The Devil to Pay (12 page)

‘Anyone who would rather make a bed outside may do so,’ he called finally, for under a sky not yet fully cleared they were going to be in the dark even with an open door. ‘But call your name first, it must be done with care and one at a time. Also, anyone with a musket leave it indoors.’

That engendered some murmured complaint so he added, in an exasperated tone. ‘Ask yourself what use those weapons will be if the rain returns to soak your flints and powder?’

The downpour had doused the embers of the previous fire but the tars soon got another one going by the simple expedient of finding some dry kindling and timber then setting it alight where the smashed ampoule had seeped its oil into the ground. What they did not anticipate was the way it flared up and the extent to which it would spread,
which provided those still in the tower with a short burst of entertainment when it seemed as if the whole landscape was about to ignite.

Eventually matters settled and so did the exterior crew, with Pearce setting a watch from those who remained inside – there were moans of unfairness – until he made it plain they had two advantages; the height with which to oversee the area and the weapons to defend it from intrusion. Sleep, even indoors, could not be much more than fitful and so it was a drowsy and grubby looking bunch that began to study themselves at first light, where they could examine the effect upon their clothing and faces of that desperate climb up from the shore and with no ability to boil water with which to shave they would have to stay that way.

With daylight the crew, Pelicans and Emily Barclay apart, vacated the tower, so Pearce elected to search for the means to reach the top. This consisted of a well-worn and equally well-cracked stone stairway. Several of the bricks dislodged on his ascent and fell crashing down to alarm those below and when he emerged onto the top it was to disturb a positive colony of nesting seabirds, who set up a cacophony of noise before seeking to chase him away by swirling around his head.

This meant he only got a glimpse of the inlet in which lay the charred timbers of HMS
Larcher
, no more than the skeleton of the keel, being hit by waves that were much more forceful than those he had faced the day before, which drove home that he had been very lucky. More to the point there was no sign of that pair of brigantines, which brought forth a sigh of relief: he and his crew were safe.

‘Best come down quick, Capt’n,’ called Michael O’Hagan up the stairwell, ‘we got trouble here.’

The descent had to be undertaken gingerly, with all that loose masonry, so he was appraised of what he was about face before he saw the threat, a crowd of over a hundred peasants armed with every kind of agricultural tool that would serve as a weapon lined up just as the edge of the trees and on closer examination it was made up of men, women and children. He could hear them too, a low and angry mummer that carried over the intervening ground to remind him of what he had so recently witnessed aboard ship.

No great genius was required to work out why these folk had come; this tower must have served as some kind of communal storehouse and not only had he and his men broken into the place but they had moved some of its contents and destroyed at least one container of oil, in this part of the world the source of heat, light and the basis of their cooking and very likely any trade they undertook.

It was the line of raised muskets that kept the peasants from coming on but that would not serve. Pearce could not contemplate any shooting to drive them away, quite apart from the presence of women and children. These people were citizens of a power allied to Britain and he had no idea how far away where he and his men from some kind of authority that could aid him.

‘Michael, the ship’s coffer, fetch it if you please.’

‘You seeking to buy them off?’

‘Tell me another way.’

‘Sure I hope they come cheap, John-boy, for it’s a bare store of coin we are left with.’

‘First I have to get them to understand me. Best I wear my coat too.’

Charlie Taverner was quick with his opinion, this as O’Hagan aided Pearce to dress. ‘Never known anyone confused by a bit of coin.’

‘I have my money, John,’ Emily added; originally pledged for her voyage, the result of her having traded her jewellery in Naples, it had been returned to her by Captain Fleming. ‘You may use that.’

Pearce nodded, adding a sad smile, as Michael came with the coffer and he opened it to slip a few coins into his pocket. ‘Let us hope it is unnecessary.’

It was a stiff and slow one-armed descent down that rough ladder and an unhurried walk to the line of his men holding muskets, where he issued a sharp order that no one was to think of pulling a trigger before proceeding, Michael, Charlie and Rufus on his heels. He searched the line of faces before him seeking out the man who was their leader – there had to be one – and as soon as he alighted on a suspect the fellow, swarthy and squat, stepped forward, a billhook swinging loosely at the end of his arm, angry shouts and imprecations at his back.

