Chapter 34: No Rest for the Wicked (May 1814)

HMS Clyde was lying at anchor in a balmy breeze, swaying gently in the minuscule waves. Around her were the other ships of the Mediterranean Fleet, all anchored securely in the Port of Toulon, the main port of the French marine. A few weeks ago, Clyde and her consorts would have faced red-hot shots being fired at them, but Toulon was now a city of King Louis XVIII of France. 

All along the coast, merchantmen of all sizes poured out of the French ports where they had been blockaded, sometimes for years, whilst the ships of the Royal Navy were waiting for orders to arrive from London. One thing was quite clear: the Navy would be put on peace establishment, meaning that nine out of ten ships would be paid off, their crews released, and their officers put on half pay. That was something Thomas would not mind. His pay as captain of a fourth-rate, £573 18s 6p per year, was certainly substantial, but the earnings from his estate were five times that and more. Paying off the Clyde and returning to England with his wife certainly had its appeal.

The other captains might have different views Thomas knew. Some of them depended on their pay for their very livelihood and would have to economise whilst living on half pay. Others who still aspired to a knightly title would be disappointed at the loss of opportunities to distinguish themselves. The discussions at dinner with his fellow captains mostly revolved around such matters.

Thomas was torn from his introspection when a runner was announced. Midshipman James Ogilvie, a promising young officer, entered the cabin.

“Compliments from Mr. Powell, Sir Thomas, and the Wolverine sloop is entering the harbour!”

Now, that he had to see. Thomas almost jumped up, confusing young Mr. Ogilvie.

“Wolverine was my second ship, Mr. Ogilvie,” he explained before he left the cabin and stepped out on his quarterdeck. Indeed, there she was, six years older, but still in good shape.

“Wolverine, 18, Captain Eckleson,” Powell reported.

Thomas felt himself flush. Eckleson, who had been 1st lieutenant in the Wolverine until Benning was posted, was still a commander six years later, whilst Thomas, infinitely junior to him, was now the captain of a large frigate, the bearer of a knightly title, and a rich man. This could make for an uncomfortable meeting, but Thomas knew that he had to invite Eckleson.

Wolverine was flying signal flags now.

“Wolverine to flag: have dispatches,” the signal midshipman announced.

That was not surprising at all. Thomas watched through his glass when the sloop’s gig was lowered, and then he recognised Eckleson climbing down. The man had not changed at all, at least at three cable lengths’ distance. Then the gig raced over to Hibernia, 98, Sir Edward’s flagship. Thomas resolved to send an invitation later as soon as Eckleson returned and after another long look at his old ship, he returned to his cabin.

Parts of the dispatches for Sir Edward became obvious a half hour later when Thomas was summoned to the quarterdeck again. Lt. Harvey was already issuing orders, but he turned to Thomas and saluted.

“Sir Thomas, Hibernia is flying the Blue Ensign!”

Thomas grasped the significance immediately.

“Signal guns ready!” he ordered. The Blue Ensign could only mean one thing: Sir Edward Pellew had been promoted to Admiral of the Blue Squadron, and his new flag had to be saluted with 17 gunshots.

“I already gave orders, Sir Thomas, as soon as I was alerted.”

“Very good, Mr. Harvey. Seventeen guns, if you please!”

“Aye-aye, Sir Thomas,” Harvey answered, masterfully suppressing the urge to roll his eyes.

Then, in the order of their captains’ seniorities, the ships of the Mediterranean Fleet each fired their seventeen salute guns at the prescribed rate. Through his glass, Thomas could see that Pellew was enjoying the moment on the Hibernia’s quarterdeck, his hat held above his head in acknowledgement of the honours.

Once all the post ships had fired their salutes, flags rose in quick succession on Hibernia’s halliards.

“Sir Thomas, Flag to all ships: thank you kindly!”

“If there’s one man who deserves this and more, it’s Sir Edward,” Thomas opined.

Harvey nodded solemnly. “Aye, Sir Thomas! There’s no better sailor alive in the Navy!”

