by Alaric Bond
The company were quite fascinated by his performance, with only the occasional whistle or sigh from Seagrove or Willis, both of whom had heard the story at least once before, to break the respectful silence. As he finished Rogers wondered if he might have exaggerated his part slightly too much; but, on reflection, and after receiving the decanter for the second time, he told himself he had pitched it about right.
Drayton's apple lay on his plate untouched. “It seems the merchant navy has much to be grateful for,” he said, collecting his glass and twirling it in his hand meditatively. “And the East India Company must have been especially pleased when you applied to become a commander in their service.”
“I was equally delighted,” Rogers hurried to assure him. “To be honest I expected promotion following my actions. When none was forthcoming, I decided my true destiny lay elsewhere, and was very pleased to accept their offer.”
Drayton nodded. “I was returning from China at that time, but was soon made aware of your joining the Company, of course.”
He caught the man's eye, and for a moment nothing was said. Then, Drayton turned away, and began a neat dissection of his apple. For the first time, a doubt began to form in Rogers’s mind. Might he have gone too far? There had been no direct approach as such; no tempting proposal from Leadenhall Street following valiant, yet unrewarded service. His formal application to become a ship's master was made in the usual manner, and even initially rejected. Several times, in fact. The lengths that his father eventually went to in securing his command were considerable, and might well be common knowledge in the higher circles of the Company. Drayton was known to have both status and influence; it was one of the reasons Rogers was pleased to have him on board, but just how far did it reach? And rather than do him good, could it possibly be dangerous?
The uncertainties began to multiply in the rather fuddled regions of Rogers’s mind until the sober parts temporarily, regained control. He reached out and downed the rest of his port in one swallow. This would not do. It would not do at all. As soon as he allowed another person to exercise power over him, he would be lost. He closed his eyes while the drink made its way past his throat. Whatever Drayton might or might not know, Rogers was the captain of this ship, and while he remained so, there was nothing the man could do to harm him.
“Well, I think we must all be very glad to have you in command, Captain Rogers.” The voice came from further down the table. It belonged to a rather harsh northern woman travelling with her husband, a small man who traded in tea and had a hair lip. Rogers’s delay in asking the ladies to retire was due partly to the lack of suitable quarters to receive them; although, in truth, he was quite content for them to stay, as it gave him greater chance to impress. In fact, this particular woman's husband was not present, still suffering from the aftereffects of seasickness apparently. Rogers might have no current intention of exploiting her, but who could tell what the future might bring? What was their name, Cralltree? Coltree? Crabtree; that was it.
He lowered his head and muttered a brief, “Thank you, ma’am.” Miss Hanshaw's reaction was far more important to him at present. He glanced to his right and was delighted to see an expression of stunned surprise on her face. He gave her one of his more caring looks.
“Did you enjoy your meal, Miss Hanshaw?”
The girl seemed to jump slightly as she was addressed. “Why yes, captain; thank you, it was quite delightful.”
“You have a cabin in steerage, have you not?” He was every bit the dutiful, concerned commander.
She raised one eyebrow delightfully. “Indeed, sir, what of it?”
Rogers’s expression deepened. Talk had begun about the table, and he lowered his voice so as not to be overheard. “Can get a little noisy down there, and crowded; of course, what with the animals…”
The girl was looking at him doubtfully now. “My quarters suit me admirably, captain, I do assure you.”
“There is, I believe, a spare position in the roundhouse,” he persisted in little more than a whisper. “On this deck and with excellent stern windows. You will have light and air and be able to take meals at this table. It really would be far more comfortable.”
“If better accommodation is available, captain, I would know of it.” Mrs Crabtree's ears were clearly as powerful as her voice. He leant back and surveyed the woman.
“Sadly, madam, the quarters are designated for one only, and I should be the last to separate a wife from her husband.”
The woman gave out a giggle that was horribly skittish. “Oh, I might have no objection, sir,” she said, amidst slightly awkward laughter from those around her. Rogers bowed his head again, making a mental note to treat Mrs Crabtree very carefully in future. She would be saved for extreme emergencies only.
He turned back to the contrast that was Miss Hanshaw. Her blonde hair was dressed in the most elegant manner, and he almost had to physically restrain his hand from reaching out to touch it.
“Let me make enquires, my dear,” he continued. “I will speak with the officer responsible for cabin allocation and see if a change cannot be made.”
“It is kind of you, sir.”
The decanter was with him again, and he helped himself to a generous measure. “Oh no, it will be my pleasure,” he said.
* * *
The following morning, their second at anchor at the Downs, was lit with the sort of bright, clean, and vaguely warming winter sunshine that was especially welcome. King had the quarterdeck to himself; the hands having carried out the twice-weekly holystoning earlier. The carpenter with two of his mates was working on a minor repair to the forward hatchway, while painters were on a stage at the larboard bow attending to a scrape. Odours of marine glue and paint mixed oddly with cooking smells from the galley chimney, and both almost overrode the farmyard stench which was quickly taking over most of the ship. The wind was predicted to change soon, and the prospect of sailing on tomorrow morning's tide seemed more than likely. The new fifth mate was due to join them at Pompey, and Paterson had again intimated that further hands could also be expected. With a fresh officer and more men, it was possible that this trip might not end up as poorly as he had expected. In fact, King was feeling quite optimistic.
