Read Online By the Mast Divided by David Donachie - Free Book Online
Authors: David Donachie
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you wish to decline the duty?’
Hood, in his expression, had made no attempt to hide the fact that he would be pleased to see Barclay take the second route. He had appointed him to Brilliant , not through any appreciation for either his personality or his reputation, but merely because his claim to preferment, the accumulation of past service and the letters he had received reminding him of it, had been too strong to deny without facing accusations of bias against officers who had been attached to George Rodney. Powerfulhe might be, but in the tangled skein of present day politics he had a requirement to be careful. Not that he had over-indulged Barclay, who had sent in a list of subordinates he wished to take with him, a list Hood had taken some pleasure in refuting with the reply that HMS Brilliant ‘would be provided a very decent set of officers’ with which he was sure Captain Barclay ‘would be most content’.
‘I do most emphatically not want my orders changed, sir,’ Barclay had replied, trying again for a comradely tone, ‘but I’m short of my complement to such a degree that I fear it will render my ship ineffective should I come face to face with the enemy. Should fortune favour me with the opportunity, my natural inclinations would encourage me to be bold, to go yardarm to yardarm. It would be a great sadness to have to let an enemy sail by for want of the men with which to engage.’
Hood had frowned, heavy eyebrows coming down to cloud those direct blue eyes. ‘Let an enemy sail by? That, sir, I find a startling statement to hear from the lips of a serving officer.’
‘I have heard that the Impress Service is holding volunteers at the Tower of London.’
Hood had picked up another letter then, with the intention, Barclay reckoned, of avoiding looking him in the eye. ‘Have you, by damn. I must say this is not something that anyone has seen fit to tell me.’
The word ‘liar’ had filled Ralph Barclay’s head, but he was not fool enough to mouth it. Like most other officers short of men, he knew the truth. There were two fleets assembling, one for the Channel and one for the Mediterranean. Hood wanted the Channel Fleet, the premier naval command, which would keep him close to home and politics. Service in the Mediterranean would oblige him to relinquish all the perquisites of patronage that went with his office as the senior serving sailor on the Board of Admiralty – the ability to advance officers who were his followers.
But he had a rival for the Channel in the Irish peer, Admiral Lord Howe, known as Black Dick. Hood’s superior officer on the admiral’s list, Black Dick also happened to be a favourite of the King, who was a strong advocate of appointing him to the Channel, so the matter hung in the balance. Hence the men at the Tower, and Hood’s reluctance to release them for duty; that he would do when he knew which fleet he was to command, and every volunteer would go to man his ships. Let the other lot go begging. It could be decided tomorrow, in a week, or it might take a month; all would be too late for Ralph Barclay.
‘As for being short of hands, Barclay, I don’t recall a time when I everwent to sea in any other state than short on my complement. Every other commander would doubtless say the same. Yet I think I can safely say I served country and my sovereign despite that constraint.’
Aware of the weak and wheedling note in his voice, and damned uncomfortable because of it, Barclay had replied, ‘My deficit is in the nature of near thirty per cent, sir, and I am chronically bereft of trained seamen.’
‘Seek volunteers, man.’
Barclay had glared at Hood then, any attempt at supplication evaporating, for that he had already done, sending recruiting parties out into the countryside, with posters promising wealth and adventure, and spending what little money he had been able to borrow to purchase drink and food as temptation, the only problem being he had to compete
Hood, in his expression, had made no attempt to hide the fact that he would be pleased to see Barclay take the second route. He had appointed him to Brilliant , not through any appreciation for either his personality or his reputation, but merely because his claim to preferment, the accumulation of past service and the letters he had received reminding him of it, had been too strong to deny without facing accusations of bias against officers who had been attached to George Rodney. Powerfulhe might be, but in the tangled skein of present day politics he had a requirement to be careful. Not that he had over-indulged Barclay, who had sent in a list of subordinates he wished to take with him, a list Hood had taken some pleasure in refuting with the reply that HMS Brilliant ‘would be provided a very decent set of officers’ with which he was sure Captain Barclay ‘would be most content’.
‘I do most emphatically not want my orders changed, sir,’ Barclay had replied, trying again for a comradely tone, ‘but I’m short of my complement to such a degree that I fear it will render my ship ineffective should I come face to face with the enemy. Should fortune favour me with the opportunity, my natural inclinations would encourage me to be bold, to go yardarm to yardarm. It would be a great sadness to have to let an enemy sail by for want of the men with which to engage.’
Hood had frowned, heavy eyebrows coming down to cloud those direct blue eyes. ‘Let an enemy sail by? That, sir, I find a startling statement to hear from the lips of a serving officer.’
‘I have heard that the Impress Service is holding volunteers at the Tower of London.’
Hood had picked up another letter then, with the intention, Barclay reckoned, of avoiding looking him in the eye. ‘Have you, by damn. I must say this is not something that anyone has seen fit to tell me.’
The word ‘liar’ had filled Ralph Barclay’s head, but he was not fool enough to mouth it. Like most other officers short of men, he knew the truth. There were two fleets assembling, one for the Channel and one for the Mediterranean. Hood wanted the Channel Fleet, the premier naval command, which would keep him close to home and politics. Service in the Mediterranean would oblige him to relinquish all the perquisites of patronage that went with his office as the senior serving sailor on the Board of Admiralty – the ability to advance officers who were his followers.
But he had a rival for the Channel in the Irish peer, Admiral Lord Howe, known as Black Dick. Hood’s superior officer on the admiral’s list, Black Dick also happened to be a favourite of the King, who was a strong advocate of appointing him to the Channel, so the matter hung in the balance. Hence the men at the Tower, and Hood’s reluctance to release them for duty; that he would do when he knew which fleet he was to command, and every volunteer would go to man his ships. Let the other lot go begging. It could be decided tomorrow, in a week, or it might take a month; all would be too late for Ralph Barclay.
‘As for being short of hands, Barclay, I don’t recall a time when I everwent to sea in any other state than short on my complement. Every other commander would doubtless say the same. Yet I think I can safely say I served country and my sovereign despite that constraint.’
Aware of the weak and wheedling note in his voice, and damned uncomfortable because of it, Barclay had replied, ‘My deficit is in the nature of near thirty per cent, sir, and I am chronically bereft of trained seamen.’
‘Seek volunteers, man.’
Barclay had glared at Hood then, any attempt at supplication evaporating, for that he had already done, sending recruiting parties out into the countryside, with posters promising wealth and adventure, and spending what little money he had been able to borrow to purchase drink and food as temptation, the only problem being he had to compete
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