by Jan Needle
Little Peter plumped for a cruise against the Barbary pirates, and the discussion went merrily up and down for a minute or two. In a lull Broad asked: ‘Why the Horn, Mr Matthews?’
Matthews creased his sombre mouth until it could almost have been smiling.
‘We have the gear for it, Mr Broad. We have storm gear in plenty. More trysails than I’ve ever seen. We have more complete suits of winter canvas to bend on than—’
There was a row going on aft, getting louder and nearer.
Men were shouting, somebody was crying like a beast in pain. A howl, then a shout of laughter. Another cry. Broad knew the voice. It was the shepherd lad. He made to rise, but old Fulman motioned him down. His eyes warned him to stay clear. He knew the ship. Broad decided to wait, at least. He strained to see into the gloom.
Thomas Fox had already lost practically all his worldly possessions. He had lost his neckcloth, he had lost most of his money, and he had lost the new coat he had not even paid the King for.
His troubles had started when he had been led, bemused, out of the cabin. The world was a hostile, desperately frightening one. The green fields that he knew so well were now white wooden decks, hard and treacherous under his feet. There was green all round, true. But it was the sea, cold and rolling. The noise in his ears was a low musical humming, and the rattling of a thousand ropes against a hundred spars. Like the land boy he was, not the landman he was oddly rated, he did not know which way to turn. He stood on the open deck, wringing his hands. He lurched as the ship lurched, he stumbled and fell. The boatswain’s mate gave him a cut with his cane – not a hard one truly, more a friendly tap – and told him to find a mess. In seeking one, Thomas made one. He kicked over a bucket and soaked a midshipman’s leather shoe. For this he received a blow in the face that shocked him deeply, coming as it did from a child who could not have been above twelve years old. But he remembered another midshipman, the fairhaired midshipman of yesterday, and turned and ran.
He found a hatchway by accident, too, pitching down it with a scream. His fall was broken by a seaman coming up, who aimed another blow, which missed. He stumbled farther in the strong-smelling darkness, lost and terrified. He brought up in a mess of cut-throats who grabbed at him like greedy vultures. It was there that his coat was stolen.
Running a staggering gauntlet past the breeches of the guns, Thomas felt hands and breaths assail him. He soon realised his pouch was open, and set up a screaming. A fist gripped his windpipe till he gurgled. Cruel fingers explored secret places. Once there was a rattle of money, a glint of silver. As men dived, grunting, he got away. Only to be caught at the next gun along.
Suddenly a hand seized his neck with such purpose that Thomas knew he was to die. He started to pray, while not giving up altogether without a struggle. His legs thrashed like a crazed horse’s, his fists worked like flailing sticks.
The hand had come from in front of him, but it went behind his neck. There was a sudden and enormous pull. He burst from the melee of bodies like a cork from a bottle. His knees sagged, his eyes opened. He almost smiled. Jesse Broad again.
Broad’s new messmates, if they objected to Thomas Fox joining them, did not say so. He asked if the lad might stay, they nodded in silence. He was a sad sight, his clothes torn and open, his face newly bloody. Young Peter produced a piece of wet canvas and wiped away the blood and tears.
‘You’ll learn, young ’un,’ he said tenderly. Fox could not speak. But he did not think he would stay long enough to learn. He did not think he would survive.
Jesse Broad kept his counsel, although he was filled with pain and hatred and rage. He would not stay, he knew.
Cape Horn, the West Indies, the East Indies, the end of the earth, no matter; the Welfare would sail without him. Tonight he would run, let watch him who might.
Six
William Bentley watched the launch as she rounded-to under Welfare’s stern and slipped smartly alongside with a loud flapping of canvas. Before the sails had been handed and the lines made fast a young officer had been piped on board and conducted rapidly into the captain’s cabin. William, despite his dignity as a midshipman, was thrilled to the bottom of his soul. Not a man-jack on board as did not know what this meant. The launch was bringing orders. Welfare would soon be putting to sea.
