Harry Heron: Midshipman's Journey

by Patrick G Cox

  His despondency worried Ferghal, who now watched him as Harry listlessly drank his tea and stared out of the window. “Cook says there’s to be a supper reception tonight. Mr Heron is receiving several friends and clients,” Ferghal announced brightly. The butler had already told him his services would be required in the pantry to assist with the serving of drinks. “I’m told to have my fiddle handy in case the master wishes some music.” The butler played the flute very well, and the footman was another. Between them, they often managed a repertoire of popular tunes, and Ferghal had taught them some of the Irish melodies of his home. Their employer played the harpsichord, and very occasionally demanded the accompaniment of his musical staff.

  Nodding, Harry forced a smile. The guests would include a naval Captain, and he’d already been primed to make a good impression upon this gentleman. As usual, of course, after being introduced, he would retire to read alone, since boys of his age were not considered old enough to be part of such a gathering. “So I am advised,” Harry finally responded to Ferghal’s comment, rousing himself from his reverie. “Captain, the Lord Garlies, of the ship Bellerophon will be here, and I hope I make a good impression. His ship is in repair at Chatham.”

  In an ironic twist, Ferghal’s position allowed him far greater freedom of movement than Harry’s did. As his knowledge of the streets and districts of this part of the city had grown, he’d been employed to carry messages, to run errands, and to accompany the cook, the footman, or the Butler himself on various excursions of purchase. In effect, he’d seen far more of the metropolis than Harry had done. Being a servant also meant that he frequently saw far more of the social occasions than Harry did. While his friend often dined alone or spent the evening in his cousin’s study while guests were entertained in the dining room, library, and drawing room, Ferghal found himself mingling, invisibly it seemed, with the great and powerful, while Harry languished alone wondering when someone would agree to sponsor him.

  “I shall hope, then, that he takes pity on us felonious Irishmen.” Grinning mischievously, he added, “I shall make it my business to make sure he is attended more closely than any other.”

  Despite his mood, Harry laughed.

  TURNED OUT IN HIS RECENTLY ACQUIRED EVENING ATTIRE—a gift from his cousin—Harry stood with him to receive the guests. Amid the sprinkling of barristers and lawyers, there were two Members of Parliament, a handful of knights and an earl, a robust gentleman who talked of hunting and shooting to everyone and lost interest in Harry as soon as he confessed that he did neither. Captain Lord Garlies arrived alone, one of only three military gentlemen, the other two being members of the Household Brigade—what Harry’s father referred to as Hyde Park soldiers rather deprecatingly.

  Shaking hands with the Captain, he found himself meeting the penetrating gaze of a man who projected self-assurance. “So, Master Heron, a pleasure to meet you. From Scrabo in County Down, I believe.”

  “I have that honour, sir.” The handshake was firm, and Harry returned it.

  “Good, good. My estates are just across the water in Scotland, though I rarely have time to spend there at present. You seek a ship, young man?”

  “I do, sir. I have my certificates from Captain Fergusson of Belfast. I have petitioned the Admiralty, but have not, as yet, received a reply.”

  “Ah. The Admiralty can often be tardy in such matters.” Accepting a drink from the tray Ferghal presented, the Captain continued. “I believe Lord Burnham mentioned meeting you at Banbury.” A smile creased his face. “I shall talk to your cousin later.” With that, he was gone.

  Once the last guest had been greeted, Harry retired to the study where he had a good book to read, a tome on Admiral Lord Anson’s circumnavigation of the globe, and a light supper brought by Tom Sharp, the boot boy, who, like Ferghal, was also engaged in attending the needs of the guests. Through the open French window looking onto the small neat garden, he could hear the hubbub of conversation from the adjoining rooms, and eventually the music from there.

  Absorbed in his book, he was startled by the opening of the door.

  “Ah, Master Heron.” Captain Garlies shut the door. “Remain seated, young man, I would like a word with you, and this is a suitable moment, I think.”

  Resuming his seat, Harry marked his place in the book and put it aside. “I am at your service, sir.”

