A Ship for The King

by Richard Woodman

  ‘You have come a long way for a rejection, William, so out of fellow feeling I shall agree to join you, though I must contact my agent and arrange for such lading as is intended for the Perseus to be loaded aboard another vessel.’

  ‘Is that problem insuperable?’

  Faulkner shook his head. ‘No. I have shares in a small brig named Pegasus and if I do not delay, matters may be satisfactorily arranged.’

  ‘I can take letters for London myself, if you wish.’

  ‘Good. Then that is settled. Now, tell me more . . .’

  They fell to discussing details and were thus occupied until about nine o’clock, when the tavern door opened to reveal a sodden wet Nathan Gooding, anxiety writ large upon his face.

  ‘Kit! There you are; we were all wondering where on earth you had got to on such a night.’

  ‘Ah, Nat, I was on my way home when I encountered Captain William Rainsborough come especially from London to see me on business. William, this is my partner and brother-in-law, Nathan Gooding.’ Rainsborough stood and the two men shook hands.

  ‘Julia was anxious about you,’ Gooding said when they sat again and had ordered ale for him.

  ‘Julia worries overmuch,’ Faulkner said.

  There was an awkward silence and then Gooding, looking between the two men who showed little sign of moving, asked, ‘May I ask the nature of your business Captain Rainsborough?’

  Rainsborough looked at Faulkner. ‘I think it best Kit tells you himself, Mr Gooding.’

  ‘Please, call me Nat.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  Gooding now stared expectantly at Faulkner. ‘It concerns the London ship, Nat . . .’

  ‘The Perseus?’

  ‘Aye. Captain Rainsborough wishes to charter her as an armed merchantman on an expedition intended to punish the Sallee Rovers for their temerity in attacking our coasts.’

  ‘That is good news indeed. They have long been asking for a lesson and for too long have used Lundy Island as a lair.’

  Faulkner explained the nature of the operation and its quasi-private status, pricking the bubble of Gooding’s enthusiasm when he remarked at his conclusion that: ‘I shall myself be taking command . . .’

  ‘You . . . ?’

  Faulkner nodded.

  ‘But I thought . . . Julia will not like this, Kit . . .’

  ‘Maybe not, but this is an important service and I am determined.’ Faulkner made to rise, inviting Rainsborough to lodge the night with them but he demurred.

  ‘I think, if they have a room here, I shall remain. Besides, clearly you have matters to resolve and my presence would be a hindrance. I shall call upon you tomorrow for your letter for your man in London, thereafter I shall expect you to follow as soon as you are able.’

  ‘Very well.’ The three men rose and shook hands. Then Faulkner and Gooding stepped out into the lashing rain and made their way home.

  Julia’s anxiety for their whereabouts was plain on her handsome face and Faulkner silenced her protestations with a kiss.

  ‘Heavens, you are both sodden,’ she cried, taking their cloaks and spreading them over the backs of two upright chairs, then placing them before the fire.

  ‘Julia,’ Gooding said, ‘Kit has some news. It is best that I retire and leave you to discuss matters. Goodnight.’

  When he had gone and Faulkner had drawn off his boots and stockings so that he wriggled his toes comfortably before the hearth, Julia came and knelt at his knee. ‘Nat’s tone was ominous, Kit. What is this about?’

  He looked at her, his right hand toying with a stray lock of her hair that, at the end of the day, had escaped its confinement. His feelings towards her, even after six years of marriage, were still strong. She was a lovely creature, a mass of contradictions that kept him in thrall: prim, proper, yet well read, self-assured and opinionated by day, but capable of a physical love that had transformed him by the depths of its passion. For her, he was strong and handsome; a man of substance rather than great wealth, steady, reliable but possessed of some unfathomable quality over which she had long fretted in the privacy of her own thoughts. Her sense of this encouraged her to exert herself in their private life, binding him as close to her as she knew how, for she worried that what she sensed was a restlessness in his spirit that she could never satisfy.