Pellew was a man who was thoroughly revered both by his officers and by the ratings from the time he took his first command in the Nymphe frigate. Even now in his late fifties, he still displayed all the traits that had made him a hero to the navy but also to the public.

The excitement slowly died down again, and the officers and crew of HMS Clyde resumed their routine tasks. Once Eckleson had returned to Wolverine, Thomas had flag signals hoisted to invite him and his senior officer to dinner. Of course, Eckleson accepted, and Thomas had Bartleby prepare dinner from the best of the cabin stores. It was a pity that Northumberland was still on detached duty at Malta, since Thomas would have wagered that Captain Benning would have gladly joined them.

As it was, Thomas received Eckleson at the port, immediately offering his hand. Thomas had feared that Eckleson might resent his quick rise in the service, but the opposite held true. The grizzled commander gave Thomas a proud beam and shook the proffered hand vigorously.

“My felicitations, Sir Thomas, on all your successes!”

“Well, I had some excellent teachers, Captain Eckleson, and I still remember the time in Wolverine as a rewarding experience.”

“May I present Lt. James Porter, my 1st lieutenant, Sir Thomas?”

“Of course! Welcome aboard, Mr. Porter,” Thomas said politely. Porter was a slightly younger version of Eckleson, his hair not yet gray, but his face showing the lines of a lifetime on the seas.

“Thank you, Sir Thomas!”

“Well, let me lead you aft, gentlemen. This way, please!”

In the cabin, the table was laid for the two guests, but also for the wardroom officers who were already waiting.

“Gentlemen, may I introduce Captain Eckleson and Mr. Porter, of the Wolverine sloop? Mr. Harvey, my 1st lieutenant, Lieutenants Coombs and Powell, Mr. Ingles, the master, Mr. Whales, our surgeon, Mr. Mercer, purser, and Lt. Purdue of the Royal Marines.”

Handshakes were exchanged before Thomas continued.

“Mr. Eckleson was Wolverine’s 1st lieutenant when I was a midshipman in her under Captain Benning. You have to blame him for many of my mannerisms and views.”

The officers chuckled dutifully, but Harvey had a point to make.

“Captain Eckleson was 3nd lieutenant in the old Pegasus, Sir Thomas. I was a master’s mate at the time. It is good to see you, Sir!”

“By God, Harvey! I almost did not recognise you! And now you’re the Nº1 in this fine ship. Sir Thomas, you are a lucky captain to have Mr. Harvey as your 1st.”

“I am quite aware of my good fortune in this respect,” Thomas smiled. “Let us sit and have the first course. Bartleby is dying for us to taste his newest recipe of a tomato soup.” 

It turned out to be a thoroughly enjoyable dinner for Thomas and his guests, and they did not part company until after dusk set in. Thomas was relieved that at least Eckleson did not begrudge him his speedy advancement, and from the conversation at table he had learned a few things about his 1st lieutenant in the bargain.

A boat from the flagship made the rounds on the next morning, delivering billets from Admiral Pellew. In them, the captains of the ships of the Mediterranean Fleet presently lying at anchor in Toulon Harbour were “cordially invited to join Admiral Lord Exmouth, GCB, at a celebratory dinner in HMS Hibernia” on the same evening. Thomas smiled broadly receiving this billet. Obviously, Pellew had been raised to the Peerage of England and had chosen the territorial title of a “Lord Exmouth”. Although Pellew had never commanded a fleet in a major battle, the honour was well merited and almost overdue after over 20 years in which Pellew had commanded ships and fleets with great distinction. The dinner would be a happy occasion.

It must have taken some effort to create a dinner cabin and a table large enough to host three flag officers, 24 post-captains and seven commanders. Bulkheads had been removed on Hibernia’s upper gun deck to make room, and chairs had been contributed from the surrounding ships to seat them all.

As warranted by the occasion, all the captains were in their Nº1 uniforms, with the sashes and stars of their knightly orders, gold-buckled shoes and gilded honour swords. Bartleby had produced Thomas’s last reserve of silk stockings, and his best uniform coat had been aired all day. Of course, his green sash and star stood out from the colours of the Bath, but he could see that Hastings was also wearing the star of the Order of Saints Maurice and Lazarus. Hastings had also given him a friendly nod and a wink upon seeing him, and Thomas had no idea of the meaning of this.

