Nelson's Lost Son

Nelson’s Lost Son by Oliver Greeves

Prologue

The London coach dropped Josiah off on Merton High Street and he chose to go on foot the rest of the way. The night sky had been clear and star-filled when he left Harley Street. Cloud now covered the sky and the wind was rising. Josiah knew the symptoms; below the fast moving cigar-shaped cloud was a sinister blanket of rain. Any Captain worth his salt would have reefed his sails by now. Clutching his hat to his head, he took cover in an old flint church fronting the road. The cloud was overhead and the squall followed on its heels. He sat in a quiet pew, the rain rattling the windows. If he had been on board Thalia, it wouldn’t have worried him. What made him nervous was his forthcoming meeting with Horatio at Merton Hall. So unpredictable. Sunny one minute, stormy the next. Never quite knew what reception awaited him.

Years ago, on Agamemnon, Papa – Horatio – had been his captain. Sometimes kind, more often distant, he made Josiah feel he was in the way. But when they met last time Horatio had been cordial. He had said Josiah should have Thalia again – when she had completed her refit. He would make sure of it.

The affair with the Hamiltons had changed everything. It was like walking on eggshells now. Everyone knew what was going on at Merton, but Horatio needed to pretend the Hamiltons were but his “dear friends”. Nothing more! Fanny’s sadness and her longing to restore her marriage added to the delicacy of the situation. If her name were to come up, even once, all would be lost. Still, Horatio was his father, and his patronage was the only card he could count on if he was to become captain of a fighting ship again.

He picked up the prayer book resting on the shelf of the pew and opened it randomly. The wind was dropping now and the rain would end soon. He read the first words of the psalm:

“Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way: even by ruling himself after thy word.”

He shut the book, irritated with the admonition. The storm gone, the sun had emerged and Josiah left the church to resume his journey. Soon he was at the lodge gate and marching briskly down Merton’s graveled drive. It was smart with lush borders and the house emerging from a screen of elm trees, rain dripping from their branches. A recently added gothic façade suggested antiquity. Must have cost at least ten thousand pounds. Rooks swooped about the eaves, cawing. He approached the steps leading to the front door. He hesitated before knocking. This was Emma Hamilton’s home, and it was undeniable that since she hated him, this would likely be his one and only visit.

His knock was answered by the Butler who took his visiting card and pointed to an alcove in the lobby.

“Wait here sir.” A chair stood on a cold marble floor.

He preferred to look around. A flight of stone steps led to an upper floor. Between tall windows above there hung a large portrait of the Admiral in heroic pose, hand on sword. Josiah had not seen it before. On another wall hung four crossed swords. Below them, on a small table, was a bust of his father, the head decorated with a carved laurel wreath. On the opposite wall hung another portrait of Horatio and, encased under glass, a work of embroidery. It read:

“What greater thing can a man do than lay down his life for his country?”

Below were the names of battles, separated by decorative anchors: “Cape St Vincent,” “The Nile” and “Copenhagen.”

A candle on a low table burned with a smoky flame.

Disgusted by the maudlin sentiment, Josiah t took a seat.

A door opened and Uncle William strode towards him with his hand outstretched.

“My dear fellow!

Josiah struggled against rising irritation.

“Very good to see you, Uncle.”

The Reverend Nelson was fleshy man, eyes protruding as if startled. His portly figure was clad in an old-fashioned red velvet coatHis stomach bulged over his white breeches and silk stockings. The buckles on his shoes had been polished and sparkled in the sun’s rays

“To what do we owe this unexpected visit?”

Emphasis on "unexpected",

“I’ve come to visit my father.”

He paused

“I need to see him…

…and the family as well. How is Aunt Sarah?”

“Well, everyone’s very busy. We have a big dinner tonight - many persons of quality coming. I’m not sure if there will be room for you.”

The words hung in the air.

“Where is my father? I’ll take no more of his – and your time after we’ve spoken”

He felt his face flush; his words felt clumsy.

“I see! I must talk to her Ladyship first. Perhaps I could order you something; a dish of tea?”

“I just want to talk to my father.”

“Your step-father,” William corrected. Well come in and take a seat in the library. I believe my brother may be asleep.”

He sat and waited. The same door opened and a maid brought him a dish of tea which he drank slowly. Then he saw two figures bustle across the lobby. The butler opened the door bidding the ladies goodbye. Aunt Sarah and Emma Hamilton. They ignored him. He felt the slight but was grateful he would not have to be polite. Bitches,

A few more minutes passed. He checked his pocket watch and the hall clock chimed the hour. Then a figure appeared. Horatio. No, a taller more elegant man.

