The Glorious First Of June (Neville Burton: Worlds Apart Book 1)

by Georges Carrack

  “Look there, the Amphion, said Ratcliffe,” with a surprisingly excited tone in his voice.

  “Aye, she is,” replied Watson. Do you know her? She looks to be a frigate just like us.”

  “Aye, she’s just like us. I don’t know her, but someone aboard her, I think: Lieutenant Richard Lawry. I’ll have to go for a ship-visit.”

  No sooner was the anchor wet than a shore boat appeared from behind HMS Boston, also at anchor, pulling for the Castor. Watson, midshipman of the watch, stooped down at the mainchains to accept the boat’s painter when it came close enough, but was handed an envelope instead.

  “Governor’s complements, Sir. Please deliver that to your captain; thankee,” said the boat’s coxswain, and he shoved off.

  Lt. Froste and Captain Troubridge were just arriving at the waist when Watson stood and turned around: “For you, Sir,” he said, handing off the envelope and touching his hat.

  The captain offered an absent-minded “Thank you” before walking across to his cabin. A few minutes later, there was word passed for Lt. Froste.

  “We are invited to dinner with the governor tomorrow, gentlemen,” Froste was telling them. “It is apparently the governor’s customary welcome to one of His Britannic Majesty’s Ships. Mr. Colson, will you please hoist ‘acknowledge’. The others can fill you in later,” he said, and continued to those remaining. “All commissioned officers, including our marine and the midshipmen, are invited, and the captain has been asked to bring the doctor and our two senior warrant officers, which be Mr. Graesson and Mr. Goode. Be at the sally port at eight bells in the afternoon watch, and I needn’t remind you to wear your best uniforms, if you please. The event will be held there,” he added, pointing to the stone fortification standing alone atop a steep incline behind the town on the tor to the northwest, commanding the attention of the commercial and residential districts, as well the harbor. “It is the military headquarters and the summer residence of the naval governor, Sir James Wallace. Dismissed.”

  “We’ve got a problem, Daniel,” Neville said to his pal once they were alone. “Just think on your uniform.”

  “What? What’s wrong with it?”

  “This is a fancy affair, Daniel. Have you tried yours on lately? Last I tried mine, my arms and legs stuck out two inches. We’ve got work to do if we don’t want the captain sending us to the crosstrees for disrespect to his ship. We’d better warn Aiden, too. Mr. Colson can do as he likes.”

  This minor panic was solved by a few hours below with needles and thread, and the next evening found them with the others on deck just before eight bells.

  “Come on, doctor,” Tillman said as he helped Dr. Mills over the side. Since the doctor spent his life mostly below decks, and certainly not in the rigging, he was expected to be clumsy at climbing. Even the captain would occasionally heave himself up to the tops for a better view of land or sails, but not the doctor, nor the purser, either. They were both guided by the men as if they were children: “Clap on to the gunwale there, sir, to be sure you don’t pitch over. Step on this ‘ere, Sir,” and so on. Several hands reached up from below to guide them safely into the boats.

  “Look at that, Daniel,” whispered Neville. “Doctor’s got a wig. I didn’t know he owned one. He didn’t even wear it when we went in at Toulon.” Doctor Mills returned a somewhat sheepish look as he noticed them looking at him. The wig was the typical powdered white hairpiece of the day with curls at the sides.

  “Yea. Makes ‘im look ten year older, it does.”

  With the captain aboard, the short ride to the beach was a quiet affair almost until they landed. “Lucky night, gentlemen,” declared the captain, apparently trying to prepare himself for some small talk. “Fortunately for us, the evening breeze ain’t much tonight, and there’s no’but ripples. We’ve kept dry all the way in.”

  “Aye, Sir,” they all chimed in.

  At the top of the town’s wharf ladder, they were met by a squad of marines. They were then escorted up the wharf to two waiting coaches with four horses each. If this were indeed a customary event for visiting naval officers, it would account for the disinterest of the few laborers who were about, stacking some barrels and chopping at some ice on the sidewalk.

  “It’s a good job they got us these coaches. We’d be two hours walking up there from here,” Watson said, looking up the cliff at the fort while waiting his turn to board. “Budge up, everyone. C’mon O’Hanlan, sit here between us,” said Neville, pushing him down in the center of the seat.