French had no immediate effect so Pearce tried the bit of Latin he knew only be replied to in a tongue, a local argot, which to him had no discernible root. So it came down to grunts, the odd word and sign language in which he imparted his regrets and caused utter confusion by trying to describe with his one good hand a naval pursuit and the outcome for his ship, in short their reason for being here.

In the end Charlie proved to have the right of it; a proffered gold coin, a full guinea on which sat the head of
King George, once it had been bitten by the few remaining teeth of the peasant spokesman, began to allay the animosity. It took two more guineas, which left Pearce with an equal amount, to find the price for their losses, or at least one that would satisfy this squat fellow, with Pearce well aware he was probably paying well above the need.

‘Should have put a couple of balls over their heads afore you spoke to them,’ Rufus Dommet opined as the crowd dispersed to make their way back to their homes. ‘Would have saved a guinea at least.’

‘Whatever happened to that peaceful young lad I used to know?’ Pearce asked, with a sigh. ‘The one who rarely raised his voice.’

‘Sure he joined the navy, John-boy,’ hooted Michael O’Hagan, ‘and if it has taken a while I can tell you he has learnt to throw a decent punch.’

‘Just as I thought,’ came the response, ‘we are in a service that makes good people bad and bad people worse.’

‘Then it’s perdition for you, I say.’

Throughout the night, in between bouts of sleep and troubled wakefulness, John Pearce had gnawed on what to do next. He had no surety that his enemies had given up on their pursuit, which would mean them heading for Sapri, where they thought he would go next, it being the nearest point of habitation. If that was to be avoided then so was any notion of progressing inland to seek out a road to the north for the fishing port was on the way, which had him inclining to the idea of making their way north by sticking to the coast.

There would be a coastal path, in his experience of traversing his homeland there always was and he had no reason to doubt that matters were the same here in Italy. They were the routes of trade and travel that went back to time immemorial: on many occasions he and his father had used such paths to make their way from one coastal town to another and if they were not roads they were usually better than the muddy, rutted so called highways that were
as likely to be home to thievery as any other hazard.

His thinking was also affected by what he had read, from the annals of empire that began with Rome and extended to the writings of those who had undertaken the Grand Tour, not all of them rich and idle youth. The road to Rome was one much travelled by enquiring minds and one of the things Pearce recalled, amongst their accounts of ancient buildings and fine works of art were their descriptions of the climate of Italy’s interior; hot, disease ridden and, outside of the monasteries and occasional grand edifice, desperately poor.

If it had been a fancy of his father’s, his oft-repeated assertion that sea air was beneficial was a hard notion to refute but then there was the other factor to consider: would it be longer in terms of miles? In the dark a look at one of Dorling’s charts was out of the question, which threw up another fact: if they showed the coast and the immediate hinterlands charts did not stretch far inland and tended to be bereft of topographical features other than obvious landmarks such as the tower in which they now sat.

Yet on the coast they could not get lost and would often have good sight of what hazards lay in their path. So it was make their way with some knowledge of their location or to set off towards the high hills immediately north of the place they now were and step into the unknown. As a dilemma it was unresolved when daylight came and that was before any subsequent problem arose. What was obvious, when those over-rewarded locals had gone on their way, and while his men made as much as they could of a less than perfect breakfast, was the fact that he would have to decide,
there being no hint from any other quarter of a alternative, though he did fell it incumbent to explain his thinking to the warrants.

‘As we saw on the way to here many of the bays have boats on the beach, which means they live mainly off fish. But it is a fair bet there will be some kind of livestock too, goats or sheep. It also means they must have fresh water nearby for how could they otherwise sustain themselves. So there we have it, potential food and a certainty of water, plus a knowledge of where we are in a strange land.’

Not a word came in reply and nor was there much faith in the looks he was getting.

‘And who knows what we might find to aid us on our way?’

‘How far will be have to go, your honour?’ Birdy asked finally of a man who had yet to work out the answer to that particular question, which meant his reply was somewhat lacking in confidence.

‘Think of it day by day Mr Bird, ten to twelve miles maybe more, with stops at the height of the hours when the sun is at its hottest.’ Which was as good as saying it was going to be a long trek and an uncomfortable one so he added a bit if wishful thinking to seek to cheer them up. ‘And I cannot see it as necessary to cover the entire distance on foot, where we can we will seek out a boat.’

‘And what boat will that be, John-boy,’ O’Hagan asked as they walked away, for he had overheard the conversation.