“Josiah! It’s me, Matcham”

It was his uncle, Aunt Kitty’s husband. He had always liked her and loved to hear about Matcham’s adventures in the East India Company. When Josiah was young, they were the patrons , the people with the money and connections. Now they were lesser stars in Horatio’s firmament. Matcham was in Horatio’s debt after a failed venture in New South Wales.

“Uncle! Good to see you.”

Matcham sat.

“How do you find Merton?”

“It’s my first time. Neither a great house nor a villa. You know my mother built a house in Suffolk. Smaller but much nicer. This seems fake.

“I agree – hate the place. Our houses are elegant. This one trades comfort for pretension – what the French call "bourgeois". Still, old Sir William likes the fishing and her ladyship flatters herself its big enough for Horatio’s noble friends. We’re never short of visitors.”

He paused. “Tell me, Josiah, how is Fanny?”

“How would you feel if your spouse deserted you for a tart and the family cut you off?”

“It’s ugly. She is a wonderfully kind, brilliant woman. I will always love her. Do give her my best, Josiah.”

“I’ll not be a messenger boy. Write her a note or pay her a visit yourself.”

“Steady on, old fellow. Steady on. Have you seen your father recently?”

“Met him before the battle of Copenhagen and then again in September.”

“What are you seeing him about today?”

“He said the admiralty have a Command but everything has gone quiet. I need to move things along.”

“Well, my advice is to meet him elsewhere in the future if you want a relaxed conversation. Her ladyship rules and even the hero has to obey. You are “the cub” and Lady Nelson, “Tom Tit.” Vulgarity was always Emma’s nature. Also he the bastard child. She and Horatio maintain she is the “child of a friend”. So obvious but, like everything else, we go along with it. But he does love that baby.”

There was a cough in the distance and they looked up. Horatio was descending the stairs. He looked old but his voice, high pitched and authoritative, was warm.”

“Josiah. So good to see you.”

He paused, to survey his son.

“My God how you have grown! Come Matcham, come Josiah, let me show you my new estate!”

They stepped through the lobby, Horatio taking a cane from the umbrella stand as they set off towards a distant lake.

Matcham strode ahead, while Horatio walked with Josiah, his hand resting on his shoulder.

“Have you heard from the Admiralty, Josiah? I have been putting in the word for you and everything I hear is positive, though, you do have enemies.”

“Colquitt?”

“Yes, Lieutenant Colquitt continues to blacken you. I ran into Brierley too. In Copenhagen. Remember him; the purser? You ought to have been more careful. The Admiralty takes complaints from warrant officers more seriously than from commission officers.”

Josiah flushed. The old lies still being retailed.

“And St Vincent both likes and hates you. The trouble is Peace. If St Vincent will become First Lord and he will cut the navy. Get rid of the older frigates like "Thalia" Still, I have fought for you and was told you will have her.”

They walked on, steering clear of controversy, navigating the shoals of hurt and misunderstanding which clouded their past and recalling the best of times - "Agamemnon", the battle for Bastia and Josiah's friend Weatherhead who had met his tragic end at Santa Cruz. Without noticing it they had circled the lake and were approaching the house . The sun warmed their backs while a gentle breeze played on their faces and views across soft green meadows reached all the way to the North Downs. Josiah thought how the natural beauty appeal to Horatio, looking for peace after a long voyage. He doubted there was peace within the house with all the secrets and rivalries stirred by Emma Hamilton. Nevertheless he felt elated. Despite all that had gone wrong. He smiled. Horatio said:

“What has happened to me and Fanny divides us, Josiah. It compels me to take sides. My friend, Lady Hamilton, is a woman of great beauty and great passion.”

They were walking through a grove of silver birch trees house. A nurse maid carrying a child in a blanket, walked towards them. Horatio called out:

“You there!” He marched towards them.

Matcham, discretely keeping his distance, waited for Josiah to catch up.

Horatio’s voice rose above cooing of wood pigeons.

“Nurse! It’s too cold for the child. Get back to the nursery -immediately!”

The nurse paused, startled by the command.

Horatio handed his cane to her and took the baby They turned towards house.

Josiah shouted

“Goodbye father!”

Horatio paused, his arm full with his bundle.

“I wish you well, Josiah. I look forward to hearing of your successes. Please do not come back here again.”

Josiah shook hands with Matcham.

“Give my love to Aunt Kitty.”

“And mine to Fanny!”

He continued his way along the gravel drive to the gates. He did not look back.

Chapter 1

The tavern, on the banks of the Thames at Wapping, was surrounded by warehouses. Over its bow-fronted windows swung a sign - a Yorkshire Coal ship under full sail. The “Prospect of Whitby” had claims to antiquity and fame as a haunt for sailors, the ale being strong and female company welcoming. It was a haven for Josiah these days. He preferred mariners to the company of gentlemen. Besides, it was a cheerful place to while away time. John Yule had written a letter to say "Thalia" was at the Deptford navy yard and Josiah replied, by return, suggesting they meet here.

