Mr Collins, a man of an extremely insecure temperament, would be made nervous by his action. His frigate, HMS
Brilliant
, with the sloop HMS
Firefly
in her wake, was making some four knots
on a steady south-west breeze that was coming in nicely over her larboard quarter. He cast his glance upwards, to where, amongst the taut sails, the topmen were working, splicing ropes that had parted in the squall and re-roving blocks that had come apart from the falls. Forward, over the waist, the sailmaker and his assistants were sitting in a line repairing a damaged topsail, their long needles flying through the thick canvas, the whole of the work on deck and aloft overseen by Mr Sykes, the bosun. Here was another cause for satisfaction, a crew that, due to his constant training and stern attitude, had become efficient at their work, and warrant officers like Sykes, who had seemed uncertain at first, now relaxed and competent. They were not at the peak of perfection – that took years at sea to achieve – but they were nothing like the rabble with which he had put to sea.

Likewise, in his First Lieutenant, he had an officer who understood what was required of him; that the deck be spotless, the cannonballs in the rope garlands black and chipped free of rust, the cannon tight to the ship’s side, idle ropes perfectly coiled and the crew quiet and industrious, yet ready at a moment’s notice to go from peaceful sailing to fighting readiness. That had not been so when he had set off from Sheerness, but good fortune had attended the cruise of HMS
Brilliant
in that respect too, ridding him of subordinates inclined to be contentious, and replacing them with men who understood the need to obey.

‘Mr Glaister?’

The lanky Scotsman, with his thin, near skeletal face and startlingly blue eyes, replied to the implied question in a lilting, Highland tone. ‘Masthead reports that our landfall is mountainous, sir, which leads me to suspect that if we are not dead set for the Roads of Toulon, then we are not a hair’s-breadth off it.’

‘Then, Mr Collins, you need to be congratulated.’

The master took the compliment, even though he knew how much of a hand his captain had had in the plotting of the course. So did every officer aboard, but praise from Ralph Barclay was rare enough to be prized, even when it was not truly warranted.

‘Mr Glaister, I take it the work of repair will be completed before we can see the shore from the deck.’

‘I will make sure of it, sir.’

Ralph Barclay picked up a telescope and trained it on the distant shore, though it hardly made it any more clear. ‘Good, for if it is Toulon they will have lookouts on the mountain, and communications with the port, and some expectation of the imminent arrival of a reconnaissance vessel.’

‘You mean they might wish to chase us off, sir?’

‘It is what I would do, Mr Glaister, it is what I would do.’

Replacing the telescope in the rack, Ralph Barclay walked to the weather rail and began to pace up and down that space between the poop and the waist which all vacated, it being the preserve of the captain when he was on deck. His orders obliged him to reconnoitre the main enemy naval base and report back to Admiral Hotham and the fleet the state of readiness of the French capital ships in the port. If the commanding enemy admiral had any sense he would have frigates at sea to intercept such a mission. That they had raised the land without such a sighting implied that he had not. What did it mean? Was the Toulon fleet in the kind of disarray rumoured to have ruined French naval strength, with experienced officers fled from their posts for fear of the guillotine? Or was it a ruse?

‘Mr Glaister. Break out a tricolour flag and raise it to the masthead.’

‘Sir.’

‘And keep our own pennant ready to replace it in an
instant. I would also like to shorten sail so that the repairs will be completed and the men will have had their dinner by the time the shore is hull up.’

‘Should we clear for action, sir?’

‘After the officer’s dinner, Mr Glaister. As you know, my wife goes to great trouble to help the cook prepare a memorable meal. It would not do to upset her.’

He looked at them all then, in a sweeping glance that had everyone avoiding his eye. There was not a man jack aboard, before and abaft the mast, who was not as jealous as hell of their uxorious captain and his lovely lady. To see her on deck, common enough in benign weather, was to induce feelings best left ashore, some mere nostalgia for hearth and home, others more carnal, that mixed with resentment that Barclay should be so favoured. He was so much his wife’s senior and did not reckon himself handsome or very attractive a person – something with which most of his crew, had he asked them, would have concurred, but he had her companionship in all respects in a way denied to the others aboard, if you discounted the Gunner’s wife, exasperating to men who had not been ashore for months. The satisfaction to be gained from the knowledge of their emotions was one of which he could never get enough, for Ralph Barclay reckoned that he had lived a life that owed him some recompense for miseries suffered, slights endured and ambitions thwarted. Now he was enjoying the feeling of justified redress, as he turned on his heel and left the quarterdeck, his parting words: ‘Mr Glaister, once you are sure all is in hand, please join me in my cabin. I need to hear your opinion on who amongst the ship’s corporals is to replace the Master-
at-Arms
. Mr Lutyens informs me he will be unable to fulfil his duties for some six weeks.

‘Mr Lutyens.’

Lutyens looked up from the large journal in which he was writing. Habit made him half-close it so that what was written could not be seen, silly really, for of all the people aboard this young lady would be the last person to pry; she was too well-mannered.

‘I came to see if our injured are comfortable.’

‘They will certainly be made more so by your presence, Madame. I fear they see in me a rough and indifferent mendicant.’

Emily waved away such a suggestion, in truth to cover a degree of embarrassment, for gossip from her husband’s officers, as well as the odd overheard remark from the men, had it that Lutyens was a touch insensitive in the article of pain, much given to applying herbal treatments which he supposed to be relieving, but failed to dull as much as the method which sailors knew and trusted, rum or laudanum. And she was slightly put out by the way he had so immediately shut his journal, as though whatever secrets he had could possibly interest her. For once, she decided to let him know her feelings, though she made a great effort to sound good-humoured.

‘I should sand your latest scribblings, sir, for if your finger slips from holding open the page they will be rendered unreadable.’

The feathery eyebrows on his rather fish-like face were raised at what was, regardless of the delivery, nothing short of a direct admonishment, something new from the Captain’s wife. That would be an interesting observation to add to what he had been writing, which was in the nature of the changes in the crew since the ship first weighed. The journal contained everything he had learnt since coming aboard, part of his study into the workings of a ship and the people who sailed it. Above his head, in a secure locker,
were the notebooks which he had filled on a daily basis before transcribing his interpretations into this journal, which would, one day, be the basis of a treatise which would make his name in the circle of savants to which he aspired.