  Lt. Tripp was waiting to give them instructions after their twenty minutes of jostling over cobbled streets brought them to the fort. “You’re to enter in a line between the foyer and the salon in accordance with your seniority. I think we will be announced. You stop after the man in front of you enters and wait. When they announce you, don’t say anything, and don’t wave or salute; just step on in,” he told them. “I’d make for the drinks table, if I was you. I know I will.”

  “How do they know who I am?” asked O’Hanlan.

  “Oh, come on, O’Hanlan,” spat Colson. “We’ve give ‘em a list, ain’t we, you utter pillock!”

  They were announced. This was the first attendance at such an event for any of the mids. Thinking back on it later, none remembered more than stepping into the doorway after hearing the name of the fellow in front of them, watching their back clear the doorway for them to see in, the sudden shock of seeing a sea of faces staring at them while their name was proclaimed, and stepping through into a large opulent room while warm air and a rush of wonderful food smells washed over them.

  Some fine tall gentleman walked up to Neville after he had walked only a few feet in, blocking his path to the drinks and food and saying, “Midshipman Burton, is it? Any relation to Elliott Burton – a lieutenant I met aboard the Venus in 1775? Oh, I am sorry, Sir. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Alexander Cormack, a merchant here,” he said, extending his hand.

  “Mr. Cormack, hello. I mean, my pleasure, Sir. I’m sorry. We don’t get much time with society, Sir. My father? Aye, Sir. Elliott. How did you know him?” he asked, feeling some excitement.

  “He was a fine fellow, as I remember him, and as you look to be. How is he? An Admiral, already? Ho, ho! That’s it; Admiral Burton, yes?” Seeing Neville’s face suddenly grow dark, he revised his speech. “I’m sorry. Something’s happened, hasn’t it? Let’s have a glass from the drinks table and you can tell me his story – and, of Toulon, as well. I understand you’ve just come from there.”

  The room was huge, not at all comparable to any space he had entered in the last two months, with a high coppered ceiling and plastered walls. Tall windows fronted the harbor, and rich, varnished woodwork surrounded all its openings. Heavy tapestries hung on the walls, helping to retain the warmth provided the room from a large crackling fire in an Inglenook fireplace on one side wall. Following Mr. Cormack through the babbling crowd, they were stopped by a servant with a tray of filled claret glasses before they even reached the drinks table. The room was filled with cheerful noise – local gossip, mostly, and requests for news of the war, for which every member of Castor’s crew was sought, they being the first to arrive with any news of Toulon. Lieutenant McLay, having been personally in the action, was surrounded by listeners from the moment he entered.

  “Toulon? What happened there? What of Admiral Hood, then? O’Hara surrendered? Burnt the whole bloody French fleet, you say? A toast to Captain Smith. Huzzah!” …, and so on all evening.

  He could see pudgy Colson over at the drinks table with a pint in his hand – already half gone.

  “Ah, here we go,” said Cormack, handing a wine glass off the tray to Neville.

  “I didn’t know him well at all, I’m very sorry to say,” Neville began. “He disappeared when I was only two. He was last seen in a naval action off St. Vincent, France in 1779 during a skirmish between his ship and the French Corvette St. Michelle. He was seen to have been stepping up on the bulwarks to boar
d when a gun fired, tearing out the rail beneath his feet. A sea had been running, causing the two ships to rise and fall against each other despite a web of grappling hooks. After the battle, even before the muster, they had noticed him missing. Reports from all hands could only confirm that, when the smoke of the gun cleared, Father was not there. They don’t know if he fell between the vessels and was crushed or drowned, or if he was killed and pitched overboard by the enemy. The ship’s boats searched the sea carefully after the battle, but they never found him, so he was discharged dead. That’s about all I know, Sir. Mum raised us.”

  “I am very sorry to hear of it. Us, you say? A brother?”

  “No, Sir, an older sister. She and Mum live in Bury St. Edmunds now. Do you know it?”

  “Near Cambridge, yes? Well, I wish you the best. If you take after your father at all, I’m sure you’ll do well. I must go speak with this gentleman here; perhaps we can talk more later.”