The launch was apparently bringing other things, as he saw the boatswain gather a party of seamen to rig a tackle from the main yard. He would dearly have liked to have been below with his uncle, hearing the news fresh from the young lieutenant, but if that was not to be he could at least keep himself busy, and the men up to the mark. He walked briskly to the waist, not interfering, but letting his presence be known.
‘Carry on, Mr Allgood,’ he said, as the boatswain acknowledged him.
‘Aye aye sir. You up there!’ he boomed to a man who had almost reached the yardarm. ‘Look alive or I’ll send one of my mates to start you!’
‘What is it to be swayed up, if you please?’ asked William. The boatswain looked down at him from his great height.
‘Vital necessaries for the captain,’ he said. There was a note in his voice that William did not enjoy. Was the brute daring to be sardonic with him?
‘Pray be more precise.’
‘Well, sir, two items to come first. Puncheons of fiery spirits, sir.’ His eyes flicked downwards, then away. ‘Vital for the tending of the sick, sir.’
William bristled. The boatswain was an important and powerful man on board, but he was bordering on the insolent.
‘Mr Allgood,’ said William. The boatswain smiled blandly.
‘You there!’ he spat to a seaman. ‘Catch that whip as it comes down.’
The end of rope dropped from the yardarm barely inches from William’s head. He flushed. Allgood had known it was coming, hence the order.
‘Mr Allgood,’ he repeated.
‘Aye aye sir? Ah, the vital supplies. Oh, there be wine, tobacco, sweetmeats, silk shirts, twelve yards of Flemish lace…’
William’s flush deepened as the slow Devon voice itemised these flimflams. He composed his face to a look of haughtiness verging on anger and bared his teeth to speak. But the boatswain, without apparently looking at him to see this reaction, changed his tack, and spiked his guns neatly.
‘Drugs to aid the sick and needy, new linen bandages, couple of bushels of onions for the scorbutickers, some bags of potatoes to same effect. Item, a new anvil for Mr Gunner and I believe one new spyglass, or telescope, lately manufactured for the owner by his own personal instrument maker in Lunnon. Sir.’
William decided to let the reference to Captain Swift as ‘the owner’ go past unchallenged. It was a normal conceit and one which his uncle enjoyed. He watched in silence as Allgood gave the orders and the first barrel was hauled into sight over the bulwarks.
‘Oh,’ said the boatswain, almost as an afterthought. ‘And one blind musician-man.’
He turned to his band of sailors and roared at them in his gigantic bass. He snatched a rattan from the hand of one of his mates and laid about him vigorously. The seamen hauled harder.
William fumed. The boatswain was playing with him. He obviously wanted to know more about the blind musician, but could not ask now. He would have to wait and see. The boatswain was deliberately trying to humiliate him, and he was the only seaman in the ship who could get away with it. He turned away and sauntered back towards the quarterdeck, every line of his body expressing lost interest in the unloading of the launch. By God, he savagely told the boatswain – inside his head – Christ help you, mister, when I’m a lieutenant. Or a captain!
He had not reached his favoured position on that hallowed deck, when word was brought him to kindly attend on Captain Swift in the cabin. William’s heart leapt and he forgot the boatswain immediately. This then would be the time for orders. He faced to windward, exultantly filling his lungs with the cold easterly air, then made a quick check on his dress, clamped his hat smartly under his arm, and clattered away after
the messenger.
*
Had it not been for the shape, the low beams, the square windows in the stern, they might almost have been at a smart officer’s apartment in town. Swift, resplendent as ever in his expensive blue, the many ruffles of his shirt glittering opulently, stood easily near his great mahogany table with a glass of fine crystal in his hand. The other officers stood or sat, depending on their whim or personal comfort. On the rare occasions that he entertained, the captain liked to make his lieutenants feel at their ease. To have required Mr Hagan to stand would not have induced such ease, on account of his great height and the lowness of the deckhead. When Mr Hagan sat, William had noted before, Plumduff liked to sit too. These men faintly annoyed him with their insistence on their small dignities. The third lieutenant, Higgins, was beneath contempt. He sat merely because he was an idle slug.
