Vado Bay was not an anchorage secure from hazard; indeed, Horatio Nelson had named it as basically too shallow in its arc to be of any use at all, given it would provide scant protection against serious storms. Yet it was the closest to the French forward positions and as such, assuming they employed spies, would underline that the squadron would be acting as support for the coalition armies. This might just give the forces of the Revolution pause, given the route by which they must march into Liguria often ran right along an easily bombarded seashore.
The French still had a fleet in Toulon, which also meant the squadron was under threat from warships, even if they were under blockade, for if the wind favoured them they could get to sea despite the presence of their enemies. Thus the routine of the morning was as it would have been at sea: everyone on deck, officers especially, guns loaded and run out, with Henry Digby looking to the western arm of the bay, the area from which the enemy would approach, a duty being enacted on every other deck, until each captain could see, ‘A grey goose at a quarter-mile’.
The order to ‘carry on Mr Pearce’ was curt.
For HMS Flirt it was more than worming and housing the cannon, sanding, swabbing and flogging dry the decks and getting the men to breakfast. Prior to anything being done the brig had to be put to sea. John Pearce thought it a bit of Digby nonsense: they had been required to go through a rigmarole just so as to be seen doing so by the commodore. They could just as easily have plucked their anchor well before dawn.
Sails raised, they passed slowly along the line of frigates, with Pearce denied raised hats from his contemporaries, who knew who would have the deck at such a time, and disdain lasted until they came abreast of HMS Agamemnon. From there the reaction was different, with Lieutenant Dick Farmiloe raising a speaking trumpet to wish them ‘Godspeed’ as a body, with a special personal greeting and hearty wave for the premier himself.
‘What in the name of all that is holy is going on, Mr Pearce?’
‘Exchanging pleasantries, sir, with our old shipmate, Mr Farmiloe.’
He had answered over his shoulder, which was openly disrespectful and would be taken as such. If Pearce knew every eye was fixed on the tiny quarterdeck, he paid it no heed, keeping his gaze steady on the ship-of-the-line.
‘Then I require you to desist, and if I had any authority over Farmiloe I would tell him the same.’
That did make Pearce turn, the expression on his face, a sort of knowing half-smile, one that could be construed as mockery. ‘Then I daresay, Mr Digby, he is mightily relieved to have to answer only to a mere commodore.’
That left a man, hatless and coatless and with a napkin at his neck, searching for a response that would preserve his dignity, the turmoil of finding the means and the right words evident on his face. Pearce’s reply had carried enough to be overheard by half the men on deck and it was telling that once more all movement had ceased. They were in anticipation of an explosion; all they got was a barely audible hiss.
‘I have authority over you, sir, and by God I will see it exercised.’
As Digby disappeared, Pearce began to softly sing a low rendition of ‘My Dear Peg’ and that had the crew begin to laugh, to which he was required to put a stop. Digby’s action in publicly checking him for something of which he should have no concern had been too much to bear. From now on he was determined to challenge the man, while at the same time wondering what had happened to the fellow he had known and had been on good terms with previously. A bit too upright certainly, but not as he was now.
On their first voyage together, Digby had noted his lack of knowledge in the article of seamanship and set out to correct it, teaching Pearce a great deal, including in his instruction the very same Dick Farmiloe, then a midshipman, which had helped make Pearce feel he was not in receipt of special treatment. There had been disputes on their second voyage, that was true, all centred on his relationship with Emily Barclay and the way he seemed prepared to bend every rule of the service to get his own way.
Such exasperation that Digby suffered had surely died before and during the action in the Gulf of Ambracia. The mood after that event was to bring to mind a completely different person – one grateful as well as seemingly humble – only to see that dramatically altered when he rejoined the fleet in San Fiorenzo Bay by the withdrawal of his promise to help bring to book Pearce’s enemies.
Cruel words had been spoken certainly, regarding honesty and integrity, of a man putting his own perceived needs against those of his conscience. Was Digby, with his strong Christian faith, so suffused with guilt that he could alter so much and become like some form of martinet? Or was it, and this was more troubling, that he believed in the righteousness of his choice?
‘Do I not have your breakfast set out, your honour, an’ getting stone cold it is?’
Pearce smiled both at the form of address and the way Michael made his non-attendance in his cabin sound like a rebuke. ‘I shall be with you presently.’
‘Soon would be better than presently, your honour. We are not basking in a supply of fresh food.’
‘Mr Conway, you have had your breakfast?’
‘I have, sir.’
‘Then I give you the deck.’
‘You lookin’ to pick a fight, John-boy?’
These words came from O’Hagan as soon as Pearce was seated and his breakfast of eggs and bread, still fresh from the market of Leghorn, uncovered, which showed why Michael had come to fetch him, the yolks being close to congealed.
