Authors: David Donachie
‘We have to go to the real thing,’ Pearce said, ‘and, Charlie you can be no part of that.’
‘I get a whiff that you don’t trust me.’
‘I am about to attempt something that could see me strung up from the yardarm. If you’re sure you want to join me, I won’t stop you.’
‘Taken as intended, John.’
‘Back you go to your mess.’
‘What do I say to them, ’cause they’s bound to press.’
‘Tell then we were raising Satan. That should shut them up.’
‘Smells as if that could be the truth. Happen they will treat me as a wizard.’
Entering Digby’s cabin he encountered a man deep in concern for he had been subjected to the odour of burning for quite a while.
‘I have the way of it now, Henry, trust me.’
‘Do I have a choice?’
Pearce shook his head, laid the lantern on the desk and opened the door. His razor was now blue metal instead of silver and still warm. Digby handed over Hotham’s missive which was laid flat on a bit of canvas to ensure it did not slip away,
‘I require you to hold it, Henry, like so, with your fingers nowhere near the join.’
Digby spread his fingers and took the clench required while Pearce heated the blade. A new piece of parchment was ready and that was laid just so, at the point where the wax met the heavy paper, with Pearce talking, as much to ease his own anxieties as those of his captain.
‘If you get it right, Henry, the parchment gets hot enough to slide under the wax and separate it on its own.’
The concentration was acute from both men as Pearce applied the blade, sliding it fraction by fraction, always
with the metal kept from the actual letter. The point at which it parted was a dangerous moment for, folded hard, it sprung up like a fairground jack.
‘We have it, I think.’
Digby went to pick it up, but Pearce stopped him. ‘Wait till the wax is fully cooled.’
When the time came Digby unfolded it, once, twice, the third and fourth time until it was flat, criss-crossed with the creases of its previous state.
‘This is in English,’ Pearce cried.
‘Is that significant?’
‘Time to find out.’
Both men had been prepared to be surprised; what they read gave them a real shock. Hotham’s letter was a rebuke to Mehmet Pasha for the way he had treated another British naval officer, one previously sent to seek to put an end to what were termed his depredations on the trade routes between the Levant and the nations of the coalition fighting the Revolution; there was no mention of the French inducements.
That this Turk should threaten a British Officer at all was an insult to His Britannic Majesty King George; to then imply that he could have him thrown in his dungeons and whipped till he learnt some respect was more than that, it was flagrant breach of the norms of civilised behaviour and a threat to the good relations between Great Britain and the Porte.
The letter demanded a full apology and some token of redress and if that was not forthcoming for such high-handed
actions then the admiral in command in the Mediterranean, named on the superscription, would have no choice but to send the firepower necessary to chastise him, with the added peril that he would, should he fall into British hands, be sent to Constantinople to face those authorities whose official policies he chose to ignore.
‘This beggars belief,’ Digby groaned.
If Pearce shared that sentiment he was more concerned with thinking through the ramifications. Who was this Mehmet Pasha and what was he like, not a pleasant fellow to say the least if what was written was true. Depredations on such a busy trade route could be read as piracy, which would be just as frowned upon by his own political masters as by any British admiral. Left to continue it would curtail any traffic at all, which would damage the Ottoman Empire as much as those with whom it traded.
He tried to imagine the scene when this letter was handed over, which is what Hotham would have done. Did the Turk have English after all; it mattered not for if he had an interpreter speaking to him in his own tongue whoever was standing before him would have no indication of what was being translated, unless he could read it in the reaction.
‘If Mehmet wanted to chastise an envoy sent to parley with him, what would he do to one sent to threaten him?’
‘If Sir William could not be sure he could guess,’ Digby responded.
‘He’s been clever, Henry.’
‘How can you call what is sheer criminality clever?’
‘Because it is, perhaps too much so for Hotham. It may
be that Toomey is the author of this affair.’ Seeing Digby about to explode, Pearce laid a hand on his arm and sought to quiet him, not that what he had to say was in any way reassuring. ‘You call it criminality but what has been done?’
‘He has laid a trap in which someone could be severely injured, even killed. Since you were set to be the victim I cannot fathom how you can react with such composure.’
‘Would it shock you to know that there are parts of this for which I have admiration? Our admiral has done his duty, or that is how it would be seen if it were ever examined. You do not smoke it?’
‘I cannot, John.’
‘Mehmet, I think we can assume, is indulging in piracy, for which his base is admirably suited. So Hood sends an officer to warn him to desist, which is rejected with scarce a hint that he fears anything or anyone. We can also take from this letter that whatever our fellow is up to it is not the policy of the government he is supposed to obey. That makes him doubly dangerous, since where he is placed, on the very edge of the Ottoman possessions, must make it hard for them to check him. In short he is acting as an independent power.’