Since this was a very formal dinner, Thomas had found himself with the other frigate captains at the lower half of the table. Masters was sitting four seats up from him, but fortunately on the same side of the table and thus out of his sight. Across from him sat Captain Melrose, already in command of one of the smaller 74s, but being his friendly self. Both captains engaged in a lively conversation whilst they waited for Pellew’s – Lord Exmouth’s – appearance. Thomas learned that his friend was also married by now, having made good use of some repairs at Portsmouth. In turn, Thomas told him of his own state of matrimony. Both men bemoaned the fate of their erstwhile ships, Thisbe and Dido, but they also feared for their current ships now that the Navy would be put on peacetime establishment.

Then Pellew entered the cabin, and against Navy tradition, the captains all rose from their seats, mindful of the deck beams above their heads. Pellew gave them a smile.

“Please, gentlemen, be seated. I cannot claim such distinction. I thank you all for joining me this evening to celebrate my new rank and my peerage. Without further ado, I ask you to enjoy yourself and be merry. The war against Bonaparte is over and won, we and our crews and ships have survived, and we can now return to our homes to enjoy our fortunes. I am certain that you gentlemen have questions concerning the immediate future, but not tonight. I shall interview each of you in the coming days and give you your orders. Thank you!”

To forestall any congratulatory gestures, Pellew gave a signal to his head steward to serve the first course, a delicious soup made of fresh vegetables. Pellew had obviously received provisions from the French, for he had fresh lamb roast served as second course. A chicken pastry was next and Thomas remembered a story that he had heard about how Pellew’s cook raised the best chickens in the fleet by feeding them the weevils that he collected from the bread bags. With close to a thousand pounds of bread consumed every day in the huge first-rate, a lot of chickens could be fed. The pastry was indeed delicious.

The dessert consisted of fresh strawberries with fresh whipped cream – a heavenly treat that elicited enthusiastic praise from the captains. In Thomas, the food increased his yearning to return to his home where he would have such delicacies whenever the season was right.

The wine served was French too, full-bodied and ruby-red, also fuelling a lively conversation along the table. The assembled captains became rather merry and jests flew back and forth across the cabin. 

At one point, Melrose and Thomas decided to dispense with using their last names and toasted each other as Alexander and Thomas. Next they toasted their wives, but then Alexander proposed a third toast.

“To the old Thisbe and Dido, two fine ships indeed!”

They clinked their glasses in salute and drank solemnly.

“A pity they were laid up!” Thomas concurred.

“Balderdash!” a voice interrupted them. It was Masters. “What’s to mourn when two decrepit sixth-rates are laid up? Nine-pounder frigates, pah!”

Melrose turned purple.

“Thisbe was a fine ship to the very end, and so was Dido. Perhapsh you cannot understand the bond between a captain and his firsht frigate. You never had one, had you?”

“I certainly never commanded a puny sixth-rate! And you better address me as ‘Sir’!”

“Why, certainly, Sir. Anything you say, Sir!” Melrose sneered back. “But aren’t you still fond of that fishing boat you commanded when they posted you to the Sea Fencibles?”

Masters jumped up from his seat, causing the chair to topple backwards with a crash.

“You…” he started, but Pellew clear voice cut him short.

“Gentlemen! I must ask you to be peaceable! Captain Melrose, kindly refrain from belittling the fine officers who serve in the Sea Fencibles. Captain Masters, kindly do not disparage two fine ships which both served with great distinction under my flag.”

Melrose stood immediately and bowed. “I beg your pardon, Milord! I meant no offence to the Sea Fencibles.”

Masters’s face was red with anger, but he mumbled an apology, too. Slightly drunk as he was, Thomas still noticed that the steward refilled Masters’s glass immediately and to the brim. The enraged man downed the contents almost in one long gulp, only to have the glass refilled again. Soon, Masters became quiet, leaning back on his chair, whilst his head nodded forward as the wine got to it.