by David O'Neil
Sailing Orders
by
David O’Neil
W & B Publishers
USA
Sailing Orders © 2013. All rights reserved by David O’Neil
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any informational storage retrieval system without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
W & B Publishers
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ISBN: 978-0-6159408-2-3
ISBN: 0-6159408-2-X
Book Cover designed by Dubya
Printed in the United States of America
Chapter one
Ambush
1792… Late autumn. Eastney, Hampshire, England
Martin Forest sat gloomily just inside the door of the barn. He could hear the sound of the animals chomping at their feed: three horses, a pony and a donkey. All were warm and snug in their stalls. It’s all right for them, Martin thought, struggling to pull the coat round him tighter. His growing frame was suffering from a sparse diet and the damp cold. As he sat watching the odd person hurrying past in the rapidly darkening evening, he noticed the two men across the roadway. Both were wearing cloaks, and he could see the outline of swords under the hang of their cloaks. There was something furtive about their manner. For want of something better to do, he watched them with some interest, drawing back a little more into the dark shelter of the barn entrance where he could not be easily seen. He became aware of another presence on his side of the road. Someone had come and stationed himself by the wall of the barn. Martin realized he was there when he heard him loosening his sword in its scabbard.
He suspected that they were waiting for something or somebody, preparing to act. The men across the road stirred and drew their swords. Martin realized whatever it was must be close at hand.
The jingle of harness came from down the road which was now almost clear of pedestrians. The semi-darkness hid the men across the road. The man on the near side moved out to the middle of the road where he stood and waited his drawn sword in one hand, and a pistol in the other.
Martin ran through to the rear of the barn and out of the trap door at the back. He turned and ran down the lane behind the buildings and then through another alley further down the road toward the sound of the approaching horses.
The lights of the coach appeared round the bend in the road, the horses slowed climbing the short rise. Martin ran down to the coach and jumped up on the step. He leaned in through the open window. “There are men waiting to stop you up the road.”
A hand reached out and took hold of his collar. “What did you say, boy?”
“There are three men up the road near the barn waiting for someone. As soon as they heard the coach they stepped out into the road. They are armed.”
“Stop the coach.” The man called to the driver. The driver whipped up the horses, and tried to get them moving faster despite the call of the man inside. The boy wrenched his coat from the man’s grip and hauled himself up to the box where the driver was whipping the horses, leaning forward peering through the rain. Martin held the rail beside the seat and rammed both feet into the driver’s side. Unbalanced, the driver pitched over the side of the coach to land asprawl in the road. The reins caught under him and his weight pulled the horses heads round. The already unwilling beasts dragged the coach, rocking dangerously, to a halt.
The two men in the coach got out. The big one pulled the boy from the box. A pistol was fired in their direction. The sound of running feet came from up the hill as the three ambushers came to see what had gone wrong. Both of the men from the coach drew their swords and turned to face their attackers. The big man said to the boy, “Stay by the coach and watch the lady.”
Startled, Martin climbed into the coach where he found a lady and a girl, both sitting back in the corner of the seat. Martin saw they were scared. “Don’t worry. I’ll look after you.” He showed them his knife. A hand appeared at the opposite window reaching for the inside handle. Whoever it was missed the handle and a face appeared at the window. The girl screamed, as the man grimaced, reaching for the latch. Martin reached out with the knife and stabbed the man in the hand. There was a spurt of blood, the man yelled as he tried to pull his hand away from the door. The knife had gone right through the palm and stuck in the wood of the door, trapping him there. He saw the other hand appear holding a pistol. Without thinking, Martin grabbed the barrel and wrenched it back toward the man’s face. The man’s finger caught in the trigger and the pistol misfired. The powder from the pan exploded into his face. He screamed again and fell out of the window, wrenching the knife out with the weight of his body. The other door opened and the big man appeared. He was bleeding from a wound in the shoulder, but otherwise seemed alright. He looked at the woman who was holding the girl in her arms. She said calmly, “We are all right. Your friend looked after us. he drove off the man who attacked us. She pointed to the blood on the door.
The big man said, “Giles is taking the reins. We will soon be home.”
Martin was still in the coach and he made to get up. The big man said, “Sit down, lad. You have saved the lady and her daughter. You will join us for some food and I must reward you.”
“There is no need, sir. I was just there at the right time. You have no need to reward me.”
The big man’s cloak moved and Martin saw he was wearing a uniform.
“Your shoulder, sir. You have been wounded.”
“Tis nothing, lad. We will be home in a few minutes. It will be attended there.”
The coach drew up in the drive of the large house, half a mile beyond the town. The man driving jumped down and looked at Martin as he stepped down from the coach. “What? Who?…” The big man stepped down, lifted the girl down and helped the lady out. They led the way into the house. Martin hesitated at the door, uncertain what to do. The big man said,
“Come in, boy. You must be hungry. Boys of your age are always hungry.”