‘A celestial barge, Michael,’ Pearce replied, with a gaiety he did not feel, this as he looked at the bright blue sky, with one single white cloud set over a distant mountain north of their tower, a one-time volcano by its shape. ‘For which
I would be obliged you heartily pray to the deity you so worship.’

As ever, when any reference was made to God, Michael crossed himself.

‘At least,’ Pearce added, ‘if we stick to the coast we cannot get lost. Now let us gather ourselves up and get moving before it gets too warm.’

In the nature of things even the flagship of the fleet was required to replenish its stores, not least to take on water, without which the ship’s cooks could not prepare food, so Sir William Hotham found himself on deck as HMS
Britannia
made her way into the roads of Leghorn to anchor, this to the sound of banging ordnance as his vessel saluted the titular suzerain of the free port, the Grand Duke of Tuscany, while representatives of the Empire of Austria acknowledged his rank, position and Vice Admiral’s flag.

Boats of all sizes, carrying traders of every description as well as a goodly number of whores, to the accompaniment of flutes and stringed instruments, had long set out to intercept the 100-gun warship which, with its crew of over 800 men would be a source of much trade in all areas, especially if the vessels captain would allow them aboard – if not the denizens of the port would still manage to turn a pretty coin.

Despite the Articles of War declaring that the presence of non-naval persons on a warship was forbidden, it was a decision left to each captain as to whether such a stricture was observed. Hotham was not a man to relish his flagship being turned into a raucous whore and playhouse, so John Holloway, the captain of the ship, had strict instructions.

‘They may trade though the lower gun ports and no more.’ The acknowledgment of the order was delivered with a suppressed sigh; Hotham would not have to deal with the consequences of a crew full of pent-up frustration when they were denied their full pleasures: that would fall to the captain and his officers. ‘You will, of course, accompany me to the inevitable ball and I would be obliged if you would choose from among our officers men who can come along and behave themselves.’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘And a strong word to your liberty men too, as well as your midshipman. There has been too much trouble here in Leghorn of late and I do not want to have to deal with any more.’

The story of what had happened with the youngsters from
Agamemnon
had spread and, of course, grown in the telling so that now, as far as the navy was concerned, there was not a bullock officer anywhere in the entire theatre of conflict fit for duty, and to the tars a damn good thing too.

‘Port Governor’s barge setting off from the quay, sir.’

This was delivered to Holloway, who was obliged by naval hierarchy to pass onto Hotham what he could not have failed to hear. Likewise the response, to salute the Governor with the requisite number of discharges, had to descend through the ranks all the way to the fellows operating the signal gun, which being a swivel on the quarterdeck was also within earshot.

Hotham made his way to the entry port on the main deck and it was a puffed-up admiral that met the Governor as he came aboard, this to the crash of marine boots as the welcoming guard of honour came smartly to attention.
Hotham had never before greeted a visitor as a commanding officer and to experience that now was enough to make him both proud and outgoing. So a pompous and overdressed little pouter pigeon of a functionary was treated in the great cabin to the best bottle of claret Sir William could provide, this while the pair conversed in French: Hotham’s stilted, the Austrian’s fluent.

‘An opera performed in entirely in my honour!’ Hotham exclaimed with
faux
enthusiasm; it was not an art form he greatly appreciated added to which the standard in Leghorn was not of the highest. ‘
Trop honneur, Excellance.
’

After much stilted exchange the man departed leaving Sir William to deal with his next guest, the British Consul Mr Purdey, a very necessary conduit to London through the Foreign Office, one that bypassed the Admiralty and allowed Hotham to reach his political allies and so also a recipient of the best of the admiral’s floating cellar, stocked on his behalf by Berry Brothers of St James’.

Once Purdey left he began to prepare himself with a careful toilet that went as far as a little powder on his cheeks, which were too red from exposure to decades of wind and water. The happy mood was somewhat dented when he saw that Toby Burns had been included in the list of accompanying officers, but he was unable to object; everyone aboard
Britannia
, Holloway included, was sure he was fond of the young fellow, perhaps too much so.

‘You found me an interpreter, Toomey.’

‘I have, sir, he came aboard an hour past. Fluent in French, English and German.’

‘Thank the Lord. I won’t have to engage in these heathen
tongues. French is bad enough, but German. Barbaric to my ears!’