The mail boat had called on them the previous day, and by some great stroke of fortune, there was a letter for him from Juliana. It was less than three weeks old and might well be the last he received before seeing India. He thought of her now, while he looked out over the forest of masts that spread out about him. There was a mass of shipping, and most were waiting for the fair wind to take them south, although few would be travelling so far as Pevensey Castle. In a matter of weeks he should be several hundred miles away, although in truth, the war, and Juliana's home on the coast of enemy Holland, were as effective a barrier between them as any distance. He had seen her regularly for less than a month and in circumstances that were hardly ideal, but they had come to an understanding almost straight away. King did not believe in fate, but as a born seaman, he trusted his instincts and was determined to send for her as soon as it was feasible. She might have problems getting out of the country, of course, and for him to keep a Dutch wife in an England currently at war with most of Europe would not be accepted by many. But they could go elsewhere. He had left the Navy in the hope of eventually sharing his life with Juliana, and moving to a different land need not be too much of a hardship. There was always America; they had a fledgling navy, and he knew of several who had already made the change and taken to it readily.
Manning came on deck and sauntered over.
“Taking the air, Tom?”
King smiled readily. “It is a pleasant morning. Have you spoken with Kate?”
Manning rolled his eyes. “We managed a word or two in passing. She cares little for her travelling companions, I fear.”
“Captain asked me for another change in accommodation this morning,” King said, his voice matter of fact, but slightly softer. “Lady berthing alone in
steerage is to be moved to the roundhouse.”
“Is that so?”
King nodded confidentially and continued in little more than a whisper. “We're taking on more passengers at Spithead, but I think we may still have the space if Kate prefers to berth alone.”
“She would welcome an exchange,” Manning mused, his voice equally low.
“Well, say nothing for now, I should hate to give false hope. It is almost the size of a double berth, but…”
The surgeon's mate raised his hand. “Fear not, Tom. I will keep my distance.”
“The captain seems to know much of what occurs below.”
Manning pulled a wry face. “Indeed he does.”
* * *
It was certainly far more spacious than her cubicle in steerage, although even her new cabin, presumably one of the finer in the ship, could never be considered luxurious. Elizabeth walked to the small portion of stern light that was allowed her and peered out. She could see Deal, hazy in the winter sunshine and slightly distorted, thanks to the thick crown glass. A low smudge of coal fire smoke seemed to hang over the small town, one that was rumoured to exist wholly to service the constant supply of shipping anchored in the Downs. The captain had offered to take her ashore in one of the ship's boats, intimating, not too subtly, that they might share a meal at the George or one of the other hostelries that evening. He had been politely, but determinedly, declined. Doubtless she was misjudging his intentions, but Elizabeth felt little inclination for Mr Rogers’s company and had no intention of spending further time in England. Her ticket, bought at a cost of most of her late father's money, would take her to a new world, and she could not wait to leave the old one behind.
She turned back from the windows and looked about the cabin again. There was only a bed and a chair, both presumably left by the previous occupant. Even that was a distinct improvement, as her previous berth had been extremely bare. Of course, she knew that passengers were expected to provide their own furniture, but had decided before the trip that her sea chest, a wash stand, and a travelling cot would be sufficient for her purposes. She could do very well without more, and indeed had done so; but a chair, especially one with such a comfortable back, was most welcome. She settled herself into it and then reached for the knitting that always accompanied her. Within minutes, her mind was wandering many miles away, and the knock that came at the cabin door startled her back to the real world. She rose and opened it, to find a young woman about her own age, with dark hair tied back in an efficient bun.
“Miss Hanshaw? I'm Katharine Manning, assistant to the purser.”
“Miss Manning, won't you come in?”
Kate entered, and together they stood, rather awkwardly, in the middle of the small room.
“I am to see you regarding victualling. You have paid your fare, and food and drink are, in the main, provided, but some passengers require a little more to supplement; maybe wine, or further fresh milk?”
The woman smiled. “Yes, I was told when I purchased my ticket and read it again in the regulations on coming aboard. Tell me, Miss Manning, what is the usual practice?”
“That appears to be rather vague; some require nothing, others a herd of cows and a small distillery.” Kate's manner was slightly guarded when dealing with any of the passengers, but she found herself warming to Miss Hanshaw. “And it is Mrs Manning; my husband is the surgeon's mate.”
“Oh, how wonderful for you!” Elizabeth beamed.
“Forgive me?”
She shrugged, raising her hands slightly. “To be travelling the world, and with your husband; I cannot think of anything nicer.”
“Yes,” Kate found herself smiling in return. “Yes it is; we were only recently married.”
“Then my congratulations. Won't you sit down? Take the chair, I will sit on the bed.”