  They had not had children and she worried that this was God’s judgement, for she was aware that the strong physical attraction that had drawn her to him was in opposition to the wishes of her late mother who had warned her of violent passion, especially for one ‘who was not of their kind’. And while Nathan approved for reasons of business, he too was less happy on grounds of religion. Kit Faulkner rarely accompanied them to Sunday worship these days, though he had done so in days of his brief courtship of Julia and during the first years of their marriage. True he bore more of the appearance of a Puritan than he had formerly done; his dress was less flamboyant than when in Mainwaring’s service, but he was insufficiently interested in the deep scriptural debates that preoccupied many of the Goodings’ fellow Dissenters to take much notice of them. This distressed Gooding himself, though Julia made light of it.

  ‘He has a sound, true and loyal heart, Brother,’ she had said when Gooding raised the matter. ‘That is much to be encouraged in this uncertain world.’

  ‘Aye, but I can never quite forget that he was among Buckingham’s men . . .’ he had responded.

  ‘I think that unfair; certainly he was close to Mainwaring and he to the King’s service, but that is far from becoming Buckingham’s man. Besides, Buckingham has been dead near ten years.’ Gooding had said nothing in reply, but his expression betrayed his dubiety. ‘That he is not fulsome in the practice of our religion,’ Julia had rattled on, trying to convince her brother, ‘may be a matter of time. Let God do his work, Nathan.’

  Gooding had turned to look at his sister. ‘I fear you are besotted with him Julia. I have seen the carnal gleam in your eyes . . .’

  ‘Nathan!’ she had risen, outraged at his presumption. ‘How can you speak so? Perhaps if you were yourself married you would understand love—’

  ‘Love? I do not doubt Kit’s sincerity or his honesty, but he remains closely allied to Mainwaring and we know the old pirate to be close to the Court, and not to our principles. The news from London is all about the assumption of power by the King to the detriment of Parliament. There is much talk of an imminent rupture between the two—’

  ‘There have been those before—’

  ‘Yes, and each succeeding schism is worse than that which preceded it. I fear a permanent division that will precipitate strife of an altogether different kind.’

  ‘And how does this affect Kit and I, Brother?’ she had asked.

  To which Gooding had replied, ‘Much will depend upon which way your husband will jump, Sister.’

  Now she stared at her husband full of foreboding, for the tone of his last remark had caught at some apprehension deep inside her.

  ‘Dost love me, Julia?’ Faulkner asked as he cupped her cheek and she pressed his hand against it.

  ‘Why ask, husband?’

  ‘Because the news of which Nathan spoke will not be to your liking.’

  She drew back. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I am to go to sea again . . .’ He watched the import of his words sink in. They had been talking of relinquishing their old lodgings above the haberdasher’s shop and buying a larger house. It was a pleasing prospect, and the more so since the possibility existed that Julia had conceived, but this was not the first such occasion and she thought best to wait before telling her husband, having several times previously miscarried.

  ‘But Kit, you promised . . . You are a shipowner of some standing; it is unnecessary . . .’

  ‘It is necessary, my darling. Listen to me and I shall explain. The King has no ships and has received a petition from the Brethren of Trinity House to mount a punitive raid upon the pirates of Sallee. You know enough about the villa
ins to understand that they must be extirpated and to this end I was visited tonight by William Rainsborough, a fellow Brother of the London House, who wishes me to make the Perseus available as an armed man-of-war – a service for which she is ideal – and sail under his flag.’ He paused, allowing her to digest this information. ‘This is an important public service, Julia. It is no foolish tilting at France, as Buckingham was wont to do, nor is it a voyage made for profit alone, but one which will put an end to the wholesale rape and kidnap and God knows what foul consequences of these raids upon our coasts. It is shameful that we have tolerated them for so long . . .’

  Her fine eyes were full of tears and she nodded. ‘’Tis a noble enough venture, I see, but must you go?’

  Faulkner smiled. ‘Old Morris is unsuitable and while his mates are staunch enough fellows, they will need a steady hand. Besides, it will not be for more than three months.’

  ‘Three months,’ she said wistfully, thinking of the possible quickening in her womb. In three months she would be certain and the matter would be beyond doubt.

  ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘I would rather go with your blessing, than without it. What do you say?’

  ‘That you will go whatever I say, for I have never tried to rule you, Kit.’