  “This is fantastic, ain’t it,” Neville proclaimed to William and Daniel. “There must be eighty people here. And these ladies’ dresses; I’ve never seen the like. They’re beautiful. Have you tried the claret? It’s wonderful.”

  “I know. In this place, who could guess it? Oh, mind your manners. Here comes Lieutenant Tripp.”

  “Ah, the young gentlemen are doing well, I see. Come along; it’s time for dinner. I don’t think we want to miss this!”

  The twelve Castors were sprinkled about the two long tables in order that their hosts and locals could hear the news from Europe.

  Governor Wallace gave a very short introduction and speech, concluding with toasts to His Britannic Majesty the King, to victory at sea, and to the improvement of trade. That done, the conversation returned to the usual nonsense about the weather, the success of the fishing season just past, and political concern about the policies of their neighbor to the south, the United States.

  Neville, fortunately, had a quiet older woman opposite, another plump local merchant to his right who was more interested in the gigot of lamb, and a youngish lady to his left who wanted nothing but the time of a handsome soldier to her left, giving him a very pleasant time to eat and look about.

  Mr. Goode’s neighbor, a buxom woman with long, curly brown hair, was doing her best to pile on his plate all the local delicacies, while the man on his left, once it was discovered that he was the purser, was in his ear all night about stores he might purchase.

  The doctor was engaged in some medical dissertation concerning rheumatism in this cold climate, and the captain was obviously very engaged with the governor.

  Neville could see Mr. Graesson gesturing with his hands and talking animatedly with his opposite and his neighbors listening, so he presumed it more likely to be a telling of the story of the simoom, rather than of the intricacies of navigating the Gulf Stream and Labrador currents.

  Colson, he could see, might make a fool of himself. His plate was piled with food, but his eyes were half closed and his head drooping. It was possible that, in this increasingly warm atmosphere, he would fall asleep and land his face in the soup. That was, in fact, what he did before the second remove, and had to march himself unsteadily to the loo. He did not return.

  In general, a fine time was had by all and, after more toasts to the King and good fortune in war, the men, with red faces every one, retreated to a second large room for a round of cigars and brandy before the night was done.

  “Riddles!” exclaimed Froste, when they trooped out after offering their regards to the host. “I think I’d rather listen to the Articles of War again. Are we all here? Lieutenant Tripp, would you be good enough to hand Mr. Goode into the coach. He has obviously enjoyed himself to the fullest. Ahh, we’ll have to carry Mr. Colson, will we? It would be the big one.”

  When Neville stepped up the companion for his forenoon watch, eerie morning stillness surrounded him. Snow was piled six inches deep on any surface wide enough to hold it. It was on the rungs of the ratlines and the yards above, on the anchors, and on the hulls of the upturned boats on deck. He could hear small waves murmuring against the hull and hushed voices of men going about their work – different work than usual; the sounds from the galley seemed louder than normal.

  “Wondrous, ain’t it Neville?” chirped Aiden. Look how much snow we’ve had in the night.”

  “It’s a fairyland, it is,” answered Neville. “I see we’re sweeping rather than holystoning. It’s unearthly quiet. You can’t scarcely hear them pushing and sweeping the snow over the side. Look at the town, too. It’s like some of the buildings have disappeared into the white hillside.”

  “We are to be here for several weeks, I’m told,” Daniel said to Neville. “I heard Froste tell Tillman to prepare to careen for caulking. That should be most interesting in the snow. I don’t believe there is much tide here, though.”

  “There will be mending of sails, and Mr. Goode has asked for the men to make more brooms for sweeping the decks. Goode will have us running all about the town searching for victuals, I’ll wager. I think he got an earful from the local merchants last night. Not real exciting work, but at least we’ll get off the ship. Last night was amazing, wasn’t it?”

  Liberty was generously granted here. It was assumed that the men would have great difficulty deserting from this place. Doctor Mills, without his wig, Lt. Tripp, Mr. Goode, and Daniel, Neville, and O’Hanlan were enjoying an after-dinner pint at the ‘Rose and Thornes’ public house on George Street.