Sitting more stiffly in a chair, and far less at his ease, was the young lieutenant from the launch, who seemed startled at the richness of it all. He’d clearly never been in a frigate like the Welfare.
Captain Swift welcomed his nephew with a smile. At a signal, a servant moved forward with glass and decanter. William was introduced to Lieutenant Hall, shook hands and bowed, then sipped a glass of wine. They were given no time to become more intimate.
‘Gentlemen,’ said Daniel Swift, ‘I would ask you to be seated at the table. As you know we shall shortly be about our business and I have a few words to say. Few, but important.’
At another gesture the servants filled each man’s glass, then withdrew. As they opened the door, William’s eyes were arrested by the flash of scarlet of the marine guard’s coat.
Swift raised his glass and proposed a toast. They stood once more.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said gravely, ‘I give you His Majesty’s ship Welfare. May God keep us and save us in the work we are about to undertake.’
When they were seated, they were offered an explanation for Lieutenant Hall’s continued presence. It would be still some time, Swift said, before the launch was ready to return to Portsmouth, and although what he had to say was specifically about the running of the ship, there was no reason why the visiting gentleman should not be privy to it. Of William’s presence, a mere midshipman, he made no explanation. That was entirely a matter for him.
The captain wet his lips with his wine, carefully placed the glass on the table, and began.
‘As you all know, gentlemen, we are now in a state of readiness to sail. We are fully manned, fully provisioned, and fully watered. Our ship is sound, our gear is good, and by the grace of God our people will serve.’
The cold pale eyes searched the faces in front of him. William smiled inwardly, although he kept his face like a poker. His uncle was looking for signs, he knew. Signs of disagreement at such blatant falsehoods. To describe the Welfare as fully manned, when she was under complement and had a higher scum element than most ships could stand, was a measure of the man. He was admirable, and so was his method. If the people served, he thought, it would be grace of his uncle, not any other deity.
Seeing no flicker of dissent or questioning, Swift clearly felt able to go on. There was his method revealed. He had given his officers a picture of the state of his vessel which they knew to be false, and also the theoretical opportunity to challenge it. William revelled in such tactics. They distilled the fine paradox by which the Navy was run.
Officers were required by law to obey their superiors, while being also required to guard that nothing illegal or untrue was done, even by those same superiors. Now the officers had assented in the fiction that the ship was well-manned.
If anything were to go wrong in the future, no finger could be pointed at Swift alone. All were involved and all would therefore make sure that nothing should go wrong.
‘I cannot, of course, tell you what our orders are,’ continued Captain Swift, ‘but you will all have gathered that our mission will take us to the far-flung corners of the earth. We sail, God willing and this easterly continuing to blow, before noon tomorrow. We are, of course, heading west, to clear into the Atlantic as soon as may be. Further sailing instructions will be conveyed to all of you, and the master, when necessary. Any questions?’
A mere courtesy; none was expected. The captain wetted his lips again.
‘Now, gentlemen. As to the running of this vessel. You all know me and you all know my requirements. But I make no apology for restatement. I want a taut ship, and I want a hard ship. I want iron discipline and I want total and immediate obedience. I want – I require – that, from the top to the bottom. You, gentlemen, are the top.’
He stared at their faces one by one. William did not move a muscle, even when the pale eyes burned into his. Hagan, inevitably, licked his lips. Plumduff quivered almost imperceptibly. Lieutenant Hall did not receive the stare, but reddened nevertheless as Swift’s gaze flickered across his face.
‘You…gentlemen,’ the captain repeated with deliberation. ‘My officers are gentlemen and will behave as such at all times. Any behaviour that falls below those standards will not go unnoticed.’ He turned to William. ‘That particularly applies in your berth, Mr Bentley. You will carry the word for me. Any falling off in the behaviour of the young gentlemen will likewise not go unnoticed. Nor will it go unpunished.’
He smiled unexpectedly, one of his dazzling open smiles.
