It was not much of a speech – his speeches never were, he supposed – but it had said all that was important. He assigned the men to their masts, enquiring of their skills and finding them all to be ordinary or landsmen – no care had been taken to train them, to better them professionally and in process make their ship more efficient.
The captain returned, disgruntled, short-tempered.
“The only purser seeking employment in Pompey is the gentleman who did not issue slops on the Chaffinch. I refused him. A port the size of Pompey and not one experienced purser to hand – would you credit it? We are to have a captain’s clerk who has saved his deposit come to us as his first ship. Not a desirable state of affairs, gentlemen!”
Pursers placed an honesty bond on deposit with the Navy Board, forfeitable in case of proven malfeasance. Most pursers regarded the bond in the light of a purchase, rather as the Army sold its commissions, and devoted themselves to a sufficiency of peculation to show an early profit on the transaction. Not all pursers were wholly corrupt, but few indeed were wholly honest and newer pursers were in the nature of things hungrier pursers with emptier purses to fill.
“At least, sir,” Horley offered, “sailing so soon, our stores are safe.”
“True, no chance to steal them, is there? Are our sails to hand yet, Mr Horley?”
Horley did not know, was surprised to discover that he should, very good-naturedly pledged himself to discover on the instant and go to the loft in person, if they were not.
Frederick went in search of the gunner, found him to be young, enthusiastic, new to his rate, Welsh and entered the service as a boy run away from the mines after a first, horrified day.
“Mr Thomas? I am to work with the guns, I find. Could we perhaps discuss the pieces, look at what we have?”
“Carronades on the broadside, as you know, Mr Harris. New, with the inclined slide. Thirty two pounders, true smashers, so long as you keep within a cable. A pair of iron nine pounders as chase guns, perhaps accurate to four cables, five in a calm – not as true as brass guns, sir. We would do better with a single Long Nine, sir. Easier, too, to have but one calibre of ball.”
“Would not the weight press on the forefoot, Mr Thomas?”
“Not with the hold stored aft, sir.”
The Long Nine was a thirty two pound cannon with a nine foot barrel, slowly bored from a single block on the new steam-powered lathes available in a few English artillery foundries. The bore was perfectly true, straight and with a minimum of play, and could propel a ball exactly and predictably over a mile. With a falling trajectory at longer ranges the great ball would plunge through most decks and cause massive damage. Like the carronade it was a product of the new industry and did much to explain British naval supremacy at the time. The Long Nine was slow to load, nine foot of barrel demanding tedious swabbing and ramming, and had to have a crew of at least eight powerful men, and it took up a lot of space on a crowded forecastle – some captains swore by them, others would not have them at any price, but, generally speaking, the younger, more modern-minded, gunnery captains tried their best to lay their hands on the few available.
“Too late now, Mr Thomas – perhaps we could discuss the matter with the captain for our next refit.”
They walked the guns, none yet named, small, stubby objects with their barrels lashed inboard on their slides.
“No flintlocks, Mr Thomas?”
“Stored dry in the magazine, sir, keeps the salt spray off their springs. They fasten on a pair of wing-nuts, look you, sir, takes just a few seconds to fit them. Second gunner runs to the magazine for them when quarters is beaten.”
In battle the carronades of the engaged side would be served by crews of four men, the second gunner tending the unemployed side, ensuring there was a loaded, primed piece waiting against need. It was essential that every man had his exact place to stand, his tools – rammer, handspike, pricker - to hand, and out of each other’s way and clear of recoil and not impeding the powder monkeys with their reloads. Each man must know what to do and be practised in doing it well, able to work autonomously, a pair of hands needing no directing brain in the noise and crash and terror of battle. Each man must also be able to step into the place of any casualty; by training’s end the whole crew of four must be able to do every job equally well. Because of the wealth of England’s industry it was possible to train the men live, to actually fire off powder and shot; even if it was not a lot, it was a luxury other navies hardly enjoyed.