“No, thank you, I really cannot stay long.” She glanced about the small cabin. “Is the rest of your furniture arriving at Portsmouth?”
Elizabeth laughed. “No, what you see is what I have; I'm travelling to India to join my brother; he is a missionary in Calcutta and speaks highly of the country. I'm afraid there is little left over for extras, so I doubt if I will be prevailing on your offer regarding extra provisions.”
“But this is a roundhouse cabin?”
“Yes, the captain provided for me.”
“Did he?” Kate's expression faded slightly, and she gave the woman a careful stare. “You are old friends, perhaps?”
“No, I only met him properly at dinner yesterday. My berth was in the steerage. Is that the right word?”
“And he moved you in here?”
“Yes.” She felt her face go slightly red. “It was very kind of him.”
“It was.” Kate continued to look at the girl who began to recognise vague warning signals.
“Mrs Manning, this won't cost me more money, will it?”
The smile returned suddenly, as Kate came to a decision. “No, my dear, it certainly will not; and the captain is quite within his rights, of course.” She raised her hand and, after considering, placed it gently on Elizabeth's. “I'm sure he only has your welfare in mind, but please do be careful.”
* * *
Rogers could hear very little. Even a bulkhead made of thin deal muffled most of the sound, but the room was brightly lit, and the two women were right in the middle, so he could see perfectly. That confounded female from the purser's officer was to one side, while Elizabeth stood almost facing her and was clearly worried. Twice her eyes flickered towards him; for a moment he even thought he could be observed, but that was unlikely. He had checked the crack when her cabin had been empty. It merged in beautifully with the grain of the light wood and could barely be seen. But, they were talking about him that was almost certain, and should Mrs Manning have anything to do with it, he knew the conversation would not be complimentary.
He gently eased himself away from his spy-hole, choosing a time when both had their attention elsewhere. Elizabeth, as he now thought of her, even though she had not given permission for him to call her so, Elizabeth was gift from heaven. If that cat even thought of spoiling things for him he would find a way to make her pay; of that he was quite determined.
* * *
The wind held fair, and they sailed with the following morning's tide. By noon, they were off Dover, and, as the first dogwatch began and the afternoon light started to fade, the dim coast of Dungeness could just be made out on their starboard bow. The merchants were travelling in line, with Pevensey Castle leading and Shearwater keeping station well off their larboard beam, her lookouts hopefully intent on spotting any enemy raiders from the nearby French coast. And it was just as the new watch was being called, and the old was going below for supper, when a flurry of bunting broke out on the frigate.
“What of it, Drummond?” Willis demanded. He was officer of the watch and, for once, had not allocated the duty elsewhere. The signal midshipman leafed through his book.
“Enemy sail in sight.” His voice quivered slightly, worried in case he had made some terrible mistake. “Maintain present course.”
“Send for the captain,” Willis snapped, while all about him began to grow tense.
Rogers appeared as if by magic, his coat unbuttoned and his stock awry. Clearly he had been asleep, although there was no sign of drowsiness as he stared out to larboard. Shearwater could be seen faithfully plodding along in her usual station, but nothing more. He raised his eyes to the masthead.
“What do you see there?”
“Nothing to note, sir. Horizon beyond Shearwater is clear.”
“Midshipman!”
Drummond touched his hat automatically. “Not you, damn it,” Rogers cursed. “I want an officer at that masthead now, and not one in signals. Mr King!”
King stood nearby taking the air after eating his meal. Following convention, he was not wearing a hat so as to signify being off duty. He turned to Rogers awkwardly, trying to remember how a salute should be give
n in such a situation.
“Get to the top; tell me what you see.”
He grabbed the deck glass handed to him by Drummond and made for the weather shrouds without a word. Soon, he was skimming up the ratlines just as the masthead lookout made a further report.
“Deck there, sails to larboard, bearing…” he paused. “Bearing nor-nor east. Looks like two, maybe three small ships, in close company. An' there's another further to the east. She's a good deal nearer, and seems to be making straight for us.”
That must be the sighting which alerted Shearwater. Being that much closer she would have seen them first, and by now might even know their exact course and type.
“Clear for action, captain?” Willis asked.
Rogers glared at him for a second, then turned away and began to pace the deck. This was a nice problem; to clear for action meant a great deal of effort and discomfort to the passengers. Cabins would be knocked down, furniture dismantled and moved to the hold and the guns cleared away. It would be a major disruption to the ship, and all for probably little gain. If the sighting proved to be an enemy force, and if Shearwater were unable to avoid, deter, or blow them out of the water, there might be little Pevensey Castle could do with her tin-pot guns and scaled-down broadside. Should they be boarded, which was the likely method in these cases, success or defeat was almost certain to be decided by hand-to-hand fighting, having clear decks would make very little difference either way.
Yet, not to do so might be judged foolhardy, and could scarcely inspire confidence in him as a commander. Those same passengers who were appearing now, to gossip and speculate in childlike ignorance on the possibility of being taken by raiders, might not look so kindly on a captain unprepared to do all he could to protect them. He peered back at the horizon, still empty apart from Shearwater.