  Nodding, the Captain seated himself opposite, arranging the tails of his gold laced coat carefully. “Your cousin Henry Heron, Lord Burnham, and several others speak very highly of you.” He smiled. “Lord Burnham was particularly impressed by your defence of your man from the people in Banbury in the face of what he described as a rabble.”

  “Thank you, sir. I fear his lordship may have enlarged upon events and my part in them. I merely did what anyone would have done in defence of their friends.”

  Leaning back, the Captain sipped from the glass in his hand, his eyes narrowed, but with a glint of interest in them. “As you say, one does one’s duty in such circumstances.” Hesitating for a moment, he continued. “I have a vacancy for a midshipman at the moment, though my ship is currently under repair and refit at Chatham. I am offering you that post, Master Heron. What do you say to that?”

  Harry’s heart leapt. Flushing with pleasure, he responded, “Thank you, sir, with all my heart.” A sudden thought struck him. “My companion—he has been my manservant here—is there a place for him in your crew, sir?”

  The Captain looked startled, and then he smiled slowly. “If there were not, would you still accept my offer?”

  Realising he was being forward, Harry blushed. “My pardon, sir. I should accept, but I would then be obliged to find the means for Ferghal to pursue his ambition to accompany me.”

  Throwing back his head, Captain, the Lord Garlies, George Stewart, laughed. “Very proper, Master Heron. In fact, no man o’ war can ever have enough seamen. There is a place for your fiddle playing companion.” He rose and Harry scrambled to his feet. “Lord Burnham was right, you have what we need. I will arrange matters at the Admiralty.” He held out his hand. “Good night, young man.”

  Chapter 8

  Appointment

  Captain George Stewart, Lord Garlies, Eighth Earl of Galloway and Member of Parliament, honoured his promise to Harry. A week after the reception, a messenger delivered a letter, requiring Master Henry Nelson-Heron to present himself, with his certificates and letters of parental assent, to the Admiralty. Hardly able to contain his excitement, Harry went in search of Ferghal.

  “At last!” He waved the directive. “We have an appointment at the Admiralty. This says I am to report to Room 40, The Admiralty, and present myself to a Mr Sanders, Clerk of Appointments.”

  Ferghal whooped. “That it is, Master Harry. While you have courted the great and powerful, I have explored these streets and tried to advance my schooling. I have missed Mister Carrigan’s lessons, in truth. The work here is poor fare for me, and I have spent my earnings on the lending library and what books I could find to follow what you have talked of.” As soon as Ferghal said this, he immediately regretted it, as Harry’s face showed his shame.

  “Oh, Ferghal, I am sorry,” Harry exclaimed. “I took no thought to your needs. I have been so absorbed in pursuing my own affairs.” He gripped his friend’s arm and added, “I will buy those books for you and more if you tell me what you need.”

  “Nay, Master Harry, you shall not. You have done enough for me as it is. I know how you have fought for my comfort, and your money is little enough for your own needs.” With a grin, he said, “Save it for when we are afloat. I am sure I will find the means to balance the account.”

  With a laugh Harry said, “Ferghal, you tormentor, I know you shall, and I will pay up gladly.”

  “I’m ready to go, I confess.” Grinning, Ferghal laid aside the silverware he’d been polishing. “Though I suspect I am trading a dry, warm home and easy tasks with a fair wage for a wet, unsteady one and
harsher tasks at half the pay.”

  Harry stared for a moment. “Oh, I’d not thought of that either. My cousin pays you sixpence a week and provides your board, and the Admiralty pays a boy four pence.”

  “Aye, if the boy is above fifteen. I be fourteen and a half.” Ferghal saw Harry’s pleasure and excitement vanish from his expression. Taking pity, he smiled. “But, Master Harry, it is my choice. I am not compelled to join just because you have your appointment. I choose to do so, and there is a whole crown as a bounty for volunteers.”

  “Five shillings? That is almost a quarter’s pay for you here.” Hesitating, Harry asked, “Ferghal, are you sure you wish to follow me?”