  ‘Only in the matter of religion,’ he said with a wide grin.

  ‘And I failed there,’ she responded. She laid her head on his knee, whereupon she was struck by a terrible thought. Suppose she successfully carried their child, only to lose her husband on this noble quest. She looked up at him. ‘What if you were to be killed?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘What if I were to be despatched by an encounter with a brewer’s dray tomorrow? Would you have me in a rush basket to preserve me from harm?’

  ‘I would have you in my bed, husband,’ she said, giving up. ‘You may go with my blessing and I shall pray to God to preserve you, and if he does I shall require that you devote yourself to my religion and path of righteousness on your return.’

  ‘I rather think that depends upon Archbishop Laud and his attempts to make us all of one church,’ he said, smiling.

  Julia shook her head. ‘Why does the King promise one thing and then place himself under the influence of yet another with a stronger will than he possesses.’

  Faulkner raised an eyebrow. ‘Aye, and then claim his rights are divine. You would think that one who sat close to God would know his own mind and stick to an honest policy.’ He sighed. ‘Sometimes I do not know what to think or who to believe.’

  ‘But you know what to believe, Kit,’ Julia said with an intensity of meaning that he disliked.

  ‘Do I? I am not so certain . . .’

  ‘But,’ pressed Julia, thinking of the possibility of their changed familial prospects in three months, ‘you must promise that when you return you will take some instruction for the safety of your immortal soul.’

  Faulkner grinned at her again. ‘Then you had better pray that I am not taken prisoner, nor forced to turn apostate, become circumcised and embrace the Mussulman religion.’ And before she could determine whether or not he joked, he bent and kissed her, his right hand freeing her hair with a twist so that it tumbled about her heaving shoulders.

  A week later Faulkner was in London where, under a lowering mid-February sky, he found matters moved apace. Rainsborough had acted with commendable speed, in marked contrast to the slow deliberations of the formal Admiralty. He had presented his petition to the King in January and by the end of the month had both approval and funding from the third levy of Ship Money to fit out several ships for war. To two regular men-of-war, the 36-gun Leopard and Antelope, were added the armed merchantmen, Hercules, Mary and Perseus, and two former Whelps, each of 14-guns, now renamed the Providence and Expedition. Rainsborough was appointed admiral and, with the single exception of the vice admiral, George Carteret, in the Antelope, all the commanders were experienced mercantile shipmasters and members of the Fraternity of Trinity House.

  Faulkner threw himself immediately into the business of fitting the Perseus for war, securing a requisition of powder and shot, extra small arms and, on promise of a generous bounty, a crew. He was pleased to note several of the Perseus’s regular crew answer his call to muster, and even more gratified to see three men who had served with him in the Lion’s Whelp ten years earlier. Captain Morris was persuaded to leave his ship and retire, at least for a while, and Faulkner addressed the ship’s two mates, a sturdy Yorkshireman named Lazenby and a Londoner named Norris.

  ‘Well, gentlemen, you shall be commissioned lieutenants for the duration of the commission. Some matters you may find a little different, and your skills in keeping station may be taxed, but otherwise your experience will stand you in good stead. I understand from Captain Morris that both of you are doughty fellows and I shall expect nothing less. Are you willing?’

  ‘Aye, sir,’ they both replied.

  By the end of February the Perseus was ready for sea and she dropped downstream to join the squadron, then at anchor in The Downs. Here Rainsborough joined his flagship, the Leopard, a new vessel of over 500 tons, built only three years previously to a design in which Sir Henry Mainwaring had had a hand. On 4th March Rainsborough gave the signal to weigh anchor and although they ran foul of a south-westerly gale and the Hercules lost her mainmast, being obliged to put into Lisbon for repairs, the majority of the squadron brought to their anchors off the Moroccan coast on 24th March, where the Hercules rejoined them on 18th April.

  The speed of the departure of the ships was to ensure that they were in a position to blockade the pirates before the customary date of their departure for a cruise in northern waters, and in this they were entirely successful, for from the mastheads some fifty vessels could be seen lying ready in the Bou Regreb River, a fact confirmed by a reconnoitring boat sent from the Leopard shortly after the ships had anchored and prior to Rainsborough calling for a council of war.