‘I doubt I have a choice.’
‘I can get you more cooked, we have it still.’
Pearce shook his head and cut into the near-cold egg. ‘It’s a fitting repast for someone so insubordinate.’
‘Now you know I am no friend to bein’ bossed about—’
That elicited a grin. ‘As you remind me every day.’
‘Our captain has it in for you, sure. I’m wondering in the name of Jesus why you put up with it.’
Jesus always got a sign of the cross on O’Hagan’s breast and it did so now, along with a look in anticipation of a reply. Did Michael guess that he was part of the reason to decline, along with Charlie and Rufus? Would he believe the other partial truth, an avoidance of Leghorn and having to behave as though he and Emily were not lovers or even connected to each other in any way? Pearce was not certain himself, but one thing he did know: he would not succumb to Digby, regardless of what motivated his malice.
‘There will be no more putting up with it, Michael.’
‘Then I might as well pass it on, that what is bad now is about to get a mite worse.’
‘Tell the crew not to take sides, Michael. Myself I can look to, but I would scarce now put it past Digby to resort to the cat if he saw mass dissent.’
‘The man has changed that much?’
‘Who knows? I’m damn sure I don’t. Now oblige by seeing if you can get me some hot coffee.’
There was no sign of military activity once they passed the defence lines of both the coalition forces and the Army of Italy, not much more than the smoke from fires in those two entrenched locations. If it was war it had been put into abeyance, perhaps by the approach of winter, exhaustion or disinclination, and this had Pearce wondering at the nature of what they were about. Did Digby, unwilling to pass on information to him, have some mission to perform? He could not imagine Nelson, a man wedded to action, sending the brig on a cruise to no purpose.
The shore, under a heavy sky threatening rain, was far from alluring. Where the rocky shore did come down to the sea it was high hills with cultivated terraces, opening enough to show little sandy bays, each with ramshackle dwellings on the high-tide mark as well as fishing boats pulled up onto the strand. They passed many of the same kind out at sea: small craft never manned by more than three bodies, some of which made a point of avoidance, others coming close to shout and wave, eager to sell their catch to folk who would pay much more than their fellow countrymen.
Occasionally, Digby would come on deck to examine the shoreline and the hills, ordering more sea room when they passed the ancient coastal fort of Monte Carlo, tucked into and overlooking yet another mountain-backed bay. It flew a tricolour, evidence that the Grimaldi principality was now in French hands. A useless cannon boomed out from the ramparts to underline the possession, dropping a ball into the sea well short of the ship.
‘I require our colours to be struck, Mr Conway,’ Digby ordered. ‘You will find a tricolour in the flag locker. Please be so good as to raise it, which will save these peasants from wasting powder and shot.’
The latter part of that sentence would normally have been taken as a jest, producing some kind of humoured reaction. Nothing came, which had Digby bark at his premier as he made his way back to his cabin.
‘Call me when we weather Cape Ferrato, Mr Pearce.’
Which he did, not long after the crew had eaten their dinner, to be immediately ordered out to sea. This time Digby stayed on deck, relieving Pearce, who could go below to a broiled chicken shared with the marine officer. When he came back on deck he noticed Digby close by Mr Dorling, the young ship’s master, with much concentration aimed at the slate on which their course and speed was recorded.
This held until daylight began to go, at which point HMS Flirt was put once more on a course level with the shore, and Pearce and Edward Grey were called into the tiny cabin to join the captain. Digby, seated, ran a finger along a map of the shoreline, the digit followed by the two officers left to stand on opposite sides of the desk.
‘I have orders to reconnoitre the shore between Monte Boroni and the Cape Ferrato peninsula.’
‘To what purpose, sir?’ asked Grey.
‘The road to their forward lines runs along the coast at the head of the bay and the commodore thinks it might be vulnerable to attack at a point they would not expect us to even consider, it being so close to the main base of operations.’
Having been looking at the charts all day and knowing their destination, Pearce had a very good mental image of what Digby was talking about. He also knew that if it meant going ashore, this was not a duty that fell to a ship’s commander but to his inferior officers. On HMS Flirt, Ivor Conway, being so young, that was him, with Grey and his marines as support to the chosen members of the crew.
‘I take it you will stand off and we will be going in by boats, sir.’
‘Why would we do that?’ was the brusque reply.
‘On the grounds that the French may have defences, if not on both sides of the bay, then certainly on the heights of Monte Boroni.’
‘We have no knowledge of that.’
‘If they have, sir, the entrance to the bay is no more than a quarter of a mile land to land. It does not require heavy ordnance to defend it – field guns have the range, and those I seem to recall as an article that the French have in quantity as well as good men to ply them.’
