accusation was something fruitless to respond to, while the other left him genuinely confused. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’
‘Come, sir, do you really expect me to believe such a plea? The bullocks you set your men upon made sure the whole town knew who to blame.’
‘For what, sir?’
The tone John Pearce used then, one of rising anger, met with even less approval than his name. Urquhart flushed angrily and his response was spat out with real venom, a hand slapping down on his desk.
‘It pains me to mention, and I would scarce want to allude to it, but I find I must do so: the way you embarrassed the service by your behaviour in a duel. That the mere engagement is reprehensible and forbidden is a matter of fact, sir, but much worse is that you chose a low trick to end matters in your favour. Not content with that you then had the very man you fought and his companions set upon,assaulted by every midshipman and liberty man then in the harbour.’
‘Captain Urquhart, I will acknowledge the former charge and I am not happy at the memory, though I will add that when a fellow sets out not to merely draw blood for satisfaction but to kill you, the rules by which gentlemen engage in such pursuits go by the board.’
Urquhart was not listening; judging by his breathing he was struggling to contain himself, close to an outburst that would pass the bounds of acceptance.
‘You do not seem to observe that I have work before me, which you are preventing me from getting on with. Because of that, Lieutenant, I must bid you good day.’
Once outside the building, standing under the fluttering Union Flag, John Pearce was at a loss to make sense of what he had heard and damned annoyed at the way he had been dismissed. Passing through to get to the street he had been eyed with deep suspicion by Urquhart’s underlings, men who must have overheard the exchange in the captain’s office. Tempted to enquire of them, their expressions did nothing to invite questioning, which left him at a loss as to how to proceed.
That, he felt he must do: some deed was being attached to his name and it was even more annoying to have no notion of what he was accused of, while in a port full of Italians layered with Austrians there was a shortage of places to go where he could seek enlightenment.
Walking along the quay, a possible alternative presented itself. Leghorn, as well as being the revictualling port for the fleet, was home to a fair few privateers, many of them English, given letters of marque by the British Crown topursue and harass the trade of the enemy for personal gain.
They were a rum bunch held in contempt by their naval contemporaries, which was hypocrisy of the first order. King’s officers chased after prizes with a zeal that matched that of the men they termed predatory wolves. Their objection centred on the freedom privateers had to act at will, their obvious successes adding to the fact that their captures meant fewer opportunities for their naval rivals.
The letters of marque occupied their own part of the port, a small harbour they shared with the larger local fishing boats, well away from the naval dockyard on the far side of the old castle that had at one time protected the anchorage. It was an area into which naval ratings were discouraged from going, and that was with only the most reliable hands allowed ashore.
Leghorn posed a danger that did not apply to many other ports and for that reason some warships never let a soul below a warrant on to dry land. Privateers required sailors as much as the navy and had a strong preference for their own countrymen, for if they suffered casualties – inevitable when they generally had to fight to take their seizures – they found it hard to procure replacements, which made the proximity of a fleet tempting.
Added to the bounty they might offer to recruit a King’s sailor they were adept at keeping them too, able with a change of name to provide the kind of
‘Come, sir, do you really expect me to believe such a plea? The bullocks you set your men upon made sure the whole town knew who to blame.’
‘For what, sir?’
The tone John Pearce used then, one of rising anger, met with even less approval than his name. Urquhart flushed angrily and his response was spat out with real venom, a hand slapping down on his desk.
‘It pains me to mention, and I would scarce want to allude to it, but I find I must do so: the way you embarrassed the service by your behaviour in a duel. That the mere engagement is reprehensible and forbidden is a matter of fact, sir, but much worse is that you chose a low trick to end matters in your favour. Not content with that you then had the very man you fought and his companions set upon,assaulted by every midshipman and liberty man then in the harbour.’
‘Captain Urquhart, I will acknowledge the former charge and I am not happy at the memory, though I will add that when a fellow sets out not to merely draw blood for satisfaction but to kill you, the rules by which gentlemen engage in such pursuits go by the board.’
Urquhart was not listening; judging by his breathing he was struggling to contain himself, close to an outburst that would pass the bounds of acceptance.
‘You do not seem to observe that I have work before me, which you are preventing me from getting on with. Because of that, Lieutenant, I must bid you good day.’
Once outside the building, standing under the fluttering Union Flag, John Pearce was at a loss to make sense of what he had heard and damned annoyed at the way he had been dismissed. Passing through to get to the street he had been eyed with deep suspicion by Urquhart’s underlings, men who must have overheard the exchange in the captain’s office. Tempted to enquire of them, their expressions did nothing to invite questioning, which left him at a loss as to how to proceed.
That, he felt he must do: some deed was being attached to his name and it was even more annoying to have no notion of what he was accused of, while in a port full of Italians layered with Austrians there was a shortage of places to go where he could seek enlightenment.
Walking along the quay, a possible alternative presented itself. Leghorn, as well as being the revictualling port for the fleet, was home to a fair few privateers, many of them English, given letters of marque by the British Crown topursue and harass the trade of the enemy for personal gain.
They were a rum bunch held in contempt by their naval contemporaries, which was hypocrisy of the first order. King’s officers chased after prizes with a zeal that matched that of the men they termed predatory wolves. Their objection centred on the freedom privateers had to act at will, their obvious successes adding to the fact that their captures meant fewer opportunities for their naval rivals.
The letters of marque occupied their own part of the port, a small harbour they shared with the larger local fishing boats, well away from the naval dockyard on the far side of the old castle that had at one time protected the anchorage. It was an area into which naval ratings were discouraged from going, and that was with only the most reliable hands allowed ashore.
Leghorn posed a danger that did not apply to many other ports and for that reason some warships never let a soul below a warrant on to dry land. Privateers required sailors as much as the navy and had a strong preference for their own countrymen, for if they suffered casualties – inevitable when they generally had to fight to take their seizures – they found it hard to procure replacements, which made the proximity of a fleet tempting.
Added to the bounty they might offer to recruit a King’s sailor they were adept at keeping them too, able with a change of name to provide the kind of
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