‘Please drink,’ he said. Everybody did, gratefully. ‘As to the people,’ Swift said suddenly, with a new, harsh note, ‘they are, of course, the scum of the earth. They are blasted, bastard, buggering scum.’
Lieutenant Hall, taken off guard, choked on his fine wine. There was complete silence except for his coughing. His face blazed during the long pause. At last he caught his breath and mumbled apologies, which were waved away.
‘The scum of Portsmouth, of Plymouth, of God knows where else. Nay, the scum of the deepest countryside ratholes, for there are damn few seamen among them. They are gutter scrapings, gentlemen, and they must serve us. In short, they must be raised from the level of animals to be fit to work this ship. We have a fine boatswain, as you know, with sturdy mates. He and they know their men, and they know their orders. Rope’s ends or rattan canes, depending on the personal preference of each, but they have been told to start each and every tar who moves slower than his fastest. No man will walk upon this ship, no man will shamble or play the calf. Each order will be offered in a voice of brass, and carried out like thunder and lightning. Mr Allgood has that clear. His mates have that clear. Let me be sure that my officers and gentlemen have it clear in their turn.’
No one moved. Swift’s face was flushed, his pale eyes strangely bright. His great bony nose moved in the air like a sickle.
‘As to more formal punishments,’ he went on, ‘they will be made full use of. Every punishment allowed by the Articles of War, and by usage, will play its part in raising our people from their present disgraceful level. Each punishment will be logged, but none will be shirked. He who transgresses shall be brought to book. He who deserves the lash shall be lashed till the bones of his back are bare and the breath shrieks in his lungs. Do I make myself clear? Are there questions? Anything?’
His voice had risen, but at the last it fell to a quiet urbanity. No man spoke, but William wished he could have proposed a toast to his uncle. The blood raced through his veins, he was enriched, renewed.
And the method! Revealed this time was why Lieutenant Hall had been asked to remain. He had heard Captain Swift’s bitterness at the scum he had as crew; he had heard the determination to raise them to a degree of discipline and competence; he had heard the officers’ silent assent at both diagnosis and proposed cure. If anything went wrong, if even a superhuman commander like his Uncle Daniel met with troubles too vague to be defined, there could never be any doubt but that he knew his men, and he knew his officers, and he had taken the only course possible with their full knowledge and consent. It was masterly.
Captain Swift stood up, as did the whole
company. ‘Lieutenant Hagan, I will address the people after breakfast tomorrow. Half an hour after that we sail. Pass the necessary orders, if you please. And now I must beg your pardons, I have much to address myself to. Lieutenant Higgins, would you be so good as to convey Lieutenant Hall to his launch?’
He bowed briefly at the young man, who was red and rather shaken.
‘It has been a pleasure, Lieutenant,’ he said. ‘I wish you a pleasant sail to Portsmouth. My compliments to your uncle.’
When the others had left the cabin, William, who had remained at a sign, was invited to sit. Swift reached for the decanter and poured them each a full glass.
‘Well,’ he said, almost gaily. ‘Looking forward to it, my boy? This time tomorrow and we will be well down Channel, God willing. To sea at last. It’s been a damn long time.’
‘Indeed I am, sir,’ said William. ‘In fact I cannot say how anxious I am to see some action, of any sort, the hotter the better. I have high hopes that once we are at sea—’
Swift raised a hand, and William fell silent. His uncle turned the pale eyes full on him, and stared sombrely into his.
‘I will not beat about the bush, William,’ he said queerly. ‘I have a task to put to you. It is a secret one, perhaps a dangerous. I think you can well undertake it.’
A flush of pleasure rose in William’s cheek, much against his wishes.
‘We have a long voyage ahead of us, my boy, and I fear a very hard one. The people as I said are all damned scum, and the officers—’ He stopped, took a mouthful of wine and swilled it around his mouth. ‘Nay, enough to say this – I trust no one on this ship, my boy, except you and I. One flesh, one blood; and perhaps one brain…
‘The captain on a ship of war, William, is in a position of great power – and great liability. I can see everything, do anything, in a manner more befitting God than a mere mortal. But in another way I am blind.’