  “What do you suppose they’re on about?” O’Hanlan asked Watson, looking across the room to a table where Lt. Ratcliffe was drinking an ale with another young-looking lieutenant.

  “How should I know, O’Hanlan? Sometimes I see why Colson goes off on you. It’s the friend he told me about I think; Lawry, from the Amphion. Oh, here they come. I was wondering why they wouldn’t sit with us.”

  “Bonjour, M. Watson,” said Neville. Their mastery of French had advanced to the point where they could have simple conversations in the crowded confines of the ship and avoid eavesdroppers.

  “Bonjour, mon ami. Comment ça va?” he responded.

  “Did you find out who Ratcliffe was talking to?” Neville continued in French.

  “Aye. Ratcliffe says he and Lawry knew each other from back in England. They had decided to exchange duties in February a year back in Chatham, while the Castor was getting ready to go and Amphion was refitting in Plymouth. They had Amphion’s Captain Sawyers write a letter and submit it to the Secretary of the Admiralty, but then we left before the transfer came through. Ratcliffe figured that was the end of it. When he saw the Amphion here, they met, as you saw, and decided to go ahead with it. This Lawry says Ratcliffe would go to First in the Amphion. Lawry just gets to leave the Amphion – something personal – dunno if he’d take Ratcliffe’s place here as second, or if he’d go to third, but Ratcliffe says he’s probably junior here; the two ships are the same, anyway. They’re going to show their papers to the captains tomorrow.”

  HMS Castor was scheduled for patrol duty for what remained of March and a week into April, leaving them only about two weeks to accomplish everything from caulking to purchasing and stowing their victuals. St. Johns was an excellent port for water, firewood and coal, fresh beef and bread, spruce beer, and Caribbean rum and molasses.

  The exchange of Ratcliffe and Lawry had gone ahead the week before. The two had taken their papers, after being endorsed by their captains, to the governor. He had seen nothing of interest in it and validated the transfer, and the two had changed ships with much back-slapping and wishing of luck in both places.

  Neville came upon Lawry, leaning against the rail overlooking the city the following morning after breakfast. Lieutenant Lawry had been formally introduced upon his arrival, and Neville thought it friendly to say hello.

  Lawry was a new lieutenant, with a service date younger than Tripp, and certainly younger than Froste, so he had become third. Lt. Tripp had become second of Castor. Ratcliffe, scuttlebutt
had it, was, indeed, made first of Amphion. Lawry was a loose-limbed fellow with a build similar to Watson, but not with Watson’s bright blond hair. His was more dark brown. He wore it in the typical fashion – long in back and tied. He smiled as Neville came up, showing teeth that were worse than one would have expected in this young a person. A very cheerful smile, it seemed.

  “Good morrow, Sir. It’s Burton, right?”

  “Aye, it is, Sir. Welcome aboard. I mean no offense when I say that I hope you are as fine a fellow as Lt. Ratcliffe.”

  Heebe came by just then. “Ah-ha, both of you,” he said, “captain’s compliments, sirs, and will you please lay aft.”

  “We are short fourteen men,” Troubridge said. “If we were to just stay here on coastal duty, I wouldn’t make a run at pressing, but we need a full complement for the convoy. Captain Sawyer tells me that he has conscripted several men just in the last few weeks, so I have decided we will post bills before we go on patrol. Sailors and fishermen are not immune from naval impressment in Newfoundland, but we can hope for volunteers.”

  “Here they are,” he said to Lawry and Neville, gesturing to a stack of paper on his desk. “Mr. Goode had them printed. Take them in today and post them, if you please.”

  Only a few days later, stocked with sufficient fresh bread, flour, and butter from St. John’s, Castor and Amphion stood from St. Johns to patrol the sea lanes. They cruised off the southern tip of the Avalon Peninsula where the Gulf Stream would take most Europe-bound ships from the Americans. They boarded every vessel that crossed their paths, including the Americans, even though they could not press their sailors or take any cargo except that bound for France.

  On return, they discovered the convoy in preparation to sail. Fat merchantmen were anchored by the dozen.

  “Look at them all,” exclaimed O’Hanlan when they warped ‘round the headland to enter St. John’s harbor for the second time.