Pearce was slowly shaking his head but it was in wonder. ‘What does Hotham do? He could just ignore Mehmet and let the insurers in London bears the brunt of the problem, yet Ambassador Hamilton told me that they are imposing exorbitant rates on the Levant trade, a fact of which the Admiralty must be aware. The City of London is not shy of seeking to have its own interests protected.’
‘This is a deliberate attempt to rid himself of you.’
‘And perhaps you too, Henry, for if I had gone ahead and ended up in trouble I am sure you would not just sail away and leave me to my fate. You would feel obliged to effect a rescue even if the odds you faced were against you.’
‘You are implying that he is prepared to lose both this ship and the crew, John. Surely not even he would stoop to that.’
‘Henry he must know you had a letter from Lucknor. What else he knows I do not want to even guess at.’
‘He must be exposed.’
‘I can’t see how. Who are you going to bring the matter before and what are your grounds to claim a conspiracy? Hotham is the C-in-C and you will be obliged to report to him should you return to San Fiorenzo Bay.’
‘Lord Hood—’
‘Will not be returning to the Mediterranean, Henry.’
‘How can you know that?’
‘Trust me, I do. Even if you could find a higher authority and I’m damned if I can think where, what can you accuse him of?’
‘The Admiralty, the Sea Lords.’
‘Who will deduce that Hotham has done his duty? He has sent a warship to this anchorage with a message threatening Mehmet Pasha which, if he is engaged in piracy will be see as the proper action to take, doubly so if he has insulted the King’s majesty. Lord Hood might have done the same though I take leave to suggest he would have sent a more powerful force.’
It was with a woeful tone that Digby drew the conclusion. ‘But Sir William can claim he could not do that for fear of the Toulon fleet.’
‘I told you it was clever. You were given information in private by him, I was tempted in private by Toomey, yet from what I can read your actual sailing orders came from Captain Holloway.’
That got a nod of sheer misery, for it was obvious what he was being told; there was no proof of any conspiracy and if his orders were tightly worded that would also be seen as correct procedure to rein in a man who might be tempted to deviate from his instructions.
‘It may be a stroke of genius but what do I do now,’ Digby growled, holding up his orders, ‘given I have no intention of going through with this.’
‘In strict contravention of your orders?’ That was followed by a grim smile. ‘So even if you fail to accomplish the mission on which you were sent Hotham can see you ruined and if you then accuse him of anything it will be seen as sour grapes.’
‘I do hope,’ Digby said, clearly exasperated by all this calm exposition, ‘when you are telling me this, there is somewhere in your thinking a possible solution, John.’
‘Nothing comes to mind that will save you.’
‘What about you?’
‘I am not in command, Henry and if in the backwash I am tainted, then I have considered leaving the service many times. You, I know, have ambitions I do not share.’
‘Which I might as well chuck down my privy.’ There was a pause before Digby roused himself. ‘The first thing to do is to shorten sail, I have no desire to open the Gulf of Ambracia any quicker than necessary.’
‘You intend to go there?’
‘I must, but not to enter the bay and send you off to
God only knows what fate. You have often impressed me John with your sanguine belief that matters which look grim will somehow resolve themselves. You did so in La Rochelle. I hope and pray that this is one occasion when your tendency to think in that manner rubs off on me.’
Neither man slept well, while being on watch provided no enlightenment. But once Divine Service had been read – Digby was a dab hand at that part of his duties, good for both a rousing sermon and enough fire and brimstone to satisfy the most hell-fearing tar – with Matthew Dorling on watch duty, the two could get to together to search for a solution and it was Henry Digby who made the first suggestion, though he was at a loss to say with certainty why he thought it a good idea.
‘A reconnaissance?’
‘Just that, John. We will keep
Flirt
away from the shore and out of sight and send in the cutter to look into the bay and see what we face.’
‘This is leading somewhere.’
‘It is leading to a way out of our dilemma, perhaps.’
Pearce was sure Digby was thinking on the hoof but he was not one to decry a trait to which he was himself prone. A nod got his captain continuing, which he did, but not till he had produced a map showing the land surrounding the gulf.
‘We sail and approach Koronsia, which is the Greek name for where Mehmet has his fortress and the centre from which he runs the country around about.’
‘That must be an old map, the Turks have been there for centuries. Why the Greek name?’
‘It is what Hotham gave me.’
‘Then I would be disinclined to trust it.’
This got Pearce a glare telling him to be serious; not even an admiral would be able to forge a map. ‘What I have in mind is that we approach Koronsia with all proper respect, salutes included and then we invent some kind of insult to our national flag.’