The need for German was due to the presence of officers of the Austrian Army; a small garrison kept in the port to preserve order in times made febrile by the Revolution. Toomey, being Irish and considering his concerns, could not resist a bit of mischief to balance out his feeling of disquiet, as well as exclusion from whatever his employer had in mind.

‘I believe it is the common tongue of his Majesty and his family, sir.’

Hotham stopped then as the thought registered: a Whig he might be and committed to curtailing monarchical interference in government but it did not do to go lightly insulting the source of so much patronage. He might want to curse the damned Hanoverians, but it would never do and Toomey, by his remark, was warning him to mind his tongue once ashore.

‘A convenience no doubt, for Queen Charlotte, who is German born.’

‘Most of those attending will speak French, sir.’

‘Do some of them good to learn a bit of English,’ Hotham growled.

‘I am sure every Englishman trading through the port will attend an opera in your honour.’

‘You hit the nail, Toomey. Tradesmen is what they are and a low lot to boot.’

‘Yet wealthy, sir, especially those who represent the Levant Company. They sit not far behind the Indian nabobs in the depth of their coffers.’

‘It takes more than money to make a gentleman.’

Hotham said this as he turned from his looking glass to face his clerk and seek his approval, which had Toomey quickly adjusting his expression; he thought the remark pretentious. Sir William had on his blue sash and Star of the Order of the Bath, placed there first by the very king about whom he had so nearly been disparaging. His wig was freshly powdered and his coat and breeches were of the very best quality, while his shoe buckles were gleaming silver.

‘Impressive, sir, very impressive.’

The chest positively swelled as Admiral Sir William Hotham, acting C-in-C Mediterranean, took in a deep breath and squared shoulders covered with two heavy and flashing epaulettes, to then pick up his naval scrapper, edged in gold thread, and place it with care upon his head.

It was a mood Hotham carried into the Opera House, sustained by the impression that
tout
Tuscany had turned out to meet him. The place positively glittered with titles, decorations, military uniforms from Austria and Britain as well as low cut and revealing gowns on every woman regardless of her age. The performance was pleasant: a Mozart piece about Turks and harems, while the wine served in the interval was excellent and plentiful. The C-in-C was in heaven as well as in deep conversation with a buxom beauty when he was interrupted.

‘Excuse me, sir, if I may I would like to have a word with you.’

Forced to turn away from a heaving and very obvious bosom, Hotham was not best pleased to find himself face to face with a bullock, a major by the rank badges on his
red coat, even less enamoured when the fellow spoke, from a face so fused with what seemed to be suppressed fury that it matched his jacket.

‘Major Lipton, at your service.’

‘Lipton?’ Hotham replied, with an air of confusion, in reality seeking time to think.

‘You may recall that I wrote to you?’

‘I receive a level of correspondence, major, that you could scarcely guess at.’

‘Not much of it from men such as myself, I’ll wager, or bearing my sort of complaint?’

Hotham was thinking where was Toomey when he was needed. He was the fellow to deal with this but the clerk, who too had come ashore, had headed off to the local fleshpots. There he would, no doubt, couch with a whore and get as drunk as only an Irishman could, on beverages bought for him by officers seeking to pick up secrets from the great cabin, a habit when he had a rare run ashore as a price to be paid for his otherwise competent service.

Whatever, there was no denying that he had been in receipt of a letter from Lipton, so he replied in what was a somewhat supercilious manner. ‘I recall the name now and I also recall that my clerk wrote to you a reply.’

The tone was clearly inappropriate, given the increased flush that came to the major’s cheeks as well as his growling response. ‘And a dammed unsatisfactory one, sir.’

‘Your language, sir, is unsuitable to address any fellow officer and I would remind you of my rank.’

‘While I choose to remind you, sir, of the depredations I and my officers have suffered at the hands of your service.’

‘A few over-eager midshipman,’ Hotham scoffed. ‘Letting off steam.’

‘I find your attitude and response offensive, sir.’

Now it was Hotham’s turn to display irritation; no one had the right to speak to him in that fashion, although it was only recently he had suffered such from Lord Hood, the memory of which coloured his reaction.

‘And I don’t give a damn if you do, sir. I am here as a guest of the Governor and as a representative of our country. If you have anything to say to me I would be obliged if you would find a more appropriate place to say it.’

‘You decline to compensate us?’

‘I most vehemently do. If you get into a scrape in a foreign port who can you blame but yourself?’