Frederick gave thought to the crews, decided to put a Chaffinch to each so as to spread them through the ship and add them to the existing messes; the alternative was to allow them to become segregated, a separate, alien group, a potential source of rivalry, disharmony, indiscipline. It occurred to Frederick that this was a First Lieutenant’s function – but Horley would not know, nor care probably.
Each crew must have one man designated sail-trimmer, to run to his mast if a tack was called; a second must be boarder, though the whole crew would board if necessary; a third must be fireman to gallop with his leather bucket if the pipe was made. Each must know exactly what to do and when, and must have some idea of what to do first if there was any doubt. Even the boys must be shown just how to carry their wooden buckets with a pair of sewn cartridges with six pounds of black powder in each.
Because the Athene had carronades with their smaller crews there would be men spare for swivels on the rails and in the tops. The Marine detachment under their sergeant would provide sentries at the hatches, serve the swivels in the mizzen and set up a line of six muskets on the quarterdeck. Frederick pulled out his little book, made a note to instruct swivels and small arms first to clear an enemy’s tops, then his quarterdeck and then targets of opportunity, gun crews, boarders, active officers, the wheel, whatever a bright man felt was good.
An hour with pencil and several pieces of paper and Frederick had a quarter bill for his guns, names and places detailed. He made a copy, gave it to the boatswain so that each man could be told his place at any time, the more stupid physically led there the first few times.
“Will there be evening quarters, sir?” Porson enquired.
“First lieutenant’s decision, I believe, in harbour.”
“Yes, sir.”
Porson’s voice and face were utterly neutral, conveyed nothing at all. Frederick began to worry.
“Crew have been on harbour duty all week, have they not, Porson?”
“Yes, sir. Polishing brass, whitening the deck, painting. All very necessary, sir.”
A new crew, one that had never taken the ship to sea.
“Thank you, Porson. After the men’s dinner will you pipe my foremast to evolutions, please.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
He informed Horley of his intention to exercise his mast and get to know his men, was given wholly uninterested permission, Horley’s sole concern being whether or not he should have a second glass before dinner. Frederick went in search of Brown, captain of the foremast, a senior petty officer and in line for warrant rank as boatswain’s or master’s mate.
“Let’s make sure every man knows his place, Brown, Chaffinches especially. Topsail and a couple of jibs, I would think, leaving harbour, course when we are into Spithead. Get them ready to do the job.”
“They’ll need working up, sir. We’re long on landsmen, short on able-bodied, and they Chaffinches, sir, they never been taught to work together. I taken them up in small parties like, sir, so as they knows where they ought to be, but they ain’t never worked together as they should.”
An hour’s exercise stretched to three, at the end of which it seemed possible that the order to make sail might be obeyed, if not with any great efficiency.
“What of main and mizzen, Porson?”
“I asks myself that, too, sir.”
Sailing day, bright and early, high tide and Athene’s order to proceed fluttering on the Port-Admiral’s signalling mast.
“Acknowledge, Mr Ho
rley.”
As so often, the wind was in the south-west, easy to leave the harbour and enter Spithead but the Channel would demand tack after tack, bringing up Ushant, skirting Biscay and finally setting course almost to the Azores to pick up the Trades for the West Indies.
“Foretops’l; single jib; maintops’l; mizzentops’l and driver, Mr Paston. We’ll make a bit of a show.”
Topmen poured aloft, canvas began to unfurl, the anchor party walked the capstan aided by the first impetus of the ebb and Athene commenced a slow glide away from Gosport and towards the Harbour mouth, tide and current pulling her across the fairway towards the dockyard. Telescopes pointed and a few loud guffaws floated across the water; a pair of watermen rested on their oars catcalling.
The foremast was slow but eventually sheeted home, topsail and jib drawing, pulling Athene’s head away from the shore; Horley’s voice could be heard, just, feebly calling for a better effort from his people.
“Gleeson, I say, Gleeson! Set that jolly sail, will you!”