Martin walked into the hallway which was as big as the drawing room of his father’s house.
The younger man, Giles, received quietly whispered instructions from the lady. With a grin he took Martin’s arm and said, “This way. What is your name, lad?”
“Martin Forest, sir.”
“I am not ‘sir’. My name is Giles Masters. I am the brother of the Captain’s lady. We have some time to wait for dinner, as we were not expected today. So in the meantime, we will find you something to replace your coat which I see has been torn. Now tell me what happened in the coach?”
They walked up the grand staircase and Martin heard running feet preparing for the guest and their returning master.
Giles took him to a room on the landing. It was a bedroom and there were clothes laid out on the bed. There was also a bath standing beside the window and, as they stood watching, three maids came in carrying buckets of steaming water. They poured them, in turn, into the bath and then left. A manservant entered with a bucket of obviously cold water. He stood to one side while the maids returned with more hot water. When they left he closed the door.
“Would you test the water, sir?” He held the cold water ready to add to the bath to cool the water down. Giles leaned over and said, “Half the bucket should do, Parker.”
Parker poured half the contents of the bucket into the bath. Giles tested it again.“ That’s fine. I’ll see to things now, Parker. Thank you.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Parker, looking at Martin curiously. He left the room closing the door.
“There
are clothes for you to try on the bed but I thought you would probably wish to have a wash before you put on clean clothes. I’m right, am I not?”
Martin looked at the bath. He had not bathed since he had left home three months ago. He smiled and, ignoring Giles, stripped off his clothes and climbed into the bath.
When Giles and Martin entered the drawing room, the others were all gathered. Martin was introduced by Giles.
The big man—now resplendent in uniform, no sign of the tear gained earlier in the shoulder—shook his hand and introduced himself as Captain Bowers, RN. The lady was the Lady Jane Bowers, the Captain’s wife. The girl, perhaps twelve years old, was Jennifer Bowers, the daughter of the Captain and Lady Bowers. Giles had already introduced himself as the Hon. Giles Masters, the younger brother of Lady Bowers. At eighteen, newly promoted to Lieutenant RN, he was awaiting delivery of his new uniforms.
The girl, Jennifer, was only one year younger than the thirteen-year-old Martin. She looked at the newly-scrubbed, well-dressed, young man in front of her, and, with the candour enjoyed by the young, said, “My goodness, Martin, that is an improvement.”
Seeing the blush appear on Martin’s face, Jane Bowers said, “Really, Jennifer. Please remember that, but for this gentleman, we might be very poorly off.”
Jennifer looked dismayed, then smiled and said, “But he looks much more comfortable now.”
Martin smiled back. “Indeed I am more comfortable I can assure you, and I take no offence at what is patently the truth.”
The party was called to dine with Martin seated between his hostess and Jennifer.
As the meal was served Jennifer prepared to instruct Martin in the order of use for the cutlery. When she realized that he was using the correct spoon for the soup, she stopped herself and set to, while still keeping an eye on Martin.
The Captain was forthright. “Tell me, lad. What brings you to Eastney?”
“I’m afraid it is a poor tale for the company, sir.”
“Oh, please? Tell us how came you here?” Jennifer asked.
“Well…I am from Eynsham in Oxford. My father was a Major in the 18th Dragoons. He retired just four years ago, having bought Walton Manor. It is not as big as this house but it has land. My mother had died when I was just three. Father met his second wife in Oxford. She did not seem unhappy with me, though I now believe she must have always resented my presence. At first she made herself most agreeable. As time went by she arranged for me to be sent to board in Oxford at a private school. While I was studying there she had my father to herself.” Martin paused at this point and accepted the next course, choosing the correct knife and fork to attack it. He smiled as he glanced out of the corner of his eye at Jennifer, noticing her interest in his manners.
He continued at the urging of Lady Bowers. “Oh, do go on, Martin.”
At the urging he continued. “My father was killed in a hunting accident. We had several acres of mixed woodland and grazing and he used to ramble with his gun through the area taking the odd rabbit and sometimes a deer. On the day he died there was frost and ice on the puddles. They say he tripped or slipped and fell on a sharp stone striking his head and breaking his neck. He was found later that day when he did not return home.
“I was not told until I returned from school two weeks later. Meredith, my stepmother, was not happy to see me. From that time I was expected to keep out of sight, though I was clothed and fed.” He paused once more as the courses changed.
“Then,” he hesitated, “Jethro Woods appeared and took up residence with us, apparently as factor for the estate. I was now spending more time with our handyman, Bill Smith. He used to be father’s servant in the army. My stepmother disliked him, too, but he knew all about the estate and perhaps a little more as well. I do believe my stepmother was afraid of him. Bill taught me how to fight. He had been a prize fighter in his youth. He had been travelling with a fairground when he was taken by the law, and chose the army rather than prison.
“Four months ago Bill passed away. During the early winter he took the ague, and never recovered. After the funeral, when I was still in my best clothes following the service, Jethro came to me and told me I must leave. My stepmother could no longer afford to keep me.”