‘While we may catch them napping. What information we have points to a rabble, not an army in the proper sense.’
‘How good is that intelligence, sir?’
‘As good as our Austrian allies can make it,’ came the terse reply.
‘Monte Boroni is a perfect spot to mount defensive cannon.’
‘Which is what we are here to find out. Of course, if the duty seems to you too arduous, or should I say dangerous, Mr Pearce, you are always at liberty to decline it.’
Digby had a smile on his face when he said that, but it was not one of affability; the smirk spoke instead of a test and it took Pearce a little time to fathom a reason. He was being challenged, he knew that, and in front of a witness. If he declined the task, Digby could have him removed, with an accusation of being shy providing the reason. Under that cloud, Pearce would struggle to get a court martial in which he could air the things he would want said.
‘I see you have spent a fruitful afternoon in contemplation, sir.’
‘It could be said I have been thinking of the good of the service.’
About to put out a rude reply, Pearce remembered Grey was present, not hard given his proximity. It would not serve to involve him in what was about to turn into a quarrel.
‘So you intend to take HMS Flirt into the bay?’
‘I do, and with those on board who will be obliged to accept my authority. You spoke of boats, Mr Pearce, I am happy to provide you with one, if you so desire, in which you can stand off and observe from a place of safety.’
‘I seem to recall, sir, that when last called into action you were the man in need of a place of safety and that was to protect you from your own folly.’
‘Oblige me by departing the cabin, Mr Pearce. Lieutenant Grey and I have matters to discuss, but I will require that you put your disinclination to follow my orders in writing.’
‘What I will put in writing, sir, is my suggestion that it would be safer to reconnoitre the shore using the ship’s boats and add that it is an expedition I am willing to lead. I will also note that to expose the ship in a place of which we have no knowledge of the state of the defences is folly. I will now go and put quill to paper, while asking Mr Dorling to append his name as witness.’
Which was as good as saying, ‘It will be you facing a court martial, matey, not me.’ And Dorling, being the master and appointed by the Navy Board, was in a very strong sense outside the terms of Digby’s authority, enough that he could not be intimidated.
‘Mr Grey?’
Digby had fixed the marine with a determined look and the nature of the question did not need to be explained; he was being required to provide an opinion. Grey was young, brave and it could be said after the way he had behaved in the Gulf of Ambracia, capable of being foolhardy, he having stretched his orders somewhat. But Digby was putting him in an intolerable position, virtually demanding his support with the implied consequence of refusal. It was a look-to-your-career moment.
‘Sir, I do not wish to question your judgement—’
‘But you reckon boats a better way to carry out the task?’
‘I do, sir. I cannot see the sense in risking the ship.’
Digby did a complete volte-face then, though he allowed himself a short period of contemplation before acceding to what Grey had said. This had Pearce marking him as a damn sight more devious than he had hitherto thought possible. Digby had never intended taking HMS Flirt into a bay where, if the enemy had placed a set of batteries, she could be reduced to matchwood. It had just been a ploy to pin his premier with the stain of cowardice and in his own written hand. He fully expected him now to abandon the whole enterprise. He was wrong.
‘Very well, boats it will be,’ Digby said. ‘I take it, Mr Grey, you will not object to serving under Mr Pearce?’
The ‘Of course not, sir’ was too enthusiastic for Digby and made him frown. When he spoke to Pearce it was with his eyes firmly lowered to avoid contact.
‘Then he will lead and choose which hands to take with him. That will be all, gentlemen, given you have only two bells, by my calculation, to prepare.’
Outside, Grey pulled at John Pearce’s sleeve and spoke in an agitated whisper. ‘What in the name of creation is going on with you and Digby? We have had too much of this.’
The marine was taken further along the deck to a place where Pearce could speak normally, having to avoid as they did so the men on deck putting the ship on a reverse course.
‘That is a question you should pose to him, Edward, not me.’
‘I reckon to have done myself enough damage for one day in the cabin by questioning his intentions.’
‘I must ask you why you did not demur.’
‘John, what he was proposing was folly and I knew that as well as you.’
‘He knew it to be folly, also.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Nothing that would make sense, Edward. But I thank you for your support.’
‘I did not support you, John, but myself and my experience. When it comes to action, I can do no other than side with both common sense and proven ability. I recall the risk Digby took in the Adriatic. In his cabin, I wondered if he still carried his damned death wish.’
Pearce laughed softly. ‘Be assured that it is gone or he would now be sharpening his sword. He wishes to live long enough to raise an admiral’s flag and that dream is what animates him. Now, let us get together those we’re taking ashore, for we have, as our captain said, little time.’