highly thought of by his peers, but he was socially well connected, through his father, to the court of King George. Serving as a ship’s surgeon was beneath his standing, a post normally occupied by men little above the old station of barbers, but it had not been without pleasures.
The men he had studied on HMS
Brilliant
, including those pressed by Ralph Barclay, had provided him with much material – not least, because he was educated, John Pearce. And Lutyens had been in a proper battle, albeit below decks in the cockpit and out of sight of the action, had been taken prisoner when Ralph Barclay was forced to strike his colours, so he had that experience, though it had been a benign confinement, given he had taken on the task of looking after the wounded from that sea fight.
Wherever they were bound for now he still had charges who required treatment and he might be afforded further opportunities for study. After all, HMS
Hinslip
was a ship, another floating and confined world, where all the things that interested him would once more be on display: the interaction of humans with each other in a constrained wooden hull; fears, bravery perhaps, thedisputes that happened with men living cheek by jowl in damp conditions and eating a diet so boring that their most common complaint was a compacted bowel. On top of that there was the relationship between Emily Barclay and her husband; how would that work out? Plus he still had close and observable John Pearce and his Pelicans. Yes, there was still much of interest.
‘Do you so enjoy being a prisoner that you fear to leave that estate?’
Heinrich Lutyens turned to face John Pearce, a haughty look on what had been described as a fish-like face, his fine nose in the air. ‘Given the lack of culture of the alternative, John, it has its attractions.’
‘Come,’ Pearce said, ‘the last boat is ready to cast off.’
They walked out and made for the jetty, past some very forlorn-looking locals, the fishermen, their wives and children who eked out a living in this tiny bay. They would fear what was coming, even if they had, being poor and ignorant folk, done nothing to deserve to suffer from revolutionary retribution.
‘Can we not, John—?’
‘No,’ John Pearce said, cutting right across Lutyens, his face clouding into anger. ‘I tried to persuade the captain to take them off with us, but he has strict orders from Hood. No civilians.’
‘Then may God bless them.’
‘As long as Doctor Guillotine does not.’
CHAPTER FIVE
The sight of smoking Toulon had long disappeared over the stern as HMS Hinslip cleaved her way through a heavy swell, under lowering clouds that threatened worse weather to come, surrounded by the overladen ships of the combined fleets, somehow the attitude of gloom making itself felt over the intervening sea. On the quarterdeck stood Captain Sidey, in his foul-weather gear, oilskin coat and hat, legs spread to cope with the motion of the ship, his square, weather-beaten face set and determined, eyes narrowed to keep out the flying spume.
John Pearce stood on the leeward side, his arm hooked round a stay, well away from the water shipping in over the weather beam. Here the heavily canted deck took the bulwarks close to the grey, foam-flecked waters of the angry Mediterranean. He was wondering what thefuture held, there being something about staring at the shifting seawater to invite introspection, for once they had landed at Leghorn he would be looking for the first vessel home.
He had, quite naturally, looked for HMS
Brilliant
, likely to be somewhere out there on the vast expanse of sea, but had gained no sight of the ship into which he had been originally pressed. It had been a long journey from Sheerness, full of incident: of initially seeking to avoid those with whom he had been taken up, only to become close to many of them; of being pressed not once but twice; of surviving being wrecked on a Breton shore; being raised more by malice
The men he had studied on HMS
Brilliant
, including those pressed by Ralph Barclay, had provided him with much material – not least, because he was educated, John Pearce. And Lutyens had been in a proper battle, albeit below decks in the cockpit and out of sight of the action, had been taken prisoner when Ralph Barclay was forced to strike his colours, so he had that experience, though it had been a benign confinement, given he had taken on the task of looking after the wounded from that sea fight.
Wherever they were bound for now he still had charges who required treatment and he might be afforded further opportunities for study. After all, HMS
Hinslip
was a ship, another floating and confined world, where all the things that interested him would once more be on display: the interaction of humans with each other in a constrained wooden hull; fears, bravery perhaps, thedisputes that happened with men living cheek by jowl in damp conditions and eating a diet so boring that their most common complaint was a compacted bowel. On top of that there was the relationship between Emily Barclay and her husband; how would that work out? Plus he still had close and observable John Pearce and his Pelicans. Yes, there was still much of interest.
‘Do you so enjoy being a prisoner that you fear to leave that estate?’
Heinrich Lutyens turned to face John Pearce, a haughty look on what had been described as a fish-like face, his fine nose in the air. ‘Given the lack of culture of the alternative, John, it has its attractions.’
‘Come,’ Pearce said, ‘the last boat is ready to cast off.’
They walked out and made for the jetty, past some very forlorn-looking locals, the fishermen, their wives and children who eked out a living in this tiny bay. They would fear what was coming, even if they had, being poor and ignorant folk, done nothing to deserve to suffer from revolutionary retribution.
‘Can we not, John—?’
‘No,’ John Pearce said, cutting right across Lutyens, his face clouding into anger. ‘I tried to persuade the captain to take them off with us, but he has strict orders from Hood. No civilians.’
‘Then may God bless them.’
‘As long as Doctor Guillotine does not.’
CHAPTER FIVE
The sight of smoking Toulon had long disappeared over the stern as HMS Hinslip cleaved her way through a heavy swell, under lowering clouds that threatened worse weather to come, surrounded by the overladen ships of the combined fleets, somehow the attitude of gloom making itself felt over the intervening sea. On the quarterdeck stood Captain Sidey, in his foul-weather gear, oilskin coat and hat, legs spread to cope with the motion of the ship, his square, weather-beaten face set and determined, eyes narrowed to keep out the flying spume.
John Pearce stood on the leeward side, his arm hooked round a stay, well away from the water shipping in over the weather beam. Here the heavily canted deck took the bulwarks close to the grey, foam-flecked waters of the angry Mediterranean. He was wondering what thefuture held, there being something about staring at the shifting seawater to invite introspection, for once they had landed at Leghorn he would be looking for the first vessel home.
He had, quite naturally, looked for HMS
Brilliant
, likely to be somewhere out there on the vast expanse of sea, but had gained no sight of the ship into which he had been originally pressed. It had been a long journey from Sheerness, full of incident: of initially seeking to avoid those with whom he had been taken up, only to become close to many of them; of being pressed not once but twice; of surviving being wrecked on a Breton shore; being raised more by malice
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