Jennifer gasped. “How could she?” She said, unbelievingly.
“Quiet, Jennifer”, her aunt said firmly. “Let Martin continue.
“I packed my things and set out with a little money I had saved. My stepmother gave me a small purse with five guineas in it. I set off down the road to the south. Just over a mile from the house I was waylaid by Jethro. He warned me never to return. “Come near again and I will kill you”, were his exact words’. I said, ‘I will come back when I have grown up a little more’.”
The steel behind the words made it clear that this young man would do exactly that. The Captain commented to Giles afterward, “I don’t envy Jethro somehow. I cannot see Martin being stopped by threats. Can you?”
Giles, five years older than the lad said. “Damn it, sir. I would not like to be Jethro now if I had to face him. That man at the coach will never forget him, if he still lives.”
On his way south Martin had decided he would try to get a situation on a ship, perhaps as cabin boy. It did not at occur to him that being able to read and write might be more valuable than a strong back and a willing heart.
His clothes had suffered during his journeying over the past four months, and his money had long gone. He had suffered a few knocks but was eternally grateful for the training received from Bill Smith. He had survived many a scrap with his fists and knife. He had learned a few things, too. At thirteen years he stood five-foot six and was growing fast. His educated tongue had got him trouble, but it had got him out of trouble too. A quick learner he had discovered that survival was never just brute force, and that guile was often easier to use than a knife.
That night he slept in a bed for the first time in weeks. The soft feather mattress cosseted his body and he slept, until wakened by the sunlight through the window. His waking was a struggle as, unused to the enveloping sheets and blankets, he took a few moments to remember his situation. He lay back luxuriating in the comfort of the bed. He dozed a little, too. Finally, hearing voices below the window, he reluctantly left the bed and peered out at the scene below. The grassland rose in a slope to the woods on the hilltop. Immediately below his window was the yard, with a stable block on the other side. The noises he had heard were those of the stable lad grooming the horses.
He pulled on his new clothes and ventured downstairs. Following his nose, and the sounds, he found the kitchen. Jennifer was there already chatting to the cook, a slim lady of middle age, her stern face smiling at the chatter from Jennifer. She looked up and with a wicked smile said, “Why, here is the young man himself. Good morning to you, sir. We were just discussing your bravery last evening.”
Martin felt himself blush, and noticed that Jennifer was also blushing as she turned away to look furiously at the cook. She ignored the look and introduced herself. “I’m Mrs.. Hogget, the cook for the household. Normally the young folk come here for breakfast, to the kitchen I mean. It allows the grown-ups a chance to eat their breakfast while the Captain reads the papers.
Martin said, “Good morning, Mrs.. Hogget. Jennifer, I am obliged to you and happy to eat breakfast here with you both.”
Jennifer turned and smiled at him. “Hello, Martin. Father suggested you might like to go riding this morning if the weather allows. Would you like that?”
“I would be delighted, provided you will show me where to go. I am a stranger to this area.”
“Of course I will. I’ll just tell Will to prepare the horses.” She dashed out of the door into the yard calling to Will.
As Martin seated himself Mrs.. Hogget said, “She is delighted to have someone here near her own age. Mr.. Giles is very good but he is older, and at her age Giles seems like a grown up. She is still a child in many ways.”
“I
am only perhaps one year older than she,” Martin said.
“Ah, but you have lived in the real world, from what I hear. If you’ll forgive me saying so, it shows.”
He looked at her, lifting his eyes from the big plate of bacon and eggs placed in front of him.
She looked him straight in the eye and said, “I means’ it, Mr. Martin. I look at you and you have a look of a man, even more so than Mr. Giles who is five years your senior. You’ll keep an eye on our Jennifer out riding, won’t you?”
“Of course, Mrs.. Hogget. And I don’t take your words amiss. There are times I have felt very old during the past few months. I presume it shows.”
He ate his breakfast, interrupted by Jennifer returning, chattering happily about the horses and the countryside around the house.
Wearing an old pair of riding boots that almost fitted, Martin walked the horse out of the stable yard. Will, the groom, followed Jennifer, who was riding side-saddle on a Welsh cob.
All three cantered up the rise to the tree line where a path followed the tree-line along to a small lake. They rode for an hour before returning to the house, rosy cheeked and laughing as they shared a quip made by Will, the stable lad.
Captain Bowers watched them, noting the easy manner between them. He had an idea that Martin might well become a permanent fixture here, for a time at least. As he looked he thought of the son he had never had. Jane could not have any children. He loved Jennifer, and was happy and proud of Giles, his young brother-in-law, there was still that feeling that something was missing. He shook his head and straightened up, annoyed that he was becoming maudlin. He would talk to Martin as soon as possible.
The two young people came in to see the grown-ups after they had tidied up from their ride. Martin particularly wished to thank them for their hospitality and make arrangements to move on.