Frederick raised a hand to Brown, received an acknowledgement, called across to Ball, his official second on the foremast. “Go up, get the men ready to set the course, everybody to his place.”
Brown walked across to them, nodded to the main and mizzen. “Bartholomew Fair, sir, I ain’t never seen nothing like it!”
Frederick grinned, suddenly shouted to one of the Chaffinches, a landsman who had just stepped away from the braces towards the heads. “You there! Get out from underfoot! To me, man!”
The seaman obeyed, avoided the end of the anchor cable, just unbent and lashing across as it was pulled down to the cable locker far below.
“Don’t start him, Brown! No need for it, he simply did not see. Tell him, this time.”
Brown put his unofficial, wholly illegal rope’s end down. Some officers could not abide casual beating of the men, some demanded it, and most did not care; he knew what sort Frederick was now.
They stared disapprovingly, hands clasped behind their backs, at main and mizzen, neither with a sail set. Some of the men were still laboriously climbing the ratlines, few were in their proper places, one was facing the wrong way on the yard; several were fumbling with canvas gaskets, tied round the sails neatly and tightly and left untouched so long as to stiffen.
“Cut the bloody things, man!” Frederick muttered. “Tell them.”
Horley continued to call encouragement in the most general terms, vague exhortations to do jolly better, to get stuck in, to get the job done. He occasionally waved his arms as if that might help.
“Mr Horley! Get below! Get off my deck, you hopeless … gentleman, you!”
The captain issued a series of orders, succeeded eventually in subduing the chaos, quelling the increasing laughter and getting a minimum of sail set so that Athene could not only leave harbour but also avoid grounding on the Isle of Wight. Once clear of the deeply appreciative audience of what seemed to be every telescope in the fleet, and having left behind the witty hoveller offering a tow, Atkinson set the courses, mast by mast, handed the watch to the master and retired with his two lieutenants to his cabin; he instructed Horley to leave his glass behind, made no comment as the lieutenant emptied it.
“Let us be thankful, gentlemen, that we shall not return to Pompey for at least three years; they may have forgotten the raree-show by then, though I much expect it will have been so much commented upon as to haunt us for ever.”
Atkinson sat slowly down, trembling with a rage he could hardly suppress.
“Mr Harris! Your mast was a bloody disgrace! Given time and exercise it will, however, become acceptable – the building blocks are there. I noted that you had commenced the process of training your men, without support from the officer who should have been directing your efforts and showing you the right way of doing the job! I am thankful to you, sir. Without sail on the foremast we would undoubtedly have driven ashore, for lack of a bower anchor made ready against emergency and in the absence of any other sea-officer. You are present at this interview as a witness, Mr Harris, for such may be needed at court-martial, myself too angry to remember every word and my premier too drunk!”
Atkinson turned then to Horley, looked him up and down sneeringly, inviting him to break silence, to offer an unlawful challenge or contentious words that could place him in jeopardy.
Horley said nothing, might not even have understood what was happening.
“As you have noticed, Mr Horley, I am not a gentleman born: consequently I do not have to gloss over the inadequacies of my fellows in the caste. You are no seaman, sir; you are a drunkard; you have made no attempt to attend to your duties; you are lazy and ignorant. I would have replaced you, if I could have, but you have too much influence, and use that influence in place of more manly attributes.”
Again Atkinson waited, hoping that Horley might be provoked into a response that no court could ignore.
Silence.
“You have some wisdom, it would seem, or maybe no stomach for it! You will exercise the masts, Mr Horley, for an hour of each watch except the dogs, yourself personally present, sir. The men are not at fault, will not be casually flogged or cobbed or started, but will be trained in their duty. I shall exercise great guns myself, in dumbshow, firing once a week. Small arms must wait, Mr Harris, until we are a week out of Antigua.”
Atkinson stood, strutted round his desk, stared into Horley’s eyes. “Should I find any commission or warrant officer treading my deck the worse for alcohol, I shall have him placed under restraint until such time as he can be dismissed or exchanged from my ship. My own career will, I doubt not, be blighted by the ‘gentlemen’, but the officer in question will never serve at sea again. Am I clear, sir?”