The tap room was packed but a sheltered nook in the far corner was unoccupied. He was dressed in an old blue coat, a pull-over and breeches and his dark brown hair ran wild. He called to the serving wench for a glass of ale. While he waited he studied the merchant vessels loading cargo at nearby wharves, calculating their tonnage and destinations. Grey clouds hung low over the river and rain drifted in sheets and pattered against the windows of the inn.

John Yule steered a course towards him. Dressed in a blue lieutenant’s overcoat, he looked smart - shaved, combed and ready for duty. Josiah was envious. He stood and thrust out his hand.

“John!”

He signaled to a servant who bustled over with an armful of glasses. John Yule sat down. Josiah said:

“It must be near two years.”

“I took my leave and went home to Somerset and waited for a letter. You?”

“I was offered the command of Thalia. Shameful! What they have done.

“Was you indeed!”

“I made a mistake”

“A mistake?”

“The Peace wasn’t signed. I thought there would be alternatives.”

Josiah took a deep draught and drained his glass. He took up his next.

“I turned her down when I found she was no longer a frigate.”

His unemployment stilled the conversation

“What happened?”

“Colquitt said I was a flogging Captain Brierley too. Copenhagen gave him added credibility. Anyway, I was told Thalia was only ship they would offer.”

“And there are more captains than ships….”

He had overstated his case.

“And you, John? I am glad you have come through this unscathed.”

‘Unscathed – first lieutenant of a troop carrier?

“Pretty soon we’ll all be on the beach, but in the meantime …”

The noise swelled.

“Look, would you like to see the old ship? Stay overnight? Meet the Captain?”

“Anyone I know?”

“Maybe.”

“I’d like that.”

They lingered for a while. When they finished their drinks, the publican, red-faced and swearing, was bundling troublemakers out of the front door. Josiah settled the bill. Outside, the sun peeked through heavy clouds.

A waterman picked them up at Wapping Steps in a wherry. They sat in the stern as he hauled up the Main and steered into the swirling waters of the Thames. As they approached Deptford, Josiah saw "Thalia". He shivered. It was the frigate he had commanded all right. The rake of her mast, the arrogant bowsprit above the reclining figurehead were the same. But her guns were gone. Troop quarters in the waist and stumpy masts disfigured her.

He recalled her at her best. A sense of pride in his achievement. Two hundred and fifty men lived, fought and died there. Everyone’s ambition is to command a fighting frigate and he had done it! He brought her home in glory, the crew proud to be Thalians and himself richer for the prize money. He had been so certain he would take her to sea again after she completed her refit.

He and Yule boarded from the dock. No sentry challenged them. The rain had begun again, water was streaming from the yards. The purser gave him a cabin passing on an invitation from the Captain for supper. He hung up his coat and lay on the bunk and fell asleep as the ship rocked on the incoming tide.

He awoke to the sound of a rap on the door. He lay on the berth, his mind occupied with memories. He dressed, combed his hair and made his way to the Great Cabin. A tall grey-haired man, silhouetted by the setting sun, held out his hand in welcome. The rain had stopped. The table was laid and candles flickered. It was much reduced since Josiah’s time. The man gestured him to take his seat.

“Kent! My God!”

The grizzled features of his old lieutenant from Dolphin broke into a broad smile.

“Josiah!

“Kent, what are you doing here?”

“I brought Dolphin home a few months ago. We were paid off. Then they asked me to take Thalia. Quite the coincidence to have succeeded you in two commands.

“I can’t think of a finer man.”

“I talked to the yard. They said her knees and timbers were weak and the Admiralty decided to convert her.

“I’m not sure that was right. There’s been too many ships taken off the list since St Vincent became First Lord!”

Yule joined them as platters of fresh bread with crumbly cheese and pickled onions were served. Their glasses full, they sat in comfortable silence.

The old man looked at Josiah affectionately.

“What happened after Dolphin? Things were said…

“I’m not proud of it. I made a great nuisance of myself in Gibraltar - to get St Vincent’s attention. I was banished to the finance office. A terrible boring place! I found fraudsters were looting the dockyard - thousands every year. Anyway, as a reward, he sent me to Alexandria to take command of the sloop "Bonne Citoyenne". I was her captain for a glorious eighteen months. Then "Thalia’s" commander was sent home on sick-leave and I took over the ship in Malta.”

“My God, Josiah. The luck of the Irish! A fighting frigate. Were you yet twenty?”