Pearce responded with a slight smile. ‘Go on,’
‘Being insulted I decide to show our Turk that such an act cannot go unchallenged, an insult so serious I have no option but to employ my cannon to check his impudence.’
‘Which makes the notion of me subsequently landing impossible.’
‘Correct.’
‘Ingenious.’
‘But I am loath to enter his lair without knowing what I might face. Is this Gulf of Ambracia defended, for instance, for I have no information to tell me ye or nay? Does Mehmet possess any kind of vessel with which I would then be obliged to deal, for it would never do to be caught in confined waters by anything that could match us?’
‘And if this course is followed then you can return to Hotham and say the message could not be delivered.’
‘Exactly.’
‘We are not the only pair on this brig.’
‘No,’ Digby acknowledged; there was a crew who would be quizzed. ‘But I am hoping that our imagination can contrive an excuse for opening fire that will stand up to challenge. Well, what do you think?’
Pearce had to be careful for he, in command, would have
just put up his helm, sailed back to the fleet and damned Hotham to do his worst. But he was not Henry Digby.
‘I think it is long on risk but I also think it forms a basis in which to proceed.’
‘Then I request that you take the cutter and look at what we might face.’
‘Readily, let me have that map and I will study it for a place to come ashore.’
‘I will see a mast stepped into the cutter.’
‘No, Henry, this is better as oar work.’
‘It will be a damned long haul, I intend that they should not see our topsails. I assume will have a tower of sorts and the certainly have battlements on that fortress.’
‘“Damned” Henry? I am not sure if I have ever heard you employ the word.’
If Pearce needed proof that his captain was feeling more sanguine about things it came now in his response. ‘I have been exposed once too often to you and your ways, John.’
‘That aside, Henry, you can get in close in darkness and shorten our journey, then get back out to sea before first light. Mr Dorling will work that out in a trice. If we can get ashore ahead of dawn then we might be able to camouflage the cutter and stay for the whole day.’
‘Sound thinking. What about rejoining?’
‘That too must be in darkness, but with
Flirt
far enough inshore to show a light that we can pick up, yet one that will not be seen from the shore by a sentinel.’
‘You think he has those?’
‘I would not be willing to wager on the lack of them. Somehow I have this Mehmet fellow down as a cautious cove.’
It was not just a simple matter of distances. There was
the sea state, which was benign now but may not remain so. Then there were currents that would affect progress, either aiding or slowing a rowing cutter, which was not a boat built for speed. Pearce was obliged to disappoint Mr Grey who was keen to participate along with his marines.
‘We are not going to do battle, if anything we are set to avoid it.’
‘Then I must do no more than register my protest.’
‘Noted, Mr Grey.’
Next Pearce had to select those he was taking with him, Michael O’Hagan being the first on his list which meant the other Pelicans had to be included to avoid pique. Tilley would cox the cutter and out of the crew he knew so well it was easy to pick men he was sure would obey any order he gave without question and also be sharp-minded in themselves.
He had one of the brig’s swivel guns fitted in the bows and loaded, with a cover over the muzzle to keep out water, which if it added weight also added firepower, it being a weapon designed to discharge grapeshot. Every man would be armed with knives and cutlasses, while muskets would be wrapped in tarred canvas to keep them dry and laid in the bottom of the boat.
Half a barrel of powder came from Sam Kempshall along with sacks of lead balls. Ash from under Bellam’s coppers would serve to darken faces white enough to reflect overhead light, while a packet of biscuit and some small beer would be taken along as sustenance.
The man in charge was equipped with his pistols, his sword and a sketchbook with which to make quick drawings of what he observed, these to be studied prior to any attempt to enter the gulf under a truce flag and he had a
small telescope to aid him survey the anchorage. On setting off they would row hard to close the distance then more carefully to avoid creating the kind of phosphorescence that could be picked up by moon and starlight.
That the sky was a mixture of cloud and clear had to be accepted; to seek to row ashore in stygian darkness was to risk too much, though Pearce had a compass. They needed some light to pick out a spot at which to land and also to avoid any underwater obstacles that might lurk on their course. Most of that would come from the stars given the moon was waxing and no more than a thin strip hanging to the north-west.
‘I wish you Godspeed, John and know that, even if it does not meet with your approval, I will pray for you.’
‘Do not doubt that I am grateful.’
‘There is nothing we have missed?’
Pearce laughed. ‘Only the ability to see into the mind of man like Hotham.’
‘Even having seen his sinning ways, I still cannot do that,’ Digby said in a sad tone, before calling out to let fly the sheets and bring the brig up into the slight breeze.