  “Lord love you, Master Harry, of course I’m certain. When do you go to the Admiralty? Must I come with you?”

  “It does not say so, but, yes, if you would, I would value the company.”

  COUSIN HENRY’S TOWN CARRIAGE DELIVERED THE PAIR to the entrance of the grand Admiralty buildings. Slightly overawed by the setting and the stream of men in gold laced uniforms strolling through the door and standing in clustered conversation in the corridors, Harry presented himself to the porter and was conveyed to a waiting room clutching his slim leather wallet containing his certificates and the all-important letters from his father giving his consent to his son’s appointment.

  The waiting room had a number of occupants, most of them half pay Lieutenants seeking appointments, but there were occasional appearances of commanders, marked by their single epaulet, and once a full Captain. None of these waited long. Harry began to think he’d been forgotten when an elderly messenger, evidently a former seaman with a missing arm, approached.

  “Master ’eron? If you’ll follow me, zur.”

  His heart racing, Harry rose and followed. A Lieutenant near the door smiled, saying, “Good luck, youngster, and a fair wind for your career.”

  Startled, Harry smiled. “Thank you, sir,” he added as he passed through the door.

  His guide smiled and ushered him up the grand staircase and along a corridor. Stopping at a door, he was about to knock when it opened, and Captain Lord Garlies emerged. “Ah, Master Heron, excellent—still of a mind to become a midshipman in my ship?”

  “I am sir,” replied Harry, standing stiffly erect in an effort to increase his four feet and six inches. “I would like that more than anything.”

  The Captain laughed, and turning to a fellow Captain who had emerged from the room, he said, “There, as I told you, full of pluck.” Turning again to Harry, he said, “Then young man, you will need to outfit yourself within the next week. Mr Sanders has a warrant of appointment for you. Once you sign the receipt for it, you will receive orders to report aboard at Chatham in eight days. If your companion is still of a like mind, there is a berth for him among the ship’s boys. What say you, sir?”

  Harry beamed. “Why, thank you, Sir. Ferghal awaits me without. I shall tell him directly Mr Sanders dismisses me.”

  Both Captains laughed and moved on, leaving Harry to enter the room.

  “Please sit, Mr Heron. You have your certificates?”

  Handing over the wallet, Harry replied, “Here, sir. My father’s letters of consent are there as well.”

  “Good, good.” Removing the documents from the wallet, the elderly clerk scanned them quickly then passed them to a junior. “Record these, Mr Turner.” He pushed a document toward Harry. “This is an acceptance of a position as midshipman. Once you have signed it, you accept the authority of the Crown, exercised through your officers under the Articles of War. I suggest you read it first.”

  Accepting the document, Harry waded through the flowery legal language, glad he’d had the opportunity to read some of his cousin’s legal tomes in the weeks of waiting for this momentous day. When he had finished reading the document, he looked at the clerk. “I believe I understand the import of this, sir.”

  “Excellent, you must be one of the first young gentlemen I have encountered in all my years here who has read it as carefully as you did.” Holding out a quill for Harry, he said, “Sign here, young man.” With a wink, he added, “From that moment onwards you are the servant of King George under the direction of your Captain.”

  Harry wrote his name carefully so as not to commit the ultimate solecism of creating a blot and handed the pen back to the clerk. Taking it carefully, Mr Sanders sprinkled sand across the signature then applied the blotter. When satisfied the ink was dry, he placed the document in a tray, extracted a sealed packet and passed this to Harry.

  “Your warrant of appointment, Mr Heron, and your orders to repair on board HMS Bellerophon, presently laying at Chatham. Here is a list of all the things you must acquire before you join. And here is the direction of a supplier Captain Stewart, Lord Garlies, recommends, who will not rob you.” He passed across two sheets of paper. “God speed, young man. May you have a successful career.”

  Recognising his dismissal, Harry rose, thanked the clerk, retrieved his wallet of certificates, and bowed himself out of the room, passing at the door the Lieutenant who’d wished him well.

  “Got your appointment, lad?” He smiled. “Good luck; perhaps we will meet again.”