  Faulkner joined the other captains assembled in Rainsborough’s cabin that stretched across the stern of the Leopard. A stiff onshore breeze made the ship lurch and roll at her anchor, occasionally tugging uncomfortably at her cable, but this did not deter the assembled company who gathered round the large sheet of paper that bore a roughly sketched plan of the Bou Regreb estuary. On either side of the defile cut by the river lay the two twin towns of Old and New Sallee. They were divided by more than the river, for both were occupied by opposing forces, a fact discovered by the commander of the Expedition who had been sent in pursuit of a fishing boat by Rainsborough. News of this rebellion proved much to the admiral’s satisfaction and he sought now to exploit it in order to obtain the liberty of all those Christians presently enslaved by the pirates.

  Among those aboard the Leopard was a former slave of the Sallee pirates, a man named Hopkins who had been ransomed some years earlier and had petitioned Trinity House for alms. He had been attached to the expedition on account of his knowledge of both the local geography and of the local tongue. With pecuniary inducement, the fishermen had roughly outlined the situation ashore and this intelligence was now laid before the council of commanders.

  ‘It would seem,’ Rainsborough told them, ‘that those loyal to the local holy man occupy the old city, and these people are, in a general sense, not directly engaged in piracy, though all profit from it. Opposing these is the main body of the pirates who, we are informed, are our quarry. These men are under the domination of a man called . . . what is he called, Hopkins?’

  ‘His name is Abdullah ben Ali el-Kasri, sir,’ Hopkins advised. ‘He is a rogue whom I recall well. He is proud and obstinate, a man grown rich and powerful on piracy. He and his men have fortified the ancient kasbah of Rabat, making it the citadel of New Sallee, where lie his headquarters and the place where he will have at least some of his captives, though most I suspect will have been sold long since.’

  ‘Thank you, Hopkins,’ said Rainsborough. ‘Now, gentlemen, I propose that we make our intentions clear by opening a
bombardment of the port, here . . .’ He indicated the rough position on his crude chart. ‘The Leopard, Antelope and Perseus will move closer inshore and use their great guns to this end. The pinnaces will search and destroy all local craft along the coastline – the Expedition to the northwards, the Providence to the south – while the Hercules and Mary will guard our flanks and – when they receive the order, and not before – open fire on any movements ashore that would seem to threaten the centre. Should any of the three bombarding vessels require support or assistance for any reason whatsoever, the commanders of these two vessels will provide it. Is that understood?’ Rainsborough looked about him and was met by assenting nods and murmurs of comprehension.

  ‘Good,’ he went on, resuming his briefing. ‘Now before we open operations against the pirate fleet, I intend to send Mr Hopkins ashore under armed protection on the conclusion of this meeting. He will seek an audience with the chief holy man in Old Sallee and attempt to secure some sort of accommodation and an agreement to desist from raiding our coasts. My intention is to make our purpose known to be against piracy, not against the population, or at least, that portion of the population under the, er . . .’

  ‘The marabout, sir,’ put in Hopkins helpfully. ‘His name is Sidi Mohammed el-Ayyachi.’ A few sniggered at the impossibility of the foreign name. One or two made notes.

  ‘Very well. That is all.’

  The captains walked out of the cabin on to the quarterdecks in groups, discussing Rainsborough’s orders. Several stopped whilst awaiting their boats and stared at the coast which lay a few miles to the eastwards. It had a dun-coloured appearance, with occasional patches of grey-green and the darker green of palms. They could clearly see the cleft of the river valley, and a curve of sand-spit extending from the northern bank behind which the Bou Regreb wound inland unseen. The pale flat planes of the ramparts and towers of Old Sallee rose conspicuously on the north bank, above which protruded domes and minarets, the pale sunshine twinkling on the crescents of Islam that sat atop their summits. To the south the further works of the kasbah of New Sallee extended closer along the river, sheltering the masts and yards of the pirates’ ships. Beyond, the walls climbed over the low hills and all faded into the immense distance that contained the unknown and terrible Atlas Mountains.