“You are, sir!”
“Good. You will bring to me a schedule of exercise in your own hand for the main and mizzen.”
“Mr Harris, the same for foremast, please, in consultation with the master.”
They left, Horley inclined to be indignant – it was not his fault, he was no mere mechanical, no artisan – the Admiralty in its wisdom appointed masters to sail ships, knowing that gentlefolk could not be expected to concern themselves with the … words failed him … the ‘dirty-handed’ aspects of life at sea. The gentleman’s role was to fight and lead, not to engage in mere seamanship, did not Mr Harris agree.
To an extent Frederick did agree – he was himself no intuitive seaman, was only too happy to be led through his evolutions, but he was not about to disagree with his captain’s orders, still less to range himself alongside a fainéant drunk. He excused himself to wait upon Mr Paston, beg his assistance as ordered.
Paston retired to produce the lists required and Frederick took the deck, the watches by now thoroughly confused; he glanced at the midshipman and master’s mate, saw the rigid lack of expression of the signals’ men and quartermasters at the wheel, saw as well the skylight of the captain’s cabin, heard the buzz of voices as he conferred with the new purser. Atkinson had made his displeasure loud and clear and his opinion of and contempt for Horley would be known to every crewman in detail by the time the beer allowance was drunk. He peered at the slate, checked the course and wind, guessed at Athene’s speed; they would hold this tack till dark, he estimated, then claw away from Ushant, giving the rocks and cliffs a very wide berth at night. He began to pace, deep in thought.
‘Talk to Brown – shift the hands about so as to get a better balance of skills – get to know the gun-captains – kick the arse of that bloody midshipman Rowell, playing the fool, staggering about drunken-like.’
“Mr Rowell!”
The boy froze in mid-caper, turned a polite, enquiring eye to Frederick.
“Main topmasthead, Mr Rowell, practise your droll japes and gestures on the sea-gulls, sir! Let me not see you on deck again till next your watch is called!”
Six hours at the masthead, then four more on watch, missing his dinner - that should teach him some manners, the ignorant little sod!
There would be trouble because of Horley unless exceptional care was taken: the people would feel contempt for him, which was not in itself unusual, some officers were well-hated, despised in fact, without disorder resulting, although they might well be murdered when the occasion arose, but the public nature of Horley’s humiliation might lead to overt reactions – if the captain could show his feelings, then the crew might decide to follow his lead. Even in his fairly short career Frederick had discovered that there was no such beast as a ‘typical seaman’ – every man, and the occasional woman, was different. Some were stupid, some were very clever indeed; many were drunkards, but some cleaved to the driest of churches; many were running from a shore-bound existence they could not cope with, but a few sent money home and were risking war at sea in the hope of bettering their families’ condition; some were hopeless, some ambitious; most were of one of the lower classes, a few were déclassé, almost none came from the criminal gutter – they could normally avoid the press and would never volunteer. Almost all had some idea of what was right and fair and their lawful due, yet almost none of those ideas corresponded exactly. Most importantly, the overwhelming majority sought a quiet life, would conform with pleasure, in a normal ship would never be disciplined at all, except perhaps on their birthday or after a remarkably good shore run; most would confidently expect never to feel the lash. A few, though, were naturally wicked, full of vice, a danger to themselves and to those they contaminated with their contiguity, and some of these would see disorder on the quarterdeck and react to it in the only way they knew, wickedly. These few would have to be identified early and watched, the boatswain making it clear to them that he was waiting for them to step just one inch out of line – that meant careful, elliptical allusion to Mr Porson, for it would never do to say out loud what both knew, that their superior was a useless sot who had to be protected for the greater good of all. ‘Tact’, Frederick thought, vaguely aware that it was the only four-letter word absent from most sailors’ vocabulary.
The Friendly Sea (The Duty and Destiny Series, Book 1) Page 5