  “Thank you, sir.” His face radiating happiness, Harry made his way to the staircase, encountering at its head Captain Lard Garlies in conversation with a man whose uniform he recognised as that of an admiral.

  “You have your warrant, Mr Heron?” the Captain enquired.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you. I am indebted to you.”

  “Not at all, young Heron, not at all.” Smiling at Harry’s obvious pleasure, he added, “Best get on then, you have much to prepare.”

  Bowing politely to the two officers, Harry forced himself to walk with as much dignity as possible to the entrance where Ferghal, wrapped against the cold, waited.

  Following his passage down the stairs, the admiral remarked, “Not yet thirteen, you say? Remarkable presence for one so young; one who may make a mark, I dare say, provided he survives and finds the patronage.”

  “Indeed. I am convinced that he will make a fine officer when he matures a little.” The Captain paused. “But what news of the proposed peace? Is Bonaparte likely to have the support of his ministers?”

  HURRYING DOWN THE GRAND STAIRCASE, Harry struggled to behave in a dignified manner and not leap the steps several at a time. Once he passed through the door, he found Ferghal waiting, warming his hands over the brazier at the Porter’s cabin next to the main door.

  “Ferghal,” he gasped, abandoning his pretence at composure. “I have seen Captain Stewart—Lord Garlies—and the Clerk. I have my warrant, and you may sign on as soon as we reach his ship..”

  Ferghal grinned at his exuberance. “The Lord be praised. I shall light a candle to the Holy Mother of God as soon as I can. When do we join the ship?”

  “In eight days, but I must start preparations immediately. I have to buy my uniform and much else besides. Here is the list of everything I require—the clerk was very helpful—and the direction of the supplier. It is not far from here, so hail us a cab, there’s a good man. We have work to do.” Harry’s enthusiasm was infectious, and the grins and smiles of the men around them gave evidence of it.

  Ferghal didn’t hesitate. Signalling a cab, he helped Harry mount. As Harry gave directions to the cabbie, Ferghal made to clamber on behind, but Harry would have none of it. “Inside, Ferghal,” he commanded. “My cousin is not here to disapprove.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ferghal grinned and clambered up as the cab started off.

  “Aye, aye, you rogue!” Harry laughed. “Oh, Ferghal, at last I have an appointment. I had begun to think that we must return home a failure. Cousin Henry was right; it is no easy matter to obtain the right patron. I suspect Lord Burnham may have swung the balance for us here since I applied to him to honour his offer of endorsement just three weeks ago.” He looked serious for a moment. “I shall write to my father and tell him, and give him
the direction of Lord Burnham so he may write as well.” He grinned again. “And now, my friend, tell me truly—do you really want to follow me in this? Be honest with me, for if you do not, I would not wish you to feel compelled to follow me.”

  Ferghal grinned. “Master Harry, you have led me into many scrapes and out of them. Of course I want to follow you in this. Scrabo would be dull indeed without your company and your starts. I can only hope the life afloat will temper our wild spirits.”

  FERGHAL WATCHED FROM A POSITION NEAR THE DOOR as Harry was measured for a coat, breeches and waistcoats then fitted for a hat and shoes. The pile of items grew steadily as he watched.

  “You will need a sea chest, young sir.” The clerk said smiling at Harry’s enthusiasm. He saw many young men preparing for their first appointment, but this youngster was courteous, unlike many he dealt with. “If your man could assist me, I will bring one through, and some of your purchases can be stowed immediately.”

  “Thank you, Mister Grieves.” Harry turned to Ferghal. “Would you mind, my friend?”

  Moving from his position, Ferghal smiled. “O’ course not, Master Harry.”

  The clerk frowned briefly at Ferghal’s accent. “An Irishman? Ah, my apologies, Mr. Heron, of course, you’re from County Down yourself.” Turning to Ferghal, he said, “This way, if you please. The chests are through here.” Leading the way, he entered a store room and indicated a row of identical sea chests, all to a pattern laid down by the Admiralty for young gentlemen and officers. “Select one of those for your master then bring it with us.”